Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

3964 BBY, Tatooine
8 years before the events of Knights of the Old Republic
Revan

The earth shuddered beneath her and it roared with a deafening cry in her ears, but Revan was mute to it all.

She stood still, her hands taut at her temples, focusing her mind’s eye on images that flashed before her consciousness as the world around her began to crumble. Her physical self, now distant and almost unfeeling, wavered under the concerned weight of a familiar hand - Alek - pleading with her to move, to save herself.

But the Force coursed through her, flashing images before her eager eyes almost too quickly for her to comprehend, but urgent enough to block out the world around her which was fast falling into chaos. A father and child descended into the caverns beneath the sands where she stood, standing before an altar not seen for millennia where an ancient crystal cache called to passersby, like a whisper of sand in the wind, beckoning, waiting, repeating its call – untouched and pristine – shrouded with some sweet, dark sorcery that drew them nearer… but then entered two bright figures, swathed in light and angel-esque, who took the child by the hand, eyeing the altar with wary eyes as they left the father to die, fallen victim to a poisoned mind, like so many others before him. Boots crunch over their bones.

“Revan, please,” Alek’s voice found her from a million miles away, pleading. Revan’s eyes shot open, all movement a mere kaleidoscope of images focusing into one as her mind reconciled the vision still clear in her memory. She inhaled, closing her eyes tight once more, stamping the images on the backs of her eyelids as reminders before they trickled away with forgetting. When she opened her eyes, her saber was at the ready and Alek was at her side.

She hazarded a glance at her partner, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows. His icy blue stare implored her, asking without words if she was alright.

Revan nodded, remembering the small child and the darkness she found with her father just beneath the sand they stood on.

Revan charged, vowing to never forget what she saw. It was unlike the vision she had during the decimation of Cathar, it was unlike what she felt when she and Alek found the ancient Star Maps, and yet somehow it factored into all of this. A bookmarked memory, to investigate at a later date. As she opened her eyes to the scene unfolding before her, she opened herself to the Force, still unaware of just how much of herself she would hand over to it in the name of peace and justice in the end.

3955 BBY, Telos IV
One year after Revan saved the Republic
Nevarra Draal, nee Revan

“You can’t remember anything else?”

“Nothing,” Nevarra sighed. With her eyes still shut, she held onto tethers of images, ghosts of a memory. A girl touting the name Revan and her father, nameless and without shape, stood as entities before an ancient altar all those years ago in some forsaken cave buried in the desert. Ghosts from a past life she was not entirely sure was her own. They felt like memories, but were they implanted or otherwise? She had no answers.

She had been piecing herself together since the encounter with Malak on the Leviathan, picking and choosing which bits of her old and new selves felt right and which parts deserved to stay. In the aftermath, Carth was the calm and steady force that stayed her, but she knew there was much she still could not remember - much that she needed to remember. The anxiety was crippling. She was a ghost in her own living skin, and she feared what her old self may have kept from those close to her, never expecting that her own memories, her own agency, would ever be ripped away from her. 

Carth insisted on staying up with her most nights, helping her figure out which memories were hers and where they belonged, but most importantly he supported her in deciding which memories were worth keeping. Since her Jedi reconditioning, Nevarra was tempted to settle into the false security of this second chance, to start over and settle down. But that was a fleeting thing. No, she could not stay idle - how could she? Not when she knew just how much was at stake. But the key to figuring out what to do next remained hidden in the murky depths of her own memory, phantom trinkets submerged and disguised, awaiting her conscious hand at the bottom of a fathomless ocean to be unearthed and rediscovered, plucked from obscurity and made real again.

From the darkness of her closed lids, the Force held still in her memory, Nevarra felt the gentle probing of Carth’s comforting hands at her wrists, coaxing her into the comfort of his presence - away from who she used to be, away from Revan. A faint smile spread across her lips at the feel of him, bringing herself out of the memory, making sure to anchor its imprint in her mind for future reference.

“It’s alright if you can’t. Just remember that,” Carth told her, his voice even, though still laced with the tempered frustration of a man lacking sleep. She could see it in his face: eyes lined with dark indigo shadows, blinking every few moments to keep himself from drifting off himself. But she knew he wouldn’t, not when she still found sleep so seldom. He would not abandon his post.

Her hands began to react to the warmth of his touch as Carth kneaded her fingers, tingling, as if they had been sleeping prior to Carth’s innocent probing.

“I think I should be the one telling you that,” she sighed, hearing the tiredness in her own voice.  Even to herself her voice felt hollow, strained and in much need of sleep. “I’ve kept you up long enough.”

Carth resigned, looking proud of her, at least, but feigning to completely mask his relief at being formally allowed to rest. “You’ve made progress,” he said as optimistically as his voice would allow, grating low and soft into a slight yawn, “or at least, it sounds like you have.”

Nevarra laughed silently to herself, chuckling at Carth’s inability to sleep when she could not and at his need to hear her say it before he went back to rest without her. He didn’t have to stay up with her, he knew that and she reminded him, but she never pushed it. She still enjoyed how eager he was to take care of her in any small way, despite her not needing saving. He liked feeling useful, he wanted to help, and even if she said and felt that it was fine that he sleep, she knew he would never rest easy until he felt he had done his part.

Carth still hovered on the threshold to their shared bedroom, lingering between the soft light of their living area and the dense shadow of their unlit chambers. His heavy-lidded eyes watched her, waiting. She felt weighted to the chair she sat in, sunken as if her thoughts anchored her here, but Carth was always so convincing when he was most tired, most unwilling to fight and most likely to surrender to sleep like an overeager puppy who denies he has worn himself out.

The image of a girl and her father at the site of the ancient altar remained in the back of her mind. The weight of it lifted as she gathered her wits to switch gears, to turn her mind to slumber, to rest for but a moment until she would undoubtedly set course for Coruscant to see the one person who may know more about her visions come morning… whether Carth was awake to tell her how he felt about the whole thing, or not.

Chapter Text

3954 BBY, Coruscant
a year and a half since Revan saved the Republic,  six months since she was last seen
Carth

The weight of Carth Onasi’s boots pounded the loading ramp of his personal vessel, having just landed on Coruscant, demanding answers and already annoyed that he wasn’t met with any.

With a datapad clutched in a white-knuckled fist, he leapt the distance between the still-descending ramp and the landing dock. Blood thrummed beneath his skin, setting him aflame with his uncontrollable impatience.

Before he could question the droid waiting idly at the security console, a shrill voice met his ears, and despite the dissonance its presence instantly set him at ease.

“Now, Carth-?” Bastila approached the loading ramp, evident that she had been waiting since Carth had made his request for landing clearance, her arms folding across a canvas of brown cloth that shielded her from the nonexistent cold as she demeaned his choice of arrival with a scowl.

Carth brandished the datapad in his hand, half-expecting it to speak for itself.  Trying his best to ignore Bastila’s smug righteousness, his thoughts found their voice before she could even finish her sentence, “We’ve waited long enough, now where is she?”

There was no time for pleasantries. He spoke each word evenly and still they sounded desperate when they finally took to the open air.

Admittedly, he was not at his best. Having lost sleep for near six months in an empty bed filled only with worry and wanting, Carth was sure that Bastila searched his sunken eyes, sleepless, wondering what had taken him so long. She sighed. She knew he was not cross with her, but with the situation that they were equally entangled in, paths crossed in a promise they both made long ago. Revan had never disclosed with him who else might have known, but it would only make sense if the others knew, if Bastila knew, and that was why he was standing before her now.

“Come with me,” was all that she said, sweeping about and leading him across the landing pad before he could utter another word.

By her stance, he could tell Bastila knew this moment would come to fruition, and she was already prepared - though despite the dire circumstances it was difficult to imagine a scenario in which Bastila was not prepared. She met every moment with unwavering surety, no matter her doubts, regardless of training or lack thereof. She waved a hand at the lift command console that greeted her upon entering the elevation pod, its doors shutting swiftly once Carth entered at her side.

The lift began its descent, though the unquestionable darkness that followed may have suggested that time had frozen still. Maybe it was the anticipation, the desire for answers that made the galaxy spin slowly in the time he had waited. Carth felt the lift dive below the pier, far beyond Coruscant street level, and head toward what he was certain was the center of the planet itself.

In spite of his general dislike of the woman beside him, he trusted her enough to know that she had not sent them plummeting to almost certain doom at the planet’s core, and in fact, knew exactly what she was doing. At a seemingly insignificant point in their journey downward, Bastila flourished her hand over the console, bringing the lift to a complete and utter stop. There was no repercussion, in fact it felt as if they glided to a gentle halt instead of abruptly arriving as Carth had anticipated. Upon stopping, the doors opened. Light poured in from an empty hall through which Bastila began to navigate without hesitation, easing in and out of identical paths without a second glance. Carth did his best to keep up, his datapad in hand, head flashing about in some petty attempt to keep track of where in the Force she was taking him. Before his queries found a voice, Bastila opened one final door, this time opening into a small meeting room encased in glass, surrounded by sprawling floors that were meant to be full of adolescents in Jedi’s training robes but now stood empty.

A vision come to life, though cut short by the nightmare that was happened at Katarr – something she said long ago came back to him from the depths of his memory, instantly dredged up at the sight – A secret Jedi academy, to rebuild, to strengthen their numbers, at least while the Sith threat still looms on the horizon, as it always has.

A threat on the horizon. The datapad in his hand.

Bastila took a seat at one of the long chaise lounges situated about the room, and Carth suddenly took in the room’s portents: two lounges sat situated along the farther walls, separated at the corner only by a plant whose origin he knew nothing of, and along the wall adjacent was a console, sitting idle and humming softly.

“You knew I would come,” Carth found himself realizing the truth of this words as he spoke them. “Today.”

His fearful rage dissipated into growing uncertainty as he took a seat opposite Bastila.

“I felt something in the Force.” She replied curtly, sounding almost as if she were making up some excuse, and one that a non-sensitive could not possibly verify – but the wavering of her expression gave it away. Bastila was never keen on not knowing things so her curtness was due to the unfavorable nature of being taken by surprise.

“So you asked why I was here, even though you knew full well, because…?” he drawled on, begging her to finish the sentence, if not just to annoy her… for old time’s sake.

Bastila clicked her tongue impatiently, offended, and scoffed “I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

She tucked a loose lock of sand-brown hair behind a pale ear as her other hand waved in the void of the air, commanding the Force to control the console on the other end of the room. “The Force works in mysterious ways. Besides, it's not like you presented yourself any better,” she added to save face.

Before Carth could retort, the room’s lights dimmed to accommodate the console whose screen projected before them, and sight of the secret Jedi academy beyond fell away. A series of numbers filled the active page, a pale blue against a dark transparent grey, cascading down the wall until it stopped, becoming still.

Carth squinted. It only took him a moment to realize, “These are coordinates.”

“Precisely.”

Concern crept into Bastila’s voice, consuming what outward demeanor she usually donned to mask whatever inward feelings plagued her. The thought of her mask slipping undoubtedly rattled her nerves, but for Carth it was comforting to see. He preferred moments when she allowed herself to be human, as long as those moments did not involve berating him for something.

“You know I was the last to see her,” Bastila began, Carth watching as her long fingers folded and unfurled, falling in and over themselves with each moment she spent thinking of her next words, “And though I know little of where she went, or why, these are her final coordinates.”

“You-?”

“I asked T3 to keep a detail on her whereabouts-“

“You managed to bypass T3’s security coding? But she had him set to-“

“I did not do anything intentionally. You see, when Revan set off, I merely told T3 to ‘keep an eye on her’ as a turn of phrase, but then I began receiving these,” her hand gestured toward the screen, “I was not sure what they were until near the end. I figured it might have been a virus or some sort of glitch, given our new systems, but once I looked into the final batch of numbers I knew exactly what they were.”

Several images propped up on screen at a subtle flick of Bastila’s fingers. They depicted various locales, mostly, each remote and empty. There was one image, however, of a place he recognized from a time when he and the woman across from him once traveled the galaxy together despite their bitter differences in hopes of saving it from their amnesiac companion.

“I’m not so sure about the rest, but that,” Carth pointed to the image of a gate flanked by blood orange tents on the brink of a desert, “That’s Anchorhead.”

Carth saw Bastila nod in affirmation from his peripheral as he leaned forward to get a closer look at the images on the screen.

“As you know, Revan and Malak had been to Anchorhead sometime during the war to find the star maps that led to the-“

“So what would bring her back?” Carth interrupted, too impatient to hear Bastila voice her predictions. He already knew what she was thinking.

“I would have thought the same thing, unless she told you about what brought her to me in the first place.”

Bastila folded her hands in her lap once more as Carth turned to face her, her features aglow in the light of the screen.

“Her dream?”

Bastila nodded again. She did not seem one for words once they had arrived at what Carth presumed was her office, and her tells were showing more and more with each question. The fact that Revan’s disappearance and subsequent silence bothered her this much to forego her usual uppity bit set his bones at ease, slightly at least. 

“Revan felt as if she were on Tatooine, at an ancient Sith site of some sort. She came to me asking whether this particular memory had anything to do with what the Jedi implanted, since Darth Malak was nowhere to be found in this recollection and it had nothing to do with the Star Map there, but we had done no such thing. The Jedi - meaning Dorak, Vrook and the others - only implanted generic, bland memories, basic images of parents, being young and what-have-you, but nothing so specific. With, erm, Malak being dead,” Bastila had a bit of a visibly hard time enunciating Malak’s name without disdain, though Carth could not blame her despite knowing the man he once thought the Jedi Knight to be himself, “Revan was not entirely sure who to consult about this particular memory, about what it might mean.”

Bastila swallowed, waiting a moment to allow Carth to answer, perhaps, but he remained silent as he awaited her next words, “Save for her first, and last, master.”

Carth cocked his head, not out of complete confusion but instead out of willful clarification. After defeating her old friend and apprentice, Revan had spent her time with Carth recreating a new persona, leaving any old selves behind, so talk of her life before was seldom and rarely discussed at length.

“Master Arren Kae.” Bastila answered for him, almost expectantly.

The name was not unfamiliar, though he internally admitted to himself that he may have done well to pay better attention to Revan when she did talk of the past.

“My guess is,” Bastila began, cycling through the images displayed with a flick of her wrist, “that wherever these coordinates are located, which according to Republic navigation records are somewhere either on the Outer Rim or just on the border of the Unknown Regions, is where she believed she might find Kae, and perhaps found her at some point.”

“Or so we can hope,” Carth nursed his stubbled chin with his fingers, fingers that itched to be anything other than idle. His boot tapped mutely on the carpeted floor of Bastila’s chamber as his eyes flicked between the images on screen. “When was the last coordinate sent?”

“This morning,” Bastila sighed, getting up and wrapping her robes about her again, equally unsure of what to do with her idle limbs, “which is why I thought you might come. But I didn’t get these numbers in batches or one by one, quite the opposite actually. They were sent all at once, and they were jumbled. Almost as if they were sent in a hurry, like an afterthought.”

Bastila’s voice was controlled but Carth could hear the fear behind her every syllable. His blood ran with anxious electricity under his skin at the thought that even Bastila could not contain her worry.

“That’s not like her,” Carth voiced, the thought escaping his lips as easily as a breath. “So you think T3 sent these? As a warning of some kind? Honoring your request, maybe?" Bastila nodded. "And there’s no way to locate where the message was sent from?”

Bastila shook her head. Carth knew she would have checked the signal before looking into anything else, but he felt is chest near bursting with questions and he knew not to expect any satisfying answers to quell them just yet.

“Not quite. I checked first thing, of course,” Bastila huffed, and Carth almost smiled inwardly at his intuition but the sentiment turned more into a bitter laugh at the direness of it all. “Revan was hiding her tracks, and given her affinity for the skill so much so that she, quite effectively, hid secrets from herself I’m not sure how to decode this, but-”

Carth had been so lost in thought and focused on controlling the sense of defeat that began to blanket his spirit with the lack of any real answers that he hadn’t noticed that Bastila was physically typing away at the console again, foregoing the Force for something more tactile to voice her frustrations through the heavy pounding of keys.

“Either Revan has completely hacked the Hawk so it spits out some nonsense location of origin when you track the incoming messages so we cannot follow her, that or-” Carth stood up as the screen dissolved into a map of the Republic and the known galaxy surrounding it. A small, blinking light, ominous in its loneness in an empty patch of screen, emanated from the blackness that enveloped the outer portions of the map.

“The Unknown Regions.”

Bastila turned from the console to look at Carth and nodded with wide, grey eyes glowing vaguely in the light of the screen, a miniature galaxy swimming in her mirrored pupils.

“I was considering calling you myself, but then I received your message requesting landing permission. I was hoping-” Bastila sighed again, unable to feign much confidence, “I was hoping you’d come with news. When you asked me where she was, I knew this was, I don’t know, fated perhaps. Something that the Force intended for us to find... and to follow.”

Carth would have very much liked to scoff at her explanation, but as much as it might have soothed the tension mounting in his chest, he knew she was speaking the truth. Bastila would not betray her features to doubt unless it was all-consuming, unless it was sincere.

“What does the Force want exactly? For us to know that she’s missing? What good does that do us-?“

Before he could continue his tirade of complaints, Bastila extended a gentle hand to steady him, her eyes still wide and full of uncontrolled uncertainty, but there was something about her expression that was also certain as well, though Carth could not quite understand why or how he knew it. The hair on his arm prickled at the thought and he pulled away.

Bastila’s hand remained extended in comfort, almost as if she expected him to react this way.

“This is the beginning of something. Whatever Revan’s memory entailed, whatever the exiled Kae had to tell her, and wherever she is now… I don’t know, it’s somehow connected to this,” Bastila’s arms extended to her sides, indicating the secret academy now hidden from her office, “And there’s one other thing.”

This last bit Bastila exclaimed almost erratically, suddenly remembering something, as she resumed her position at the console. Carth took a deep breath and watched with a furrowed brow as he approached to watch over her shoulder, briefly glancing down at her nimble fingers before looking up again at the screen as the images changed. The photos of the coordinates Bastila managed to trace faded away. A rap sheet took its place, detailing the basic information for a certain Nevarra Draal. This Nevarra shared the same false name and looked an awful lot like the woman Carth was first stranded with on Taris, the woman he roamed the galaxy alongside in search of a Sith Lord's trail that actually ended up being her own. As much as the woman looked like Revan, however, Carth could tell that she was slightly younger, that her eyes were more angular and that they were green as opposed to Revan’s warm brown. They were not one and the same.

“This is the identification papers we used to get Revan into the Republic ranks after we, erm, well-“ Bastila swallowed her words before continuing, “The records are actually quite legitimate looking, though also falsified. It was produced for us by Atris who found that Revan’s exiled General bore a striking resemblance to her, especially when done up in this fashion.” Bastila referred to the short black hair dyed bronze and the ochre eye makeup. “Revan’s Left Hand, General Valen was exiled, I’m not sure if you know, a short time after the Mandalorian Wars came to a close. Master Atris, General Valen’s former mentor, took up the task of keeping tabs on her, given that she was a liability to the Council as well as to the Republic after what happened at Malachor. In her exile, General Valen made several false personas to use as identification and Master Atris convinced us to use this abandoned file as a source.”

Carth took in the image of the General, a girl he had heard much about but had never seen. As a pilot, Carth had seen much of Malak, especially before the Jedi officially became involved in the Mandalorian Wars when the Jedi Knight still went by the nickname Squint - which was both amusing and disconcerting to think back on, now - but Carth had never seen General Valen, who was responsible for heading Revan’s ground troops. She was a prodigy, a star soldier, surpassing legends of even the famed Jedi Master Kavar at only twenty years old. Carth recalled a time when everyone expected Kavar to lead the Jedi to war, but after being called to a seat on the Jedi Council instead, the enigmatic young Revan took his place. Soon after, General Valen joined Revan's ranks and became the leader of her ground forces, whereas Revan’s Right Hand, Malak, took the command of her fast-growing star fleet.

The exiled Jedi looked so much like his Revan that he could not look away, though he saw where they differed when he imagined what Nevarra looked like now, or more recently at least. Even back when Carth had first met her, Revan posing as Nevarra was visibly a bit older, in her mid-thirties as opposed to her mid-twenties, and looked a bit friendlier in comparison to the image displayed.

“When Revan asked where her memories had come from, she asked about the false ID we gave her when we,” Bastila swallowed, still slightly uncomfortable with her role in altering Revan’s memories, “When the Jedi reprogrammed her. When she saw that we had used her identification records, she, well, I’m not sure, exactly.”

Bastila’s voice trailed off into silent musing, not quite finishing her thought.

“She felt something?” Carth surmised, gathering what he knew of Bastila’s account and what little he knew of how Jedi and how they reacted to the Force, something which still eluded him completely.

Bastila nodded, her lips pursed, unsure of what else to add. She was so used to having the last word that Carth almost enjoyed watching her struggle with the silence that followed.

“I am not sure what she felt, or sensed,” Bastila finally said after a considerable pause, “But whatever it was, she felt as if Master Kae might know. And who knows, perhaps she sought General Eden Valen out as well, after all.”

“Where is Arren Kae now?” Carth asked.

The Jedi shook her head. “No one knows. She was exiled shortly after Valen was. She was even accused of influencing Revan’s dissent through her teachings, for not seeing what would later become of her pupil. Unlike Eden Valen, however, Kae fell under the radar. No one has heard of, or from, her since.”

“So that’s where you think all of these other images are from? Places where Revan thought Kae might have been hiding.”

Bastila nodded.

“What about General Valen?”

With another heavy sigh, Bastila lowered her head, looking away from the screen and at her hands instead. “Master Atris had been keeping tabs on her, but with the tragedy at Katarr…”

“Right, I’m sorry.” Carth consoled as best he could, already guilty that he had forgotten, that he had failed to commit every Jedi’s name to memory since learning who Nevarra really was, who Revan really was. Even still, he should have realized. In Nevarra's attempt to recover her memories as Revan, she had urged them both to keep rebuilding, for she feared the true storm had not yet come to pass. In the wake of the war, Carth was to continue supporting stable governments and weeding out the weaker systems, and Bastila was to bolster the Jedi ranks in whatever way she could, in secret if possible. Another massacre had urged some Jedi to begin preparing for such destruction in secret, sometime during or before the war, Carth could not remember. But whatever those plans were, Nevarra thought them wise. There was so much fear in her eyes before she left, and despite the waking worry that still kept Carth awake at night, he knew that Nevarra would tell him what troubled her if she knew, and understood her desire to find the truth of that fear alone. She still felt immense amounts of guilt over what she had done, but more importantly, what she had forgotten. If only Malak had listened, if only he had submitted and told her what he had known back then...

“She’s still out there, I feel,” Bastila began, closing her eyes as if it would better her memory, “we were almost rivals, you know, the exile and I. Prodigal padawans, each with a gift. She had her Force bonds and I had my battle meditation. I still think that she might not have been driven to war had the Masters not feared her power so, but…” Bastila let out a low breath, laced with regret and remembering, “We were friends, once.”

She shook her head and opened her eyes again, this time looking pointedly at Carth.

“I know you’re not one to believe in the Force, but I know you believe in her.”

At the mention of ‘her’, Carth knew she meant Revan, even if in their more private moments she had expressed her desire to be known as Nevarra now, instead.

Carth nodded solemnly, still feeling far too unaware of it all, oddly unnerved at the fact that Bastila, a woman nearly two decades younger than he, would have a better idea of where his wife might be, and not just for the sake of being there but in the scheme of things, whatever that meant. He shook his head, and despite his doubts he knew that he trusted Revan, that he trusted Nevarra, far more than he trusted himself with anything the galaxy could throw at him, but he would counter each blow as it came, as long as it got him closer to her, no matter who she felt more like these days. He was ready for anything, anything other than the inaction that had plagued him since the day she left.

Gathering his resolve, Carth swallowed whatever doubts and frustrations had led him here and asked, “So, what comes next?”

Nevarra has asked him to remain calm, to trust him no matter what became of her, and regardless of the promise that both he and Bastila had made not to follow her, it was clear that neither of them were meant for inaction or idleness. But it wasn’t just the foul feeling of being left in the dark with only blind trust for company that bothered him, it was an ever-pervasive bad feeling that gnawed at the outer edges of his mind, the same gut feeling he saw possessing Bastila now.

Despite their differences, they had this in common, at least.

Bastila read his expression, and nodded curtly, as if gathering all of the wandering thoughts in his mind and processing them in an instant. His observation was not far off, despite how much he lamented the fact, knowing that Bastila most likely probed the Force whether she meant to or not. In spite of decorum, he figured she may not be able to help herself given how palpable his raw emotions were stirring beneath the surface, something Nevarra used to make fun of him for…

“We find her.” Bastila said. “Well, not her her, but,” she nodded towards the screen which now displayed General Eden Valen’s somewhat disguised visage, Revan’s near twin if one did not know any better.

“The last we heard of her according to Atris’ records, she was working as a scavenger, particularly interested in post-war sites as you might well imagine. We don’t have a heading, but-“

“We have Anchorhead. It’s something. Hell, it’s better than nothing,” Carth heard himself say, though even his own voice sounded alien, as if it were transmitting itself to him from light-years away. Entranced with the image on screen, he conjured memories of Revan when he only knew her as Nevarra, a smart-mouthed recruit that just happened to escape the Endar Spire at his side. Part of him wished that things had stayed that simple.

Whatever ill omens Carth had collected over the past few months now seemed oddly intentional and somewhat justified in light of Bastila’s shared convictions. The bad feeling that took root in his gut the moment Revan left spread outward and over his bones, settling in the depths of him. He wondered if this is what Bastila felt when she sensed ‘disturbances’ in the Force or what had Revan felt that night and prompted her to leave in the first place. 

“We’ll find her. We have to.”

Bastila’s eyes locked with his and after a moment she nodded, her face solemn but intent. Perhaps she felt sorry for him, and maybe there was good reason for it. Carth couldn’t sleep, but it wasn’t the lack of rest that bothered him. Whatever Bastila felt, whatever she knew, and whatever the Force told her, Carth could read it on her face – there was hope, and that was something.

Chapter Text

3952 BBY, The Polar Regions of Telos
Four years since Revan saved the Republic, two since she went missing
The Last Handmaiden

The mountain was cold.

Brianna expected nothing different, but it did not quell her unease upon its slopes. She followed in the footsteps of her sisters, who were blindly carrying out orders given by their mistress, Atris, earlier that morning.

I sense a presence on the mountain, she had said, eyes closed in concentration. Scout the area, bring back anyone you find.

She found her mistress’s words worthy of note. Anyone she had said, not anything. 

Atris had then resumed cradling her aching temples, brimming with visions, stooped over her chamber desk as Brianna and her sisters nodded and went on their way, Brianna in the rear as always.

She was otherwise known as the Last of the Handmaidens, last meaning the least of them, a fact her sisters reminded her of constantly. She deserved no name, not even the one she used to refer to herself in more intimate moments. Only her title was warranted, technically. In a way, Brianna lamented her Echani father’s demise, and not for its untimely nature but for the fact that she would carry the burden of his actions until her dying breath. She would always be Brianna the Bastard. The Last of the Handmaidens.

A most unfavorable heirloom, indeed.

The bitter winds, the thick snowfall, and the harsh temperatures were unrelenting, and yet a part of Brianna felt right at home. Out here, she was met with just as much resistance as she would have had she stayed at the academy, and yet she found the wordless wind favorable to her sisters’ insistent discontent. The fact that it drowned out anything they might say helped.

The wind tasted crisp on her tongue though cruel to her lips, rubbing them raw, and yet Brianna had never felt more alive, never more herself than out in a world that was not so controlled, so demanding, so defeating. Brianna bit her lip, quelling the secret smile she bore behind her sister’s backs, unaware that any joy could be had in the life of a bastard.

Ahead of her was nothing but a sheet of snow, yet Brianna could somehow sense her sisters up ahead, like walking through a familiar hall in the dark, navigating from memory. She finally came upon them, stoic spires in the spiraling snow, their ivory hoods drawn over their heads as their necks pivoted, discerning their choice of direction with careful eyes.

“Where to?” Arianna asked, her voice a telltale singsong hardly a whisper on the wintry air.

Orenna only shrugged.

By default, Brianna stopped just before reaching them, never used to standing equal among her sisters, always to be an afterthought.

She looked about, holding up an white-gloved hand as a visor to block out the snow but to no avail, until… the snow stopped completely.

Her hand dropped to her side in surprise, and she looked between her sisters to gauge their reaction but they were as still as statues. The wind fell silent. It no longer rang in her expectant ears and instead stood stagnant, cold against her face. She exhaled. A plume of warm breath should have erupted from her lips, and yet the scene remained unchanged.

Words lingered on her tongue but shock stayed her. Her mouth opened and closed, a firaxa out of water. Then she felt it, or sensed it, more rather.

Just beyond the sheet of snow ahead of Arianna and Orenna the mountain sloped downward, and below the slope was an embankment where a figure lay motionless but still breathing - shallow breaths, dangerously shallow. Brianna could not see it, but she knew what was there.

She blinked, unbelieving, when the scene unfolded again before her, as if she had unpaused a holorecording and life resumed in real-time as always.

“We should head North,” Orenna demanded, her voice low and even, her age always evident in the way she carried herself. The snow resumed falling, as if it had never stopped, and the wind howled about them once more. Neither of her sisters made note of the change.

Arianna considered her sister’s command when Brianna heard herself say, “They're right there, just below us.”

She could hardly register her own voice, and her sisters both turned to consider her for the first time that day. They had not even bothered looking at her when the Mistress had personally called the three of them down to her chambers that morning, only exchanging glances with one another as if Brianna were not there.

They were forced to acknowledge their sister’s presence and heed her advice. Brianna almost expected that they would dismiss her proclamation, but the way Arianna and Orenna looked at one another told her different. Did they feel it, too?

The two sisters nodded without a word and descended into the nothingness of the snow.

For a moment, the figures of her sisters melted into the stark white backdrop of the scenery, almost as if the sky had swallowed them whole, mountain and all.

The scene did not speak to her this time, and the elements shielded her from whatever vision manifested in her mind moments before. Staggering in the snow, she searched for purchase, hoping that the feeling would return, but she was moving blindly now. 

Brianna finally came upon Arianna and Orenna again, only this time they were moving towards her, huddled together, burdened by a figure clad in brown. The Last Handmaiden offered her hands in help, but her sisters ignored her and moved on without her assistance. She swore she saw Orenna shake her head, unsurprised that she could not keep up.

With her hands falling at her sides, Brianna followed her silent sisters, brimming with regret as she trekked back up the mountain to her uncertain refuge. Something in her stomach turned, and she knew it was not because of Orenna. Though her sisters denied her aid, her hands felt relief at the lack of weight in them as she ascended, and not for the ease of the return. No. Something about the figure Arianna and Orenna held between them did not sit well with her. Where did they come from? Why are they here? Did they know we would be here?

Part of her felt bad for not helping, knowing that this might come up again later as some other admonition added to a laundry list of faults her sisters harped on whenever they pleased. But another part of her knew that this was not over, that this meant more. Her skin prickled, and it was not with cold, but with the realization that this was bigger than she could possibly know. She did not know how, and that bothered her all the more.

Orenna and Arianna laid the figure to rest on the pristine seating area in Atris’ study.  The brown mass was a shocking contrast against the pale upholstery. Even the rough-hewn texture of the stranger's fabric clashed with the soft satin of Atris’ lounge.

 “Where did you find her?” Atris asked, hardly inflecting a question. Her voice was a husk whisper, echoing in the empty space between them.

“Just beneath the second pass, Mistress, about two hundred meters down,” Arianna answered, Orenna nodding in affirmation. Brianna found herself nodding as well, though Atris’ eyes never left the figure lying before her.

“Did she say anything?”

She?

“They… she didn’t say anything at all, Mistress.” Orenna replied. Both of her sisters’ eyes were fixed on Atris, though Brianna found her gaze inexplicably drawn to the figure on the bed. Her breathing was low, shallow, and suddenly belonging to that of a person and not just a lump of rough, russet robes.

The feeling in her gut grew, gaining a mass that was empty and uncertain, and somehow the mysterious stranger both roused and calmed it. Her skin grew cold beneath her many layers, and her gloved hands reached up to wrap around herself despite the lack of winter wind in the academy’s many halls.

Atris had not yet offered a reply. With careful fingers, she raised the figure’s hood, only to let the fabric drop before revealing the stranger’s face to the Echani watching on with eager eyes.

“Thank you,” Atris said, her voice barely audible, “Leave me. You have done well.”

Atris’ gaze remained just above the dozing head of the stranger as Brianna filed out of the room behind her sisters, as if awaiting their leave to reveal the stranger’s face. Why?

Brianna hesitated; eager to see what face lay beneath the hood. She and her sisters had traveled to remote corners of the galaxy searching for the artifacts that cluttered Atris’ secret academy, but she doubted she would remember anyone they may have come upon. Mistress always warned them to stay hidden, never to speak, and to keep to themselves. Despite the unspoken fear that welled within her at the stranger’s presence, her unexplained insecurity, she moved on and followed her sisters’ retreating backs with a heavy pace.

The figure in the adjoining room did not sit well with her. Her presence troubled some inner part of consciousness that she could not reconcile. Whatever it was, it tugged at her like an invisible string, as if that woman’s face would somehow mean something to her.

And yet the only face Brianna could fathom was the imagined visage of her bastard mother’s, the one that resembled her own and resembled none of her sisters. But her mother had perished at Malachor, like so many others. And the Last Handmaiden did not believe in ghosts.

3952 BBY, The Polar Regions of Telos - Secret Academy Study
Atris

“No one wanders the mountain,” Atris heard herself say in a severe tone that echoed through her study the moment the woman on the lounge stirred. Atris’ mind raced with questions yet none of them arrived at her lips, eager only to leap to anger, to disbelief.

The woman only smiled. It was a wry smile that set Atris’ skin on ice, prickled with the enduring sense that she could not control the visibly weak woman before her.

Or perhaps not as weak as you would like me to believe…

“They say you died at Katarr.”

The stranger spoke through her smile, retaining its eerie shape beneath the shadow of her drawn hood as if her mouth were a crescent moon hanging in the blackness of night. Despite the state the Handmaidens found her in, the woman was not disoriented, not at all near death, and she looked as if she knew exactly where she was.

“They?” Atris spat, again unable to conjure a question, instead only capable of repeating words like a helpless creature, tamed to entertain guests. Her fingers itched to reach for the woman’s hood once more, to reveal her cheap parlor tricks. She had peeled back her hood to reveal only nothingness, somehow, as if the Force had erased what she saw the moment she saw it. Now, the Force was silent; it only relayed radio silence when Atris tried to pry at the stranger’s mind.

“Those who remain,” the stranger answered, a corner of her mouth stretching further into the recesses of her shadowed visage.

What sort of devilry is this?

Atris sensed no inkling of the Force within the woman before her and yet she defied all of its laws. A Sith would have exuded negative energy, penetrated the world around them with bristling electricity, poisonous and bittersweet, but what this woman bore was even more unsettling. It was as if she was composed of nothingness and was entirely content with the fact. She was witchcraft, and Atris felt a hidden part of herself begin to fear this stranger’s unknown composition.

“Why are you here?” Atris heard herself say, her voice laced with uneven hesitation.

“You know why I am here,” the mysterious woman said, her voice grating and ancient, as if she were the embodiment of the living dead.

“You have a message for me,” Atris said, without even thinking it first. It was as if she were an automaton, functioning at the whim of an unseen master, or perhaps it was the result of whatever sorcery the figure before her wielded. Atris’ bones felt cold.

“I do,” said the stranger, still sporting her smile, “I know what you did there, at Katarr.”

She stated it as mere fact, there was no hypothesizing about it. She knew.

“You may not have anticipated the outcome, but you were successful nonetheless. The Jedi gathered, and the Sith threat manifested, revealing themselves. You were right.”

Atris turned from the stranger, looking at the barrenness of her pale chamber. Her study was adorned in all white, but given the lighting of the aqueducts, everything was dim and cast in a dull, dark grey. Atris’ icy blue eyes judged the shadows in the corner of the room, a smile creeping over her lips as she considered the thought. I was right. But she overcame the expression, dispelling it with a firm scowl despite her inner relief.

"There are Sith on the edges of space, and they swallowed Katarr whole-"

"I did not mean for them to die." Atris spat defiantly before the guilt could take root in her chest again, as it did so often since the conclave she was meant to attend.

"Of course you didn't," the stranger sympathized, her voice suddenly saccharine and sweet, almost sickeningly so, "But they are more powerful than the Jedi ever anticipated, despite your many warnings."

“But that is not your message.”

The woman had taken to her feet, though Atris had not sensed it, and appeared at her shoulder, startling her.

“If you truly wish to draw out the Sith, to face their might, you must try again.” The woman whispered in her ear, swiveling from Atris’ left ear to her right.

Atris swung around to meet the stranger face to face to find her suddenly sitting in her chair on the other side of the room, leaning back quite comfortably, her head forward, keeping her face perfectly hidden from view, save for her wicked grin. Her eyes were veiled, but there was something so familiar about her mouth, the curve of her chin, her choice of words…

“I know your face,” Atris whispered almost wistfully as a plague of goose bumps erupted over her skin as she approached the chair opposite her, now usurped by the stranger. 

“Of course you do, Master Atris.”

And while she spoke the truth, Atris was not sure how she knew that face, that smile, that crooked grin composed of malice and so full of unyielding intent. Her mind was clouded by the Force, as if a veil were held firmly in place, a veil she was not yet meant to lift. The woman's face remained shrouded, but her crooked, cragged mouth rang true with a piece of Atris' memory she could not retrieve. This is no Jedi trick, nor anything I know of the Sith.

Atris could not move. She was fixed to the spot before the woman in her chair. The stranger rapped her fingers on the armrests, like an impatient ruler seated atop a throne before an undeserving servant awaiting orders.

“What must I do?”

It took no thought at all. Atris’ knees gave way in a slow descent, easing into a kneeling position before the all-too-familiar yet still unknown stranger, pulling her strings. Despite her loss of control she felt a warmth surround her, the all-encompassing hum of energy that the Force exuded at all times was now ten-fold, and suddenly Atris no longer cared to know who sat in her chair and what face she bore beneath her cowl. I was right, I was right, I was right.

“Seek out the one who wronged you, and you shall find your answer.”

The stranger’s smile dissolved and what was left beneath her hood was a cragged mass of wrinkled skin.

Atris bowed her head as the Force filled her with absolution. I was right, I was right, I was right…

“Release her records. The Sith will follow.”

With her head still bowed, Atris nodded.

“And what then?”

“You will know, in time.” 

The figure stood. Atris remained kneeling, her head bowed, facing the floor with a sense of utmost pride, long awaited recognition, praise filling her every pore, absolving her of sin.

“I will send word. You will know of what I speak when it arrives. It should be seen by your eyes alone, Master.”

Were Atris not utterly entranced by unknowable magic, she would have sensed the utter malice in the voice that assured her, the underlying falsehoods in the very notions that soothed her and filled her to calm capacity. The stranger put a gentle hand on the back of Atris’ bowed head, a dark, wrinkled hand upon the pure white silk of Atris’ hair.

For now, you will forget me.

The stranger left, leaving no traces in the physical realm and the slither of an idea in her memory - the faintest of fingerprints on the corners of her mind - and Atris awoke with a start.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Tatooine
Darth Erebus

There was something about the silent, seething desert that felt familiar to Darth Erebus, but the Force provided no insight in regards its origin. The whole of Tatooine swallowed the hum of Anchorhead the moment he stepped foot outside of the city gates, it's thrum instantly silenced by the sands. The wind on the dunes was ominous, yet soothing somehow, and Erebus took a moment to soak in the heat of this place, to feel its energies flow through his every pore.

So much of this world was uncertain, full to the brim with uncovered truths long forgotten. The only ones who knew of this world’s true histories did not heed them nor see them as important. They did not find value in the past. The only thing of much value here was moisture and money. Jawas only cared for their caravans, the junk droids and trinkets they salvaged from the Dune Sea, and what they might fetch for parts. The Tusken Raiders only cared for water and where it might be harvested, as any living creature seeking to survive might. They had no need for the knowledge that lay beneath their sands, gathering their weight in gold, which happened to account for quite a lot of credits if inflation was considered.

Erebus had an extensive collection of ancient coins, among other artifacts, composed of gold and other antiquated materials of worth, now collecting nothing but dust and the admiration of his acolytes back on Malachor. Ancient civilizations had cultivated and coveted gold before they knew of much else; some still did, but Darth Erebus had no use for it, unless such peoples had artifacts to trade for rudimentary resources or supplies. Satiating such peoples was almost too easy, and almost an insult to the power of Revan’s Sith Empire, or Malak’s depending on who you talked to... well, whatever was left of it anyway. Despite all their power and gathering strength, a tribe in possession of an ancient holocron would gladly hand it over when offered fresh water or an idol clad in gold leaf, given they did not regard the holocrons as gods themselves - which was known to happen. Such a scenario left Erebus to his own devices, but it was easy to convince such folk that he was himself a god, and that the items he sought were his to reclaim.

His Master would have laughed - that hollow, inhuman laugh. Not like there was anything human left of him.

Unlike Darth Nihilus, Darth Erebus was still very much human and his body was not accustomed to the intense heat of Tatooine’s twin suns. His hands spread at his sides, gathering energy to cool himself down. A flurry of ice spread and settled over his body like a blanket of cool dew, and he sighed before taking one last look at Anchorhead.

Given the sheer magnitude of his life's work, it was more than probable that it would outlive him. It was unlikely he would ever, truly, be finished with his research, so surely death would come for him first. The galaxy was rich with secrets the universe over, and he did not have the years needed to find it all, lest he ask Sion what his secret was...

Much like his old post at the Jedi Archives in a life long left behind, Erebus curated the Sith artifacts now housed at the Trayus Academy on the dead moon of Malachor V. The place still echoed, as it did for many others who had been there when the planet died and those who roamed there now, like Nihilus. But it echoed with a different energy for Erebus. He had not been present when the Mass Shadow Generator consumed the surface and the life force upon it, but part of him had been there… and in the moments that followed the moon’s destruction, he felt a swell of energy gather within his bones just as every other Jedi felt the Force go hollow.

The desert before him was silent. A spattering of other brave souls peppered the dunes, but they were too far away to make noise that would reach his ears unless Erebus reached out with the Force first. Instead, something stilled him. Something kept him from moving forward and going on with his never-ending quest.

He could not take his eyes off of Anchorhead. He had felt uncertain upon docking here, uncertain meandering the streets, uncertain asking the locals for any pertinent information, uncertain about every crevice and corner of the place… and Erebus rarely felt uncertain anymore. The Force often answered to his whims, revealing ancient secrets and histories of yore, but something more recent resided in Anchorhead that he could not place. Whatever it was, it was somehow outside of the Force. Upon landing, he assumed this void was the doing of the artifact he sought.  After checking his records, he affirmed that it was still secure just outside of Anchorhead, not within it. The desert stood open before him, inviting, tempting him with fathoms of undisturbed sand guarding a millennium of lost artifacts, forgotten power, knowledge now made legend or myth, and still he found himself drawn to the city behind him.

Hazarding a glance at the Dune Sea, he swiveled and changed course, returning to the gates crowded with Jawa, mercenaries about to embark on questionable expeditions boasting high pay of the too-good-to-be-true variety, travelers conversing in mistranslated gibberish, and impatient Dewbacks kicking the dirt. Standing at the mouth of the city, he laid out its energies before him like a map full of pinpoints, only instead of identifying locations each marker was a living something that harbored the Force, whether active or inactive, a local going about their shopping or even a blaster that had seen to its fair share of death.

Darth Erebus studied the clusters of energy in his mind’s eye, watching a woman walk while seeing her dark energy overlayed like an aura, a group of slavers posing as traders muddled by darkness for the Force always weighs heavy around those poised to kill. Scanning the ramshackle city, he sensed it again - the void. Squinting as he focused on the absence of energy, he spotted a small hut within a cluster of shops. The storefronts bore samples of what they offered within, stalls swathed in cloth or festooned in salvaged armor, still fresh with sand, their finish made lackluster from the twin suns. But the shop in question stood bare. It was ensconced by a plain doorway, shaded from the heat, offering only a shadowed glimpse of what was inside.

Erebus approached as if entranced. The energies of the city and the images of the world around him fell away. There was only the door and the promise of the mystery, the question of what lay beyond. His skin prickled with anticipation despite the heat of the early morning. It was as if he were approaching an ancient shrine as he often did, as he came here to do, bewitched with curiosity and wonder. Erebus felt as if he were on the brink of discovery, approaching the threshold of a new world worth exploring.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust as he entered the dimly lit stall. Blinking, his green eyes registered several low-lit fluorescent lights along the floor, illuminating rows upon rows of refurbished but inactive droids, standing sentinel in the empty store. Their eyes were vacant, void of light or life. But of course they would be, their power sources were switched off. This wasn't the absence of energy he was looking for - but he was close. Erebus stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the sun beating down on his cloaked back, as he scanned the area in search of any signs of organic life.

Through the Force he felt nothing, but his eyes saw it nevertheless.

There was a rustling behind the main counter. Peering around an older model HK at the doorway, he saw that there was a small workshop haphazardly barricaded by a greasy cloth hanging from its frame.

Instinctively, his mind reached out, sending tendrils of the Force outward to see what it was that rustled, but he sensed nothing.

Radio silence.

He tried again. Nothing but static, stagnant energy.

There was no life in the workshop and yet he spied busy hands working at the wires of a protocol droid. He stood frozen, bewildered and yet somehow soothed. He watched the hands, a woman’s, weave through the wires at the droid’s open neck with utter precision, as if she had done this more times than she could count, that it was almost like breathing. Erebus knew those hands, and he knew exactly why their owner was dead to the Force.

For a moment, he was no longer Darth Erebus. He was younger, arrogant, and eager. He was a young Jedi Master Aiden, spying the not-yet-exiled Jedi Knight Eden -- Eden Valen his mind echoed in remembering -- assembling her lightsaber with the deftest of hands. In the present, the figure stood veiled by a sheet of black hair dyed yellow-blonde, the roots already growing in dark. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear, marking her face, her painfully familiar face, with grease.  She continued working silently, unaware that someone who once betrayed her stood at her doorstep, in awe that she was even alive.

Despite the lack of the Force in the woman before him - a woman grown and no longer a sister of just seventeen, and oh how much she looks like our mother - Erebus could feel the Force welling beneath his skin, his fingertips bristling with electricity. He looked down at his hands, counting measured breaths as he calmed the tendrils of Force lightning escaping his control. The HK droid beside him stirred, affected momentarily by his power, and suddenly a soft chiming rang throughout the shop.

The hands stopped.

“Be there in a sec,” the woman called, her voice just as Erebus remembered it sounding, imbued with the slight cadence of perpetual annoyance.

He must have triggered the device that welcomed customers, but Darth Erebus was no customer. He was not quite sure what he was.

He could hear Eden stirring – Oh, how surprisingly soothing it was to think of her, here in the present, and present in a rather pleasant state of undead – from beyond her greased barricade, but Erebus froze. Despite his changed appearance - his sallow skin and his sunken but now violent green eyes that were no longer the soft moss his irises once were - he knew she would recognize him instantly. In another lifetime, years before either of them felt the true weight of death, they had been inseparable. From the womb to Dantooine, they were counterparts, not interchangeable but so inherently integral to the other that they very much embodied two halves clinging to a complete whole that they only had when together.

He suddenly felt wanting. Erebus yearned to once again assume a version of himself he had not been for years, a person void of jealousy, hate, and unwarranted unrest - a version of himself that was only ever truly at home when he was with his sister.

Erebus watched as Eden ducked beneath her makeshift curtain, emerging from the doorway, but before she could stand straight to meet his gaze, he backed away. He knew the sun would cloak him, cast his features in shadow as he became a mere silhouette on her threshold before he dissolved into the desert. The heat of the Tatooine suns felt unbearable against his back, and he felt drained of any power.

Before Eden could arrive at her own doorstep to inquire after him, he lifted his hood and turned on his heel.

With swift steps, he swept passed the Anchorhead gates and instead made for his ship at the dock, now suddenly unable to catch his breath. He felt like a child again, flustered and unsure of himself, floundering in the wake of his sister who was always so much more inherently talented than he ever was, who never had to try - and here he was, again, running away from her, even though she was powerless now. But was she? What power was there in being deaf to the Force? Dead to it? Was she exempt from the will of the Force, from existence? Did her choices garner no consequences? Did the fabric of the very universe bend to her presence? Or had she effected it so much that it chose to close her out, to forget her, like Erebus had when he was still called Aiden Valen, Master Historian after Atris left for the Council, harboring no refuge for the half-dead sister that no longer wanted anything to do with the galaxy but offered her one true companion, her brother, an apology he would never accept, at least not without retribution. Erebus had convinced himself that the Force had taken care of her for him, for all of the harm she had caused it, for its wounds that still festered at Malachor, the place he now called home.

Malachor echoed for Darth Erebus in a way so completely different than it did for the other Sith who dwelled there. He was once told that his other half had perished upon its surface, and he made it his life’s work to uncover the fine details, to find what traces of her remained amidst the stars that were left dead in her wake. He wanted to own her in a way he was never able to as her shadow, as her lesser twin, in life. Erebus wanted to reclaim what was his and Malachor gave it to him, her head glistening on its silver platter. Yet here she was, alive and breathing, exempt from it all.

His breath quickened. Erebus’ reflex sent out tendrils of the Force once more, but this time to test the waters, to see whether he was being followed by the very void that defined his existence. The hollow part of the Force remained, in the shop by the brink, unmoving. And still his limbs carried him to the solace of his ship, to its silent quarters where something familiar might calm him and quell him of worry.

The blast doors could not open fast enough. With a wave of an impatient hand, they bolted open, bypassing their programming and bending to his dark will. Passersby watched with wary eyes, but for the moment he cared not. The loading ramp of his vessel descended and the sinking feeling in his chest weighed heavy, equally laden and elated, worried but somehow relieved.

She’s here, she’s alive, she’s here. Alive.  

His mind raced faster than the Force could care to catch up, and lightning prickled at his fingertips again.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale...

Habit drew him to the cockpit, his mind already on autopilot. Nervous fingers smoothed back his hair as he sat at the controls, not prepared to do anything other than wait.

Wait… wait.

His ship was enclosed in the loading dock, but in his mind’s eye the Force allowed him full view of the desert beyond. Somewhere out there lay his quandary, silent and waiting, just as he was. But perhaps this was it, perhaps this was fate. Maybe this is what the Force had intended all those years ago when his sister died and he was called to join another cause, a cause that wanted him, a cause that needed him, a cause that relied on his closeness to her, once, and used his knowledge as a crutch for the empire to come. She may not be as dead as rumor would have it, but in a way she was as dead as one could be, and perhaps that was the key. The key to everything. After all these years of ruing her existence, maybe her being alive was the final piece of a cosmic plan falling into place that The Powers That Be had yet to uncover and claim for themselves.

And he would be here to set it in stone. Darth Erebus could claim it all.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, The Tatooine Dune Sea
Vale, nee Eden Valen

Eden Valen had not dreamt since Malachor. Nor had she gone by the name Eden.

These days, she was Vale - just Vale.

The last person to say her true name aloud had cursed it. It was not fair to say that her name was said, as if to imply that it was spoken calmly in conversation. Instead, it was hissed at her, Ede, with mock affection. The voice that uttered it into unbeing belonged to a man who had perished before the end of the war itself, a man who had a history of abandoning names and adopting new ones. She hated to admit that it was he who gave her the idea of creating a new one for herself in the first place.

And it was this same man whose legacy she was cleaning up after. Even after all these years.

As responsible as Revan was - for this and for everything, if Vale was feeling vindictive enough - the disarray of the galaxy at present was Malak’s doing, and Tatooine was not the only world suffering for it. At least its sands easily soaked up spilled blood and was good at hiding it to boot.

It was because Vale no longer dreamt that she was standing out on the sand dunes before dawn, watching the first golden disc begin its ascent across the empty Outer Rim sky. The hijacked sandcrawler at her back kept the heat from tormenting her, though the day ahead was long and it sure as hell would not be forgiving.

A hand at her shoulder disrupted her reverie, bringing the fragments of her imaginings back to the present, back to being the straw-haired Vale, a freckle-faced introvert with twin-sun savaged skin and a knack for droid parts. Some aspects of Vale were true for the exiled Jedi, Eden, but she hoped there was no one around who could connect the dots.

At her shoulder was Asra Sunfell, all smiles and poise. The Togruta had somehow convinced her that this job was worth the risk, but more importantly that it was worth the money. Aside from water, money was all that mattered on this Maker forsaken rock. Vale didn’t care for money herself, and neither did Eden when all her roleplay was considered. What was important was that Vale act as if the money meant something to her, like any other spacer might.

“You ready?” Asra squinted up at her with bright eyes, warm honey yellow irises glowing against her red-orange skin, her mouth set in her trademark perpetual half-smile. Vale nodded, responding with a smile of her own.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Vale heard herself say. Aren’t we all?

Footfalls on the ramp behind them drew Vale’s attention away from the dunes. Out from the crawler emerged the mercenary heading the expedition, Orex, a man with sand-brown hair going grey and dark skin nearly covered with nicks and healed-over wounds. At Orex’s shoulder was his cronie Darek Mal, a tall Zabrak with a well-worn rifle cradled in his scarred arm, like always. Darek nodded at the two women in greeting, but Orex had a look in his good eye that told them he was annoyed to find them here.

His steps stopped where the ramp met the sand. He took a moment to survey the area, his dark eyes scanning the sands before landing on Asra and Vale, looking them up with a curt nod.

“We’re heading out.” Orex grunted.

Darek waved his blaster about as if it were a means of dispensing Orex’s orders. Asra jogged over to the ramp, stopping just before the two men.

“But I thought this was the site?” She asked them eagerly, one hand on her hip, the other casually stroking the holster at her side. Vale wasn’t sure that Orex got the hint. Despite Asra’s light demeanor, she didn’t like being taken for a fool.

“No,” was all Orex said before he turned on his heel and disappeared up into the belly of the hijacked beast. Darek remained on the ramp, holding Asra’s gaze.

On the other side of the crawler was an abandoned moisture rig and a cave not too far off that smelled suspiciously like krayt dragon. Vale believed this to be the site as well, especially since Orex had chosen to stop the crawler in the middle of the night. Admittedly, Vale felt different once she stepped out onto the sand before the suns rose. She figured it was a means of saving fuel and energy, a way of appearing like any other caravan of Jawa, but maybe there was a reason Orex was playing the part so hard. Maybe someone was watching them.

“We’re a couple hundred kilometers off. We’ll be there after breakfast,” the Zabrak assured Asra. Vale was not entirely sure what had transpired between the two, if anything, but Darek had an unspoken softness for Asra that he kept hidden from Orex if possible, but let slip whenever he wasn’t looking. Vale picked up on it, though, and took note. Vale joined Asra on the ramp, taking one last look at desert, and wondered whether the feeling in her gut was something worth heeding or if it was simply the lack of a decent meal.

Darek eyed Vale as she ascended the ramp. Their eyes locked, and Darek nodded, as if in acknowledgment. But Vale recognized the look in his eye, that look of uncertain familiarity, that second glance laden with momentary flashes of thought that said ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

Vale didn’t linger but nodded in return before ducking into the shadow of the sandcrawler.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom of the interior despite the still-early morning sun, with Tatooine’s second star barely on the horizon. Sandcrawlers were never equipped with decent lighting as it was. Vale figured it had to do with the Jawa, their amber eyes always aglow.

The hold was still full of equipment, the use of which was mostly unknown. Vale had spent a majority of the trip out here to the-literal-middle-of-nowhere studying what she could. She found several repair modules on the upper level, used mostly for quick repairs and diagnostics, but she made sure to upload whatever she could to her personal datapad while she had the time, even machines whose purpose she wasn’t sure of yet. Either way, her shop back at Anchorhead could use the specs.

Her eyes darted about the cargo hold before falling upon the common area, where she expected at least Asra and Darek to meet her at the mention of ‘breakfast’.

Orex was nowhere in sight, as expected, but Vale found two of the crew already stationed at the makeshift kitchen as the crawler’s treads began shifting over the sands again. Asra sat eagerly at a workbench-turned-table with one hand stroking one of her head-tails as Vale entered. The other young woman, known only as Glitch, sat silently, arms crossed, her dark hair veiling her face from view.

Before Vale could get comfortable, Darek entered, the nozzle of his rifle nudging her in the small of her back. She jerked forward, shooting him a warning glance, but the Zabrak seemed genuinely sorry when her eyes met his. Too caught up with Asra, perhaps, but still unnerving, even if he was clumsy about his bullying. Vale spotted Orex just over his shoulder, having just arrived. His figure hulked in the doorframe, but he didn’t budge. Darek slung his rifle up on a nearby hook as he gathered plates, and Vale took it upon herself to unload the rations.

“Mmm, delicious. Straight from the Imperial grade emergency stores.” Asra joked, yielding a reluctant chuckle from the depths of Vale’s throat as she filled her plate. Glitch made no mention of thanks. Orex didn’t move and watched on in silence. Darek nodded appreciatively, at least, and Vale did, too, in turn.

“I take it we’re due east?” Vale asked. She was asking Darek, whose expression seemed open, at least compared to Orex, but it was the latter who answered.

Orex grunted in affirmation, finding words beneath him.

Vale saw his good eye glint from the doorway out of her peripheral vision, but failed to actually look him at him straight. There was something about this mission that made her come along, and it wasn’t Asra’s enthusiasm as much as she would like to take the credit. Something had brought Vale to Anchorhead before she had met any of the crew, and this was her chance to find out exactly what it was. Asra was the one to recruit her. She finally managed to convinced Vale to come along to the cantina after talking her ear off at the shop, and throw back a few drinks before broaching the subject, but it was the way Vale threw back those few drinks that made Orex agree to bring her along. Despite her own reasons for coming, Vale had to admit that she was curious enough to find out why that made a difference.

Speaking of which, Darek had poured several drinks, in addition to the water he had already served.

As if reading her thoughts, Orex grunted again, but with words this time.

“For the nerves.”

The second cup adjoining each of their meals was filled with a clear liquid, though somehow clearer than the tall water glasses beside them. Vale forgot the name of the stuff, but knew it to be a popular drink for mercs to test rookies, initiates, or anyone else willing to go on a mission with them if necessary. A captain had to know whether his comrades could be trusted, and apparently the fermented juice of this solitary Tatooine desert flower had the power to divulge such information. Eden – correction: Vale – did not feel what she believed was the intended effect, but instead felt a slight tingling in her limbs that most other forms of alcohol failed to instill in her Jedi-trained body. Even though the Force was mute, her Jedi training made itself apparent in other ways. The faint numbness was nice, and at first she thought it was her ease of spirit that granted her a seat on this expedition, but as she watched Orex now she had a feeling it was something else entirely.

“Drink up,” he said.

The crew swallowed their servings in unison.

Vale downed her glass of water afterward, noting that Orex never once touched his food. The rest of them ate in silence. She could tell Asra yearned to speak, as always, but chose to do so only once the others had left. The two of them shared Orex’s uneaten rations, exchanging glances.

“I know you didn’t want to come along at first,” Asra began, taking unapologetic helpings of Orex’s uneaten mystery loaf, “I have a feeling it’ll be worth it.”

Vale nodded as she picked at a piece of hard bread, taking pains to look outwardly assured though not quite feeling it. She met Asra’s hopeful eyes before turning away, afraid of looking for too long, of instilling too much hope. Asra needed her assurance. It was the one thing she felt she truly knew about the woman: that she needed this expedition to work out somehow, and to whatever end. Asra meant well, but Vale wasn’t so sure about Orex, or what he knew.

Part of her suspected that their expedition leader and his lackey were Mandalorians, or anyone else that might recognize her from the war. Her face hadn’t been plastered around as much as Revan and her mask had been, but anyone who fought alongside a teenage Jedi would surely remember their face. Eden was the youngest of Revan’s Jedi Generals. She also served as her Left Hand, leading Revan’s ground forces from the time she was just nineteen years old. The other soldiers had called her “spitfire”, both out of admiration and fear. There was a time when many in the Republic believed that Master Kavar would lead the Jedi to war. Years later, it would be the renegade Revan instead, but it would be Kavar’s would-be apprentice Eden Valen that took his place upon the battlefield and scared the Mandalorians beyond words. Rumor had it they had created a new word for her entirely, a word now so ingrained in Mando’an that it was commonplace among the scattered tribes’ new traditions and legends, but Eden never heard of it. And Vale was none the wiser.

There had to be a reason why Orex treated her the way he did. There had to be a reason as to why he had okayed Asra’s suggestion to take her on and why Derek was so odd around her. Despite her curiosity, Vale needed to find out what was at the heart of this expedition more than anything. After all, it was the reason why she chose to make a home out of Anchorhead in the first place.

She had first come to this planet for the promise of work, not expecting to stay long. That was life on the Outer Rim, for you. You either moved around or never left the place you were born. Rumor had it that that there was an endless supply of salvageable droid-parts that yearned for her expertise to tinker with, parts still worthy of something other than catching the suns’ rays and beckoning lone wanderers out onto the sands like a glittering mirage. Like many places on the Outer Rim, Tatooine had a heaviness about it, and though there was a skirmish or two out here before the war was ever deemed “official”, the heaviness Vale felt had nothing to do with Revan’s war or the mess that followed. There was something older and far more sinister lying in wait beneath its sands.

Vale did not know how she knew - she just did. She had heard that others, non-Jedi so-to-speak, were prone to what they called “gut feelings” and she figured that this was its way of telling her that something was wrong, even if she did not know how or why. With the Force mute, her only means of finding out was looking for herself.

It took Vale one trip to the bar to hear the tale for the first time, and upon that first instance of eavesdropping she knew that her gut was trying to tell her something about this. According to Asra, Orex and his crew had been looking for a droid repair technician for a while, but there were several other haphazard crews looking for experts to venture out into the dry unknown in search of a cache that lay near one of the older, long abandoned settlements outside of Anchorhead. Nowadays, no one set up camp anywhere further than maybe five, ten miles away from the hub, but this particular settlement was out there. Really out there. Word around the campfire was that this particular place dated back to when a city other than Anchorhead ruled supreme in these parts, a city now lost to time and fathomless volumes of sand. If anyone knew anything about it, including as to whether any of it might be true, the Jawa or the Tusken Raiders would know -  of course, they never spoke of such things, nor cared. Rumor also had it that hundreds of other similar expeditions came out here to this settlement and none had ever returned intact, let alone with any loot.

It was a bit of a legend around these parts, but despite Vale’s bad feeling it was commonplace for this planet. Tatooine settlements popped up just as quickly as they disappeared, inhabitants packing up and moving on the very moment the resources were spent. The fact that the old settlement still had anything of value was the unusual part - why would anyone leave? Why would any of it still be there?

Before she could ponder the ominous nature of their purpose any further, Asra’s hand reached over and grasped hers. She looked up and met Asra’s bright eyes - all fire and excitement. The Togruta’s smile was contagious and Vale hoped that something they might find would merit it, for Asra’s sake.

Just as Vale’s other hand closed over Asra’s, confirming her confidence, she felt the crawler slow to a halt. Small sunwashed domes, the typical housing style of Tatooine dwellings, pulled into view. Several dilapidated moisture rigs peppered the scene outside the window, but Darek was already beckoning them out onto the ramp with his rifle from the doorway before they could get a better look.

Orex’s silhouette stood sentinel at the bottom of the ramp when Vale and Asra arrived at the opening. Glitch stood beside them, unmoving, though Vale had no idea when the girl had even appeared. Vale figured that going outdoors was a bit of an ordeal for the girl whose skin was far too pale for any Tatooine native, and she wondered what brought her out here at all. Vale’s own skin was far darker than her normal tone, and now it was even sprinkled with constellations of freckles she never knew existed before living on this damn planet. She almost looked like a completely different person, and Vale wanted to keep it that way.

That same bad feeling ate away at her on the ramp, amplified now that they were here, and a desolate, deserted settlement stood silently before them.

“Let’s move out.” Orex grumbled, his voice echoing up the ramp to Glitch, Asra and Vale. The three women began their descent with Vale keeping up the rear.

Her eyes darted, taking in more than her mind could handle. Even after all these years, Vale still found herself relying on that long lost phantom limb of the Force – old habits and all. Moments like these were rarer now, but when they crept up on her, they left a bitter taste in her mouth, lingering with longing and sour sentiments.

The crawler was parked a few hundred feet away from the settlement, so it took a moment for Vale’s eyes to adjust to the bright domes that peppered the landscape once they escaped the long shadow of their hijacked vehicle.

Aside from the fact that there was no living thing in sight, Vale could swear that this place hardly looked abandoned. There did not seem to be a sign of a struggle. Not to mention, there was just too much stuff lying about for the place to be so long unused. According to legend, this place had been empty since before Revan came round these parts, and that was nearing on fifteen, maybe twenty years now. Why was this still here? The unlikely nature of the scenario had Vale itching for the shock staff strapped to her back, her other hand hovering over the holster of her blaster rifle.

The group fanned out behind Orex and Darek’s lead, who now stood near what appeared to be the ceremonious entrance to the settlement, now left in ruins.

The remains of an archway stood at either side of the party as Orex waited for them all to gather at his back. His head was turned just so, but he did not turn to face them. When Vale’s steps came to a stop, Orex waved his arm, beckoning them onward.

Vale shot Asra a dark look, her brows furrowed, questioning. Asra shrugged, but Vale noticed that her hand, too, lingered near her holster.

Without orders, Vale extracted a scanner from her utility belt and powered it on. Even if Orex didn’t say otherwise, this was the reason why she was here - presumably, anyway. The bad feeling that possessed her when she first landed on this planet was as pervasive as it had been from the start, but she would at least play the part for now.

Her scanner powered on, calming her with its familiar hum. Asra glanced back at her, but this time wondering if she saw anything of value. Already, it displayed more readings than she could count. Either they would gather what equipment they could once they doubled back, or they weren’t here for the equipment at all. Vale’s other hand never left the vicinity of her blaster. Its weight against her leg comforted her as they continued on, deeper into the village.

The settlement consisted of maybe ten, fifteen dwellings, but now they were at the center. A large, empty basin stood before them, and Orex finally found it appropriate to turn around and face the rest of them. Vale extended her head slightly as they approached, wondering if she could see the bottom, and found a pile of bones piled loosely at its base along with a thin layer of sand. Vale wondered if the others saw, or if this is what made Orex turn around.

The man glared ahead, not looking at them, but just past them, as if suddenly finding himself in a staring contest with the twin suns at their backs. His good eye squinted while the other remained wide and white, unseeing but still hooded beneath a heavy, weary eyelid.

“You’re to follow me.” He said, first. Orex remained looking somewhere just beyond the rest of them, failing to make eye contact, though Vale knew he was not avoiding it. “We can collect any exposed equipment afterward, but that’s not why we’re here.”

Vale had a feeling that Orex meant to direct them to what was inside versus outside. Maybe whatever spoils lay strewn about was damaged, sun-exposed and unusable - such was the case with a lot of junk you found out in the desert. The sun, let alone two of them, could do a number on any kind of hardware, though it depended on what it was. Judging by the looks of what was nearby, everything seemed oddly preserved. The sands were known to keep bodies fresh, if the bones weren’t licked clean from being too near the surface. Anything with a thick enough layer of sand above it could stand the test of time. Bodies were different from equipment though, and by all means none of this stuff should be here, at least not in the condition that it was. Vale was surprised that a massive sand dune had not already consumed this place and swallowed it whole, but maybe there was a reason for that.

As before, Darek waved his rifle about as if to redirect their attention, and in the wake of Orex’s lead they were brought to the inner quarters of the first house on the square. It took a moment to adjust to the gloom, but Vale’s eyes soon settled on small furnishings, spoiled food, and crates of indistinguishable stuff. It would appear that whoever lived here had simply picked up and left.

“See what you can find,” Orex grunted, almost as an afterthought. Vale watched as his eyes scanned the main living area, only briefly glancing into the smaller quarters that branched off. Glitch was already gone, her fast hands taking something apart by the sound of it, and Darek pushed some crates about with the toe of his boot. A lid slid off, revealing its contents, and he nodded at Asra. She inched forward, glancing in, and nodded in affirmation before kneeling down and rifling through the crate. She shook her head, having found nothing of value, and resumed her standing position, hand hovering over her holster again. Vale’s scanner bleeped minimally, but detected nothing of value that was not already lying outside.

Judging by the map on Vale’s screen, most of the moisture rigs still worked, or could at least dredge up droplets if beckoned to. There might be something in their wells, buried not far below ground, but Vale had a feeling Orex didn’t bring her along just to find water.

Glitch emerged from a doorway, her hair askew for just a moment before she adjusted it. Vale had no idea what her specialty was or what she had found, but her utility pack seemed to weigh more than it did before.

Orex nodded and they all moved out.

They repeated this routine twice over before Vale’s suspicions began to eat away at her. She had salvaged one droid for most of its parts so far, and the intelligence module of another, but the way Orex carried himself and the way Darek kept looking over his shoulder unnerved her. She watched as the latter’s burgundy hands gripped his rifle tighter and tighter, his knuckles slowly growing white.

They approached their third dwelling when she saw it, though Vale was not sure what it was. The hut was almost the same as the others, but this one had no droid, like the first, so she remained idle and waiting, watching as the others scoured every corner. Her scanner did not beep in recognition of anything in close proximity, but Vale’s eyes were drawn to a crudely configured trinket sitting beside her on a shelf. The shelf itself was otherwise crowded with other useless things, old spices and empty bottles, a rusted canteen, and miscellaneous scraps now dissolved to dust.

She examined it from the corner of her eye at first, not wanting to draw attention. Its surface was smooth, almost unnaturally so. It was small, but it reflected light like nothing else she had ever seen. Its surface was of the utmost black, and it appeared to absorb the light as if it were drawing energy from it. It must have been a rock, a fragment of onyx or something like that. It was carved into a three-sided pyramid, taller than it was wide, and it stood starkly against the rest of what they had seen so far. Everything else was rough, or at least covered with sand. This trinket, however, looked completely untouched.

Vale pocketed the small pyramid just as Orex urged them onward.

In the following two dwellings, Vale spotted similar pyramids, each one as black as the space between stars, their surface as smooth as the void itself. They varied in size and they were scattered about in seemingly meaningless patterns - that is, until they came upon the next dwelling.

This hut received the least light of them all, and yet there it stood, a glimmering distraction begging Vale’s attention from the corner of her eye. Unlike the other objects, this one was mounted to a wall in the main living area. It was larger than the others. Hanging at eye level, Vale figured it was about the size of her head. It did not protrude very far from the wall, but its sleek and alien appearance set it apart from the native Tatooine belongings that surrounded it.

Her eyes were fixed upon its unearthly surface, unsure as to how much time had passed. Everything slowed, including the realization that Asra’s hand was absently reaching up to touch the thing.

“Asra...” Vale heard herself say, but the woman did not hear her. “Asra, wait-”

Vale somehow knew that this was not a thing to be touched, and though she was not sure what told her to speak out, it was too late. It was only once Asra’s fingers had brushed against the smooth side of the object’s pyramidal surface that she looked up at Vale, hearing her a beat too late, her mind not quite in sync with reality. If Vale had access to the Force, it might have told her what sort of devilry bewitched this place and what it was they might find here. All Vale felt was her gut giving way to the uncertainty taking root in her chest.

Asra’s warm, yellow irises looked up at Vale, wide and worried, as the pyramid began to sink backward into the wall. Orex turned to her, his good eye flaring, his blaster rifle ready, but he took to watching the wall instead of looking to reprimand either of them for setting off a booby trap...or whatever the hell this thing was.

The rough wall swallowed the pyramid whole, leaving a bare space in its wake, and once it stopped, a small part of the floor began to give way. Sand drained and stairs appeared, step by step, leading downward into an unfathomable abyss.

Vale watched on, unbelieving. Once she regained her senses and overcame her initial disbelief, she looked up. Vale met Asra’s eyes again, flashing with the same uncertain sense of surprise.

Orex turned to Vale, as if demanding an explanation. How did you know? He meant to say, but Orex said nothing. Vale’s skin prickled despite the heat - how did she know? And why was she able to tell what Orex was thinking?

Orex remained silent. He turned from her and approached the manifested steps with caution, peering into its depths. He tested the first step with his foot, as if afraid that it might dissolve into dust at the touch. It remained solid and Orex looked at them all in turn.

“This is it,” he said, to their surprise. He did not elaborate.

Vale and Asra exchanged dark looks. Even Glitch shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot. Darek nodded at Orex and held his gun aloft as usual, but made a point of holding it higher, as if he intended to use it this time. Orex nodded back at them before disappearing into the darkness.

Glitch followed Orex and Darek respectively, without a word. Asra shook her head as if to ask What the hell? Vale shook her head in response, just as confused and just as unsure. Asra held out her hand and without question Vale took it, following as Asra lead the way, her blaster ready at her hip. Vale unhitched her shock staff, keeping up the rear as she was used to, overcome with the feeling that someone, somewhere, was watching.

Once she reached the bottom, Vale could see the rest of the party up ahead. Orex held a stun baton aloft as a means of precaution as well as a source of minimal light. Asra looked back at her, mouthing wordlessly ‘What is this? Where are we?’ but Vale could only shake her head.

This is it. This has to be it.

Vale caught a glance of the party ahead of her, their silhouettes crowding behind the feeble light that Orex’s stun baton provided, when the light flickered. Orex shook the baton, cursing an inconveniently bad battery before the baton shuddered and snapped, sparks flying. Vale saw Orex duck in the flash, instinctually entering a defense position, before everything went dark.

The air grew thick as the darkness became all-ecnompassing. Asra’s fingers tightened around Vale’s hand. She didn’t notice the adrenaline coursing through her until she reached back for her shock staff, her hand shaking with nervous energy running its course as her thumb nudged the switch on. The air came alive. In the light of her staff, Vale saw that she and Asra were alone. The Togruta looked back at her, her bright eyes wide and white-blue in the light, her brow furrowed. Asra tightened her grip on Vale’s hand as she slung her blaster out of its holster and around her finger before holding it steady.

Asra nodded, “Stay with me.”

Vale did not need to be told, but she nodded in agreement regardless. Only a moment had passed and the others were somehow missing. Her skin prickled with fear but Vale was not a stranger to the feeling. She had swallowed fear before, and had a feeling it would come for her again the moment she agreed to come here. Vale felt it as early as moment she first stepped foot on the sands of Anchorhead. The last few months led to this moment, and here it was.

Vale and Asra inched down the hall, watching their backs and turning every which way, following the dim light with their weapons at the ready. Without speaking, they knew to keep quiet, their ears eager to pick up any sounds that might lead them back towards their party.

The halls were eerily silent. It was hard to tell where they had come from and where they had yet to venture. The subterranean cavern splintered, creating a labyrinth of paths that were near impossible to navigate without any sense of direction. Every so often, Asra or Vale would pause, believing to have heard something, before shaking their head and moving onward.

Vale knew Asra was teeming with questions, and maybe now she knew what made Vale so uneasy about the expedition in the first place. Vale had no access to the Force, but she did not need it to tell her that this place teemed with darkness - a darkness both familiar and foreboding.

“Revan said you were as good as dead.”

Vale spun around, dragging Asra along with her. Asra’s blaster clawed along the wall beside her, showering their midriffs in dust and dirt.

Instead of lashing out with anger or annoyance, Asra tugged at Vale’s hand, begging that she look at her.

"So how does it feel? Being dead?”

“What is it?” Asra whispered.

"You don’t know what you’re missing, Ede.”

Vale looked at her wide-eyed and silent for a moment before responding, “Did you hear that?”

“Answer me!”

“Hear what?” Asra’s face was genuine, concerned. Asra’s eyes left hers, zoning out as she strained to hear whatever Vale claimed.

Vale did the same again, too, but the halls were silent again, save for her heavy breathing.

Hearing Malak's voice again, hearing it here, set her skin on fire and her chest felt as if it might burst. She heard his new metallic voice on holovids years ago, long after she had last seen him. It was low, grating, and completely inhuman. But she heard his voice now, his true voice, as if he were standing just beside her, hissing in her ear, his face close enough for her to feel breath upon her cheek. 

Shuddering at the thought, Vale shook the idea from her head and whispered, “Nothing, never mind.” Asra nodded, knowing that Vale was not telling her the whole truth but did not press the matter further.

They assumed their positions and kept searching, delving deeper and deeper into the maze, as if they were only entangling themselves further into an unending web.

Vale could not shake the dread that gnawed at her gut, fear gripping her more than it ever had since the war. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

Asra shot her a worried glance, and Vale felt the mirrored anxiety in her stare. She had worked so hard to put up a front, to reshape herself as an indifferent but well-intentioned introvert, and here she was clinging to the single friend she had denied was anything more than an acquaintance until now. Judging by Asra’s eyes, she heard something this time.

Asra inhaled deeply, held her breath, and exhaled, her grip tightening on her blaster.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Vale nodded in agreement, and held her staff aloft but firmer than before. Without speaking, they both stopped, having sensed that something lurked nearby. Just as their footfalls stilled, a wail pierced the stagnant air, echoing off the walls with an unearthly repetition. There was only one scream, but soon there were thousands, and there was almost no knowing where it had come from. Vale took a moment, her brain having slowed from shock, or perhaps it was something else, because somehow she knew where the noise was coming from despite the dissonance.

Again, without communicating, Asra knew to follow as Vale tugged at her arm, her senses leading her to their destination, to wherever the danger called them. Judging by the pitch of the scream, it was Glitch who called out.

Vale led Asra through the labyrinth, almost as if she had been here before. Her skin prickled with some mysterious familiarity, but the urgency of the scream and the growing unease in her chest kept her moving forward. Adrenaline coursed through her veins at full force until she walked into a dream, suddenly serene.

The once-dark corridors ceased to exist, and Vale did not recall when their shadows had been swallowed. When did they get here? How much time had passed? Had they always been here? Maybe they had come into being and had lived out their existence in this cavern alone, and anything that might be construed as memory were mere figments of their wild imaginations. They were simply here now, and light emanated from everywhere and nowhere at once, but once she was overcome with a wave of unnatural calm, Vale knew again that something was wrong. Very wrong.

She heard an ocean. Calming and soft. Foamy waves lapping on a shore nearby, but not here. It was if she was holding a conch shell to her ear, basking in its sounds, but they filled the cavernous expanse before them. After what felt like an eternity, she came back to herself, knowing that she was under some sort of spell. And for some reason, she thought of rain.

The calm fell away, and Vale felt that urgent heat return to her skin, that feeling of anxiety that takes over when danger was near, lurking unseen but undoubtedly close and on the brink of causing some unknowable chaos.

Asra’s hand was still in hers, but she saw that her face was scrunched up, her blaster fallen to the floor as her free hand reached up to claw at her ear, and the others were doing the same. Vale still heard the waves crashing upon that unseen shore, as if she were tuning in to a different frequency by pure luck… luck?

Glitch was hunched over, twitching on her knees. Orex’s good eye was shut tight, and Darek was crouched over, swaying forward and back, his eyes wide, trying to get a hold of himself.

Vale froze.

And that’s when she saw it.

As the unnatural calm fell further away, unclouding her consciousness as the temporary veil was lifted, she saw where they stood in real time. They stood in a monolithic cavern, gaping and wide. Crags in the sandy rock seemed natural and yet somehow unnatural, too, splintering into intricate patterns that were both rugged and rich at once. Vale’s eyes climbed upward in awe, getting lost in a honeycomb of stalactites before finally settling on what stood before them.

Upon a crudely shaped altar carved into the rock wall - carved by water, man, or otherwise, Vale could not tell - was a series of pyramidal crystals, each glowing and glittering with a phantom light that seemed to emanate from within. They were black but bright, sprinkled with what appeared to be space dust swirling within their finite yet fathomless forms. Vale’s eyes went wide. She allowed herself a moment before heeding the growing sense of alarm in her chest, warning her that there was something dark here, that there was something wrong.

Everything in the room seemed to slow, as if the air itself were crystallizing before their very eyes. As Glitch shuddered and Darek tried to hold his own, Vale noticed that Orex’s eyes were unfocused and faraway as his blaster lowered as if forced against his will. And that’s when Vale saw the bodies…

Bones piled high against the walls, and the floor of the cavern was covered in the powder-white dust of skeletons long-dissolved. Weaponry littered the cavern, models from nearly every generation Vale knew of, as well as models she was unfamiliar with entirely.

And then there were the whispers.

They were soft, like the sound of the foamy waves washing upon that sandy shore from a moment ago, an image so distant from the place they were now - so dry, so desolate. The whispers slithered into her thoughts, sowing sentiment without her consent, as if singing a song that would coax her quietly and let her see whatever this energy wanted her to see.

She held onto Asra’s hand as tightly as she could, but they were both slipping. There was no sound other than the sound of the soothing waves. She tried to dredge up old Force tactics, but came up blank, the sounds growing louder and louder, now laced with the unearthly sound of static on a radio, growing, growing, growing - and then the signal became clear.

Forfeit your lives to us, the true inheritors of the Universe. Revel in our glory and be reborn in the undying Empire to come.

The voice was fractured, multiplying and echoing off of itself as every syllable was spoken.

We feed the Force and Force feeds us. We control the seeds and tell the roots where to grow.

Images flashed before her eyes, rapid-fire, almost too fast for her to comprehend with any semblance of understanding. She somehow felt entire populations swelling with energy, cities raised and then burned to the ground, planets consumed in flame and entire systems erased within moments of monuments replacing them, monolithic and mesmerizing. It was as if she were watching the birth of the universe unfold before her eyes within the span of a moment, lives lived and stripped away, and throughout it all she felt it again, that familiar thread tugging at the corners of her mind, tingling with energy and light - the Living Force.

Feed our Empire and you may live on forever.

Vale’s eyes shot open.

Her fingers were bristling, her skin on edge. Vale’s entire body was a waking limb, plagued by pins and needles as she came to. Everything seemed so bright, and moved too quickly, and everything was so loud. She blinked several times, trying to focus. The world around her still swam, but she saw the others beside her.

Asra was at her side, blinking hard as if convincing herself that none of this was real. Her eyes fell on Vale, her worry evident in her expression.

“Did you-?”

“I- I think so…”

But before they could speak about what just happened, Orex grabbed Vale by the collar, forcing her off her feet. “You.”

Vale elbowed the man in the neck but missed, still weak from the visions, yet she managed to land her joint forcefully in the space between his collarbone and shoulder. His grip eased as he grunted, coming face to face with Vale’s electrified staff thrumming before his eyes, but he remained unfazed.

“You,” Orex repeated, “You could help it stop, General.”

“What?”

“I know-“ he said, out of breath, “that you know - what those are, and what they’re made of.” Orex advanced on her despite the threat of her weapon. He threw his arm back in the direction of the crystals on the dais, looking at her with an odd expression, mingled with fear and melancholy.

Vale looked toward the altar, immediately drawn to crystals once she did. Her eyesight was still on overload - everything was vibrant and she could see the energy thrumming in everything. Her mind quieted for a moment as the realization dawned on her. No. No it can’t be.

“We saw them on Dxun, deep in the jungle, do you remember?”

Orex’s voice was still rough with urgency, but there was a tinge of familiarity to it now. Vale looked from Orex to the altar, and back again, unwilling to make the connection because of what it might mean. The rain. The smell of damp earth. And the darkness that pervaded the moon and swallowed it whole, especially when they neared the ancient Temple of Freedon Nadd, where Revan once extended an offer she would ultimately refuse.

“We thought they were holocrons,” she heard herself say. It was as if she were faraway, outside of herself, looking upon the scene like a specter watching from above. “We sent them to Revan, for research.”

Saying Revan’s name aloud set her skin on fire. Vale was still managing her senses, which were all dialed to eleven and then some, but somehow the thought of Dxun brought her back - the thought of that dark temple looming in the heavy gloom of the jungle and the fear that seeped into the very soil surrounding it. Orex’s face softened, relieved to see her remembering, but his stance remained aggressive, and he ignored the staff still thrust in his face.

Asra was on her feet again, her face foggy as if having just woken up, scrunched up in confusion. “What is going on?”

Looking at the crystals upon the dais now, she could feel it, that same darkness, the invisible pull towards the unseen depths of the galaxy, towards what was so inherently feral and fearful about sentient life, everything that the Dark Side of the Force fed upon. No wonder she had a bad feeling about this.

“The war isn’t over, General. It never was.”

Asra mouthed the word ‘general’ after Orex spoke, still confused.

Vale felt the heaviness of Dxun all around her, the rain pounding painfully into her flesh, water dripping into her eyes, the smell of damp, blood-soaked earth, and the many ghosts that still roamed those parts, reluctant to rest as war waged upon its surface once again, and as it always would. She sensed the same phantom ocean there, too, at the temple - she felt the same tempting spell beckoning her to abandon vigilance in favor of blind faith, to give herself over to the Darkness.

Orex’s expression faltered, and suddenly Vale remembered: a young man with bronzed skin and shoulder-length, sand-colored braids, and two good eyes, glinting silver in the gloom of Onderon’s jungle moon. Just as the image manifested in her mind, it was gone, and the older Orex took its place, but the memory of Dxun remained.

“You don’t understand, I don’t-” she pleaded, but Orex interrupted her, the past merging with the present.

“I know.” Orex assured.

“But, how-?”

Suddenly, she knew.

The stones upon the altar lived off of the Force, and it was eating away at whatever raw energy pulsed within the veins of those beside her, and all those who had come before - but Vale was mute to the Force. It did not affect her. Maybe this was why she was drawn to this place. Somehow, she had always known.

She looked to Orex, wondering what kind stake he had in all of this, before inching her way toward the shrine. The crystals called to her, sitting pretty and idle upon their pedestal. The soothing sounds of the phantom ocean swelled, lapping at the edges of her mind with an all too familiar sweetness, beckoning her closer to the crystal’s siren song. If the theory was right, Vale would be able to nullify whatever energies permeated these stones and quell whatever evil had sewn roots here. She glanced back at Orex, wondering how she hadn’t seen it sooner. His eyes were focused on her, his brow furrowed, as he stood at attention – but beneath his stare was that sense of silent fear she had come to see in all the soldiers that fought alongside her at Dxun. He must have heard about this place or happened upon it himself, and whatever life he had built after the war came crashing down. And here was Vale, standing before that very same darkness again as it pulled her back towards the death and decay that defined her so long ago on that haunted, jungle moon.

Vale returned her attention to the altar, her eyes creeping upward towards the climbing stalactites that pinpricked the cavern above. Unlike the rest of the rough-hewn stone and sand, this wall looked as if acid had trickled down a well over centuries, eating away at its façade in unnervingly unnatural patterns towards the crystals themselves. For a moment, she heard the whispers again, and she could swear that she felt a pair of eyes on her.

Asra watched on with wide eyes, looking from Vale to Orex and back again, completely speechless. Her hand was locked into the trigger of her blaster even though it remained in her holster, her fingers itching.

The crystals were brighter up close, and their substance even darker than she imagined from across the cavern. The holocrons they had discovered on Dxun were similar, but not nearly as crude. They were of the typical shape, pyramidal and dark, but these had uneven edges and they looked as if they came straight out of the earth. They, too, were pyramidal, but they were not evenly symmetrical. The surfaces were rough, marked by varying gradations of cleavage on each side, the pyramid’s apex standing as a cragged spire. How long have these things been here?

“Do you remember how we transported these?” Vale called back at Orex, not so much for her own benefit but to ensure that he knew what to do next as she tried to remember what name he went by back then.

“Glitch has the proper equipment,” Orex answered. Vale turned to look at the girl, who seemed to be holding her own now that the waves or the rain, or whatever she had heard, subsided. Darek was also on his feet again, though his face betrayed an unspoken discomfort. If Glitch had the equipment, and Darek was Orex’s right hand, then what about Asra? Had Darek convinced Orex to bring her along, or was she meant for something else?

Vale felt eyes on her again, and the feeling didn’t come from the expedition party. They watched on as she approached the shrine with caution, edging bones and bits away with her boot, but there was something … else. Her eyes darted about, scanning the other entrances to the cavern, but saw nothing. Perhaps it was the Darkness, or maybe…

Vale’s fingers extended as she reached the altar, her heart pounding in her chest. With her other hand, she tore her linen hood away from her shoulders, hoping she could suffer the Tatooine heat until they reached the crawler again. With a gentle hand, she enclosed the first crystal within the rough folds of her hood. She waited. Vale looked back at the others, and Orex nodded. His eyes were wide, waiting at the ready if something were to happen. 

There were too many questions to consider just now, but part of her knew that these things couldn’t stay here. Where she would send them, she did not know. As much as the Jedi despised her and what she had become in the aftermath of Malachor, they might be her only hope. She could send it to them anonymously, as a good Samaritan.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she plucked the second crystal from its place. Before she enfolded it, her eyes soaked in its surface, somehow bright with a fathomless darkness. Its crystalline edges glowed amber, but its heart was of the deepest black. Before she could ponder any further, she inhaled and wrapped it away.

There was room on the dias for a third crystal, but the space was eerily barren. Vale's eyes lingered, almost unable to pull away, drawn to the mystery of the missing holocron.

Vale turned to the others.

Glitch was already holding her pack open. It was a square canvas bag slung over her shoulder at first, but as she approached, Vale could tell that the material was more than that. This was military grade. It had the ability to cancel out certain energy fields and other devices, ideal for transporting mines and the like. Glitch stood motionless now, her dark hair veiling her eyes from view, her hand holding the pack open almost invitingly.

As Vale placed her carefully wrapped package into the pack, she saw a sea of spindly onyx spires – Glitch had been collecting trinkets. For what purpose, Vale would ask later, but at least she knew she wasn’t the only one to notice them.

Vale nodded once the package was secure to the best of her knowledge and Glitch closed the pack. With a careful arm, she maneuvered the second strap back over her shoulder and nodded in return.

“We should get out of here, as soon as we can.” Orex ordered, his voice still gruff but somehow softer than before.

Vale could swear she remembered his name for just a moment, before Asra beckoned her onward, too.

“Yeah, General.”

Hurt laced Asra’s voice, not disdain, though perhaps the two feelings were not exactly mutually exclusive. She said nothing, but her eyes asked ‘I thought I could trust you’. Vale shot her a sympathetic look, promising to explain more later without words. Her eyes trailed over to Glitch’s back, lingering there as her hand absently touched Asra’s in comradery. Orex glanced at them with dark eyes, and Vale retracted her hand. Since when did I go soft? Orex noticed, and perhaps he wondered the same thing. Soldiers tended to have a softness for one another, but Orex was still swallowing his sympathies.

Without speaking, they reconvened at the mouth of the cave. Darek’s face was contorted slightly, as if in anguish, and Vale could tell that he must still hear it, whether it was the whispers or the unseen ocean, or an eerie mixture of both. As for herself, she still thought of rain.

“Grab what you can on our way out of here. I don’t know if we’ll fetch anything for-“ Orex paused, looking at the others, his good eye lingering on Glitch’s pack as well, “Just make the most of it.”

Orex grunted as he finished his sentence, almost in affirmation of his own statement. Maybe it was more of a nervous tick than anything having to do with intimidation. They exchanged glances before moving onward, and Vale felt the Dxun rain again and its sharp pinpricks against her skin. She also felt eyes on her back as the party gathered and she took up the rear again, as old habits would have it. Vale squared her shoulders and held her palm steady over the shaft of her shock staff.

Vale hoped Orex knew where he was going, given that she did not recall how she had even found this chamber or where she and Asra had come from. Leading the party again, Orex held an emergency flare aloft to lead them out of the maze, seemingly aware of where they needed to go.

Their steps were tentative and slow, as if whatever was in Glitch’s pack might blow at any minute. Asra shot Vale concerned looks, but failed to say anything. She was wary, and Vale could not fault her for that. She had been secretive all this time for a reason. Maybe getting friendly now was a mistake.

Their collective boots crunched over the sand in unison as they filed out of the mysterious cave. Vale’s ears pricked for any sign of Malak or whatever the Darkness wanted to disguise itself as, but there was nothing and no one. Save for the feeling of eyes on her from the shadows.

Vale occasionally looked back, though found nothing. Before long, they reached the stairs they had entered through. The hairs on her neck alerted her to a separate presence again, to something lurking in the gloom. Once they had emerged into the sunlit hut, Vale stood watching at the entrance, waiting. Asra nudged her elbow, wondering, but Orex shot her a look that spoke of a similar feeling. He edged his chin upward, and Vale nodded in response.

“Grab what you can, but don’t linger. We leave immediately.”

Orex ducked out of the hut and Darek behind him. Asra shrugged as Glitch tested the weight of the pack at her back and bowed out from the doorway with ease. Vale froze. She was right. Her bad feeling had been right. As unsurprised as she was at the discovery, it was the details that unnerved her: the abandoned settlement out in the middle of the Dune Sea, the cultish artifacts, Malak’s voice and the fresh memory of their last meeting, the feeling of the Force trickling through her for the first time in, how many years was it now?

The Council had her connection severed, to minimize the “threat” she posed in the aftermath – as if Revan and Malak were beyond reproach. But, how could this be? Her senses had heightened upon entering the cave, and she knew exactly where Glitch’s cries had originated. She even heard Orex’s thoughts silently in her mind and somehow knew that her senses were right. And then there was that feeling of an electrical current thrumming just beneath her skin, intensifying as she approached the crystals, her fingers fumbling over what felt like a live battery.

And then there were the voices. Despite the heat, her skin suddenly grew cold. These ancient holocrons were living off of the rawness of the Living Force, silently feeding off of whoever had once lived here and anyone else that came after. Who knows how long these siphons had been sitting here idle, untouched? But they didn’t just feed, they relayed a message. Inheritors of the Universe… undying Empire… The words rung clear, imprinted in her memory. Perhaps Revan’s ghost had a right to be here, and Vale had every reason to feel strange about this planet, this place. Orex had felt it, too.

Vale didn’t bother to power on her scanner, satisfied enough with what droid specs she managed to upload earlier. Instead, her eyes scanned the hut, noting where any remaining trinkets stood. It was all connected, somehow. She knew the Sith had cultured cults before, but they usually surrounded monolithic temples like the one on Dxun. A small town out in the middle of the desert was unheard of. Even the Sith-sacred Korriban was littered with monuments and tombs. Why this? Why here?

Orex was right, the war wasn’t over. Vale had known that for a long time. But whose war had they been fighting? And to what end?

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Tatooine Dune Sea
Vale

The sandcrawler sat unnervingly quiet as they neared it again, and there was no wind upon the surrounding sands. The twin suns beat down on them from above, leaving no room for shadows or shade, but Vale still felt cold.

Despite the unease taking root in the pit of her stomach and the unshakable feeling of being watched, she couldn’t keep her eyes from Glitch’s pack. Her fingers tingled still, as if she had just touched a damp hand to an active battery. It had been nine years since she last felt the Force. Nine years. The ancient holocron feeders had nothing to feed off of her, and yet somehow being in their presence offered her a taste. But now, she was mute to it once more, so the crystals should have no effect on her since she had no Force to give them - though that didn't mean they couldn't goad her by feeding her promises laced with nightmares. They would be safe, for now, in the munitions pack. It worked before.

She wondered how the others felt. Back on Dxun, none of them were immune. Asra, Darek, Orex and Glitch must be exhausted, though Glitch, the smallest of them, looked all the worse for it. Vale had no awareness of time as it passed in the cavern, so she had no idea how long the crystals fed off her crew before she was able to secure them.

When they found the other artifacts on Dxun years ago, a mere touch of the crystal had sent her reeling through what felt like time and space – just as it had now, only worse, feeding off her ability to channel the Force. Her troops had all felt it too, seen and heard things they could not explain. A few of her soldiers hadn’t made it, offering up their raw life force to the unseen demands of the crystals at Freedon Nadd’s temple in exchange for the information it promised. She felt that same sensation back then as well, that same out-of-body deliverance and suspension of disbelief, but she broke the spell and gathered the crystals without corruption. Malak said it was because of her Force Bond ability, but Vale was never certain.

But still, those ancient holocrons sent a ghost of the Force trickling through her before retracting today, as if whatever energies hungered in those crystals sensed the wound within her, tasting the lingering death that remained, and decided to leave her be. But she had felt it again, the Force, for just a moment. Fleeting and unsettling.

As before, a gentle hand on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts, and Vale found Asra at her side. The hurt was evident in her eyes, but there was also concern.

“You’ll tell me, I know.” Asra smiled softly, the corners of her mouth barely turning upward as she predicted her thoughts somewhat bitterly. Vale would explain everything on the crawler, once they got moving.

Vale’s mind raced. She barely remembered putting her gear away or staring out at the sand dunes until the treads were up and running again. They would be back in Anchorhead in a few days, sooner if they hurried. Vale thought Orex might be growing restless.

At the thought of what would happen next to the holocrons, crystals, whatever the hell they really were, Vale made her way to the makeshift kitchen to fix herself a drink. Orex was already there.

“Going by Vale these days, huh?”

Orex was sitting at the improvised kitchen table, a tumbler of clear liquid held firmly in his hand. Vale wondered if the man ever ate. Another glass was set out on the table, next to a bottle of what Vale often overheard Asra consider “the good stuff”.

“Only lately.”

Vale sidled up across from him and looked him square in the face.

“Comes with the territory,” he said.

“What sort of territory are we talking about here, exactly?”

“You know you’re not the only one. So many of us were, uh, displaced after the war,” Orex chose his words carefully, ruminating on a great many things. Vale hadn’t figured he was a man for talking. The evidence was imminent.

“Homes destroyed and conveniently unrestored, unfavorable leaders not worth following, take your pick.”

Vale watched him as she poured herself a drink. Was he talking about her, specifically, or the lot of them? She knew she wasn’t the only one, but it was unnerving to have spent so much time with someone she no longer recognized, especially since Orex had apparently known her from the start.

“You can say that again.”

Orex lifted his half-drunk cup, and Vale toasted before downing her entire glass.

“Do you remember it at all, Serroco?” Orex asked.

“The place or the battle?” Vale inquired, feeling the fire of alcohol in every wisp of her exhaling breath as she spoke.

Orex chuckled, the lines in his face growing light as the underlying muscles pulled them taut. Vale wondered whether he was at Malachor, boots on the ground and all, but figured the man might need a few more drinks before broaching that subject, speaking from experience.

"Before the war, I mean," he clarified, an unusual softness still apparent in his features.

“It’s cute that you remember, really,” Vale started, sincere, “I still remember my mother, the home she had there. That was back when the Council wasn’t such a hardass about keeping emotional ties. Hell, they still let families attend knighting ceremonies back then. But my mother… she was there when we first arrived. She was the first friendly face I had seen in a long, long while.”

Vale’s skin prickled at the memory of her mother. After living in the Outer Rim, Naara Valen had returned to her homeplanet of Serroco once Vale and her twin brother were taken to the Jedi on Dantooine. Without her children, Naara returned to support her own struggling parents. She remembered receiving the holo her mother had sent when they both passed away during the early days of the war, and how Aiden had cried at the news. Aiden. The war was already raging, and her mother joined the ragtag effort keeping the Mandalorians at bay. She remembered seeing her out on the field and how they ran towards one another once their eyes had met, seeking each other out as if they already knew the other was there. The warmth of her mother stayed her and reminded her that her decision to go against the Council’s wishes was well worth it. Naara had asked about Aiden, asked whether her son was alright. Vale hadn’t the heart to tell her that he did not support the Jedi involvement in the conflict, nor did he support her leaving. She didn’t tell her mother that he’d rather study ancient holocrons in a quiet library behind safe, secure walls instead, living in an alternate reality where pain and suffering could be closed out by an indomitable will to simply ignore it. Vale still wondered how he could even call himself a Jedi, but he hadn't been the only one…

Vale hadn’t thought about her family in a long while. Orex must not have felt much different, nor anyone else displaced out on the Rim, looking for somewhere else to belong. Those were the kinds of memories that you kept hidden but somehow knew kept you going, even if they were difficult to think back on.

“I grew up on Telos,” Orex admitted, “but it’s not the same. I’ve been to Citadel Station a couple of times, for credits mostly, but… there’s something about being out here that makes more sense to me. I figure the same goes for you.”

Vale nodded, “Though, I have to admit, it’s not like I had a choice.”

She tapped her empty tumbler pointedly on the workbench-turned-table, watching as the final rays of daylight played against the rough of her glass.

“I heard about what happened. About what the Jedi did to you. It was hard not to, since Darth-“ Orex stopped himself, took a sip, and course corrected in reference to a slightly different iteration of the same man, “It was hard not to hear about you, working under Captain Malak.”

“Oh?”

Vale took it upon herself to pour another drink. If Orex wanted to talk about Malak, she’d need to take the edge off – and that’s not to say that there wasn’t enough of an edge to her mood already.

“Sore subject,” Orex observed, watching her pour. Vale responded without words, lifting her eyebrows as she let out a long breath. There were few things that set her on edge these days, but being reminded of Malak, and her disloyal brother Aiden, were two of them.

“I didn’t follow him for very long. I hadn’t chosen to, either. I was loyal to you. To Revan.”

“She’s a tough act to follow,” Vale muttered in agreement, hoping the alcohol would quickly calm her nerves. As shaken as she was about what had just transpired, talk of Malak never sat well with her more than most things and she was eager to change the subject.

“How much do you know?” Orex asked, his voice gruff like a rough whisper.

“About?”

“What happened after.”

Vale shook her head, recounting the facts in silence before speaking evenly.

“When I left the Order, I left Republic Space. As much as I wanted to disappear, it was hard not to get swept up in the chaos, the aftermath. I helped in the forgotten relief efforts, but talk of the Sith Lords was on everyone’s mouths,” Vale responded almost mockingly, “I heard about Malak’s betrayal, about Revan saving the Republic or whatever the hell it was she did, but I was always fuzzy on those details.”

Orex grunted again.

“I don’t think you’re alone in that. I don’t buy whatever bull the Republic said about that ordeal, or the Jedi. It all seemed too… convenient,” Orex savored the word, enunciating slowly as if deliberating the sound of each syllable.

Vale nodded in agreement. Nothing aligned with what she knew of Revan, even despite the rumors of her Jedi persuasion, however that happened.

“They thought I was a threat. The Jedi.” Vale almost laughed, her eyes losing their focus as her mind drifted faraway for a moment, contemplating the contents of her glass. “I warned them about Malak, about Revan, after Malachor. But all they felt was death. They didn’t care about what I had to say.”

Orex’s good eye narrowed as he took in her words.

“How could they know, they weren’t there,” he said in an aggravated breath.

“Ironic, though.” Vale sighed before taking another sip. “So, what made you leave?”

Orex downed the contents of his cup and sat back, examining his empty glass.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Orex said, referring to Malak she guessed.

He watched her for a breath, taking in her expression and thinking something over in his mind before speaking again. “I’m not sure how much you hear these days, whether by choice or otherwise, but she’s gone. A few years now, I think.”

“Revan?”

There were always whispers of Revan, so overhearing a conversation peppered with her name was nothing new. Vale’s subconscious learned to filter out the sound of her name, and her ears no longer perked up at the mention – at least, not nearly as much as they used to. In the aftermath of Malak’s betrayal, rumors were abound as to the fate of the Dark Lord. Many doubted she could be bested so easily, whereas others applauded Malak’s swift action. Despite their admiration, many still hoped it was the beginning of the end, a telling turn of events that predicted Malak’s eventual self-destruction – which, in a way, it had been. Then their whole Sith charade would be done with. Vale was always curious, but second-hand opinions grew tiresome, especially when so many of the spacers she overheard got it all wrong. Very few were on-the-nose, specifically the opinions of those who worked under either Jedi at one point, whether they were Outer Rim recruits, Republic soldiers without homes to return to, or disgruntled deserting Sith. But even hearing those stories left a bad taste in her mouth.

Revan going rogue wasn’t unexpected.

“The question is, what haven’t I heard,” Vale laughed darkly. Orex nodded in understanding.

“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of Revan?”

Vale steadied herself, nodding, and took a moment to choose her words.

“I feel Revan everywhere, it's like I'm chasing her damn ghost," Vale laughed, "But I knew there was more to it. None of what I heard about Revan made any sense. If Revan disappeared, it’s because she forgot something, or had some unfinished business. I don’t know what happened with the Jedi, exactly, but I don’t think they were privy to what she was up to, either.”

“Revan was here. I know it. But something kept her from coming back,” Orex said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “There were others, you know, other holocrons, other artifacts. All Sith. All ancient. On Malachor.”

“On Malachor?”

Orex smiled, but it was anything but kind. “You were there, but you weren’t really there. There was a structure on its surface, not far from where we were fighting, older than anything I’ve ever seen.” Orex flinched momentarily, making a face as if he had just swallowed something unpleasant. “I only saw it from a distance, but I felt it. The ocean.”

Vale felt her skin grow cold.

"That might be why I-" Vale started before stopping herself. At Malachor, the Force had begun to ebb away from her, as if it were fleeing, desperate to be rid of the death that surrounded her. If there were other dark artifacts housed on the moon's surface, who knows what consequences that could have? She shook her head, still unsure, and Orex continued.

“You knew there was more she wasn’t telling us, what she wasn’t telling you.”

 Vale nodded, unable to speak.

“I don’t think Revan accounted for there to be as many survivors as there were from Malachor. My transport was mid-flight when it hit.”

“The Mass Shadow Generator,” Vale said, her voice hollow and ragged.

“Thanks to your warning, General, my squad was able to get away as far as we could.”

The memory of giving the order was almost like a dream, but at Orex’s words she briefly recalled a moment where she ordered her troops to fall back. It was already too late for most of them.

“So that’s where all this General business is coming from.”

Orex looked up and Vale swung around to find Asra in the doorway, her face solemn.

"I knew something was up about you," she continued, attempting to be lighthearted, "But I never figured you were a Jedi."

"Ex-Jedi."

"Is it ... more of a title? Or a state of being?" Coming out of anyone else's mouth, Vale might have accused them of being sarcastic, but she knew Asra was curious by the clumsy but careful way she chose her words.

"It's a bit of both. But Jedi or not, I can't command the Force. Not any more."

“I had no idea that was even a thing,” the Togruta muttered, not pushing the subject further. She shook her head slowly, her striped head-tails moving gently across her shoulders.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Vale started, “Not that-“

“I know,” Asra nodded, understanding, “I wouldn’t want to remember something like that, either.”

Asra snatched a rugged cup from the bench beside her and took a seat next to Vale, serving herself a drink before she spoke again.

“I didn’t think holocrons did that sort of thing, either,” Asra admitted. She must have been listening from the doorway for some time. “I thought they were just recordings.”

“They are, mostly,” Vale explained, “but Sith holocrons tend to have a corrupting nature, as well. The ones we found were, uh, particularly dark.”

Orex nodded in affirmation.

“These holocrons were not just meant to relay information, but to recondition anyone who might come across them. Bend them to their will.” Vale inhaled and looked at Orex straight in the eye as she continued. “Which is why I regret not destroying those holocrons in the first place.”

Orex regarded her, his eye narrowing.

“So why didn’t you destroy these?”

Vale didn’t have an answer, but after a moment she began speaking as she helped herself to another drink.

“I used to have this theory, that whatever we found on Dxun was responsible for-“ Vale almost choked on her own words, “For Revan and Malak’s change of heart, so to speak.”

Asra cocked an eyebrow, leaning closer, curious.

“I’m not as sure about Revan, but towards the end of the war, Malak changed. More than the rest of us.” Vale silently acknowledged the darkness that had crept into her in those days, with all the death and bloodshed, a feeling that Orex and other soldiers surely shared. “I couldn’t have been the only one who noticed how different they felt when they proposed their plan of attack, when they told us all about Malachor.”

“I always assumed you knew,” Orex admitted, “You were one of them.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too.” Vale said bitterly. “They told me nothing. They entrusted me with everything in their stead, but they never told me what it was they actually did out there.”

“Out there?” Asra asked.

“Towards the end of the war, Revan and Malak left for the Unknown Regions, presumably on a hunch to find some Mandalorian weakness. Or so they told me,” Vale said, and Orex nodded in concurrence. Vale must have been fed the same lie the rest of their soldiers had, dare she ever consider herself worthy of either Jedi’s trust. Pushing her bitterness aside, she continued.

“They took longer than expected, way longer. And Malak snapped at me when I asked about what happened.” Vale grimaced at the memory, “Revan told me not to worry, and she gave me a ship to shut me up.”

“The Ravager,” Orex said. Vale nodded.

“I thought that if we could end the war, here and now, that my questions wouldn’t matter. That it would all be over.”

“And here we are,” Orex said.

“Here we are,” Vale repeated, almost mockingly.

“I felt it, too.” Orex admitted, “I came here for a price on some deadbeat’s head, but I felt something the moment my transport landed in Anchorhead."

“Did you feel it on the descent?” Vale asked. Orex nodded. “This must have been it, this site. Whatever the hell that was, by the way.”

"Bandits used to bait hapless treasure hunters out there, knowing they wouldn't come back. But I had a bad feeling about it from the start."

“So you’re only slightly less clueless than I am?” Asra chimed in, sounding grim. “Have you seen anything else? In your, uh, travels, I mean?”

Vale and Orex shook their heads in unison, their eyes meeting briefly. As guilty as she felt for not recognizing him, she was glad he was here. Some part of her almost felt proud, that someone who once fought beside her was still on the same page as her, after all these years.

“I have.”

Another voice from the doorway garnered their attention. This time, Darek stood before them, having listened in until now.

Vale cocked an eyebrow, and before Darek could take a step further into the room, he replied, “Neo-Crusader.”

Vale exchanged looks with Asra before looking at Orex, wondering what a Republic refugee, a veteran, was doing hanging around an ex-Mandalorian.

“It wasn’t necessarily a choice I wanted to make, but I made it.” Darek said, knowing exactly what Vale was thinking.

The Mandalorians had burned the planet Iridonia to ash and enslaved their people, but like most other groups of unfortunates the Mandalorians terrorized, there was always room for promotion this time around. Once upon a time, only the Taung people were considered true Mandalorians, but something convinced Mandalore the Ultimate to rehash the Crusader traditions to potentially include conquered peoples who could be shaped to fight for the Mandalorian cause. Hence the existence of people like Darek.

Vale shook her head, watching his unsure expression, “I think I get it.”

“Do you?” Darek asked, almost amused. Like the rest of them, he poured himself a glass, but only after taking a swig straight from the bottle itself.  Vale nodded feebly, unable to find the right words. She didn’t quite understand, but she didn’t hold a grudge or anything, unable to articulate her thoughts on the matter.

Like Orex, she understood both sides. Once escaping to the Outer Rim, there wasn’t room for animosity, especially since most veterans were deserting one side or another, though most called it “escaping”. And for the same reason too, mostly. Disillusionment, disappointment, depression. The war weighed heavily on all of them. The Outer Rim was unlike Republic Space, or so she heard. In the Core Worlds or among the Mandalorian clans, loyalty still ran thick, but out where the war really happened, the wounds were still festering. Mercenary crews were not unlike the ragtag group gathered before Vale now, a mixture of Republic, Mandalorian, and miscellaneous. It was not an unusual combination, but given what Vale and Orex both saw at Dxun, she wondered what Darek brought to the table. The only thing that made Mandalorians like Darek different was that there were fewer of them. For the most part, even converted Mandalorians were loyal for life or otherwise preferred death.

Darek shook his head, gritting his teeth against the sharp taste of the alcohol.

“Doesn’t matter, really, does it?” he laughed darkly.

Asra reached up and absently rubbed his elbow apologetically. Vale looked to Orex, but the man seemed unsurprised. Whatever softness lingered between the two was not news to him. They had been careful and subtle before, but given the conversation, though, Vale couldn’t blame them.

“Did you feel it, too?” she asked after a long moment, her voice softer than she intended.

Darek glanced appreciatively at Asra before nodding in Vale’s direction.

“Dxun, same as you.”

“What did the Mandalorians make of that place?”

“Mandalore the Ultimate made it his stronghold at the start of the war. No one questioned it, or dared not to, at least. But I overheard the few questions that some soldiers did ask.” Darek stared off into space, his focus fixed on some unknown point in the past, “That place was, I don’t know, dark. I thought it was just me, at first, a new recruit taken from a burning village afraid to forget his family and accept a new one. But it wasn’t just me. There were ghosts all over that damn moon. So many of the other new recruits feared the old stories of the Sith temple there, though the true Mandalorians feigned bravery. It was more evident when we weren’t all in full gear.”

Mandalorians were also notorious for their distinctive armor. It was rare to see a warrior unmasked, which was part of why Revan adopted the mutilated helmet of a defecting Mandalorian soldier as her own. To distort the symbol, twisting it to suit her needs.

“Ever heard of Rohlan Dyre?”

It took a moment for Vale to register his words, let alone the fact that it was a name at first.

“Rohlan Dyre, Rohlan Dyre,” Vale repeated, flashes of memory returning as she rolled the name around her tongue. It was near impossible to escape remnants of the war and instances that could inspire flashes of images, names, sounds, faces, half-forgotten recollections, but after years of putting bad memories aside it was still difficult dredging them up again.

“Infamous deserter?” she asked finally, recalling talk of a veteran who repeatedly tried leaving the Mandalorians but couldn’t. “He was at the Battle of Vanquo.”

Darek nodded in affirmation.

“Dyre was one of the older veterans, well-regarded for his skill and experience, but for his honor, mostly.” Darek replied, “And honor was something he found seldom amongst the Mandalorians in those days.”

“Did he know about the holocrons?”

Darek shook his head, though he did not seem entirely sure, “Dyre didn’t trust the war. He didn’t trust Mandalore. His motives went against tradition, it had no honor.”

Vale and Asra were both at attention. Vale hadn’t felt this interested in politics in practically forever.

“Mandalorians used to pick fights only when necessary. There was an honor system, a code. They only fought when provoked, or over land disputes, I’m not entirely sure. But picking on defenseless colonies on the Outer Rim? It was against everything they believed in.”

Darek’s face scrunched up, hesitant, as if he knew he weren’t the authority to demand answers of, but was trying his best regardless.

“Not only that, but they went about it all the wrong way. We were taught differently, the Neo-Crusaders, we were a new breed with no ties to tradition. Dyre probably believed that was the whole purpose behind the Neo-Crusader movement to begin with. As the older warriors put it, the Manda prefer a more direct approach. They were pragmatic, not treacherous. They wouldn’t go looking for a fight. They only accepted fights that they deemed worthy, that posed a real challenge.”

“And the Outer Rim colonies were no match for them, there was no challenge,” Vale said, wondering.

“Exactly.”

Vale shook her head, putting the pieces together. Her skin grew cold as the memories rushed back in fragments, arranging and rearranging into something that began to make sense.

“Revan knew there was more to this war, she saw it. Through the Force. She had a vision the day she found that mask, the day-“

The day I pledged myself to her cause.

She was just seventeen.  Malak was still known as Alek back then. He had heard about her, or her bad luck perhaps. After a string of Masters left her at the Academy, she had been assigned to work the archives with her brother and Master Atris. But in her spare time, she devoted every fiber of her being and every other waking moment to lightsaber training. It helped ease the tension, and it gave her an excuse to see Kavar before he was called to his seat on the Council. Everyone knew about Alek and Revan, had heard rumors of their adventures, and she was taken aback when she noticed Alek watching her practice from the back of the training hall. He was impossibly tall, and built like a brick wall to boot. He had hair back then, jet black, which made his icy blue eyes all the more piercing. He was impressed with her, but told her that Revan was even more so, and that she was interested in her infamous affinity for Force bonds, even if it felt more like a curse. He implored her to accompany him, to see the front lines for herself. “We could use a tenacious fighter like you,” he had said, smirking at her, “We ragtag group of misfits.” He laughed his charming laugh, convincing her that he understood, that the Council feared and distrusted him just as much as they did her. Finding only frustration with the Council, and finding herself a little weak-kneed in Alek’s presence, she agreed. She witnessed the genocide at Cathar, she felt those first wounds in the Force tearing through her and making itself comfortable - and she remembered Revan falling to her knees, her eyes rolling back in her head as she writhed in the shallow water of the ocean that swallowed the planets people, the mutilated Mandalorian mask held firmly in her hand as a sliver of the truth revealed itself to Revan and Revan alone.

Within the span of a moment, a whole lifetime replayed itself in her mind’s eye, but Vale snapped herself back to the present when she noticed the others were watching her expectantly.

“But they didn’t tell you,” Orex said, his voice dark with disappointment and something that sounded like sympathy.

Vale shook her head.

“I had my theories, but I knew nothing. I know nothing.”

Bitterness rose like bile in her throat again, and this time Asra’s hand found its way to her forearm, settling her.

“But Malachor-“

“If you don’t know where it is, then we’re just as lost as you are.”

Not that Vale ever expected to return. Malachor was a well-kept secret. Only a select few knew the coordinates, they were absolutely "need-to-know". The Republic wasn’t even supposed to know, none of them were. Revan was the only one allowed to give clearance, and she was the only one who sent the coordinates when needed. The Mandalorians knew, sure, but they were not quick to let the rest of the galaxy know what happened there or what Malachor meant to them. It was only afterward that Vale realized that Revan did not want to be followed either, that she did not want anyone rifling through the ruins and looking for evidence of her corruption, of what drew her to the Dark Side.

“I was honestly hoping you’d know what to do,” Orex admitted, “When I saw you on Anchorhead, I had to be sure. Malak painted some nasty pictures, but like the rest of them Jedi, I wasn’t sure what kind of ilk you’d become just yet.”

Vale laughed at the way the man said “ilk” but shuddered at the thought of what Malak might have said about her.

“You wanted to make sure I hadn’t gone rogue.”

“Malak and Revan were dark, but in different ways. You know that, but the rest of us could feel it, too. I had to be sure you weren’t one of them.”

“But you knew I had no connection to the Force?” Vale asked. Orex only laughed.

“I don’t know how that shit works, sister. Malak bragged about it, as if it made him stronger, somehow. But I knew how you were at the end of the war. How we all were.”

Vale had always blamed Dxun. Not only was the moon heavy with death already, but they inspired their own fair share of bloodshed well before they ever set foot there. That kind of brutal combat would change anyone, including Vale and her soldiers. After what she’d seen, she was thoroughly unsurprised to hear just how many had followed Revan and Malak into Darkness as obedient Sith. It would have made sense if she had, as well.

“And once you figured I was honest, you just hoped I knew what the hell to do,” Vale assumed.

“That was the idea,” Orex pursed his lips, examining his empty cup, ruminating.

“So Revan’s missing, the Jedi are nearly wiped out or in hiding… where does that leave us?” Vale probed hypothetically, not expecting an answer.

“Revan going missing can’t be a coincidence. At least I don’t think so,” Vale continued, thinking back to every thought that had run through her head over the last nine years. Everything felt so unfinished, so unresolved. Not only was she lacking closure with all those she once held dear, but the war never felt over. She always chalked it up to being an ex-soldier, but after hearing Orex say it she began to second-guess herself. She was swimming in a sea abundant with questions but lacking any real answers.

“That still doesn’t help us, any.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Orex replied.

“What happened to the Jedi?” Asra asked, her voice quiet and probing, almost afraid.

“I’ve only heard rumors. A gathering gone wrong,” Darek said.

“They called a conclave,” Vale began, recalling the first bit of information that had piqued her interest in years, at least since Revan’s disappearance, and it didn't bode well, “The Jedi were to gather on Katarr to discuss the future of the Order, but the entire planet was destroyed. Consumed, more rather. Nothing survived. Not just no one, nothing.”

Vale grimaced at the thought. She relied mostly on word-of-mouth, as unreliable as it was, since her exile. Despite her hacking skills, she stayed away from the holonet when she could afford to. At first, it was out of spite. She didn't want to hear about Revan and Malak terrorizing the galaxy after she had expressly warned the Jedi about them. And after, it was to save herself from the pain. Revan was one thing, but watching Malak descend further and further into madness was like reliving a nightmare in real-time. It felt like a dream when she heard he had defeated Revan, though Vale never believed it. She briefly followed the news detailing Malak's defeat, but his death still felt too faraway, too unreal. The man she knew had died long ago, but despite it all, nothing felt right. So she ignored reports about the Republic when she could. Best to spare herself the heartache by avoiding it. She heard rumors here and there, like when Revan went missing, but when she heard that the Jedi had been massacred... she didn't know what to do with herself.

Everyone she had ever known, looked up to, idolized once - gone. But not just that. They were very deliberately obliterated. This was not the end of the Jedi, but the beginning of something else, something far darker than she could imagine.

But what else could a non-Force user do? She continued aiding in relief efforts across the Outer Rim, but it wasn't until she landed in Anchorhead that she decided to stick around for a while. It was not long after the news, and the feeling that haunted her upon her arrival told her that something was about to happen, that everything was connected, that it would all make sense. She chalked it up to wishful thinking - the Force couldn't speak to her any more, she only had to answer to herself.

"Consumed?" Asra repeated, confused. "What sort of thing can do that?"

Her voice was soft, as if raising her question would draw the attention of the answer that awaited her. Orex and Vale exchanged glances.

"You don't think-?" she started, almost afraid of the words. 

"The Mass Shadow Generator?" Orex asked, needing no clarification. He shook his head, uncertain.

"Another one perhaps, something similar," Vale pondered. "Something, or someone."

"You don't think it's the Sith, do you?" Darek asked.

Vale didn't know how to respond. The remains of Malak's Sith Empire must have had survivors, and what other group of fanatics would seek such revenge on the Jedi would go as far as to wipe them out?

Vale only had partial information to work with, and the back-and-forth of the conversation wasn't helping them reach any conclusions.

"There's something else at work here," Vale began, "Whether Sith or Jedi, both factions have always believed that there are no such thing as coincidences, the Force guides everything. With the war, Revan's turn and redemption, her disappearance, the destruction of the Jedi... I can't tell if Revan is behind it all or if she left in search of something having to do with it."

"And someone took her leaving as a cue to strike?" Orex asked.

"Maybe," Vale shook her head, unable to make sense of it all.

“There has to be someone left. Anyone,” she said again after a beat of silence. They all sat in contemplation for a while, muttering half-baked ideas and tossing unfounded theories to the wind as they all tried not to think of the contents of their cargo, before they noticed that the treads beneath them were slowing.

Asra was the first to stir, but before she could say anything, Glitch appeared at the doorway this time.

“We’re being flagged down.”

“What? And you stopped for them?!” Orex stood abruptly, distressing the table as he hastily rose to his feet.

Glitch shrugged.

Vale rose and looked out the porthole, spying another sandcrawler beside them. How they failed to notice the looming shadow against the setting suns, she wasn’t sure. She knew none of them were actually afraid of Jawa, if they were inquiring as to where they got the crawler, but something told her there was something more to this, and that maybe some of their questions might be answered.

Or so she hoped.

"I have a bad feeling about this. About all of this," Asra groaned, placing her cup back on the table before picking it up again and fidgeting between taking sips and deciding what to do with herself.

Vale bit her lip and looked out at the desert again, almost hoping for ghosts to appear on the dunes, waiting for a whisper of the Force, something to bring her closer to any sort of certainty, anything. Vale had always known this wasn't over, but now she wondered just what kind of mess Revan left behind.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Coruscant
Rell

Rell’s eyes began to blur as she scanned pages upon pages of the holonet, tracking several covert forums while listening in on hacked communications – multitasking at her best. She blinked several times in quick succession, cracked her knuckles, and looked over at the row of intelligence officers beside her. They all had that same slack-jawed look about them as their attentive eyes scanned other corners of the holonet, their fingers typing away at commands, controlling remote consoles or looking into any number of leads the Republic was currently tracking.

She exhaled into a yawn before twisting her aching torso in her chair, pleased at the satisfying crack her back made when she turned. Only a few more hours and her shift would be over. Rell cracked her neck and stretched her arms once more before diving head-first into a forum linked to a notorious human trafficking ring orbiting Nar Shaddaa.

There was a certain level of compartmentalization at work as her eyes read queries about “restocked inventory” and “fresh meat”, trying to focus on code words and phrases they were given every few days, and sometimes every few hours, that told them a deal was about to be made. The code words helped her sleep at night, but she knew what they really meant. Despite the distance she kept, she still shivered when she got a lead, resisting the urge to retch when something particularly unsavory crossed her screen. Luckily for her, most of the images ever posted were basic ID photos or mugshots, nothing too graphic – though the “product descriptions” never made for a pleasant read. Whenever a new face came across her dashboard, she flagged and tagged it, and sent it to another department to register and cross-reference with surveillance or security footage. She was doing good work, she reminded herself, but she tried not to wonder just how many faces and files were eventually sent to cold-case…

Most of the faces today cycled from her previous shift, and she tried not to look any of them in the eye, lest she get too attached or too worried. None of them were familiar, though her console told her that most of these files had already been reported by her previously… except for one.

She almost scrolled right past it. It was buried in a message thread about new bounties – and unlike most postings, this one had replies from all over the damn galaxy. Usually, posts about a particular “item” remained within the same sector, or a system at most. Human trafficking was a dark business, but those who ran the rings new that travelling too far ran too many risks. This particular post didn’t have an inordinate amount of responses because it was posted not long ago, but the fact that they were from all over made her chest feel heavy.

Rell scrolled through the responses. Unsavory bounties, usually put on the head of a criminal who didn’t follow through for a crime syndicate were sold into slavery or worse for their “crimes”. Criminals were vindictive, and especially so when they were the on the foul end of a deal-gone-wrong or purposefully-sideways. Punishment for rogue criminals was far worse than what the Republic would do if they were intercepted. Life in prison was always favorable to most any punishment a crime lord could dream up. But this bounty was… different.

The woman’s face was almost familiar to Rell, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She scrolled through the responses in search of a common interest. Human women were fairly popular among slave traffickers, but why was this one drawing such diverse attention?

Once she read further, she knew why.

“No fracking way,” she breathed involuntarily as the words registered in her mind as if echoing. A Jedi.

Suddenly coursing with adrenaline, her fingers typed furiously in search of more information, looking for the link, the source of the leak. She almost stopped breathing all together…

Rell stared blankly at the screen, the mysterious Jedi’s full profile accessed before her unblinking eyes.

It took her a few moments to think straight. She opened the dialogue box that allowed her to send files to the next department, but found that she wasn’t even sure which department it should go to.

Instead, she uploaded the information to her datapad, threw her headset down at her desk and walked briskly out of the intelligence offices despite the confused stares of her colleagues. She rushed to the main elevators and took it straight to the navy yard, hoping he’d be there.

The rest was almost a blur, her blood thrumming in her veins as she brandished her datapad before the deck officer in desperation.

“But I need to talk to Admiral Onasi immediately!” Rell pleaded, her hand white-knuckling her datapad.

The man was so rattled he didn’t even know what to say anymore, “Agent Amara, I know you’re frustrated but Admiral Onasi is-“

“Right here,” someone finished.

They both spun around to find the veteran now standing beside them, looking tired in his navy fatigues.

Rell almost mauled the man down as she flourished her datapad again, but Admiral Onasi lifted a weary hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Agent Amara, is it?” he asked, the exhaustion evident in his eyes, “What is this about?”

Rell fell back into habit at Admiral Onasi’s words, stopping and saluting, then stating her name and station before continuing.

“Sir,” she inhaled deeply, “This is about General Eden Valen.”

3951 BBY, Telos IV
The Last Handmaiden

For now you will forget me.

Brianna swore that she felt the bitter wind nip at her nose before she awoke in her chambers, alone. Her bedthings were askew, a pillow haphazardly at her feet and her legs tangled in her blanket.

She threw her covers off before examining her fingers, still raw with the cold.

Her dream felt so real, more real than any in recent memory. Brianna had the misfortune of experiencing vivid dreams all too often. She had once believed them to be prophetic but was soon dissuaded by the unrelenting doubt of her sisters, and the slow persuasion of her Mistress. She resigned her delusions and paid her dreams no more mind, and yet, this one felt different. It felt more like a memory and its weight carried over into waking life. It was not odd for Brianna to find herself plagued with the thought of bad dreams upon waking, as would anyone else. Nightmares tended to dictate some portion of the day that would follow, but often in sentiment and not in physical feeling. Brianna felt her feet and found that her toes were ice. Her extremities were freezing, as if she had just come out of the bitter cold.

She emerged from her bed and walked over to her refresher with purpose, kicking her blanket free from her foot as she approached. Her cheeks were red in the mirror, almost bloody in comparison to her porcelain complexion and stark white hair. She stood there, hands cradling her face, as she pieced the vividness of her dream together.

The beginning was muddled. She knew it began with brief images of Atris, the Academy, her father and the imagined face of her dead mother. The rest was where it became clearer… she, Arianna and Orenna were scouting the mountain – which was decidedly odd as they never scouted the mountain, there was never any need. And yet, the three of five Echani sisters explored the mountaintop in search of something, dressed their traditional white attire, becoming one with the falling snow. The air had stilled, falling frozen around her, before Brianna recalled a figure in the fallen flurry, with a face she could almost remember until it all faded, and the last Brianna recalled was the cold sweat of her forehead as she shot out of bed.

Taking a deep breath, Brianna looked at herself one last time before dressing, mentally ridding her mind of the notion that her dreams could have any implication other than that she was different, that she was other, and that she did not belong.

She emerged from her chambers to find her sisters already congregated at the center table, eating in silence. Their eyes lifted in unison, surveying their youngest sister and lingering over the redness of her cheeks before returning to their morning meal. Brianna nodded at them, smiled, though only two of them returned the gesture. A small victory.

Without thinking, she watched Arianna and Orenna as she ate, looking out for signs of redness, any indication that they had been out in the cold. But they were as still and silent as the others, rendered quiet by discipline and their Mistress’s strict schedule.

Brianna was the last to finish her meal, but her sisters voiced no qualm. They were trained not to. Instead, she saw their impatience in their eyes.

She scarfed down the final bites of her meager breakfast, all part of their disciplinary lifestyle, before she pushed her plate away and stood with the rest of her sisters in unison. Without a word, they left the common room and filed into the training hall. Brianna noticed that she left her room’s door ajar, mentally berating herself for being so careless. Being the last in line, as always, Brianna slipped back to close her door before her sisters could notice – only to find Master Atris waiting for her.

“Ah- Mistress!” Brianna gasped. Atris had not been standing there as they rose from the table, and she wondered when her Mistress had slipped into the room. Atris had command of the Force, and though she and her sisters were well-versed in ways to resist its powers, she knew there was more to the Force than she was ready to understand.

“I’m sorry Brianna, but I wished to speak with you alone,” Atris said, her voice soft and sweet, almost uncharacteristically so.

“Bri-?“ she said, surprised, unused to Mistress referring to her by name.

“Brianna,” Atris said again, smiling.

Brianna returned the smile, but was unsure of how genuine it appeared. Fear swelled in her chest and she wondered if it showed.

“I wanted to ask you a few questions, and I have a request.” Atris stated.

“Of course, Mistress,” Brianna replied, bowing slightly. She then resumed her usual stance with the woman before her, finally in control despite her surprise.

“Do you remember the stories I told you? About my old student?” Atris asked, her voice controlled and calm. Brianna stood at attention, but even still she sensed the tenseness emanating off her Mistress despite her best efforts. She tried not to betray her knowledge, and her curiosity, as she nodded in affirmation.

“Good, good,” Atris began, clasping her hands before her as if it were part of a meditation exercise, “I believe I need to ask a favor of you, a favor that relies on your recollection of her appearance, and her most recent whereabouts.”

Brianna nodded again, awaiting instruction. The way Mistress spoke of her old student always felt familiar to Brianna. It was the one time Atris ever betrayed emotion, the one time she was unable to compose herself without practice, making itself imminent. It was not unlike how Brianna felt about her sisters, or so she thought. The pain was evident on her face.

“But I ask that you go alone.” Atris finished.

Brianna remained silent, uncertain. She was about to ask why when Atris continued.

“I need this to remain as discreet as possible. I don’t want you to breathe a word of this to your sisters.”

Atris moved closer, placing a careful hand on Brianna’s shoulder.

“I entrust you with this mission, alone.”

“Alone?” Brianna tried not to betray her inner uncertainty, but her Mistress’s hand stayed her.

“You are not unlike myself, Brianna,” she said, using her name again, “I feel as if only you are up to the task.”

“But-?”

“But what will I tell the others?” Atris laughed, her voice hollow but melodic, like distant chimes on the wind, “You need not worry.”

Atris’ eyes were steadying but cold. Brianna nodded, unfamiliar with anything but compliance.

Brianna’s eyes unwittingly looked toward her open chamber door, catching a glimpse of her skewed bed and blanket. Her fingers and her face were still cold.

Atris extended a hand to her cheek, as if to calm her, but her fingers were cold, too.

“There’s no need to worry about the cold where you’re going,” she said, as if reading her thoughts, “In fact, there’s no need at all.”

3951 BBY; Anchorhead, Tatooine
Darth Erebus

Erebus felt the void leave Anchorhead, sensing the energies in the universe manifest around it as if it were not there, moving around it seamlessly like water forking before a large stone staked in a river. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t taken up this line of work were it not for his sister and what she did at Malachor V, were it not for what she had become.

His sister’s connection to the Force was always a matter of dark import to the Masters on Dantooine, and a matter of objective scholarly interest to few on Coruscant, but none were brave enough to learn more – save for Master Vima Sunrider. But when she was called away on business, there were no others who dared get close enough for fear of what his sister’s “bond” might do to them, lest it ensnare them unknowingly and rope in their energies, somehow. He believed it too, once, until Malachor was swallowed whole and he felt the Force gather tenfold in his bones as it slowly left the vestiges of his sister, leaving her to become the walking black hole that she was now – a gaping nothingness that defied the laws of all he knew, living despite what should have killed her.

But she seemed almost better for it, content, as if the universe paying her no mind were the best thing that could have happened. Given how many of the Jedi once looked upon her with uncertainty and unbridled fear, maybe it was. It wasn’t until Aiden embraced his fear and called himself Erebus did he give his sister the attention she had deserved.

In the aftermath of the war, he became unstable, unsure of his newfound power and unsure of what to do with it. Had he siphoned it off her, unknowingly? Had the Force fled her, after the massacre on the Mandalorian moon, and sought refuge in her twin? But the Force didn’t work that way. Despite all his years of research as a junior Jedi Historian and as an acolyte under Darth Nihilus, Erebus was not sure, even now. Perhaps his sister’s Force bonds were stronger than any of them realized, the Jedi and the Sith combined.

His Sith Masters mentioned her often, almost as if she were the birth mother of their darkness. In a way, she was. The Mass Shadow Generator should have killed her, or at least twisted her in the way it did Nihilus and his contemporary, Sion. They both considered Malachor to be their birthplace, as did their old mentor, a woman called Traya. But she was gone by the time Nihilus knighted Erebus and granted him the title of Darth. It was a privilege, yes, but he was still subordinate… for now.

But now he had Eden in his grasp. Still undecided as to whether he would capture her and deliver her to Nihilus in hopes of an increase in rank or just approach her to simply talk, Erebus had staked out her droid repair stall in the meanwhile. She had hastily closed shop before leaving, but his frequent patrols dissuaded any potential burglaries, or so he imagined. He felt her void crawl back towards Anchorhead from the Dune Sea now, but as her emptiness neared, Erebus also felt something else.

The feeling was familiar, and it reeked of Malachor. It was hard to tell whether it had to do with Eden herself or something else entirely.

But that wasn’t the only development in her absence.

Since she had departed, the Exchange posted a bounty on all Jedi. The galactic black market was already alight with rumors and gossip, talk of potential candidates for the reward and word of where Jedi or other Force-users might be found, but there was a particular interest in General Eden Valen herself. Erebus and his Master were both aware, and Nihilus was particularly interested in news of the living Force wound.

Erebus’ skin crawled at the thought. He knew if he brought his sister before Nihilus that she would be subject to countless experiments, tests, and all means of torture in spite of his reverence – when part of Erebus really wanted to keep her all to himself. It was the reason he remained quiet about her upon first arriving, his gut wrenching at the news when her records were released.

He tried looking into where the leak originated to discover its source, but had no luck. Even extending his senses through the Force did no good. All he felt was malevolence and betrayal, and that wasn’t much to go on considering all the Sith or scum that sought such a prize. Despite the setbacks, Erebus knew he had the upper hand. He was the only one who knew she was here, he was the only one aware of her current excursion out to the Dune Sea, and he was the only one keeping tabs on her presence as her emptiness descended upon Anchorhead once again.

The confines of his ship rendered him restless, and it was time that he scout the area before her arrival. Erebus gathered his belongings, clipping his lightsaber to his belt, making sure it was well concealed beneath his cloak, before descending the loading ramp and making his usual rounds.

Energies milled about him, threatening to cloud his senses. After a breath or two, he could track each individual source of life within the city walls to some extent. He walked past the loading docks to the local bar, walking past a scuffle or two before entering the merchant’s district. This portion of the city was always in flux. Different stalls propped up every day as others disappeared into oblivion, but his sister’s shop remained.

Like any other Tatooine settlement, Anchorhead’s population was always changing, but Eden had chosen to stay. It was only in the past few days that he wondered why she was among them. The closer her nothingness approached the city, the more he suspected it had to do with the artifact he had originally come for. She knew, somehow.

Nothing dwelled about his sister’s shop, passersby heeding the ‘gone on business’ sign with some respect, it seemed. He slipped into the back entrance without being seen, and reached out with the Force to explore her residence without stirring a single droid this time.

Her workbench felt the most familiar. Erebus recalled Eden coming to him with her first crafted lightsaber. She was only eight. The pride was evident in her eyes, but the envy was more than evident in his. An absent hand traced the edges of the workbench, resurrecting the memory for just a moment, before he pulled himself away and meditated.

There was energy here, but faint. It was clear that there was something here, but the fact that the area was full of inactive droids and run by a person void of the Force made it feel hollow all the same. Yet somehow, despite the dissonance in the energy around him, it felt comforting. He felt some welcome sense of familiarity he was unwilling to let go of. Erebus almost hoped Eden would never return from whatever journey she had embarked on. Maybe it was better that way.

Then the unease set in, subtle and slow.

Before he knew it, Erebus knew she was on the precipice, at the very edge of the city.

His eyes shot open, his breath quick, his body unwilling to leave this place that felt so much like home – a home he never knew enough to even miss.

Nihilus would be waiting. He’d either capture Eden or let her get away. One of these scenarios ended in veneration, and the other in death.

Despite what ambition had inspired him these last nine years, Erebus stayed his hand, unsure of what to do next, waiting for his sister to arrive and discover him, for the first time since… when, exactly? He didn’t even recall what year their last meeting was, and his mind retreated to the mental place he found when he first discovered the part of him that was Erebus and became him.

The darkness enveloped his senses, quashing whatever sentiment remained, welcoming him like an old friend.

Maybe the decision was not as difficult as he predicted.

3951 BBY; approaching Anchorhead, Tatooine
Vale

Vale’s mind reeled as they neared Anchorhead again.

She had retreated to her makeshift quarters under the pretense that she was calibrating what she had recovered from the site the previous day. After encountering the Jawa, Orex ordered that they return to Anchorhead as quickly as possible. They had not stopped once since that meeting.

Vale was the first to meet them out on the sands. She was the only one with a handle on the equipment used to translate their gibberish. She knew a bit herself, but not enough to translate accurately. Even before her translator could do the work, a bad feeling crept over her as the miniature creatures squeaked and squawked at her. The Jawa had not come for the crawler. In fact, they never mentioned the salvaged vessel at all. Instead, they asked what became of their journey to “the untouched village” as they called it. They asked if they heard the voices, and heeded the whispers. Vale asked what they knew of the place, but the Jawa refused to elaborate on anything aside from the fact that they were lucky to leave with their lives. Of Tatooine’s many secrets, this was one they had always known to fear. They had known to stay away from the Star Forge navigational chart buried deep in the krayt dragon dens, but this… this was different.

“The Star Forge?” she asked, her transcoder repeating her words in high-pitched Jawaese.

“The dark one was here,” one of them said, the translation replied in a soothing monotone, “And the one they called Revan.”

Orex stood still beside her, his brows furrowed against the sun, but their eyes met at the mention of Revan’s name.

“The dark one?” she repeated, noting that they mentioned Revan by name but someone else, as well. Malak? But the Jawa ignored the question – whether intentionally or not, she could not tell – and continued.

“The people of before left mechanical maps, but the dark one left something else. The thing you carry is dark and dangerous, like them. The one called Revan came looking, too."

The Jawa wished them luck and sent them on their way, almost as if they were afraid to linger any longer before dissolving into the Dune Sea themselves, preferring the isolation of the sands to the darkness Vale and her crew now carried with them.

She was still unsure as to what their next move was. Who would they contact? Was there any way of destroying these artifacts safely? She had no idea, but she had every intention of finding out as soon as she had access to the holonet, if it were any help.

She sighed in relief as the treads slowed again, marking their return to Anchorhead.

Glitch parked the monolithic vehicle a ways outside of the city. Darek and Orex were already lugging salvaged swoop bikes from the cargo hold for their return. Vale heard the commotion down on the loading ramp, but felt someone watching her from the doorway as she gathered her things.

“What I still can’t figure out is why in the ‘verse Darek would have wanted me on this mission.” Asra stated, crossing her arms. “The hell if I know anything about… well, any of this.”

“Before I even signed on, I knew you were the best shot in town.” Vale said, watching Asra fidget. She couldn’t seem to decide whether she wanted to lean broodingly in the doorway, crack her knuckles or stroke her head-tails. “But really, it might be the montrals.”

Vale nodded at the white-striped blue montrals that protruded from Asra’s head. Like other Togruta, Asra wore a headdress around them – though hers was a simple silver chain with tear-drop beads weighing its linked tendrils in place. And also like other Togruta, Asra’s montrals were capable of sensing where something or someone was, even without the Force.

“You’re probably closer to a Jedi than I am these days,” Vale joked, though the humor fell flat and Asra’s eyes shifted.

“I didn’t know the Jedi could do that,” she said, her voice soft and tentative, “Strip the Force from a person? I may not know what it’s like, but it sounds like it would be horrible.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Well, sort of,” Vale explained as she surveyed what droids remained in the hold, making sure that whatever diagnostics she could use were properly uploaded, “It’s a bit like living without a limb, only the loss of it doesn’t hurt as much as it hinders.”

Asra frowned, confused. Vale sighed, well-aware that she was doing a piss-poor job of explaining the Force, something she hadn’t felt in almost a decade.

“Imagine you woke up one day, and your dominant hand was missing. Not wrenched from you, not sawn off or anything gruesome. Just… gone.”

Asra considered her words, nodding, flexing her trigger finger as if taking Vale’s metaphor to heart. “You go to use it and… it’s not there?”

Vale nodded.

The feeling that flooded her at Malachor was worse than anything that came after. She wasn’t sure what happened, but once she left the Council chamber days later, her verdict ringing in her ears, the Force was void. It did not answer to her any longer, and it was almost as if it was never there. Almost.

Even still, she found herself trying to reach out with the Force at times. She was never skilled with mind tricks or the like, but as a Jedi Guardian she was used to harnessing the Force to enhance her speed or physical skill. Vale had to get used to taking things slow and steady, and accounting for gravity more than she was used to. She was now used to a shock staff more than she was a lightsaber, or so she believed, and a blaster felt more at home in her hand than she ever imagined one would be.

“I’m sorry to even ask, I just-“ Asra started, unable to finish her thought.

“It’s okay, really.” Vale hadn’t expected to make any friends out here, or ever, but from the moment she met Asra, she knew things were different. She tried to keep her distance, but in the past few months she had to admit that it was nice to see a familiar face around. Asra felt betrayed for a moment earlier, but she was trying to understand things now, and that was more than anyone had ever done for Vale, even before her exile.

“I still don’t feel right,” Asra admitted, absently stroking her head-tails again as Vale filled her pack, finding one of the mysterious onyx pyramids among her things, “I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m not familiar with any of this, but-“

Vale stayed her, taking her hand from her pack and laying it gently on Asra’s shoulder. “I may have a history with this stuff, but we’re just as clueless as you are. And besides, I’m-“ Vale swallowed hard, “I’m really glad you were there.”

Dredging up memories was never easy, but Vale had no idea how she may have reacted if she had heard the ghost of Malak in her ear without Asra by her side. Asra looked up at her, appreciative, nodding in recognition.

“I guess I’m glad, too.”

Asra nodded in the direction of the droids, asking without words if Vale needed any more help. The Togruta helped her load some intelligence modules into a pack and load it onto one of the swoop bikes out on the dunes. Darek and Asra exchanged soft glances, and Orex looked at Vale with purpose.

“I think I may have an idea of who we can contact,” he said, though his voice was gruff and unsure. “I’ll need to check on a few things first, and it’s no guarantee.”

Orex and Vale spoke with their heads together, their whispers almost muted by the surrounding sands and the unforgiving winds upon them. Vale thought of Dxun and how the rain would drown out most sounds, allowing enemy troops to approach unannounced, despite their better efforts. She had a momentary flash of memory, of a man in his twenties disarming mines ahead of them, his boots caked with mud and what seemed like a permanent spatter of blood across his chest. Vale shook her head, looking at Orex with a better idea of who he was, once.

“It’s better than nothing,” she said. Orex nodded, his good eye glinting in the suns before he turned on his heel and mounted a swoop bike beside them.

Asra awaited her, ready. Vale swung her leg over the body of the mechanical beast, gripping Asra’s waist as the engine thrummed beneath them. She reached a hand back to make sure her pack was in place, her shock staff snug and secure in the straps. She lowered a pair of goggles over her eyes and nodded at Asra as she coaxed the throttle, sending them forward.

No one batted an eye as they entered the city. They were just another troupe of travelers, no one remarkable or of note. No one could feel the darkness they brought with them. Asra and the others cut their engines once they were inside the city gates, the other inhabitants milling about them without a second glance.

Vale lifted her goggles to rest on her forehead as she dismounted the swoop bike. Asra swung her leg around as well, careening the bike in the general direction of Vale’s shop as they walked. When they approached, the stall was quiet, but something wasn’t right.

Vale had no words for what she felt, or why, but she held up a hand to stay the others. Without words, they obeyed and milled about the market square as if nothing suspicious were happening. Vale approached her shop with caution, walking around the perimeter, keeping an eye out for foot prints or any other evidence that the place had been breached. Nothing caught her eye, but something didn’t feel right.

She lifted the sign she had left days ago, “gone on business”, and tucked it into her pack as she tentatively entered her shop alone. The droids were accounted for and untampered with, so it seemed. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for any sign of intrusion, of wrongness. Nothing jumped out at her. She approached her workspace in the back, and though nothing look disturbed, it felt… wrong. That same feeling of offness struck a chord with her, leaving a bad taste in her mouth, though she did not know how or why.

Asra poked her head in the front entrance before waving the rest of them inside. They had milled about the city center long enough, and it was time they discussed their next move.

Vale sighed as the rest of them filed inside. Darek, Orex and Asra brought their bikes around back and Glitch carefully shouldered the munitions pack onto the counter in the workshop. The others gathered at Vale’s side, after ensuring that the entrances remained closed. In turn, they shared dark glances, though none of them dared touch the pack – they knew not to. But it remained a reminder between them, and it made the air feel heavy.

They brought back more materials than anyone else ever had from the site before, and it wasn’t until now that they could truly remark on their loot, forgetting the more important topic at hand for just a few moments of reprieve and relief.

Darek was particularly excited about some Great Hyperspace War era weaponry, surprised at the near-pristine condition most of it was in. The swoop bikes were another perk, though those were not nearly as old. Glitch mumbled some things to Orex, to which he nodded in admiration though Vale hardly heard a word. Orex ruffled the girl’s hair and Vale wondered whether she was some kind of protégé of his, now that she knew the man a little better. The girl was good with explosives, which, as Vale recalled, was Orex’s specialty as a Republic soldier.

Vale even allowed herself to get excited. Some of the droids at the site were old, but their intelligence modules were still programmed to track moisture harvests with near precision, which was worth its weight in gold out here. She knew a lot of customers who might appreciate such a thing out in these parts, and for a decent price to boot - especially since Vale hadn’t put any money down to buy them. The others talked about the deserted town itself, digging into the lore conversationally as Vale unloaded her pack, happening upon the old relic again. She placed it carefully on the counter before her, watching how it caught the light as the others’ conversation slowed, and they, too, became engrossed in watching on.

“How old would you say is some of the stuff you saw there, Darek?” Vale asked, absently reaching for her work goggles.

“About a thousand years old,” Darek replied, his voice growing softer with each word, “Why?”

“How old would you say this thing is?” Vale said, gesturing towards the miniature pyramid. Darek only shrugged.

She placed her work goggles over her eyes and magnified the lenses so she could get a closer look. Upon further inspection, it looked as if there were miniature binary designs in the onyx, or whatever the hell it was, but she would need to examine the thing even closer before making any definitive conclusions.

“Is there someone we can send this to? Some kind of expert?” Asra asked, the worry evident in her tone of voice.

For a moment, Vale thought of her brother and of Atris, and how they would busy themselves with the datapads, ancient scrolls and books of the Jedi Archives. She wondered if the place still stood, and who was in charge now. If there was anyone left.

“Whoever can handle these things might be our only bet,” Orex said, clearly referring to the crystals stashed safely in the munitions pack.

Vale sighed, lowering her goggles before taking them off entirely, though she was almost tempted to throw them across the room. Resisting the urge, she placed them as gently as she could on her workbench and surveyed the others.

“So who do we go to? The Republic? Is that our next move?”

“Maybe,” Orex said, “Like I said, I still have some contacts there. The Jedi had close ties with the Republic, and I have a feeling that not every Jedi was wiped out at that conclave.”

“Or so we hope,” Vale said, mentally reminding herself not to tempt her curiosity on the matter. Malak was gone forever, yes, but there were still others that she had once cared for that were alive and well before she knew any different. Revan was missing, for one. But she also thought of the Council: of Atris’ stoic stare, full of betrayal and hurt-nearing-hatred; and Kavar’s eyes, a dark and deep sapphire like sea after a storm, heavy with regret. And she thought of Nomi, too, her first Master. In her desperation, she had sought Master Sunrider out not long after her exile, when she still stumbled blindly out on the Rim without the guidance of the Force. But she had no luck. And none, either, when she sought information on her brother and his whereabouts. The last she had heard, however, was that he was no longer on Coruscant, but that could mean a thousand things. She wondered if he, too, had gone to the conclave on Katarr. She wondered if any of them had.

“I’m pretty sure they prepare for this sort of thing. The Jedi would know not to all gather in one place, especially if something like this could happen. It might have happened before, but I'm not sure.” Vale said, vaguely remembering a scandal from around the time that she was first asked to join Revan’s cause that flirted with the idea of a Jedi fail-safe. "Either way, they're definitely in hiding now, and probably impossible to get a hold of."

“And they wouldn’t want to be found,” Orex finished. Vale nodded.

“Who do you still keep in contact with?” she asked. “In the Republic?”

“A few soldiers and techs, you’d remember them,” Orex responded almost fondly, “And they’d be glad to know you were still around, too.”

Vale felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought, but Orex continued without comment.

“Who was that Republic soldier that traveled with Revan?” Vale suddenly remembered before getting too sentimental. “He was a Republic soldier, right?”

She remembered the name had sounded familiar when talk of Revan's return were abound, but the name escaped her now.

Orex nodded in affirmation before saying, “I think he’s a higher up, now.”

“He would be,” she replied, considering the chain of command, “Do you know anyone working directly with him?”

“Pretty sure he’s heading the relief efforts so it shouldn’t be hard,” Orex answered.

“He might be our best bet,” Vale considered, unsure of where her gut was getting its ideas. She was still eyeing the pyramid before her, dredging up memories she had once sworn to bury. She thought of Revan, she thought of Dxun, and she tried to recall nights when Malak awoke in a sweat, screaming. Perhaps he had said something in passing, or shouted it from the depths of his dreams before waking her. There had to be something, anything. But despite what she could recall, Revan was still out there and she was their best hope, their only hope.

Revan had gone missing on purpose, but was this the reason why?

The miniature relic betrayed no secrets, and remained silent and still.

3951 BBY; Anchorhead proper, Tatooine
The Last Handmaiden

The heat enveloped her, and welcomed her more than the cold ever did. Still, she was instructed to draw her hood – all the better to mask her features, to keep herself hidden and nondescript. Despite the shade, Brianna relished in the plush warmth of the suns basking down on her from above, settling over her cool skin like velvet. She had been cold for far too long.

The hood hid not only her notable features but also the smile that crept across her mouth at the sensation. Her skin yearned to drink in the heat of this planet and let it settle deep within her bones, but she was not to be here for long. She was only here to observe.

As per her Mistress’ instructions, there would be a shop ahead, several hundred paces ahead of her – though all she could see were the masses milling about the marketplace. Once in the general vicinity, she would wait for word, and watch.

She had never been trusted enough to go anywhere on her own. Despite the ill feeling that plagued her at the thought, the warmth that pervaded her hooded cloak, the sensuous smells of the sand, and even the feel of it embedded in her fingernails and stuck in the crevices of her boots made her feel a little bit more alive and she did not envy the creeping cold back home. It was seldom she experienced anything other than snow, if she were allowed outside at all. The shifting weight of the sand beneath her boots was something so unlike the solid crunching of snowfall underfoot that she was almost entranced enough to forget where it was she was going.

Though she was more familiar with what was cold and lonesome, she had seen places other than the mountain. Dense jungle frontier, the pervasive thickness of swamp land, the nothingness of vast plains – and yet the desert beyond this town was something she had never seen. Sure, the prairies and plains of other worlds seemed endless but there was something entrancing about the vast neverendingness of the desert. Unlike other wastelands, this one did not feel empty and she could not explain why. She had tried to divulge her feelings, but her mistress had simply bid her to “Heed not, child,” and she obeyed, despite the very thought of it dogging her brain.

A building bearing the same facade described in her mission came into view, even though many of the formations here looked so similar – clay walls topped with burnt orange doors to match the tents overhead and the hue of the sky when the twin suns set. Her steps slowed as she approached, soaking it all in.

The shop sign read as described, and Brianna was not one to admit that she was almost afraid. She stopped and looked about, looking for a place from which to watch safely. Not far off was a food stall and several well-worn tables covered with meager shade. She ordered something she could eat slowly, and parked herself at a vacant table for two. Tempted as she was to watch everything around her, Brianna was drawn to the place she was assigned to keep an eye on, if not for the import of her mission, but for the curiosity that drew her eye there. Beyond its walls was the woman that betrayed her Mistress, the woman who abandoned the Jedi and all they stood for.

Soon, there would be swarms in the market-place, and though Atris already predicted the outcome of the scuffle to come, Brianna was to report the results promptly and not leave a single detail out of her retelling. Brianna watched and waited, eager for the action to unfold.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Anchorhead, Tatooine
Vale

It wasn’t long before Darek noted the gathering outside of Vale’s storefront, advising that she might want to close up shop for good.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said, mirroring Asra’s words from the day before.

Glitch and Orex remained in the workshop, ensuring that their cargo was secure while Vale, Asra and Darek gathered in the shop proper, watching discreetly from the patchwork building’s slatted windows.

To anyone shopping the market, the crowd was nothing of note, but to a trained soldier like Darek who had been keeping tabs on all present, the signs were obvious. They were being watched.

“Do you think they know?” Asra asked, already adopting a hushed tone. “About the holocrons?”

“Not sure what a bunch of mercenaries and bounty hunters would do with them, unless there really are Sith involved,” Vale replied, fear rooting somewhere deep in her chest at the thought. Was it Revan, having pulled off the greatest con the Republic had ever known, and again no less? Or was it something else?

“Maybe they just want what’s theirs,” Asra mused.

Vale thought about it before shaking her head, unsure, “These things are ancient, and they’re almost not even holocrons. More like a primitive prototype or something, but far more dangerous.”

Asra only shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right, though. The Sith are all about their dark lineage or whatever.” Vale laughed darkly.

“Cute,” Asra retorted, amusement returning to her face before Darek roused their attention.

His skin gleamed a striped red-and-black in the slatted sunlight that filtered into the room against his face, making him look all the more dramatic as he turned to them again.

“I don’t think they’re here for those things, whatever the hell they are,” he said.

“What makes you say that?” The worry was clear in Asra’s voice as a trigger-ready finger traced the edges of her holstered blaster.

Vale felt the same. Danger was near, and she didn’t need the Force to know it. Instinct kicked in and adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her shock staff was secure against her back for now, and at the sight of Orex in the doorway, she knew she might be using it sooner than she expected.

“You’re gonna want to see this.”

Orex retreated into the workshop before Vale could ask any questions. She exchanged glances with Darek and Asra before following him, her sense of dread mounting.

A bad feeling is right.

Orex stood over Glitch, whose hands were poised over Vale’s ancient terminal computer. She mostly used the thing for transactions or logging her inventory these days, but she had a feeling she wouldn’t like what she saw when she approached the display.

Vale froze. A younger version of herself looked out from the monitor, her skin untarnished and unscarred under a mess of short hair, a Padawan braid trailing lazily down her shoulder.

“What is this?” she said, her voice low, severe, and unbelieving.

Orex didn’t say anything, and Glitch didn’t make eye contact. The girl hid behind her own mess of hair and scrolled further down the page instead. Eden Valen had been outed, her records released after almost ten years in exile.

Beneath an image of a young Eden just before she entered the war were various other iterations of herself and their adjoining ID card photos, false names, transport documentations, and forged medical records all laid bare. And stamped on every image of her was an Exchange bounty, 50 million credits worth.

There wasn’t a file that portrayed her now. There was nothing on Vale, but there was a photo of her from a year ago, maybe. Half her face took up a pixelated screenshot from what appeared to be a security feed from the Anchorhead docks. Her hair was fully alight in the dyed yellow-blonde that it was now slowly growing out of, and though her garb was different, anyone who had seen her about town would be able to identify her.

“50 million credits, huh?” was all she could muster in an unamused tone, placing her hands plaintively on her hips as her mind raced. She, Orex and Glitch all stared at her console display, unsure of what to do next.

“Who would do this? Why?” Orex pressed quietly, his voice soft, handling the weight of the situation with delicate but deliberate words. He must have known that this was not protocol, that she was erased from the public record. There was no good reason this information should have leaked at all, especially with what the Jedi feared of her. Vale felt oddly comforted, reminded of the camaraderie she often missed with her troops. The Jedi had betrayed her, Revan had abandoned her and Malak had come to despise her and the wounds she left him with, or so she hoped – despite whatever regrets she had for what she lost or what she was denied, her troops had only ever tried to do the right thing, and she always felt wrong in leaving them behind.

The Jedi exiled her for a reason, and they sealed her records away in hopes that no one would go looking for her, Revan included. But they were sure to keep tabs on her, to ensure that the wounds that festered in her wake were controlled, monitored, and maintained. And who, pray tell, would take on such a task, or dare say revel in it? Vale knew the answer.

“Atris,” she whispered, her voice unable to speak the woman’s name at full volume with the weight of it.

Orex cocked his head but allowed her to continue.

“My old Master, or one of them anyway,” she sighed, still unnerved by all of her past selves passing judgment on her from the monitor, “But as to why part? I have no idea.”

Orex nodded curtly, returning his attention to the screen as well.

“We’ll need to be quick about this,” he said, though Vale wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her, to Glitch, or to the both of them.

“Quicker than before?” Vale asked, eyeing the munitions pack now tucked beneath her workbench.

“We need to move immediately, if not yesterday,” Orex responded, shooting her a half-hearted smirk. Vale felt rain again, but this time only in her memory. And she remembered his name, then. Agent Antares. Pushing the recollection from her mind, she mentally mapped out her shop, the city and the dunes beyond, and even the sector of the Outer Rim where Tatooine resided. She could hold her own, and so could the others, but she would be damned if she was the reason they were all in danger.

“There’s a passage not far from here. Out the service door, about ten paces down the back alley, there’s a grate to some old tunnels that belonged to a moisture rig once-upon-a-time. The machine’s gone, but the channels are still there, and they’re large enough for all of you to get out safely. You can follow the tunnels to the cantina, that damn Czerka post at the edge of town, or out into the desert for all I care, but you have to get out of here.”

Doling out orders was still second nature, and Vale was surprised it came so naturally, even now.

“You’ve planned an escape route everywhere you’ve gone, haven’t you?” Orex smirked knowingly.

Vale may have taken that as an insult, but she knew Orex meant well. The man probably did the same. Life on the Outer Rim was merciless, especially for ex-soldiers.

“You know what they always say about bad habits,” she quipped, despite the urgency welling in her bones.

“But what about you?” Glitch asked. Near dumbfounded, all Vale could do was stare at her. The girl watched her from behind her dark veil of a fringe, eyes wide though her expression stern. How old was she, anyway?

“I’ll distract the bounty hunters, or whoever the hell is parked outside.” Vale glanced through the narrow slit of a window in her workshop, making sure that the alleyway was clear at least, lest her one and only plan go awry before they even got started. “The rest of you need to get off-planet. Find the Republic, anyone that might help.”

Glitch looked from Vale to Orex, as if awaiting his answer to the proposition. The girl’s face was emotionless and Vale couldn’t tell if that was just how the girl was wired or if her plan was a dumb one.

“And the crystals?”

Orex was careful not to call them holocrons – they were never sure what they were back then, and they sure as hell weren’t any more certain now.

“You’ll have to take them with you. The Jedi can’t all be wiped out, and if anything they’d be allied with the Republic, right?”

Orex nodded despite the words that came out of his mouth, “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“They want me alive, but that’s not to say they’re not willing to kill to get to me. If any of those bounty hunters see you with me, you’re dead. We’d be lucky if they haven’t already,” Vale pleaded.

Glitch and Orex exchanged glances before the girl looked to the munitions pack again. For a moment, Vale felt the unease radiating from her, but it may have just been her intuition. They were all pretty uneasy now as it was, herself included.

“There was a third…” she thought aloud, but the other two were barely listening.

Glitch returned her gaze to Orex and the two nodded, turning again to Vale.

“Stolen sandcrawler,” Orex said without any elaboration. It sounded like a callsign. Vale knew what Orex was up to without even asking, and she smirked at the fact that he trusted she’d make it out of this alive.

“Stolen sandcrawler,” she affirmed, nodding.

Her eyes swept over her workshop, stalling over a loose grate near the alley window – a hiding spot she located upon first buying the place. Vale always had emergency rations and several other unused ID cards she could utilize if she ever needed to move on. Without a word, Glitch followed her gaze and investigated the grate. Taking hold of the rucksack inside, Glitch shrugged and handed it to Vale.

“You might want to work on your tells.”

“I’m getting sloppy,” Vale laughed darkly as she took the sack and looked at Orex approvingly. “Kid’s got potential.”

Vale held back a laugh and nodded as Orex placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. After years of isolation, of avoiding contact or attachment, there was something about this small gesture that felt so natural – and so bittersweet and heartbreaking at once. “I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”

Vale wasn’t sure what made her say it, but the thought did not process in her mind before being spoken. It was simply stated, and it was the truth. Orex’s good eye fixed on hers as he nodded, affirming her feeling and the sentiment it carried.

“We’ll meet again.”

The room was almost too quiet before Asra’s uneasy voice sang through her workshop’s doorway. “Guys?”

On instinct, Vale’s hand reached back for her shock staff. She unhitched it from her back as she entered the main shop. Darek held his rifle at the ready and Asra’s blaster spun around her finger, itching to be fired. Vale’s eyes locked on Asra’s, asking without words. The Togruta’s warm yellow eyes darted to door on her left. The side entrance. Darek still had his eyes fixed outside, presumably watching their latest threat as they contemplated making their move.

Asra’s blaster remained aloft as she rushed to Vale’s side, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

“I want to hear all about your dashing escape, ya hear?” she whispered with equal parts threat and affection.

Vale placed a hand on Asra’s, nodding solemnly, silently regretting their circumstances but thankful that she hadn’t made more of a habit of making friends in her exile. This wouldn’t be easy.

Vale felt Orex and Glitch arrive in the doorway beside her. Orex shot Asra a look. Within an instant, Asra understood. She nodded at Orex and looked to Darek, catching wind of their silent exchange. In the span of a moment, the two were in sync and up to speed with Orex’s soundless orders. Orex and Vale made eye contact once more, silently saying their goodbyes as the rest of the crew filed into the workshop and through the unseen service door without a sound.

Vale was alone again.

3951 BBY, Anchorhead, Tatooine
Darth Erebus

For the first time in years, Erebus was afraid.

Word on the street was that there was a Jedi in town. The image circulating the holonet was familiar to enough of the locals that Erebus’ plan was thrust into action. He parked himself just outside of his sister’s stall, but upon doing so was immediately made aware of the other hunters on watch. Most of them were unremarkable, and he knew he could best them easily in a fight, if necessary - but there was one that troubled him.

At a nearby food stall sat a girl, hooded and cloaked. Though Erebus could not see her face, he could feel the faintest signs of the Force welling in her cells, urging her bones into patient action, preparing to strike when the moment was most opportune. She watched and waited, just as he did, but her presence unnerved him still. Especially since he did not know who she was or why she was here.

His Master knew now, and he already had a lot to answer for.

Not only could Darth Nihilus easily discover where Erebus’ ship was docked by asking some subordinate to retrieve his ship’s coordinates, but Nihilus could simply reach out with the Force and discover that his apprentice dawdled before the doorstep of their very Maker and hesitated upon it.

Erebus scoffed at the idea but knew that in some way, it was true. Nihilus and Sion were ravaged by what happened at Malachor, and were born from what ruins remained. Their master, Darth Traya, had brought them out of the ashes of oblivion so that they could reign over it. And it was her ambition to study that forsaken moon and the wound that still festered there, but most importantly, what had created it. Or who.

Erebus was who he was because of his sister’s slaughter, because of her abandonment on Dantooine, because of their innate connection through the Force. He could wrong her as she had wronged him by taking her to Nihilus and letting his master do what he will. Or he could take her for himself. He could kill her, yes, but there was another part of him that just wanted to take her away from all of this. There was a part of him that felt like home in the wake of her shop, a part of him that felt warm again.

Before his plan of action could be decided, he’d have to dispose of the Echani first.

But he had to know – who was she?

The girl at the stall was stoic, sure, and unlike any other creature he had ever come across. Debasing was his way of staying aloof, but his curiosity was getting the better of him, and it was making him clumsy.

She was unlike any Jedi he had ever known, or ever met for that matter, and he had yet to come across a Sith that was as adept as she was when it came to blocking his mental intrusions. Erebus thrived on forcefully probing into the thoughts of others, especially given his love for learning, prying into unsuspecting minds for information that was by no rights his to take. But her mind was vice-tight and silent as stone. She had been trained for this.

Electricity poured from his fingertips without his consent. It was only a matter of time before the Force-sensitive girl noticed it, too.

3951 BBY, Anchorhead, Tatooine
Vale

Vale held her shock staff aloft as she surveyed her shop for the last time. None of the other dwellings she had inhabited in her exile ever stood out. In fact, she could hardly tell them apart. But here, she felt tempted to grow roots, and she almost had. She had a shop, a clientele. She had friends. Friends.

Her eyes glanced back at the storage room door when a monotone voice spoke coolly in her ear.

“Affirmative Statement: Master, I believe we should vacate the premises immediately.”

Vale swung around, her shock staff still at the ready, and came face-to-face with an HK droid. It was one of her many salvaged droids, lined up pretty, all in a row. But none of her stock was programmed to activate pre-purchase. In fact, she kept most of the intelligence modules in storage, unless a customer requested an on-floor demonstration. The droid’s amber eyes stared vacantly out at her, it’s head cocked sideways in crude imitation of more sentient capabilities.

“Admonitory Warning: Time is of the essence. A horde of bounty hunters and mercenaries await you, as well as a Sith Agent and an Echani-trained warrior.”

The HK’s voice drawled softly in the open space, as if aware that they may be overheard.

“How did you-?”

“Assertive Suggestion: I believe we should vacate now and ask questions later.”

And with that, the HK droid took it upon itself to approach the main counter and procure the blaster rifle she kept hidden beside the register.

Vale’s eyes widened, watching wordlessly.

“Wh-?”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before her shop’s side door burst open. Before instinct could kick in, blaster fire singed the air around her. The intruders, the mercenaries, bounty hunters, whoever they were, lay dead on her doorstep within moments. She didn’t even have the chance to get a good look at them.

“Confident Assumption: You have miscalculated your odds. You may want to reconsider them.”

“Who are you?” Vale found herself saying, incredulous. Though she knew full well what her inventory consisted of, it just didn’t add up.

“Astonished Admission: I am an HK-50 model droid. My primary functions are to facilitate communications and terminate hostilities. You should know these things, Master.”

Vale rolled her eyes.

“Right, should I be surprised?” incensed that she had forgotten how pompous protocols were before the droid could respond with another quip of its own.

“You might want to find cover.”

Without elaboration, the droid moved toward the sales counter. Heart racing, mind on fire, Vale ran to its side, ducking beneath her sorry excuse for a register as the front wall collapsed in an ear-shattering explosion.

“The rear exit is our only option, Master,” the droid stated, its drolling monotone muted by the aftermath of the blast. Vale’s ears were still ringing, but she understood loud and clear. Whatever the hell was happening, her body urged her onward, and she wondered just how far the others had gotten. If they were lucky, they were already in the moisture rigging tunnels, and whatever happened afterward would only propel them further away from this disaster.

With the HK at her side, Vale ducked through the workshop doorway and glanced out her side window. The slatted shades permitted her a view of the alley again – the way was clear.

“Now you might want to find cover,” Vale said this time, slamming her open palm on a hidden panel in the workshop doorway. Several figures entered the shop proper through the blasted entrance, (Fools, Vale thought to herself) just as the rest of the shop collapsed on top of them. She was already out the back door with the mysterious HK at her side when the rest of the shop followed suit, dissolving into the sands behind them in a cloud of mushrooming dust and debris.

Flashes of memory invaded her grasp on the present: she felt as if she were one moment, she was darting through the alleyways of Anchorhead and the next she felt the weight of humid air, tepid and stagnant despite the rain – and even as Anchorhead’s sand threatened to fill her lungs as she ran, she heard the distinct sounds of Mandalorian vehicles thrumming as they weaved through dampened trees, kicking up mud into the underbrush. Vale was already halfway down the narrow path towards the cantina when a cloaked figure swept into the passage, blocking any advances, bringing her memories to a staggering halt.

Her blood stilled, her limbs frozen in half-recognition, but before her brain could recognize the figure standing before her, a phantom hand grabbed her elbow, jerked her sideward, and straight into the durasteel side of a dumpster.

“Always hated this place,” an almost sing-song voice uttered in her ear, annoyed despite the melody inherent in her speech. Vale cursed the absence of the Force and the clumsiness of her natural skills, still struggling to keep up with everything going on. The alleyway she left behind still felt heavy, the presence of the cloaked figure weighing it down with a dark familiarity she hadn’t felt since the massacre at Malachor V. And yet, despite the urgency with which she assessed the threat, Vale was pressed with another matter: the massive Wookiee and the blue-skinned Twi’lek at her side, still stabling her arm in a vice grip.

“We’ll exchange names and braid each other’s whatevers, later,” the Twi’lek quipped, “but right now, you best be coming with me, sister.”

“Cautionary Proposal: Master, we do not know who-“

But before the rogue droid could spit out another word, the Wookiee reached forward, grabbed its head and clawed its intelligence module straight out. Without any further explanation, the Wookiee tossed the module at Vale, expecting her to catch it, and roared “You can fix this hunk of junk later, too.”

Vale’s Shyriiwook was rusty, but she got the gist of it, the module tumbling into her half-suspecting hands.

“Your friends are up ahead, and if you want to see them again, we need to move.”

With another jerk of her arm, Vale was up and running again. The Twi’lek was slender, small almost, but wiry strong, and the Wookiee lugged what remained of the HK over his hulking shoulders as he kept up the rear. Instead of making a clear run to the cantina, the Twi’lek led them towards the loading area of the Czerka outpost, where there’d be plenty of cover. Smart.

Vale ran but managed to catch her breath, and in the meantime kept tabs on everything going on, falling back into hold habits the longer she ran with it.

Acid and adrenaline ran her veins as she kept up with the Twi’lek and the Wookiee, both of them hazarding glances and shots back over their shoulders. Vale ran with her staff in one hand, electrifying the air around them as they rushed forward, and her blaster in the other. Trigger ready, she looked back to find the Wookiee firing at nothing, the droid lolling at his side.

The Twi’lek pulled Vale back into cover once they reached the restocking station, reloading her weapon and looking over the edge of the cargo canister they were now breathing heavily against.

“If that sonofa-“

But before the words were out of her mouth, the air sizzled with energy behind them, and Vale knew her shock staff wasn’t the one responsible.

The figure from earlier stood nearby, and though Vale couldn’t see him, she could sense him.

This was no regulated static charge - it was the Force.

A crackle electrified the air again and the Twi’lek’s eyes widened, her grip firming on her blaster. The Wookiee growled, swatting at his now static-charged hair. There was silence, and then another round of blaster fire, only this time, it wasn’t from the Twi’lek beside her. Vale glanced around the cargo container, spying a rifle poised from the roof of the Czerka building and nearby a trail of Zabrakian horns poking out from the side of a vent exhaust. Darek.

The yard stirred, and though the stranger remained hidden, two others joined the firefight.

Two Czerka-clad officers slipped out the back entrance of the outpost, assuming positions behind other nearby cargo as two security cameras swiveled along the wall behind them. Vale heard the buzz of a comlink just before one of the officers opened fire.

A pipe ruptured nearby, and the figure emerged again, but unafraid. He walked to the center of the unloading station and stood, waiting.

Blaster fire filled the air again, missing the cloaked figure entirely. With a wave of his hand, one of the Czerka officers lurched sideways and into his partner, leaving them both in a muddled heap.

Another shot rang through the space, echoing off the canisters, this time managing to singe the sleeve of the figure’s cloak. As Darek took his second shot, a beam of violet light sliced through the air, deflecting it. One of the security cams burst into sparks, subdued by the flames that followed.

Hood drawn, the figure’s face remained concealed, though their intentions laid bare. Dark gloved hands bristled with electricity as the violet light disappeared into the hilt of a crude metallic cylinder, now holstered at the stranger’s hip.

A lightsaber.

“What in the hell?” the Twi’lek muttered at her side, equally in awe.

Darek did not dare fire again, and Vale watched as he retreated, out of sight. She had no idea where the others were, but she knew they must be nearby. If they knew what was good for them, they would continue retreating and not look back until Anchorhead and all of Tatooine were far, far behind them. Other shots fired. More head hunters were on their tail, and gaining on them. If they didn’t think quickly, they’d have nowhere to run.

Vale’s mind churned with questions she knew she was not yet able to answer, yet somehow, she trusted the girl beside her and her Wookiee companion. If anything, they wanted to see her out of this mess. Even if they were only in it for the price on her head, they at least wanted to bring her in alive, and she could work with that. As for the figure standing before them, the only thing she could imagine he wanted was the crystals, the ancient holocrons still safe in Glitch’s pack – or so she hoped. If they were smart, Orex and the others had resumed their escape… and Vale could buy them time.

She stood, holstering her blaster. The Twi’lek grabbed her hand, but Vale pulled back. Her shock staff at the ready, she faced the hooded figure and waited for him to make a move. She assumed her position, falling into pseudo-Makashi formation, and waited.

Her shock staff bristled with blue-white light, rivaling the electric tendrils that snaked the idle hands of the stranger.

“It’s been a while,” a male voice admitted, almost informally, his voice gravelly but wistful.

Vale faltered. She was missing something. She expected his words to be menacing, but they were sorrowful, heavy with regret. Maybe he wasn’t here for the holocrons, maybe he was-

She almost expected him to continue, to explain himself, and though his voice betrayed him, he extended a hand with a violent thrust and Vale felt her feet leave the floor. Her throat tightened, the breath squeezed out of her lungs as she lunged forward. Within the span of a moment, Vale rushed through the open air, her limbs dangling, as the stranger puppeteered her toward him with the pull of the Force.

She sputtered, gasping for air on her hands and knees, at his feet.

It only took her a moment to gather her breath and to push the disgust that rose at the back of her throat at the stranger’s display, but she remained on her knees, watching the outsider with her peripheral vision, her keen senses tracking his movements and the calm complacency that settled over him at the sight of her supposed submission.

And just when he thought he had the upper hand, she grabbed his ankle and jerked it toward her, pulling him off his feet.

“Doesn’t feel so great, does it?” she sneered, pulling herself upright again.

Vale reactivated her shock staff and prodded the man’s chest, but her limbs almost went slack at the sight of him.

His hood displaced by the fall, the man’s pale face lay exposed to the twin suns above, revealing familiar green eyes, so much like hers and yet so different just the same. They’d changed. So much had changed.

“It has been a while,” she found herself saying, her voice a hoarse whisper now despite her defiant words only moments before.

A question formed in her mind, the words rattling around her mouth unsurely, but a rustling in the alleyway drew her attention before she could fathom the composure to speak.

Vale’s eyes darted, but her staff remained poised, pinning the man to the ground. Aiden, Vale thought, after all this time.

He stirred. Without thinking, she prodded him the chest with force, suddenly reminded of their youth, but also recalling only moments before when he had used the Force against her. Her stomach churned.

“Not so fast,” she uttered, all sentiment dissolving from her tone of voice. Vale narrowed her eyes and hissed, “We’re not done here, yet.”

“So, some things never do change,” he spat back at her, his eyes indignant, glaring. It was only now she noticed just how unnaturally green they had become – bright and menacing, no longer their natural soothing sage.

Vale prodded him again.

“Evidently.”

The Twi’lek and the Wookiee changed positions, having inched closer to Vale in the moments that followed. She felt the Twi’lek’s eyes on her, her blue lekku visible in her peripheral vision as she assumed position beside a nearby crate, her blaster at the ready.

Vale shot the girl a look, still unsure of her next move. The girl’s brown eyes darted between Vale and Aiden, though Vale doubted he went by that name anymore. Without speaking, the girl nodded and looked over the edge of the crate to get a better look at the alley beyond. She didn’t seem to see anything either, but the Twi’lek poised her blaster instead, still careful to aim and take cover at the same time.

Aiden squirmed again, his hands prickling with static lightning once more.

“I can destroy you,” he said, his voice finally assuming the venomous authority Vale had expected the first time he opened his mouth.

“So, what are you waiting for?”

Vale thrust the edge of her shock staff into Aiden’s chest, their electrical currents mingling for a moment before he laughed. His voice was hollow but guttural. Aiden had never been this strong, nor this confident. Cocky, yes, and self-assured, but never when it came to physical endeavors. His command of the Force had been elementary, his skills best put to use in the Jedi Archives. Vale had never known a more brilliant mind, but that hadn’t stopped him from slinging insults at her when she told him about joining Revan’s cause. As much as things were undoubtedly different, he was right. Some things didn’t change much, no matter how many years had passed.

Aiden seethed, seemingly unable to control his anger or use it to his advantage. Isn’t that how Sith harnessed their power? Through hatred and anger, fear and violence? Maybe that’s what’s changed, Vale thought to herself. Perhaps he had begun to put his bitterness to other uses.

For a moment, Vale had almost forgotten the world outside the one where only she and the man she once called her brother stood in a deadlock. There was someone else here in the yard with them, she could feel it, but she couldn’t see them. She jabbed at Aiden again.

“Where are they?” she demanded, knowing he could reach out with the Force, but Aiden remained sputtering, angry and red in the face on the ground beneath her. She shoved at him again.

“I said, where are they?”

Her blood was boiling, and the voice that escaped her throat didn’t feel like her own. Catching herself off-guard, she blanched, shocked at her own words and the seething hatred that fueled them. But just as she came back to herself, she saw Aiden’s face contort with rage, feeding off of her. In a flash of movement, her brother grabbed hold of her shock staff, the electrical current circulating with his own now, and he brought himself back to his feet, sending Vale back.

Staggering, she held her grip as Aiden knocked her back into a cargo canister. She yanked the staff from his prying hands, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she planned to do with it. Aiden stood there menacing, a sickly grin plastered across his gaunt face. It was then that she noticed just how pale he was, how twisted his face had become. His features assumed the sharp angles of the bones underneath, abandoning the warmth they once possessed beneath freckled cheeks that often blushed when speaking with his superiors at the Academy. There was hardly anything familiar about him, and yet, Vale saw a reflection of herself in his eyes, a reflection of something she could have become but turned away from.

Vale caught her breath and pulled her blaster out of its holster just as Aiden revealed his lightsaber, still attached to his belt behind his billowing cloak. She braced herself.

His hand reached for the hilt of the weapon, but before his fingers could detach it fully, a body came soaring out of the air, knocking Aiden to the ground.

The new stranger’s hood fell as she landed square on her feet, immediately assuming a solid Echani stance upon gaining her balance. It was another girl, this one pale and human, short white hair cropped to frame her porcelain face and the fierce ice-blue eyes set in a determined stare.

“You again,” Aiden muttered, the words dripping with poison.

Taken aback, Vale stepped away, looking for the Twi’lek – but the Twi’lek found her first.

“Explain later, go now.”

She grabbed her arm again and guided her towards the Czerka station’s back entrance. As much as the girl was right, she wanted to know what in the hell was going on?! First the bounty on her head, then the ambush, her brother? And who was that young woman? Was she another Jedi? A rival Sith? Who was she that she thought she could take on a man who had just displayed the ability to manipulate lightning? And who exactly was she following anyway? Vale had the feeling that the girl knew Orex, given her liberal use of the word “friends”. She swallowed her reservations, her regrets, and shot one last look back at her estranged brother, still alive after all this time.

Trailing the Twi’lek and droid-carrying Wookiee, Vale hurried alongside them through the Czerka office, ignoring the startled employees as they rushed passed. She heard what must have been a manager call after the men they had sent into the docking yard earlier and call for backup, but they were out the door and rushing into the street before the woman could ask what under the suns they thought they were doing.

The usual afternoon bustle swallowed them whole. Vale looked over the crowd as they ran. Dust filled the sky where her shop had been, and no one other than annoyed bystanders paid them any mind. As far as she could tell they weren’t being followed. For now.

Darting between passersby and around shop stalls, they continued on without stopping – until they reached the docking bay. Just as they rounded the corner, the Twi’lek grabbed at Vale’s elbow, wheeling her into a side-stall. The purveyor, a wide-eyed Duros, glared at them, muttering a few choice obscenities in Durese under his breath before asking if they planned on buying anything with a pained (and obviously faked) cheerful disposition. All three ignored him.

After catching their breath, the only thing the Twi’lek said was, “Act casual.”

The girl squared her shoulders, drawing herself up in height as the Wookiee did just the opposite. He slumped casually beneath the weight of the droid still splayed over his shoulders and nodded in Vale’s direction, urging them onward. The Twi’lek looked at Vale for a reaction. After a moment of confusion, she nodded in haste.

“Yeah sure, whatever.”

The Twi’lek and the Wookiee exchanged glances again before leading the way. The three of them blended in as effortlessly as possible into the milling crowd, the girl fumbling through her pockets like any other spacer with leisure on their side might for her docking pass and ID card. They sidled up to the dock officer, the Twi’lek smiling sweetly.

“Looks like we’ll be heading out now, Miss-” she read the woman’s name tag carefully, “Deena.”

She smiled again, sliding her documentation across the log-in console at the red-haired woman before them, clad in a somber smile.

“Leaving so soon?” the woman asked, sincere. Vale rolled her eyes.

The Twi’lek tried to act as nonchalantly as possible, but every time she steered the conversation toward giving them clearance, the more questions the dock officer asked. It was only a matter of time before she noted the unrest in the crowd behind them, the bounty hunters and mercenaries undoubtedly catching up, and word about the “unsanctioned destruction” of the droid shop reached her ears.

As soon as her documents were scanned and their clearance granted, the Twi’lek swiped her stuff back and shoved them into her pockets as they sauntered onward with a running start.

Vale’s eyes scanned the crowd of departures and arrivals for any sign of Asra, Orex, Darek or Glitch, but it was all a blur. Her new companions seemed equally lost until a comlink buzz from the girl’s belt got their attention. They were still half-running, half-walking as she answered.

Indecipherable chatter erupted from the comm, the Twi’lek shaking it with haste in an attempt to clear the signal. “Damn it.”

“Did you come here on a ship or what?” Vale finally asked, under her breath, trying to sound as nonjudgmental as possible.

The Wookiee growled in response, annoyed, as the Twi'lek explained with worry.

“They were supposed to meet us three loops ago,” she muttered. Vale realized they had been walking around in circles.

Finally, identifiable words emerged from the comm, garbled but clear enough.

“Change of plans, meet us in Docking Bay 94! I repeat, Docking Bay 94!”

It was Asra.

The Twi’lek and the Wookiee exchanged glances just as another explosion sent them forward. Near enough to the blast zone, they tumbled into the passersby ahead of them, the crowd worked into an instant frenzy.

The Wookiee groaned.

“I have a feeling that was ours,” the Twi’lek responded, pained, but they were running out of time. She grabbed Vale by the elbow again as they ducked under the door with the numbers 9 and 4 poorly plastered above it.

Inside the hangar bay was a vessel far too small for the landing pad, but the image sent chills down Vale’s spine nonetheless. It was one of Revan’s ships. A basic Imperial shuttle, nothing flashy, but she could tell by the armor plating that it had come from the Star Forge all those years ago. Or was the damn thing still suspended in space, churning out ships for all eternity?

The girl rushed Vale up into the belly of the ship, ignoring her wide-eyed stare. She could hardly afford a good look at the thing before boarding the on-ramp with stumbling steps. Before she could ask any more questions, Asra pulled her aboard, taking her hand as she reached the inner belly of the small beast.

“What a day, huh?” the Togruta teased, though the anguish was clear on her face.

Vale nodded, wondering if she had wandered into a dream, as the loading ramp closed behind them.

What a day, indeed. And it wasn’t over yet.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Hyperspace
Vale

“So, does anyone care to tell me how you managed to pull this off within, what, five minutes of leaving my shop?”

Vale crowded into the cockpit with the others, shoulders and elbows knocking as the engines revved beneath them. The mystery ship was clearly designed to hold one, maybe two people at most. Glitch manned the controls, her tongue held firmly between her lips in concentration. Orex stood over her, scanning the cityscape as it shrunk beneath them.

Vale couldn’t tell if it was the ship taking off or just her nerves, but her stomach dropped the moment she could finally catch her breath for more than a few moments.

“And whose ship is this anyway?”

“That-“ the Twi’lek started, bitter notes of regret and exasperation in her voice, “is a really good question. But I can definitely say it ain’t ours.”

The Wookiee grunted in rueful agreement.

A blue hand traced the ancient hardware, the Mission's face contorting with concern. She turned to face the Wookiee, who could hardly stand among them, let alone with an HK still in tow. His back arched in an unnatural near-mobius curve, clearly suffering for the lack of space.

“We’ll have to make due for now.”

Before elaborating, Mission looked around, spotting the small cargo bay at the rear of the cockpit and ushered the rest of them inside. There were several small canisters in the adjoining room along with a refresher and a bed built into the far wall. This was definitely a personal vessel.

“You know what this is, right?” Vale asked Darek in a low voice as he ducked into the cargo bay alongside her. He nodded, a dark seriousness overcoming his features. Orex would know of the ship’s origins, too, and it didn’t take Vale long to think of a candidate suitable for the role of its potential owner. The answer only became clearer the more she looked around.

There were several small to medium sized crates piled neatly into the corner, taking up little space, but ancient memorabilia filled the rest of the small chamber, notes and diagrams strewn everywhere. Whoever’s ship this was had to be a collector, and maybe they had docked at Anchorhead to find something specific. Speculation mounted in Vale’s mind, but she’d have to save any half-baked conclusions for later, or at least until she got some other answers, first, and let her muscles and lungs recover.

“First thing’s first,” Asra began, standing between the two strangers once they had all filed inside, save for Glitch and Orex. She pointed to the Twi’lek first, and then the Wookiee, “Meet Mission and Zaalbar.”

Mission shot them a shy wave and Zaalbar shrugged as he finally set the HK down.

“Not sure if you still wanted this,” he whimpered apologetically, the trademark Wookiee gruffness still present in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” Vale replied, sparing him a small smile.

“I had the pleasure of going into business with Mission’s brother not too long ago, or at least, I almost did. But Mission, here, warned me about the pyramid scheme he was pulling and gave me a better offer.”

Mission extended a hand and Vale shook it. The girl had a surprisingly firm grip and she flashed Vale a friendly grin.

“It’s the least I could do. Griff can be charming, but that doesn’t make him any less of a liar.”

The girl rolled her eyes at the mention of her brother, crossing her arms across her chest after shaking both Vale’s and Darek’s hands.

“If you couldn’t tell, there are more people interested in you than just the seedy sort who’ll turn anything for a credit,” Mission said, “We were only told to get you out of Anchorhead – alive if possible, given the bounty – and bring you to the Republic.”

“If it’s a Jedi they’re after, I’m not sure I’ll be much help.”

Mission shrugged.

“I don’t know much about it, but I agreed to do this as a favor for a friend. Once it was out that you were in the Outer Rim, my friend sent word. Zaalbar and I happened to be en route to pick up a shipment out of Mos Eisley, so you could say we just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Right.

“Tell me about it,” Asra huffed, “Before word reached us about the bounty, we were about to go looking for the Republic.”

Zaalbar grunted, inquisitive.

“We found some… things. Old stuff, dangerous. We wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands,” Asra explained. “We weren’t sure where else to go.”

Mission looked to Zaalbar, who shrugged back at her.

“Dangerous?”

“Are they any Jedi left? Would your Republic friend know?” Vale asked, her voice low, heavy with unexpected emotion. Vale kept her nose out of Republic business since she was exiled, but after seeing her brother earlier that day, believing him to be dead all these years, she wondered just how much else she wasn’t aware of.

Mission shook her head.

“There are a few,” she replied, looking to Zaalbar as if seeking his approval before continuing, “It’s hard to say. But trust me, this Republic officer you’re about to see? He can help. He’ll answer some questions, I imagine.”

“Some,” Vale muttered under her breath, exasperated.

“Who is this officer, exactly?” Darek asked, nursing a stiff knee as he set himself down on a nearby crate.

“I-“ Mission and Zaalbar exchanged looks again, “We can’t say. We’re sworn to secrecy.”

“Secrecy?”

“What’d I tell ya about the day we were having?” Asra griped, nodding at Vale. “Speaking of which, about your ship, Mission-“

Mission put up a hand to stop her, shaking her head.

“No worries, sister. That thing was a hunka junk, anyway.”

“We never did get that cargo so it’s not like we lost any merch, either,” Zaalbar added, grumbling forlornly despite his concurrence.

“Plus, I’m doing this as a favor. I’m sure a new ship is within my asking power.”

“What happened, exactly, by the way?” Vale turned to Asra now, taking a seat beside Darek. It was only now she realized just how exhausted she was and just how much she needed to get straight.

“We ran into these two in the alley, near Czerka. Mission and I recognized each other immediately, and she-“

“Could tell you guys were sneaking around,” Mission interjected, “And it was pretty obvious where you’d come from. Plus, I had a feeling I could trust Asra.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the Togruta added, dryly. Mission smirked before continuing.

“Not only did we need to make sure you got out of Anchorhead, but we had to make sure you knew where to go. Seems we just helped y’all along.”

Vale had no words, her mind alight with speculation. Asra and Mission continued talking animatedly, explaining how they escaped and what had transpired in the past hour or so. Zaalbar fidgeted with the HK’s remaining parts, ridding the thing of any remnant sand, as Darek put a hand on her shoulder after a considerable silence had fallen over them both.

“You okay?” Darek asked, looking concerned about someone other than Asra for once.

Vale retreated from her thoughts, and felt the ship shudder beneath her. She nodded just as Orex poked his head through the cargo bay door, announcing, “We’ve just entered hyperspace.”

“Did you punch in the coordinates we gave you?” Zaalbar asked with a low growl.

Orex affirmed with a nod and entered the room, Glitch not far behind him.

“What happened?” Darek asked again once a relative silence fell over the cargo bay again. Despite the room’s spall space, his words seemed to echo between its walls, or maybe that was just Vale’s head.

“I saw my brother.”

The words felt alien, wrong, almost. Bile rose in her throat, and it took a moment and considerable effort for Vale to push her disgust and her surprise back down again.

“The man in the square,” Darek replied, knowing instantly.

“Who? That guy?” Mission asked, moving closer.

Vale nodded, feeling numb.

“The Jedi?” Orex asked.

He remembered. Vale had talked about Aiden a lot in those days, even if they were at odds at the time, so Orex might remember talk of him. Fighting alongside her mother, it was hard not to talk about her twin. Anyone that had been with her at Serrocco would know who Aiden was. She conveniently left out the part where their alliances didn’t quite align, not to mention his utter disdain for her allegiance to Revan to begin with, but all her mother needed to know was that Aiden was safe and that he was on his chosen path – wherever that led him.

“I have a feeling he’s not a Jedi anymore,” Vale managed to say, “In fact, I think this is his ship.”

“But this is-“ Mission began, looking to Zaalbar, “This is a Star Forge vessel.”

“How would you know-?” Orex asked before Vale could muster the words, but the Wookiee roared before he could finish.

Mission hushed Zaalbar’s outburst with a not-so-gentle “Hey!”

He grumbled, reluctantly returning his attention to the droid as Mission seemed to search for the right way to say whatever it was she was thinking.

“You’re, what, twenty?” Orex said, his voice even but accusatory. “When the war-“

“Let’s just say, I’ve seen some things.”

Zaalbar growled again.

“Correction: we.”

“Lemme guess,” Asra began, drawling and sarcastic, “You’re not at liberty to say?”

Mission frowned, but eventually nodded.

“I’m not exactly sure,” she admitted. “They weren’t really clear on the details.”

Whatever bad feeling had taken root when Vale stepped foot on Anchorhead spread ten-fold, even more so than her reaction to the sight of the holocrons at the abandoned site. This all tied together somehow. All of this was meant to happen. Her training would tell her that there was no such thing as coincidence, only the Force.

Vale looked at Orex, and despite his frustration she felt as if he was silently reaching the same conclusion. Maybe not anything relating to the Force, but that none of this was a coincidence, and that did not bode well.

“I’m sorry, I really am. All I was instructed to do was to bring you to the Republic.”

Mission’s voice was apologetic but defensive.

“The coordinates I gave your girl were random, or as random as they could be. Even I don't exactly know where we're going," the Twi’lek shrugged in defeat, "All I know is that once we drop out of hyperspace, we find the nearest space station, and wherever that happens to be, the Republic will be waiting for General Valen to take her to Telos."

General Valen. There it was again. In her mind, Vale always knew who she was and who she had been, but hearing her given name from the mouths of others still set her on edge. It had been far too long.

Mission and Asra continued speaking, Darek and Orex listening on as they recounted their steps back on Anchorhead and discussed the holocrons in as few words as possible to ensure their safe passage. For a moment, everyone else fell away, and all that remained was Vale and the ship.

The damn thing even smelled like him. She could almost laugh. After all these years, she could still detect her brother’s scent, the smell of his hair and the same soap he’d used for years. It was here. Some things really don’t ever change. The ship was irrefutably his.

She stood slowly, and began to meander, reminisce.

The crates stacked into the corner were locked. Vale figured she could guess the dolt’s password in a heartbeat. She was always good at that. But instead of hazarding any predictions, she moved on to the diagrams and maps pinned up along a corner of the far-right wall – Aiden’s makeshift “desk”, she presumed.

His handwriting had changed little. Small, uniform letters littered pages upon pages, and she smirked at his enduring preference for paper over datapads. The Archives are filled with them, he’d say, annoyed with her asking, there’s only so much fluorescent white-blue, or whatever the kriffing color is, that the human eye can take in.

A smile crept across her mouth at the thought, retreating to memory as it eclipsed her more recent ones. As to be expected, Aiden’s notes pertained to ancient artifacts, asking questions (no doubt, to himself) about origins, lore, and any inherent properties relating to the pieces he outlined in excruciating detail. It was not long before Vale came upon the notes he had concerning the holocrons once buried beneath the Dune Sea, the ones they carried now.

His records spared little information, only detailing the story she had heard upon first arriving in Anchorhead. The only indication that Aiden had known the source of the ruse or the true nature of the crystals themselves was an adjoining sketch of what very much resembled the crystals they found there, only his rendering more closely resembled a modern holocron, or at least some hybrid version of the old and new, with a note attached, reading: Korriban, ancient, pre-Hyperspace War. Several question marks adorned his query, but there were no further notes besides.

So, he hadn’t been here for her. The coincidences were piling up by the moment, and it was only a matter of time until he caught up with them, if he really wanted these things so badly. Though his transcripts divulged little, she doubted he knew much more than they did, but it was a start, and yet…

“How are we getting rid of this ship?” she asked the rest of them, completely unsure what the current topic of conversation was now. It was less accusatory and more of a call to action. Whatever talking transpired in the time she contemplated her brother’s things stilled to a quiet, and the others looked to one another for an answer.

“If this is a Star Forge vessel-“ she started.

“It most certainly came from Revan’s Sith,” Orex finished.

Vale faced them now, turning away from her brother’s work.

“Or Malak’s,” she added, though the name felt bitter on her tongue.

“So there are Sith left, but where would they be? Where would they come from?” Darek asked.

 “There always seem to be more of them, no matter what we do.”

We. Vale, of course, meant the Jedi. Goosebumps rose along her skin as she inadvertently slipped back into her old self, unsure if this is what she wanted, or if there was anything she could do about it.

“Doesn’t matter where they came from,” Orex said gruffly, “The Republic can’t have managed to eradicate the Sith after what happened to Malak. Some might have fled, I’d imagine. It could be they who pulled off whatever happened at Katarr.”

Orex shook his head, thinking.

“And who knows what they’d do if we stole from them,” Darek added.

“Or knowingly hindered one of their own,” Vale heard herself say. The thought was fresh, but the idea that by one of them she meant Aiden still felt wrong to her, and unendingly weird.

Nonetheless, Vale raised a hand and watched as her fingers graced the pages of the diagram in front of her, almost as if she were an onlooker watching as her limbs acted of their own accord. She tore the page from the wall, and handed it to Orex.

“He knows about the holocrons,” she said, her voice hoarse and low. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Orex plucked the loose page from her hand, squinting at the paper as if he had never seen anything other than a datapad before - and maybe he hadn’t. After a moment, he looked back up at her, brows furrowed, as he handed the page off to Darek. Asra looked over the Zabrak’s shoulder, glancing at Vale all the while.

Mission’s eyes darted between the three of them, finally settling on Zaalbar as she stated, “I’ll contact my people.”

Her tone was still serious despite the youthful melody of her voice, and the Twi’lek ducked out of the cargo bay and back into the cockpit.

“I don’t like this,” Vale started, “I don’t like any of this.”

“Neither do I,” Asra returned to her side, placing a calm hand on her shoulder like she had earlier that day, even though it felt lightyears away by now.

Vale placed a hand over Asra’s, reveling in her warmth. She avoided close contact with others for a reason, and the reason made itself known like a plague of guilt welling within her. It was borne of an unspoken fear that she would ruin everything, just as she had with Revan and Alek, with Kavar and Atris, with Aiden and everyone else.

It was strange, really, how Vale had avoided making any connections whatsoever for the past nine years, and yet in a mere 48 hours had formed such strong bonds with the people surrounding her that she could not possibly imagine a life without them now. It was not unlike the war. As many memories resurfaced, the feeling of comradery was the eeriest. She made friends easily at the Academy, though the Masters remained wary of her, and the soldiers that fought alongside her were easy to follow her lead. There was never any question. For others, bonds were made as easily as they were broken - but not with Vale, not with Eden Valen. Bonds were made for life. She could tell in the way Orex still looked to her for guidance and approval, even though he assumed the role of leader himself now. And she could tell in the way Aiden spoke to her after all this time, after all that had happened. And the silence that spanned the time between.

But this would not last for long. It couldn’t. Nothing ever did.

 Later

Aiden’s ship yielded little more information in the way of where it had come from, exactly, and who he answered to. All they managed to find during their time in hyperspace were more notes on ancient artifacts, both boring and long-forgotten (as they most often were), and a series of coordinates to previously visited sites – though some coordinates remained encrypted, but for what reason they could not surmise. Vale managed to steal a collection of notes and uploaded as much as she could to her datapad, for safe keeping and further investigation.

Despite what happened at Anchorhead, Vale could not help but feel sentimental. Perhaps it was the fact that she had grown to trust those around her in so short a time and already mourned their inevitable separation, or perhaps it was because she was not quite over her falling out with Aiden and never would be. Perhaps it was both.

Aiden would always be family, if not more than that. He was her twin, and he was once very much her other half. Of all the beings that remained in the galaxy, he was probably the one who knew her the most, despite all that had happened between them. As twins, they had always been able to harness an unspoken insight into the other, as if they knew what occupied the other’s mind, the other’s heart, without ever asking. They just knew.

In spite of the all the questions that dogged her, Vale had a feeling she understood Aiden more now than ever before. But now was not the time to dwell on such things. There was work to be done.

Orex pored over what little else Vale could gather from her brother’s otherwise airtight hard drive. She was able to bypass most of his passwords, having guessed their contents within a matter of moments, but the rest of his files were more delicately encrypted, as if he had anticipated her perusal.

“Korriban,” Orex uttered, identifying a sketched map of the main Sith site at first glance, “And Dxun.”

The adjoining diagram outlined the Temple of Freedon Nadd, and the exact altar they had extracted the first set of ancient holocrons from.

Orex squinted at them with his good eye, discerning the notes and citations, but undoubtedly perturbed by the amount of detail divulged.

“We sent these to Revan and Revan alone,” he said gruffly.

“And Revan turned Sith,” Vale replied, “Whatever runoff there was after the war, Aiden must have joined them. This sort of information may have been common knowledge to initiates, or at least easily accessible. Especially since these things were Sith in origin, or so we guessed.”

Vale almost wanted to laugh. Aiden had cursed her decision to defy the Jedi Council, and yet here he was, a loyal follower of the Sith that followed the heretic Revan’s rebellion. If they ever met again, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. She was sure of that.

“So, it’s just as I feared,” Orex muttered, “There are more of them, who knows how many.”

Vale considered him, scars and all. Orex was as ordinary as they came, compared to a Jedi at least. Orex was as far from Force sensitive as you could get without being completely inanimate, and even still the Jedi Code taught that all living things were influenced by the Force, regardless. But from her time with him, Vale knew that Orex relied on his gut and his gut alone. There was no mystical force supporting his beliefs or swaying his actions, and yet…

“I don’t like knowing they’re out there,” Orex replied, as if reading Vale’s thoughts, though her train of thought was easy to guess by the silence that followed, “After what we saw, after what-“

Orex stopped himself. Vale hadn’t been around for all of it. Dxun was a nightmare, but she could only guess what came after or what Revan’s Sith forces were like. She had no idea.

“We’ll figure this out,” Asra rejoined, her eyes eager and alight with determination, “This isn’t over yet.”

We. Vale’s skin warmed at the sound of the word. Moments earlier, she had slipped. She said we, referring to herself and the Jedi, but now Asra said we and she meant them - here, now - and that felt more real than anything Vale had known since the war.

“We’ll have to, the galaxy is in enough trouble as it is.”

Darek spoke this time, his voice soft and soothing. His even tone, though characteristic of the Zabrakian race, was earnest, and it set Vale at ease. There was enough to set her on edge, and the Twi’lek’s insistence on calling her General Valen wasn’t helping any. At least Orex had the sense to continue calling her Vale.

“What?”

Asra’s hand reached for Vale’s arm again, her eyes narrowing with concern.

“Nothing, nothing,” she replied, aside from the abundant somethings that troubled them. It was good to know that the Jedi weren’t the only ones that cared about what happened to the galaxy at large, and that they weren’t driven by doctrines or long-standing traditions to do so. Vale wondered how many more like Orex or Asra remained in the galaxy, veterans or otherwise, but stopped herself lest she become distracted.

“I’ll talk with Mission,” Vale said, “Make sure we’re squared away before we dock.”

Saying goodbye in her shop was unexpectedly difficult, but knowing she’d have to part ways again was another story. Vale swallowed whatever emotion overwhelmed her and entered the cockpit for the first time since take-off.

Mission sat in what seemed like a daze, gazing at the ship’s controls from afar, mouth open in awe. She jerked slightly at Vale’s entrance, embarrassed for a moment before finding her resolve.

“How are y’all holding up?” Mission asked after a moment.

Vale shook her head, looking for the right words. “Good for now,” was all she managed, looking everywhere but directly at Mission.

The Twi'lek nodded in reply, gathering her thoughts and taking a breath before standing up again and looking at Vale straight in the face.

“I never thought I’d see one of these again,” the girl admitted.

Vale looked at her now, cocking her head. Mission shrugged, and after a moment surrendered.

“I saw the Star Forge. I mean, the real deal.” Mission laughed nervously, perhaps hoping to ease the tension mounting in her chest. “I imagine you knew her? Revan, I mean."

Vale couldn’t help but smirk, but not because she was happy. She was smug, if anything. Everything always comes down to Revan.

“Of course,” Vale responded, crossing her arms, looking out at the marble white-blue of hyperspace, “But the question is, how do you know her?”

Mission inhaled, the labor obvious and almost exaggerated as if she needed to gather an extensive amount of energy to tell the tale and buy herself time before figuring out where to start.

“I met her on Taris," Mission finally exaled, "But back then she was going by Nevarra.”

Nevarra. Vale had used that name, too. The girl didn't notice, and Mission continued without pressing the issue.

“I didn’t know who she really was, none of us did. I suspect you heard about what the Jedi did to her?”

Vale nodded soberly.

“She was just, I don’t know, a Republic soldier, trying to do the right thing. She did right by me. She-“ Mission stopped herself, looking away before continuing, “She helped me. She was… she was a true friend.”

Though she had said little, Vale could feel the weight in Mission’s words.

“She has that sort of effect on people,” Vale said, moving closer to the navicomputer on the side wall. Her eyes scanned the read-out of nearby planets, realizing that this was the most she had traveled in quite some time, and wondered where Revan was now. She had been on Tatooine, yes, and Vale had a feeling she was merely following in her old Master’s footsteps. This encounter was only further evidence.

“Did you-?” Mission asked, trailing off before she could finish.

Vale turned to find Mission looking up at her wide-eyed and apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry but-?”

“Did I follow Revan?” Vale conjectured, “No.”

Mission didn’t say anything in response, only cocking her eyebrow in confusion.

“When I knew Revan, she was, I don’t know how else to say it… but she was Revan. I followed her to war, yes. But not after. Something changed towards the end, before Malachor. She wasn't the same. A lot of them weren't.”

The Twi’lek dropped her gaze, inhaling deeply.

“You haven’t said much, but if anything, maybe Revan was more herself after whatever the Jedi did to her than she was before.” Vale wasn’t sure where any of this was coming from. Maybe it was to ease whatever uncertainty plagued the girl before her, maybe she was just guessing. Or maybe it was for herself. “Before they left for the Unknown Regions, Revan and Alek were my friends. I trusted them with everything, and they trusted me. But when they came back, they came back with secrets and no intentions of sharing them. With anyone.”

Mission locked eyes with Vale again as she continued.

“I always wondered what made them change, what happened to them. I have a feeling that whatever we found on Tatooine has something to do with it. I have no idea how it fits into the puzzle, but part of me just knows. I don’t know..." Vale trailed off, "But you do see why it’s important that we transport this cargo, uh, delicately, right?”

Mission nodded, though she seemed caught in a thought, her gaze not entirely intent while searching her memory.

“We went to Tatooine, too, y’know,” Mission eventually said, “Revan had been there before.”

“We ran into some Jawa not long ago, and they mentioned her as well," Vale added,"And the Star Forge.”

The Twi’lek nodded.

“Nevarra- uh, Revan – shared these visions with Bastila. She-“

“Bastila? Bastila Shan?”

Mission’s eyes widened, surprised by the interjection. She nodded, affirming.

Bastila, a few years her junior, had been one of Vale’s classmates - a rival, in fact. While the Masters feared her ability to form Force bonds, they revered Bastila for her gift of Battle Meditation. They were not as different as the Masters made them out to be, or so Vale believed, but despite their similarities, their experiences at the Academy could not have been more different.

“I knew her,” was all Vale managed to say, before asking, “She traveled with you?”

Mission nodded, “We rescued her, actually, though according to her it’s the other way around.”

Vale almost snorted.

“Sure sounds like Bastila.”

The girl sighed, nodding exasperatedly before continuing, “She and Revan shared these, I don’t know, visions of where these star maps to the Forge were, I guess. I think Revan and Malak found them before or during the war, I can't remember.”

Star maps. The Jawa spoke of those too. Vale had known about the Star Forge, but only after the fact, and Alek had refused to tell her the details.

“Were you ever-?”

“I was close with them, once,” Vale said, “but never that close.”

The realization had wounded her back then, but she couldn’t say she was surprised. Revan and Alek had already formed an unbreakable bond by the time Alek had recruited her, and despite their willingness to teach her and call her their protégé, they remained closer with one another, never quite extending the same closeness to her. She craved their approval, and the slight only hurt her further, inspiring her growing suspicions. Yet it was her wariness that saved her. Vale wasn’t sure which was worse.

Mission took her at her word, and did not ask that she elaborate, “I don’t like sounding suspicious about her, I hadn’t been before. But with her disappearing, no word, and then all of this-“ she gestured about vaguely, “I just don’t know. I don’t know if I should even be telling you any of this.”

Vale shrugged.

“I don’t know either, but I then again I don’t know much of anything these days," The bitterness was far more evident in Vale's words than she intended, but it was too late now. “Can you at least take care of these guys? They’ve been through enough hell."

Mission didn’t say anything at first, but she nodded, her gaze intent and understanding. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said finally.

Vale hadn’t thought a lot about any of this on purpose - about Revan, about her brother, about Alek (though she forced herself to call him Malak, lest she get sentimental), about the war, the Jedi, the Force and the unknown plan it had laid out for the universe and everyone in it. Vale couldn’t say that she had been happy these past nine years, but she had managed to find contentment in her time alone. Yet here it was, fast dissolving before her very eyes, and as the coincidences piled up she knew she was never meant to stay away from Republic Space for long. She was right back in the mess.

“About Revan-” Vale began again, unsure of what words might find her lips. Multitudes upon multitudes of questions had hounded her since Malachor, and before, all of them about Revan. Vale couldn’t be sure which one might escape.

Mission looked up at her again, wondering.

“Did she-“ Vale inhaled, “What was she like?’”

The Twi’lek fidgeted with her left lekku, stroking it before placing it behind her shoulder as she searched for the right words.

“I can only speak for myself,” Mission explained, “But she was… she was kind, curious, and infuriatingly stubborn.”

Mission laughed, looking away.

“She understood me, she gave me a chance. She believed me when I said I could handle myself, and she let me. She trusted me, and other than Big Z, no one else ever had. Though, I don’t know how much I’d trust Zaalbar’s initial impression of me, anyway, given Wookiee traditions and life debts and all.” Mission shrugged, “She changed that much, huh?”

Vale nodded. “I was right though,” she managed a small smile. “The Revan you knew sounds more like the one I did.”

Despite everything else still unanswered, a quiet calm settled over Vale as she exhaled again. Mission observed her, smiling in return after a few silent moments.

“She goes by Nevarra now, actually.”

Nevarra, there it was again. After everything, this couldn’t just be another coincidence.

“Nevarra-?”

“Nevarra Draal.”

Vale’s skin prickled, suddenly cold.

No. Not a coincidence at all.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY Anchorhead, Tatooine
The Last Handmaiden

“That was the last I saw of her, Mistress,” Brianna uttered breathlessly over the comm tucked into her sleeve, hoping desperately that Atris could not hear the smile that spread over her face as adrenaline continued to course through her. “I can have a detailed report to you by-“

“No,” Atris responded, her voice brash and even, “I need you to tell me everything. Now.”

“But, Mistress, I-“

Brianna hid in an alley on the fringes of Anchorhead, the tumult still roiling in the city beyond as she strained to hear her Mistress’ voice. It was only a matter of time before she was found. The market center was a right mess, crowded with local law enforcement (or what passed for it, anyway), Czerka officers, mercenaries, and bounty hunters opening fire on one another from the moment the horde got too heated.

“I need to know,” Atris pressed.

Brianna ducked on instinct as another round of shots tore through the air, kicking up sand. The firefight was getting closer, and the longer it took for anyone to round up the rabble, the more likely they were to seek refuge in an alley just like this one - if not exactly this one. She winced, eyes flashing before looking at her comm with a knotted brow.

“I-“

She sighed, swallowing whatever argument threatened to escape her throat. Brianna inhaled deeply and started from the beginning.

Brianna had spoken to Atris upon first landing on Tatooine, but had not checked in with her since. None of what she relayed seemed nearly as important as it was for her vacate the premises and leave Anchorhead behind, if they’d even allow her to leave the docking bay. Now was her chance to take advantage of any remnant mayhem to make it off-planet before anyone knew otherwise, especially since there was one person who might want to come after her.

She paused after every sentence, speaking evenly despite her instinct still urging her to flee. Atris remained silent until Brianna mentioned the Force user that confronted General Valen.

“Did they notice you?” was Atris’ only question, still oddly unconcerned.

“To be frank, Mistress, I think the only thing he noticed was my boot coming down on his head,” Brianna answered, smug but serious, careful not to mention the finer details of the fight lest Atris disapprove.

Atris said nothing.

Brianna had only stayed back long enough to make sure that the man was down before pursuing the General and her cohorts again… but the confrontation hadn’t stopped there. Either Atris did not sense the information Brianna withheld or found it unworthy of note.

“Good girl,” she said, though Brianna could not tell whether she meant it sincerely. “Continue.”

“General Valen-“

“Exile, Exile. Please call her the Exile.” Atris hissed almost immediately. Whatever usual calm Atris harbored dissolved. Brianna balked, speechless, while Atris gathered herself and responded after a few moments, now forcefully composed, “You shall refer to her as the Exile, from now on and in any reports you deliver. Are we clear?”

Brianna nodded, taking a moment to realize that she needed to verbalize her understanding as well.

“Yes- yes, Mistress, of course. I apologize, I-“

Atris cut her off again.

“For subjectivity’s sake,” her Mistress explained further, her voice now strained even beyond the natural static of the comm link. “Now, girl, what of the Exile?”

Amidst the nearing chaos inching closer to her temporary sanctuary, Brianna recounted the chase through the market and the explosion at the docking bay. The Exile fled with two others, a Twi’lek and a Wookiee, though Atris never asked Brianna to elaborate on who they were or where they had come from. Brianna had followed them despite the frenzy at the docks once the third explosion went off. There was talk of terrorists and some kind of murder plot, but in the chaos Brianna managed to follow the Exile and the others to a strange looking vessel, placing a tracking device on the ascending loading ramp as it prepared for take-off. She would have made her escape then and there, but Atris demanded answers, and the undulating crowd had carried her out of the docking bay and back into the city as she struggled to get a signal.

Atris, again, said nothing.

“Mistress?” Brianna asked after a while, a cloud of sand erupting nearby. She was already inching towards a fork in the alleyway, a hopeful escape, as she strained to hear Atris’ response.

Another beat of silence. Another round of gunfire.

“That is… satisfactory,” Atris finally said. “Continue to the rendezvous point.”

“But Mistress, I’ve already-”

The signal cut out.

Brianna glared at the device as if it might spare her more information, or at least some sort of excuse, but the thing only transmitted static before she felt the heat of laserfire uncomfortably close to her skin.

Nearly singed, Brianna ducked before a shot could do her in. Squinting further down the alley was a mushroom cloud of sand and a mess of motion she figured she didn’t have time to make sense of.

She shut the commlink off as she broke into a run, several figures lunging into the alley, blasterfire not far behind. Reaching the fork, Brianna sprinted left and kept running. Her hood flew back behind her, flapping against the nape of her neck as she ran. The heat from the suns above was harsh, but almost welcome, and the acid now pumping in her muscles as she raced at full tilt felt sweet despite the pain. The smile returned to her face as she made her way back to the docks, breathless, unbidden in spite of herself.

Brianna was no longer alone, but it did not seem to matter. Figures ran passed her, unbothered by her presence other than the fact that she stood in their way. Without having to think, Brianna kept close to the walls as she hurried along, keeping herself as scarce as she could. No one looked back with a second glance.

The closer she got to the market square, the more she could gather about the current state of the city. Whatever passed for law enforcement around here was now roaming around every corner, sending anyone with a mark on their record back into the alleys and backstreets of the city like scrambling vermin, seeking cover or passage out to the desert. Brianna slowed and raised her hood once more, her breath still heavy, blending into the crowd once she reached the entrance to the docks again.

The Anchorhead dockyard was bombarded with people from every walk of life, each of them yelling, demanding answers. Several personnel tried to calm the masses but to no avail. Brianna had no time for this, she needed to leave.

She spun around, facing the haphazard square, still aflurry with fistfights and gunfire.

Is all of the Outer Rim like this?

Brianna had traveled a good deal for someone so secluded, but even still, most of the places she journeyed to were remote and relatively lifeless. Most artifacts tended to dwell among the forgotten, and as a result, even when she left Telos she only ever saw her sisters and Atris, save for a few natives local to whatever long-lost site they were sent to scavenge. They would occasionally visit more cosmopolitan areas, but they had not done so in quite some time. In fact, it was only a few years ago that Atris began sending Brianna and her sisters off on their own while she remained at the Academy. This was Brianna’s only foray into the universe alone. And she was already screwing it up.

Again, Brianna was pushed back from the crowd, almost as far from her ship as before. I have to leave, she thought as desperation took hold of her. Brianna looked at her wrist, her chrono-watch displaying the time. It wouldn’t be long before General Valen’s ship docked where it was meant to, and who knows how much time she’d have to catch up with them and make absolutely sure that the Exile made her way to Telos. Those were Atris’ orders, even if the woman had stalled the success of her own surveillance by demanding she report to her before hightailing it off this rock.

Her breathing quickened, a panic rising in her chest as she looked around frantically, searching for a way in.

Elbows knocked, blasters and shock staffs filling the empty spaces between people, threatening to be used. Brianna’s pale blue eyes scanned the crowd again, her heart hastening. She was beginning to feel sick.

Her stomach lurched, the panic taking over. Without thinking she closed her eyes and counted backwards from five. Her breath slowed, counting each second as it passed. And then… she opened her eyes.

Everything was quiet. The world stilled. The heat ceased yet it permeated everything around her. An unseen energy pulsed before her in its stead, like a thrumming heartbeat heavy against a ribcage, and then… it was all over. It was if Brianna had blinked without actually closing her eyes, a moment in time skipping by mistake, an errant glitch in the system.

Suddenly, she felt weightless, almost invisible. She secured her hood and walked onward, as if nothing could stop her this time. No one turned to look, no one tried to stop her. She was like water trickling through the crags in a cave, slithering amid the stones as she became the very space between them.

The heat of Anchorhead emanated around her, resuming in full, but Brianna’s skin grew cold. This was familiar, but how? Her mind raced, tugging at wisps of memory that faded before she could grab hold. An entirely different sort of panic welled within her, though she maintained her outer calm, closing in on the docks and what looked like a back way in where no one was stopping her and no one seemed to care.

There would be time to think later, to wonder. Or she could simply forget, she could let Atris’ secret academy swallow her suspicions until they vanished, like the half-dreams and near-memories her mind hungered for now. She’d decide later.

Brianna closed the remaining distance with hurried steps, ducking on the other side of a dilapidated wall before anyone spotted her, as if it was only a matter of time until someone did.

Her throat was as dry as the sand beneath her boots, and suddenly the crowd beyond the wall at her back swelled as if roused. Roused? Or noticed again? Unpaused, wakened from a momentary slumber.

Brianna had read stories of what adrenaline could do to a person, the abilities they were imbued with for brief periods of time, almost as if…

Almost as if they could use the Force.

She smiled, wistful, but she bit her cheek before it could consume her. This is silly, she told herself, you’re so stupid.

But despite the voices urging her onward in her head (undoubtedly taking the tone of Orenna, the oldest and the sister least likely to ever like her let alone love her), a twinge of hope remained. Some memory of her mother, whoever she was, whoever she had been. Maybe she had inherited her mother’s gift, perhaps it was something left behind that she could claim. Other than her father’s shame, of course…

Brianna’s hands reached up, assuring her hood remained in place, and stood. Looking forward, she breathed deeply and exhaled with newfound purpose. As much as she wanted to ponder whether this was some sign of Force sensitivity or just the effects of the heat mixed with her own naivety, her ship was nearby and she needed to reach it before she was found, before she could be forced back to wait with the rest of Anchorhead and the mess that threatened to consume it before nightfall.

Part of her didn’t mind the thought of being left behind. No – staying behind. She had a choice, didn’t she?

Brianna proved she could hold her own today, even if her sisters were not there to witness. Atris knew, even if she didn’t have the whole story. For now, knowing was enough. It would have to be. It was all she had.

3951 BBY Anchorhead, Tatooine
Darth Erebus

What felt very much like battery acid pumped through Erebus’ veins even as he paused to catch his breath.

He was safe for now, but for how long, he was not sure. There wasn’t much time.

Darth Nihilus would surely send an envoy after him and his ship – only problem was, Erebus was nowhere near his ship. He could let his ship be found without him inside for his master to find. Here, he could dissolve into the sands of Tatooine, never to be heard from again. But Nihilus hungered, he would find him eventually. Erebus may have been one to lie to himself if only the better to sleep at night, but he was not one to run.

Yet here he was, shipless and sisterless, and with nothing to show for his losses.

The docking bay succumbed to pandemonium around him. Erebus’ ship had been nearby, and he wondered if it was a coincidence that it was his ship that was now missing. But there was no such thing as coincidences, there was only the will of the Force.

He looked up at the Tatooine sky, cloudless and blue, as if to spy his sister staring down at him with a look that screamed I told you so.

She would, he thought, despite how much he abhorred the fact that he still thought of her fondly.

You’re lucky you still live, he might have spat back at her.

Erebus stood still, his hood drawn as he took refuge in the half-crumbled doorway of what might have been the deck officers’ quarters, the smell of singed datapads and other equipment ripe in the dry air. The dock’s personnel scrambled about, asking anyone who would listen to calm down and gather near the entrance so they could take inventory. This was his chance. Cloaking himself in more than just fabric, Erebus called upon the Force to distort his image, to avert eyes from his figure as if he were nothing more than smoke and translucent waves of heat emanating from the rubble that surrounded what remained the docking bay. As the maddening crowd drew back, Erebus walked on, unnoticed.

In a few moments, he was alone with the ruins and the ships that remained. He could take his pick.

The cacophony of the chaos melted as he walked on, surveying his options – and there she was.

“You again.”

She had come from above, toppling him to the ground like it was nothing, and perhaps it was. Too caught up in his sister and not in tune with his surroundings, Erebus fell without a fight. Before he knew it, Eden was gone again.

The girl put up a decent fight, too, and not just for an untrained Force sensitive, or so he suspected she was. Without exerting herself, the girl kept Erebus down and away from his saber as Eden and the motley company she kept – a Twi’lek and a Wookiee – escaped.

Not that Erebus still had any idea what he might have done with Eden, or to her, but there was no room for speculation now.

The girl had her hood drawn as well, and the Force swelled around her dissolving. She had cloaked herself, too, but her eyes betrayed her, darting around uncertain. Either she was the paranoid sort, or-

She doesn’t even know.

Erebus suspected it earlier, though he chalked it up to a lack of willing (and living) Jedi, but not a lack of awareness, a lack of knowing what she was capable of.

Back at the Czerka station, Erebus had reached for his saber, but the hilt remained half-buried in the sand, his mind a blank slate for the briefest of moments as if his inner command came to a screeching halt before an invisible wall. The girl’s eyes had widened, though it took less than a moment for her to regain her composure and rightly roundhouse kick him square in the face before running off herself. His jaw still smarted from the swing, but he had to admit it was impressive.

The girl was good, but he doubted she knew of her more innate capabilities.

A thought blossomed, a brief consideration ensnaring him before he dismissed it completely. I could teach her. But the answer that followed was a resounding and definitive no. He shouldn’t, he couldn’t, nor could he imagine that she’d ever agree. Whatever her motive for being here was, it was in direct conflict with him (and anyone else for that matter), and she seemed determined to keep whatever promise she kept. Even now, she glanced over her shoulder with every tentative step, oblivious to Erebus’ presence.

She drew a small datapad from her cloak, keying in a code. A faint smile spirited over her face as she watched the screen. Whatever it was, she had been successful in doing it. The girl bit her lip and looked around, as if embarrassed that anyone might see. Her porcelain skin blushed a deep, fleshy pink.

Erebus froze, his stomach flipping in on itself as he stood stock still. Her pale eyes passed over him without recognition, and he let out a breath of relief. She shook her head. Pocketing her datapad again, she looked around the dilapidated hangar she stood in, a doorway blocking the ship stationed on the other side. She heaved herself over a low wall of debris, wresting her boots in the crags of the crumbling barrier. Before reaching the top, she looked back – and straight at Erebus.

He did not move -  had not moved - since the girl began to watch her back. Her eyes fixed in his direction, seeing nothing, though they narrowed as if unsure. Her face betrayed an unease that told him, she knows. But what she saw, or what she thought she saw, he did not know. He could have sworn she nodded, but perhaps she was just shaking her head, telling herself that it was nothing but a trick of the light. Eden could always tell when he hid, back when they were children chasing each other in the tall grasses of Dantooine. She’d tell him that the ruse was a good one, but if she looked hard enough, she could tell something wasn’t right, that the molecules he cloaked himself with betraying him, completely giving him away. His command of them was not absolute.

He’d improved since then. A lot had changed, but him most of all...Or perhaps not as much as he liked to imagine. He sighed.

Now, the girl paused as she swung one leg over the wall, looking back in Erebus’ direction again. He saw it, then, a small vessel, not unlike his but not nearly as ancient. It must be hers.  With a final glance back, she swung her second leg over the broken wall and disappeared on the other side. Once she was gone, Erebus found himself hunched at the base of the wall, right where she had climbed over it. He watched on as she checked the ship for tracking devices, a pale hand running along the smooth surface of the craft as she walked its perimeter. She keyed into a panel on the ship’s side, a door hissing open as she completed the cipher. The girl slipped inside and was gone, the door hissing shut behind her just as it had opened.

Erebus did not move until the exhaust from her ship threatened to dislodge his hood. The Force still cloaked him, but in his reverie, he would not be surprised if he had slipped completely from cover.

He considered tracking her, despite her efforts to remove any such devices a moment earlier, but found himself too entranced, too curious.

What manner of sensitive was this? Not trained in the Force but well-versed in ways to block it? She had evaded his several attempts to invade her mind but had successfully stopped him from calling upon the Force himself, if only for an instant. The only other person Erebus had known to do that was the man who turned him. Curiouser and curiouser.

As her ship faded into the distance and the crowd beyond softened to a dull (but still incensed) thrum, Erebus drew his own personal datapad from his cloak, sighing as he keyed the command to his own ship’s tracking device. A series of numbers appeared on screen. Whoever piloted the ship now was in hyperspace, but he had the coordinates to their destination. He could catch up with them if he was quick enough.

The ruins of the southern docking square were soon crawling with urchins in search of a payday, small, grubby hands eager for a find to sell for scraps and bits of food. Erebus scoffed, and turned on his heel. He had a ship to steal, and people to forget about. For now.

3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport
Vale

Vale remained on the ship alone as the others waited outside, already discussing what was to happen next. She needed a moment to herself, with her brother, almost.

She had no idea how long this thing had even belonged to Aiden, but it was his. It smelled like him, it felt like him, it reminded her of home: humid nights spent kicking one another in the dense jungle heat of the bed they shared on Serroco; the month-long journey they spent almost entirely alone en route to their first Jedi Academy, teasing and chasing one another throughout the passenger transport at the despair of the Jedi Masters that had found them and promised them a better, more meaningful life; the warm sunlight that filtered into the dormitory the twins inhabited in their early years on Dantooine, creeping into their private moments every morning and every evening… it was all so long ago, and the idea of home felt just as far away.

She was at home with Aiden, but since their falling out Vale had only ever experienced it in fleeting moments: in Kavar’s training room, camping out on the front lines with Revan and Malak, seeing her mother again in the heat of battle, and again on Anchorhead with Asra, even if they were only friends for a short while.

It wasn’t as if she’d sought out a new home to replace the one she lost, but she was only now realizing she hadn’t quite felt herself since then, not since her brother began to pull away from her.

It was the jealousy, Master Sunrider told her once - He wishes he could be as independent as you, not realizing that you still love him and are part of him all the same. Aiden was jealous he had to share his sister with anyone else and his heart ached at the idea that she could form bonds with anyone other than him. They were twins after all, didn’t that count for something? It did, she’d tell him, but it was never enough. That seemed to be a running theme.

Despite what happened back at Anchorhead, she had a feeling. Vale carefully removed an artifact from the munitions pack, placing a palm-sized pyramid gently on her brother’s desk as if it were a paperweight to anchor his old-school drawings and diagrams. But it was more than that. It was a gift, yes, but also an invitation.

Aiden had a memory unlike anyone Vale had ever met, and that memory served him still. His notes were evident of that. If anyone would know about this thing, it would be him, whether the Jedi came through or not.

Vale had more than a feeling, she knew it to be true.

Asra’s voice called out to her, already a spectre as if from a distant memory, beckoning their eventual departure from the boarding ramp. Vale afforded herself one last glance around, taking all of it in, all of Aiden in.

“A Star Forge vessel, huh?” she asked, talking to the ship as if it could answer on her brother’s behalf.

All roads really do lead to Revan, she thought, the idea bitter in the back of her mind.

It had been a bit of a joke in the Outer Rim, and to Vale even more so, but now it weighed heavy like an omen. Maybe Vale had been collecting more omens than she realized. Bad feelings and artifacts, forever-haunted by Revan’s persistent ghost all the while.

She placed a gentle kiss into the crook of her palm and lazed her hand across the wall of Aiden’s ship as she descended the loading ramp. This was not the end, no. She could feel it. The Force did not speak for her any longer, but maybe she didn’t always need it to. Vale would see her brother again. She would see Asra and Orex again, too. Darek and the others as well. This was by no means an ending, but the beginning of something unlike Vale had ever felt before.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport
Vale

"So, what's the word?" Asra asked, leaning on her elbows as Mission took the seat opposite her in the cantina booth. The Twi'lek shrugged, looking none too worried.

Vale watched as the girl assumed a seat beside her Wookiee friend, the bustle of the bar appearing unconcerned with their presence – a refreshing thought after escaping Tatooine.

"There's a Republic Cruiser set for Onderon not too far from here. On a supply run, I think. I organized a pick-up that will make it look like Vale is transporting goods to be delivered to the war effort-"

"The war effort?" Vale barely heard her own words over the din of the bar, and the hood she donned didn't help much. She pilfered one of her brother's spares from his ship as a means of precaution, lest anyone recognize her.

"I'm not square on the politics, but from what I've heard?" Orex started, nursing his drink, "Onderon is plagued by some kind of civil war."

"Royal affairs gone rotten, I take it?" Asra smirked sourly into her cup before taking a sip.

"Something like that," Mission said before looking pointedly at Vale, "Listen, this ship – they're not gonna know who you are, and they shouldn't know you are."

"So who am I supposed to be, exactly?" Vale asked, careful to hide the agitation rising in her throat. With her past aliases out in the open, she'd have to reinvent herself completely to go unnoticed. She regretted the thought, but she had come to like being Vale, and she wasn't ready to start being someone else.

"They're sending over documents now," Mission answered, motioning towards Zalbaar to hand her the datapad in his hand. She drew up a map as she continued, "I'm supposed to pick them up, somewhere around…"

The girl's fingers maneuvered around the map like lightning, zooming in on their location and scanning the nearby areas in search of something familiar.

"Here," she pointed to a warehouse not far from where they had parked Aiden's ship, "You're supposed to be some, I don't know, important diplomat or something. Oh! That reminds me –"

"What?" Vale pressed once Mission failed to elaborate, rummaging through her pockets.

After a moment, the Twi'lek produced a credit chit from her utility belt. She smiled.

"We get to go shopping."

3951 BBY, approaching the Nespis VIII Spaceport
Erebus

Fingers fumbling over unfamiliar controls, Erebus brought the clumsy vessel he was now masquerading as his own down onto the sorry state Space City seemed to be in these days.

Space City, he scowled, what dolt thought this was a fitting name?

Erebus knew the answer to that, of course, having made it his business to know everything¸ but that didn't mean he approved of it, so to speak.

Space City was also known as the Nespis VIII Spaceport, though no one ever actually called it that. The sprawling city was constructed sometime around the dawn of the Republic, and 25,000 years ago, well, the concept of space was still new to anyone who was lucky enough to venture out into it. Erebus imagined the shocked faces of the ancients if they could witness his annoyance now, inconvenienced by the unfamiliarity of the ship he now piloted despite its ability to grant him the gift of space travel, almost aggravated with the modern metropolis that loomed into view ahead of him, unimpressed the marvel of it all.

Why here?

Erebus' unease mounted as he neared, the spaceport slowly eclipsing any glimpse of space or the planet beyond. The Force was leading him somewhere, but in order to go forward, he first had to go back.

A lifetime ago, Erebus stepped foot on the orbiting city with wide eyes and a heavy heart, afraid he'd never see his mother again. It was his sister who urged him onward, awed by towers that rose high into the azure sky as if their steeples were close enough to prick the nearby planet Nespis. Even with his sister's confident hand in his, he trembled in the shadows of the spires that towered over them. He had never seen anything so tall, and the murals were even worse. Before being assigned to the Dantooine Enclave, the twins were brought before the local Jedi council that sat on this city's temple board, being the closest one to Serroco. But in order to get to the temple, they were first ushered passed the monolithic depictions of the still-recent Great Sith War that snaked their way through the city, as if warning what might become of any prospective Jedi should they stray from the Order's righteous path. Faces resurfaced in his mind. Erebus shuddered as if looking upon them once more - not as himself now, but as the child he once was.

Erebus nearly ignored the comm requesting his ship's credentials. With half a mind, he didn't bother searching for the proper forms and instead reached into the well of his disquiet and persuaded the officer to let him pass. By the time they caught onto the ship's missing data, Erebus would be long gone, and this hurtling mass of garbage would be ownerless once more.

Impatient, he parked the stolen spacecraft in a commercial lot, uninterested in securing a private bay. As soon as he was planet-side, he drew the datapad from his cloak again, tracking the coordinates back to his own ship. It wasn't far, only-

"Mister Aren Valen," a modulated voice rang in his ear once he reached the main hub of the docking area, surrounded on all sides by shop-stalls, monetary exchange stations, and all manner of prostitution milling about in search of a spare credit or a free ride off world.

Erebus stopped mid-stride.

"Excuse me?"

Normally, he would never stop for a droid, let alone anyone. But that name…

"Mister Aren Valen, your ship is ready."

Giving it a good look now, Erebus looked the outdated protocol droid in the eye, reaching out with his senses to see if it was somehow prompted to address him as such. The droid stood expectantly, seemingly untampered with. It flexed its joints, impatient, as if avoiding the need for an oil bath while waiting for his reply, anxious that Erebus agree to follow it.

Whoever programmed this droid did so the old-fashioned way, but even then, there was only one person Erebus knew with such a knack for droids.

"Right this way, sir."

Aren Valen. Erebus had not heard that name in years. In fact, he had only ever heard the name maybe twice in his life. Aren Valen was his father, though the man had disappeared before he could rightly form memories. Erebus was almost named after him, but was instead named after his grandfather, Aiden. The names were not dissimilar, but the blow had been an obvious one, or so he had overheard once upon a time.

The droid ambled onward, looking back periodically to make sure that Erebus followed. Still eyeing the readout of his datapad, Erebus watched as the droid drew him nearer to his ship's location. Aren Valen, Aren Valen, Aren Valen. Another clue. Another step back bringing him forward.

It had to be her, it just had to be. Only Eden would know.

The droid led Erebus to a closed landing pad on the far side of the starport, turning around as they approached the gate. Bowing with the typical flair of protocol ceremony, the droid thanked Mister Aren Valen as the gate opened and allowed him access. Just as soon as Erebus muttered a reply, the doors shut swiftly at his back, leaving him alone with his ship.

The hangar was far too large for the vessel, but there it stood, pristine and perfect as if it had been churned out of the Star Forge anew, not salvaged from the wreckage at Malachor V. A soft chiming emanated from his datapad, bringing Erebus out of his reverie. He had reached his destination, and if the melodic alert wasn't enough, the screen also glowed a soft green, pulsing gently. If it weren't for the readout, he may have actually questioned whether this was, in fact, his ship. It was as if it were brought back from the dead.

Erebus knew better, though. With enough credits, the thing could have been fixed up good and proper. The only reason he hadn't done it himself was because of where the ship had come from and he couldn't afford anyone asking too many questions. Plus, he had no use for money other than to fuel his research, so why bother? Especially when he could take his pick of the moon's wreckage. Thousands of flightworthy ships remained abandoned on Malachor's surface or forever hanging in its orbit. Not to mention, Erebus was too busy to concern himself with such things. His work-

My research.

Snapping back to his senses, Erebus rushed aboard the ship, careful to check its every crevice and corner for a sign of something stolen. He raced to the cargo bay and the desk he had there, his notes now neatly piled and stacked alongside his collection of datapads and holocrons. They had been scattered haphazard before. Someone had surely been rifling through his things, and even at a glance Erebus could tell it wasn't all there, but then - there it was.

Approaching the surface of his workstation, he saw it: a small onyx pyramid, like the one in his sketches. There had been pieces of a broken few on Malachor, no explanation or means of origin attached to their remains. The records there were vague but had detailed the location of several settlements where the artifacts might be found - Tatooine being one of them.

This was it, this was what he had been looking for. Or at least, partly.

Erebus' skin grew cold as the realization struck him. This is it, he thought, this is what the Force wants to show me. It began with his work, leading him to his sister, and yet… his sister drew him right back. It was all connected… somehow.

He extended a hand, gently laying a finger on the smooth surface of the object, so small and unassuming, and yet the moment he made contact, everything went dark. His senses blinded, his limbs stiff, and his eyes rolled back into his head. And out of the darkness, a voice spoke as images dredged up from the depths of his memory.

We feed the Force and Force feeds us.

The voice was singular yet multiplicitous at once, and all together unfamiliar - but the images it showed him were not: a man, woman, and a child looked over what appeared to be the edge of a crib at him and Eden - his mother and who he assumed was his father watched on, but the child was unfamiliar and open-mouthed under a mop of messy hair. The moment dissolved until only the jungle remained, the already-warm air hot with blaster fire as the fighting drew nearer, his mother's comforting embrace pulling his young body from the danger as two strangers approached them and extended welcome hands from beneath heavy robes. And then Erebus was eight again and crying in his dorm on Dantooine, his sister holding the projected holovid of their mother in her trembling hands as she told them their grandparents had perished in a raid, tears streaming down her face. He blinked and he was older now, wandering amid the white-blue glow of the datapads that populated the Jedi Library on Coruscant, his eyes watching sidelong as Master Kavar approached Master Atris, speaking in hushed tones, their faces pale, blanched as if they'd seen a ghost. He turned to put a datapad away, only to find the library gone and his hands bloodied, his knuckles bruised and throbbing as a man with a wicked smile circled him in a dark alley, begging that he hit him again, and again, and again, a crimson crag of blood running down the side of his mouth like a wound. Erebus wound his arm back and readied a swing but darkness descended and all that remained was the space between stars and the feeling of Nihilus, the hunger that persisted, the pulsing energy that filled the room when he entered, as if all those present were plunged into the hollow stomach of a ravenous beast.

We control the seeds and tell the roots where to grow.

The stars dissolved, Nihilus' yearning making way for something Erebus had no words for, something somehow less than nothingness. He was weightless without concept of weight or being, as if he simply just were - and then the universe blossomed before his eyes, atoms bursting from an unseen bud, collapsing and colliding in a kaleidoscope of chaos.

Feed our Empire and you may live on forever.

Erebus' eyes shot open.

He stumbled back and shut his eyes once more, beckoning that the images, the feeling, anything, return.

A flicker of an image – grey eyes set in stone, reflecting the sky and the stars above – and then nothing.

Breathe, he reminded himself. Just breathe.

Inhaling, he counted to ten, and exhaled. He felt like a child again, overcome with emotion and told to control himself. He could hear Master Atris repeat the exercise in his head, though now it was difficult not the hear the hypocrisy in her voice. When Erebus regained control, the anger remained, but it was welcome. At least some emotions were good for something, now.

Vexed, violated, and indignant, Erebus drew himself up, his back straight.

As the anger coursed through him, something told him to seek out fear - specifically, the fear that still lingered here. Grey eyes set in stone…

He was Nihilus' no longer. Erebus was his own man and if he had a death wish, well, so be it.

He left his ship alone in the hangar, and if his Master sought to claim it, he'd be waiting.

 3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport
Vale

"Thank the Maker, that robe was awful," Asra whistled, surveying Vale as she stepped out of a makeshift dressing room in the din of the motel suite they shared for the time-being.

"I feel… weird," was all Vale could say, pulling at the fabric clinging to her legs. She was used to tight-woven clothing, anything that would keep the sun and sand out. But Mission's contact had already chosen the regalia of some nearby Outer Rim world for her faux-diplomatic jaunt to Telos IV. Vale recognized the styling, too – it was common to see travelers from the Anoat Sector sporting cloth of maroon, blue or gold, colors also often found in gambling sectors as the shopkeeper affirmed. The fact that the garb was easily recognizable would allow anyone noticing her to instantly make an inference and look no further. That was the idea, at least.

"Not looking bad yourself," Vale finally said after adjusting the sleeveless cape that accented her outfit, still unused to her skin's ability to breath when clothed.

Asra turned around, smirking, putting on a show.

"I'm a doll, aren't I?"

Asra sported outdated Republic fatigues, not uncommon for this part of the galaxy. Now that Asra and the others had been seen with Vale, there was no knowing who might recognize them.

"I don't envy you, though," the Togruta admitted, slipping her headdress off and placing it in her pocket. "A pantsuit would not have been my first choice."

"I didn't even have a choice!" Vale countered, unable to keep the smile from her voice.

She punched Asra playfully in the arm before ducking back into the adjoining room. Vale sighed, still anxious as she secured her old clothes and her brother's cloak in a rucksack. She had no use for any of this, though she imagined she'd ditch most of it when she got the chance. Her boots and her utility belts could come in handy, especially once she shook the sand out of them, and part of her wanted to keep Aiden's cloak for reasons that were not exactly practical.

"Hey," Asra's voice came from the other side of the door after a few moments, "You okay in there?"

Vale sighed, still holding the cloak in her hands, feeling the texture of the fabric under her fingertips as if it might tell her something reassuring.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

The door opened, the air hitting her back softly as Asra entered.

"You don't sound alright," she said, taking a seat on the bed beside Vale's bag, "I mean, I don't expect you to, but…"

"Are you alright?" Vale asked, looking up at Asra until their eyes met. The Togruta met her gaze before looking away, watching her feet shuffle on the cheap rug as she sat on her hands uncertainly.

"Not really. Not that Anchorhead is any sort of ideal location or anything, but I was getting comfortable there. I liked the work I was getting," Asra explained, her honey-yellow eyes surveying the room and looking anywhere but straight at Vale, "It was… I don't know, nice having a routine for once."

"I never thought to ask before, but, " Vale began, already unsure of whether she should even broach the subject given her own feelings about such questions, "What did you do before? Where were you?"

Asra shrugged and sighed, not as if she were dodging the question but looking as if she weren't sure where to start. She narrowed her eyes, still looking about the room as if the answer might be written on a panel somewhere.

"Well, not to say that I didn't wonder, but I had a mind that it might be a sensitive subject – " Vale explained herself further after a few moments of silence.

To fill the quiet, Vale began folding and unfolding her clothes, separating what she wanted to keep and what she was to get rid of in two separate piles as Asra gathered her words.

"I was displaced to put it lightly," Asra eventually said, "The Outer Rim was a mess. Still is, and hell, it probably always will be. But back then it was even worse. We-"

She paused, looking at Vale this time. Vale held her gaze and did not waver, waiting. Asra continued.

"We kept moving, from place to place, from planet to planet. It was weird not having a home at first, but then it just became… the norm. It got to the point where sticking around became the strange part, and we itched to get moving again. Word of the war spreading only set the fire to our-"

Asra stopped again. We. Our. Asra had a family once. Vale only had an inkling of what that might have been like, but more so what it would have been like to lose.

"It doesn't matter now, just…" the Togruta looked at her now, a bittersweet smirk crossing her face, "I was getting used to sticking around again."

"Me too."

The words were new to her, though Vale had known it for some time, and they felt natural as she spoke them. She had settled on Tatooine. She had a shop, she had a clientele, she had… friends. She had Asra.

"Y'know, I think you're the first friend I've had since…" Vale paused, combing through her memory, "Actually, I'm not sure I've ever had any friends."

"Oh, come on," Asra argued, "I'm sure everyone you've ever helped out here would consider you a friend. Friends aren't always pen pals, y'know."

"So how many friends do you have?" Vale challenged, leaning over and nudging Asra in the shoulder. She smiled.

"This isn't a contest!" she stifled a laugh, "But I mean it. I've heard people talk about you, about how you cut them a deal when the seasons were rough, or how lenient you are with payment installments-"

"Oh stop, you know I'm not in it for the money."

"Hello?!" Asra raised her arms, indicating at nothing and everything at once, "That's all anyone's after. Just look at-"

"The price on my head?" Vale finished. Asra's expression soured, her smile fading and her arms descending to thunk mutely on the old mattress beneath her.

"Well, there's that."

When she saw the leak, Vale knew Atris had been behind it. She wasn't exactly sure how or why, but she knew. As for the money, though… what would Atris need with credits? She was frugal, like any Jedi, uncommitted to things of material value. So where did the 50 million credits factor in? Perhaps it was jut incentive, and yet-

"Listen, you have more friends than you know. Or at least, not everyone in this galaxy wants to kill you."

"Because 'friends' and 'people who don't want to kill you' are synonymous, right?" Vale joked darkly.

"In some circles, yes!" Asra sighed, pushing herself off the bed so she could pace around the room. "The Outer Rim's a rough place."

"I was born here, y'know," Vale said defensively.

"You're gonna die here, y'know. Convenient." Asra laughed.

"Aren't we all."

Asra cocked her head, confused, as if the line of hypothetical joking ended there.

"It's all Revan's fault," Vale continued, "She brought the fight the Mandalorians wanted and never finished it."

Asra shrugged, agreeing, still pacing around the room.

"I take it you knew her well."

"Oh, I knew her. Or at least," Vale swallowed, "I thought I did."

The pack before her was now overstuffed, and hardly any of her old belongings laid on the bed beside her to be discarded. She upeneded her duffel and started over.

"Then again, I'm not the only one."

"I guess that's not uncommon," Asra said, "I've met plenty of spacers disillusioned with her. And Malak,"

Asra stilled, looking at Vale for a reaction.

"I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"What?"

"I don't know, you just-" Asra crossed her arms over her chest, "Didn't sound like you had the best relationship with Malak either, when we were back on the crawler."

"And you're telling me I have friends out there?" Vale managed a smile.

"Oh, come on. I meant that."

Asra continued pacing again, and more aggressively this time, her step quickening and her stride lengthening with every rotation.

"I know you did," Vale admitted, "But I can't say anyone I believed to be my friend didn't turn on me at one point or another."

She was tempted to use the word 'betray' but something didn't feel right about it. Everything that had ever gone wrong with someone in Vale's life felt like some huge misunderstanding, a miscommunication of enormous proportion

"Well, except for you."

"There's time yet," Asra chimed, joking, "Everyone's bound to disappoint at one point or another."

"That's not the same thing…"

Asra laughed.

"Maybe I need to redefine 'disappoint' and what it means in my own personal vernacular."

"I think I need to redefine a lot of things," Vale admitted, looking at her sorry excuse for luggage as an endless barrage of questions circled in her mind, unanswered, "But first, I intend to find whoever invented the pantsuit and ask 'why?'"

Asra's eyes did not meet hers this time. Her eyes glazed over in thought, staring at some indiscriminate corner of the room, but she smiled, already looking rather comfortable in her Republic fatigues.

"I expect a full report, agent."

She looked at her now, and Vale could tell the smile did not meet her eyes, a certain unspoken sadness muting their usual warmth. Vale smiled back at her, but she expected she looked the same.

3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport
Darth Erebus

Erebus' memory served him well. Passersby slipped by him in a blur, until there were none to pass him at all. As the temple neared, the crowd thinned, and Erebus was alone.

As it should be, he thought, the district near derelict. The temple would be deserted, with most of the Jedi gone. This place was as good as cursed and the ghosts of Exar Kun and Uliq Qel-Droma watched over the Order they helped put to rest.

The mural was just as large as he remembered, if not even more monolithic. Once-noble knights, Kun and Qel-Droma, stood down as if they were facing Erebus and his eager eyes, answering to him and him alone, not the Jedi Council of old. It was near some fifty years ago, now. Exar Kun and Uliq Qel-Droma turned from the Jedi and waged war upon them, just as Revan and Malak would not long after. Erebus knew their story and its every detail, if not for his obsession with facts but for Master Atris' obsession with righteousness. They were the reason Revan and Malak's plea for action was ignored. They were the reason the Code was rewritten and kept straight to the tee. It was because of Exar Kun and Uliq Qel-Droma that Erebus was even ever interested in history, in fact. As much as their visages haunted his younger memories, he was endlessly fascinated with their story, with the idea that they could commune with a spirit through the Force, that they could carry a conversation with the dead at all. And it was when Erebus fell that he began to wonder how Freedon Nadd managed to live so long and inspire those even after he was dead. And it was an interest in Sith artifacts that led him here now, were it not also for the urging of the agent who turned him to his dark path.

The temple stood beyond, quiet and seemingly abandoned. What happened at Katarr likely wiped out what remained of the Jedi - those fools. Yet still, Erebus wondered what remained.

Erebus looked up into the spectral eyes of Exar Kun, his lightsaber raised in defiance of the Jedi, who were now as good as extinct for all eternity. Grey eyes set in stone.

A childhood fear took root again, emerging from memory and welling at the base of his chest. He thought of those same grey eyes the night they came here all those years ago, and for many nights after. He was almost terrified to become a Jedi, fearful of the man made from glass, the man from the mural. Erebus did not recall when the nightmares ceased and Exar Kun let him rest. Kun may have been dead, and Erebus may have slept soundly, but Sion knew his horrors more intimately than that. Darth Sion was borne of Kun and Qel-Droma's war, fueled only by rage and pure hatred, his skin and his soul first ravaged by the Great Sith War and every battle he waged after, long after those dark disciples perished.

There were echoes of Kun and Qel-Droma even now, though dead some twenty years. The Jedi knights before him had learned all they knew of the Dark Side from a ghost, after all. There was nothing to say that their spirits did not dictate the fate of the galaxy still.

Erebus shivered, ice traveling the length of his spine and back again. And then his senses prickled. Movement behind him, eyes watching, a finger held precariously over a trigger as it was pressed gently to his neck.

Electricity sprung to Erebus' fingertips, his adrenaline returning.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

A hand grabbed his, immune to the energy coursing over his skin, and twisted it back.

"We just have a few questions, if you don't mind," the voice drawled casually, "If you would just follow me."

His unseen assailant pushed him forward, sending Erebus stumbling onto the crumbling steps of the Jedi temple. He dared a glance backward, but only found a hooded figure swathed in white.

He thought of the white-haired girl from Anchorhead and how she had blocked his ability to use the Force, how she had unwittingly used it without realizing. But the woman behind him now was too reliant on her blaster pistol, her fingers too poised, her body tense and ready to react. She didn't have what the girl had – yet like her, she was Echani. That much was clear. But who she was and why she was here…

Erebus raised his hands in surrender, complying. The hooded woman nodded and urged him onward, up the steps, and for what purpose? Erebus would soon find out.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, Jedi Academy
Darth Erebus

If Erebus was anything, he was curious. Perhaps too much for his own good. But if there was anything he wasn't, well, he'd like to think he wasn't stupid.

He could list several people who might say otherwise, but Erebus couldn't afford to heed their projected voices at the back of his mind, especially not with the Echani prodding him with the nose of her rifle. With one hand held firmly at the base of Erebus' left wrist, the white clad woman urged him onward and up the steps of the temple, her stun gloves threatening another jolt of electricity through his veins. Erebus jerked just enough to appear at a loss, as if he were quieting his nerves, and played along.

Hazarding a glance skyward, he locked eyes with Exar Kun, now made immortal in mosaic. Grey eyes set in stone. Memory tugged at the corners of his brain, the visions from earlier leading him just as much as the Echani was. He would let the woman think herself powerful for now. He would submit, he would obey, or at least appear to. He would answer every question and draw out every breath. He was sent here for a reason, and for his never-ending curiosity, Erebus was set on finding out why. The ghost of Exar Kun meant to show him something, or at least the Force told him that much.

The steps to the Jedi Temple were worn, crumbling in real time beneath his boots as if they waited for this precise moment exercise their symbolic dissolution, to ensure that Erebus would see it and take note. Yet his eyes did not leave Exar Kun's, only breaking away from the Dark Jedi's stoic stare when the approaching vestibule of the ancient academy blocked it from view.

Not that Erebus had any preordained idea of what it would be like to enter a Jedi Academy after all this time, but when the wrongness of it washed over him, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised. A breath escaped him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his Force Sight taking over almost instantly. A ghost of the old temple imprinted on the sight before him: where a fountain once stood in the center of the antechamber was now a crater, filled with debris, still-water brimming over the edges of what remained; in the great room, a transplanted garden was laid waste to laser scoring and the indistinguishable forms of burnt bodies; and in the library beyond, the shelves were empty, void of any light.

The Echani was pushing Erebus now, uncouthly escorting him past the grisly remains into an adjacent chamber, what may have once served as a reception hall where delegates or common folk waited to be granted audience with the residing council. A series of chairs lined the walls and a broken holo-tree flickered in the corner. If Erebus had to guess, it was perhaps one of the few rooms left relatively untouched, housing nothing of value.

Another Echani woman greeted them, only nodding as they entered. A pile of datapads stacked precariously in her arms, she must have just come from another part of the temple, taking inventory.

"Found another one," the woman at his back said, her voice stern. "Shall I place him with the others?"

The woman across the room studied him, her eyes scanning his frame from top to bottom, making mental notes as she went along.

"Of course, but Mistress will want him questioned," she said, her voice somehow more authoritative than the woman at his back, "Orenna's in the library."

Erebus watched, silent, soaking it all in. What sort of operation were they running here? And what stake did the Echani have in the Jedi?

The two women nodded and Erebus was shoved again in the opposite direction.

"I didn't realize being a tourist was so controversial," Erebus said, feigning a nervous laugh.

His legs stiffened as his wrist went slack beneath the woman's grip, trying on an air of uncertainty, though he couldn't say he wasn't flummoxed as it was.

"So, it's true then? The Jedi really are gone?"

The woman shoved him over the threshold of the antechamber and towards the library, unamused.

"I should be asking you the same thing," she muttered, her grip tightening on him. A neural shock coursed his veins, and this time Erebus didn't need to feign surprise. So, they don't know.

Erebus eased into a fumble more than he otherwise might have, flinching even though he wasn't sure if the woman was watching. Quickly recalling whatever he could from the vessel he arrived in, he fabricated a story, shallow and vague enough to be believable, so it didn't appear he tried too hard, yet detailed enough that he might go unquestioned, at least not any further than the Echani was intending. An eidetic memory was good for more than just research.

"In here," the woman ordered, shoving Erebus again. Passed the antechamber, the library stood beyond, wreathed in shadow. Whatever was of use here had either already been plundered or counted and packed away as inventory as these Echani seemed to be doing. Another one of them presided over this room, her fingers dancing across a datapad as she took what Erebus could only guess were notes.

There were no datapads in this room, save for the one in her hand, and all that remained were an odd assortment of old artifacts, ancient in origin, yet familiar somehow.

Erebus sized the woman up as she side-eyed them in return, registering the arrival of her colleague beside her as well. Her face was the same as the one before – sisters? – and Erebus wondered if the woman behind him, his hand in her vice grip, looked the same.

"Another one?" she asked. This must be Orenna.

The woman behind him nodded, her fingers flexing over the skin of his wrist again, though another jolt never came.

"Ariana is still scouting the city limits," she said as the woman in front watched on, her gaze careful as it traveled between the two of them. "I take it Irena is with the others?"

Orenna nodded, her gaze returning to her work.

"I need to finalize the last of the inventory, so she's taken over questioning. We are expected to leave within the next standard day. This wasn't meant to take this long, and now that the Ex-"

She stopped herself.

Erebus could see the frustration cross her face, a brief flicker of emotion threaten her outer demeanor.

"Make it quick," she reconciled.

"Will do," the woman at his back affirmed, urging Erebus onward again.

The women nodded in unison, and Erebus noticed now how very much like and unlike they were from the girl at Anchorhead. Was he just being dense? He had to admit, he knew little of Echani breeding characteristics or how their genetic code worked, though he knew enough about their fighting style. Still, it was odd to see this many Echani anywhere, let alone a few that happened to look nearly identical.

But the girl at Anchorhead was just that - a girl. These women were older, not just in appearance but in the way they carried themselves, how they spoke. Perhaps he was still smarting from how the girl had bested him. Maybe she hadn't been all that young. But still…

"If we find them, we find them," the Echani named Orenna called after them, "If we don't, then they really don't want to be found."

"Understood."

Who didn't want to be found? Who were they looking for?

Erebus had questions, but it appeared he'd have to answer theirs first.

3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, City Limits
The Last Handmaiden

Being alone was something new, something Brianna was unused to. Atris would call on occasion, demanding updates, reminding her to send detailed reports, as if the calls weren't enough. There was an edge to her voice Brianna was unfamiliar with, though it was far more welcome than the heavy silence often found when in the presence of her sisters. At least here she was asked for, she could prove herself without worrying about the judging eyes following her every move, their discerning looks almost one in the same and nearly identical, their irises a shade more violet than her slate blue.

"Anything she does, anything she says, I need you to tell me," Atris told her in the span of a breath, "Spare no detail, and call her the Exile."

Brianna had been careful to refer to her as such in every account and every briefing, but she did find herself slipping, referring to the woman as the General in her mind, or Vale. It was difficult, listening in on the woman's conversations and hearing everyone else call her by one name but forcing herself to use another. Had she lost the privilege of a name in her exile? Brianna knew the feeling, and now more so than ever. She may have been alone, but here, she could be just that - Brianna. Not the Last Handmaiden, not Yusanis' bastard, the runt. In time she may no longer be lesser, but not yet.

As alone as she was, listening in on the Exile's conversations made her feel less so. The Exile and her crew slept in shifts, and they were always on the move. And even now, when Brianna might otherwise be sleeping, they were relocating.

It had only been one standard day, but Brianna had somehow yet to fail when it came to tracking her quarry and the ragtag crew that followed.

They never signaled it verbally and it never mattered who was on watch. They remained at their first location for three hours, their second for twelve, and now after ten hours at their third hostel, the Exile and her conspirators, whoever they really were, were on the move again.

Since they slept in shifts, Brianna hardly had a chance to sleep herself. Atris had provided her with a device that could read heat through walls and translate what might otherwise be garbled rubbish into audible words from meters away, durasteel be damned. The thing was ancient, and odd - perhaps something from her Mistress' stores, though something Brianna had not the chance to study herself, despite the hours she liked to spend alone in there, studying to her curious heart's content. It fit comfortably in her hand, a slab of what might have otherwise looked like transparisteel or a broken shard of glass, resembling more of the latter. It was uneven, jagged, and indiscriminate – all the better for concealing. Having not truly rested since Telos, Brianna reclined with the device in her palm, gently cradled against her ear. With the heat sensor off, the audio receiver remained enacted, feeding whispers and words into her tired ears.

The older one and the girl spoke in hushed tones, and even as they continued their conversation, Brianna sensed something. She dreamed lightly, images playing across her closed eyes, but even as she rested, her sleep was a shallow one. The device whispered all the while, as if dictating her dream, but then – why could she see the others moving? Bags slung over shoulders? Furniture set back into place?

Brianna stirred, blinked, and reactivated the heat sensor. Sure enough, from the opposite side of the wall, the Exile and her crew were readying themselves to slip away into the night… or early morning, Brianna wasn't sure how long this station's cycles were just yet, or how they worked.

Gathering her things, Brianna made a few mental notes, preparing herself for Atris' inevitable check-in call. They were moving quickly, but discussing nothing of merit. The soldier and the girl were still talking about identifying forged Republic documents, as if the older one was quizzing the younger, and the others said nothing. The room emptied and the party filed down the hall adjacent, the one conversation continuing casually all the while.

She waited a beat, her blood pressure rising as the readings disappeared from the sensor all together. Brianna needed to give them enough of a head start not to notice her tailing them, and she had been careful enough to change her garb once she came here as well, swapping out her rough-spun brown cloak for a sleek, black one. Her reflection in the mirror greeted her with a newness that excited her, but she had enough sense to pull her hood farther down her face before exiting her suite, noticing that the pale of her skin clashed with the darkness of the fabric haloing her.

Hurrying down the hall and the steps beyond, Brianna kept glancing at the device in the palm of her hand, waiting for the readings to pick up again. Other heat readings glowed on the screen, but Brianna had programmed the thing to track the Exile and her friends specifically, alerting her with a thrumming vibration when they were within range again.

Bounding down the steps now, Brianna's palm gripped the device, still feeling nothing.

No, no, no.

She hadn't waited longer than the last few times, they shouldn't have gotten too far.

Brianna nearly burst through the side exit at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes scanning the crowds in the city below for blue or red lekku, a burgundy head laced with horns, or even the Exile's messy mix of a blonde and black-haired bun.

Her blood ran hot, her nerves on edge.

They're around here, somewhere, she told herself over and over again, studying every face and every shadow, careful to hide her own visage beneath her hood. Distracted and near-distraught, it took a few minutes of frantic searching before Brianna realized it was raining.

Looking up, she blinked a few droplets from her eyes, indignant and angry that even the weather would work against her now.

Shit.

She'd heard other spacers use the word, and even as the blasphemous term crossed her mind, she recoiled at her own profanity.

As much as Atris might have reprimanded her and her sisters berated her, a sense of relief washed over her as she realized that neither were here, and that the former had entrusted such an important task to her. Her and her alone. And she was blowing it.

"Shit," this time she muttered it, shouldering her way through the crowded streets.

Her sensor was filled with red, heat surrounding her in every direction. She looked from her palm to the crowd, finding nothing, and losing hope.

"Wonderful."

Brianna kept moving, unsure of where she was or where she was going, only aware that she was looking and trying not to appear so anxious while doing so.

A jolt. Brianna's eyes dashed to her palm only to find the shard flash with green light for but a moment before dissolving to red again. They're nearby.

With her hood carefully covering her brow, her eyes scanned the crowd again, a faint tremor teasing her palm before she could take a look, always a moment too late. She was on their tail, at least.

And then… a flash of white.

White?

Without thinking, Brianna spun around, her eyes fixated. A white hood, drawn like hers, dissolved into the crowd just as quickly she spotted it.

She shook her head, looking instead to the device in her hand as it vibrated again. Green figures swam across the clear screen, her palm glowing beneath the otherwise transparent surface. They were headed back to towards city perimeter, where they had first docked their ship. They hadn't combed through this part of town yet, Brianna only just realizing they were rounding back around through the East when they had first wound around the West side upon arriving. It was in moments like these that Brianna could hardly understand herself – so quick to lose herself, her inner-compass sometimes non-existent when in other far more fleeting moments it appeared like a second-sight, as if she could conjure a blueprint to appear in her eyesight, a ghostly map overlaid all else within vision.

And there it was again – white in here periphery. The flash of a cloak, whipped away by the wind and her slow reflexes.

Nothing.

Perhaps she was paranoid, her mind making something out of nothing, almost as punishment for being so comfortable here otherwise, alone and unbothered. All she needed was her objective and Atris' orders. If she could keep this up, maybe she didn't need anything else, or would at least forget to want it.

Her palm pulsed again.

Brianna blinked and there they were again, now ducking into a nearby alley.

Darting through the crowd again, Brianna pressed on, denying her senses and anything else that might tease her periphery. She saw it again - white cloak, white hair - but she ignored it, if not willfully but for the scene unfolding before her. The Exile and her crew never stopped moving, but in their advance two of the figures held hands, an object passing from one to the other, hands clasped in darkness and wreathed in rain, before one of the pair disappeared on the other side of the alley alone. The rest stooped under cover of canopies, shanty shacks lining the wide berth of the backstreet as they disappeared into the din.

Brianna glanced at the device, watching on as one green figure continued forward while the rest climbed into the apartment complex beside her. Within the span of a moment, Brianna registered what happened and followed the lone figure, hooded, but was for sure the Exile. She continued onto the docks, stopping only once to grab a drink at an express bar by the dock registry, trying to act casual.

Brianna stilled, almost afraid that she was found out. After losing them, finding the Exile seemed almost too easy. But the look on the woman's face told her otherwise. Once under the awning of the compact cantina, she extracted a leather strap from her cloak, running her fingers along the edges and the crystal embedded in the center until her order arrived. She nodded, and began to sip in silent contemplation.

Master Atris had taught Brianna and her sisters how to make themselves invisible, and one of the best ways to lose yourself in a crowd was to become "just another patron". Without lifting her hood, without making eye contact, Brianna slid into a seat at the end of the bar, placing two fingers out on the counter until the cool edge of a drink met her skin. Without looking at it, Brianna slipped the device into her pocket, feeling the thrumming vibration against her thigh. It was almost calming.

She pulled out a data pad, reading through the latest news as she watched the Exile in her peripheral vision. The woman drank in silence, staring straight over the barkeep's shoulder, either lost in thought or studying the bar's stock. She lifted her wrist and looked at a sleek silver band dangling from it. A small holodisplay emerged over her skin, the numbers disappearing as soon as they were read.

She's waiting for something.

Brianna nursed her drink as best she could, wondering what she was missing by not following the others but knowing those were not her orders. The Exile waited, and waited, and with a drink or three, Brianna lost count, she checked the time every ten minutes or so.

She seemed so… normal. But didn't everyone else? Brianna had watched old footage of Revan, of Malak, some recordings of the other Dark Jedi Atris warned her of in her training, should a Jedi ever fall again… and she had watched the Exile being… well, exiled. It was a recording Atris liked to use as an example, above all the others. Brianna and her sisters would watch on in wonderment, appalled at the woman's indignation, her gall, her absolute disregard for authority and the mercy she was shown as she destroyed the pillar at the center of the council chambers. Brianna hated to think of it, an artifact defaced. There was a fire in the Exile's eyes, an anger, and though there was something there in the Exile now, Brianna felt only… determination, worry. But perhaps that was because the woman wasn't being watched, to the best of her knowledge. She wasn't being judged. She was in her own world, lost in thought, waiting for something that did not rely on the people milling about her and the girl watching on all the while.

That is what makes people dangerous, Atris had told her, when they are calm and complacent, when you believe they are your friends. Her Mistress had told them of her time as the Exile's teacher, when they had been close. Sentencing the Exile was both the easiest and most difficult thing Atris ever had to do, her Mistress admitted. It was easy because she knew what had to be done, yet difficult because the truth hurt her, but it could not be ignored. Just as Brianna was held to a different standard than her sisters, she understood. She was the result of a transgression, a breach in tradition. Brianna would not make the same mistake, and she would make up for the one her father burdened her with.

The Exile looked at her watch one last time, this time looking to the crowded sky afterwards. A mess of speeders and other transport were either zipping their way about the cityscape, docking or taking off. Watching from the corner of her eye, Brianna could not pinpoint exactly where she was looking, only that it was up.

The General – Exile, she internally corrected – downed the remains of her cup and rapped her fingers against the glass in rhythm, counting. When she reached sixty, she pushed away from the bar and began walking again.

Brianna looked about, checking that the coast was clear – and it wasn't.

Another set of blue eyes stared back at her from across the marketplace surrounding the docks, only these eyes were more violet than hers.

"Nice to see you're doing well, sister."

"Arianna."

Brianna's voice caught in her throat, almost unable to utter her sister's name.

"Shall we?"

Arianna hooked her arm in Brianna's as she began to shadow the Exile as she had intended, and expected, to do alone.

"What are you-?"

"Mistress sent us, of course," Arianna answered curtly, "Not bad."

"Not-?"

"You, dear sister," she said again, "You've done well."

"Mistress did not send you here just to check on me," Brianna began, though she knew not how to continue. To her relief, Arianna continued finishing her thoughts as she already had been.

"She sent us, yes, but oddly enough not for you," she mused, following the Exile all the while. She flashed a holocard at a dock officer as they passed, the uniformed woman's eyes scanning over the two of them before nodding and allowing them passage.

Brianna glanced at the holocard before Arianna could pocket it, her sister's face plastered across the thing in translucent pink and blue, the Nespis Police seal stamped at the bottom.

"Odd coincidence really, though Mistress may explain more later," Arianna began, sounding as condescending as usual, "We're here on our usual business. You just happened to be here, as well."

"The Exile just happened to be here," Brianna corrected, swallowing whatever anger rose at the back her mouth like bile, "Are there more artifacts here?"

At this last question, Brianna felt foolish, unable to hide her excitement. Arianna nodded, smirking at Brianna's emotional display, however feeble.

"There are Jedi artifacts everywhere," she said, "But yes, that is why we are here."

Arms still linked, Arianna tucked Brianna's elbow tighter against her, and nodded ahead. They stopped in their tracks as a crowd, perhaps a family, made ready to board a shuttle nearby, helping to mask their presence somewhat. Several yards away, the Exile nodded to a pair of Republic officers and handed over a set of documents, part paper, part datapad. The officer on the left tucked the paper into what must have been a manifest while the other scanned the datapad. A captain came up behind them and shook the Exile's hand, both their smiles formal and void of warmth. Brianna could feel the device in her pocket hum against her thigh, still set to read the Exile's movements and pick up on her voice, but without it close could not hear a single word spoken.

"Looks like you've completed your mission, little sister," Arianna grinned, a genuine smile this time.

Part of her wanted to argue, a sense of pride rising in her at the accolade, angry that her sister would belittle her like this. But there was warmth in Arianna's eyes, a softness she had not seen since they were children. A look not unlike one the Exile's Togruta companion gave her as she had observed.

Brianna bowed her head slightly in thanks, but was careful not to let too much emotion play over her face.

"I'll make sure to tell Mistre-"

Brianna stopped her, raising a hand.

"No, I will tell her. I was ordered to provide a report."

Arianna let go of her sister's arm, watching her, impressed.

"So be it," she said, now swallowing her smile. "You may join us if you like, back at the Jedi temple. You can contact Mistress there."

Brianna thought for a moment, wondering if she should depart on the ship Atris provided instead. But a Jedi temple, full of artifacts ready for indexing? Making up her mind, Brianna nodded, and allowed Arianna to lead the way, as always.

3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, Jedi Academy
Darth Erebus

When the first Echani warrior led him away to the adjoining room, he was alone. Save for her, at least. The room was dark and his hands bound. He made every effort possible to sound inconvenienced, even though the Force kicked in to make up for his senses the moment they walked into the room.

It was a training hall - or had been, once.

He could feel the size of the place, the loftiness of the room's high ceilings, and the way it dwarfed him and the woman at his side. This was the point, he remembered. The Force was larger than the self, he could recall Master Dorak saying. Almost every aspect of a Jedi Academy was built to reflect that and remind the Jedi, save for the older temples in the more remote corners of the galaxy, as well as those forgotten, beyond the realm of the Republic. Erebus had only found one, though he planned to find more.

The woman wrestled with Erebus' wrists for a moment longer, and checked his pockets, sliding her gloved hands along the length of limbs to ensure that he carried no weapons. She faltered at his waist, but Erebus jerked, feigning discomfort from the touch of her stun glove.

"Watch it," she warned, patting him down but exploring no further.

Erebus winced, and nodded.

"This way."

Beyond the training room was another, and beyond that, what looked like an annex, or perhaps this was the true archive. The room Erebus had spied earlier bore few datapads, scraps of ancient paper littered across the floor, but this room was near full, and far larger than the last.

She led him passed the main entrance, weaving through shelves until they came to a set of tables and an access station, the console set to sleep mode. Another woman stood behind the controls, looking bored.

"Another one?"

"Another one."

Erebus was shoved into a chair at the main table, his knee hitting that of the man sitting across from him. His eyes were bright, skin pale and hair blonde, but his clothing mussed, and something didn't add up. Erebus looked away as quickly as he made eye contact, settling into his chair as best he could with his hands still bound.

"Thank you, Ursa," the other woman uttered as the woman at Erebus' back made her leave. "Stay close, I have a feeling about this one."

The last bit was muttered under her breath, whispered just as the woman he now knew was called Ursa crossed the threshold into the dark of the training chambers again. Even though he wasn't looking, he could see her nod and look at the back of his head. She agreed.

Almost shyly, Erebus looked back up at the man in front of him. His hands, too, were bound. Even with his arms behind his back, tucked awkwardly over the back of the chair, Erebus could tell the man's shoulders were broad. He had the look of an athlete, but not one in practice. Unable to get more of a read on him - the man's face was hidden beneath a sheet of flaxen hair - his energy was surprisingly… calm. Collected. Erebus matched his mood, calming himself as he continued to play along.

So, they suspected him more this other spacer, huh? By the looks of himself, he couldn't blame them, but he hadn't come here to act of all things. There was something here, yes, Erebus could feel it. But he'd have to play the part.

Here's to hoping the man whose ship he stole didn't have too much of a record…

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Nespis VIII Spaceport Docks
Vale

Vale couldn't sit still.

Pacing her cabin, she examined the contents of her duffle, laid out across the once-neat surface of her modest bed: Her old clothes were in a pile, dumped unceremoniously as a reminder of where she had been; several trinkets, or whatever they were, salvaged from the site in the Dune Sea – onyx pyramids of varying sizes, though each of them could fit comfortably in the palm of a human hand; a pile of notes and datapads filched from Aiden's Star Forge ship, along with a few choice notes of her own regarding the ship's make and model as well as the contents of his cargo hold; the munitions pack with the stored crystals; the remains of her emergency pack (rations, a blaster pistol, an extra set of clothes folded as compactly as she could get them, and a pre-paid credit chit); and finally Asra's leather bracelet.

Vale picked up the leather cord, running it through her fingers now as she examined her inventory. Still clad in her clingy pantsuit, she walked the length of the room with the cord in hand, giving each item a moment of her time.

Item one: Her old clothes, sand still clinging to the seams – Tatooine. Like many of the other places Vale had ventured in her exile, Tatooine had something to do with Revan, but what made Anchorhead different was that it was hardly touched by the war itself compared to her other Outer Rim haunts. A brief altercation had occurred there, if she remembered correctly, but nothing big enough for the holorecords to remember. And still, that wasn't the visit Vale was interested in. According to the Jawa, Revan had been there before, in fact, not too long before she had. According to Mission, she and Revan visited Anchorhead in search of the maps that would lead them to the Star Forge, which was new information to Vale. She knew about the Star Forge and the mystery of its location from the war, but she didn't know one of the maps had been near Anchorhead. Not only that, but the Jawa referred to Revan being accompanied by a "dark one". When Revan and Malak had first gone there in search of the star maps, they had certainly been influenced by the Dark Side, Vale's hindsight was sure of it. But to call Revan by her name and Malak as "dark one" was a bit strange. Had Revan returned? Did she know about the abandoned site Vale and the others had found? The people of before left mechanical maps, but the dark one left something else, they had said. The thing you carry is dark and dangerous, like them. The one called Revan came looking, too.

But that's also what brought her to item two: the onyx pyramids. Dark and dangerous. Like the contents of the munitions pack, there was something off about the small ornaments, each oddly perfect and mesmerizing, simultaneously attracted yet immune to sunlight. They hadn't found any such items in Freedon Nadd's temple on Dxun, but they bore some similarities to the holocrons they found at both sites. Unlike more modern Sith holocrons, these artifacts did not need to be accessed or "unlocked" before potentially drawing their viewer closer to the Dark Side. Vale didn't know much about it back then, and had the items sent to Revan. No news came from it. And now, more than ten years later she discovers there are more, with the help of an old comrade no less, and soon discovers that her brother (who was a Jedi, last she heard) appears to be an expert on the subject – well, somewhat.

Aiden's notes lay beside the trinkets and the munitions pack, detailing other Sith artifacts. Many had similar features, each bearing certain trademarks. Vale had learned a bit about such Sith items in her training, but only enough to know how to either avoid them or destroy them if need be - and even then, many Dark Side items had failsafes built into their design to preserve them. After all, what else are all Sith after if not self-preservation?

Vale wasn't sure if Revan meant for it to be this way, but despite her failings and her publicized redemption, if she did anything right as a Sith Lord, it was making sure the galaxy did not forget her – Vale least of all. No, not Vale, she corrected. Eden.

And then there was the name Mission said Revan had adopted, the identity the Jedi gave her, Nevarra Draal. Even thinking of it now sent a shiver down her spine. The Jedi must have truly thought her dead if they imagined using an alias of hers was wise. She admitted it made sense. Both she and Revan had similar features, though it hadn't been apparent to her until now, until she revisited her old "looks" when Glitch found the post about the bounty on her head. Both Vale (Eden) and Revan had almond-eyes, pointed ever-so-slightly upward, especially when they smiled. Vale's eyes were narrower where Revan's were wider, easier to trust. Their faces were oval in shape, their cheeks high and sharp and their jaws defined. Vale had a face (and a neck, shoulders, and arms) covered in freckles where Revan had a modest sprinking over her nose and cheeks, a few on her collarbone. But when done up as "Nevarra Draal", ex-Republic scout, or whatever her old alias read as, their eyes swathed in ochre, their hair pulled back in messy braids and beads, they could pass as sisters if not the very same person. Vale wondered if Revan had been from Serrocco, too. So many children had been displaced by the war and taken in by the Jedi before they grew too conscious of their generosity. It was not strange to think that Revan may have come from the same planet, perhaps even the same village, or at least one surrounding the same port as the one Vale and her brother grew up near. There had been others at the Academy, why not Revan?

But no, there was something else. Vale could feel it. She wasn't sure of it yet, but she knew it meant something. It was why she left Aiden's ship under the name of their father, Aren Valen. Nevarra Draal had been his sister, once, their aunt. Vale had few memories of her and the wife whose name she took, Teran Draal, the two young women watching over them when their mother would work. They were still very young, but some of her fondest childhood memories took place at their house, playing in the yard and dreaming of the jungle beyond, admiring the way Teran's hands worked the soil to make food and flowers grow, listening to Nevarra tell them tall tales of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel Droma. Aiden loved those stories, even if they terrified him. He'd wake her in the night once they were home again, shaking her until she listened intently enough about how Exar Kun spoke to him in his sleep and asked him to run away, to come find him and put his wandering soul to rest.

There were too many connections. Revan, Tatooine, the holocrons, the Sith, her brother… even the fact that she had found her first Sith holocron with Orex at the Temple of Freedon Nadd was too much of a coincidence for her – it was Freedon Nadd who turned Exar and Ulic to the Dark Side to begin with, right?

Vale stopped pacing and sighed, her chest tight. Looking down at the leather cord in her hand, she admired the roughness of it, the softness it had earned from use. Asra could have been a friend – no, she was a friend, and Vale hadn't even allowed herself to admit it. More than anything, she wanted to tell Asra everything, she wanted to explain all of this to someone and have them see. But see what exactly? In telling Asra, she perhaps just wanted to feel less alone, but if she really wanted to figure things out? She'd need to talk to her brother.

There was no way of knowing whether he had taken her invitation, though if he had at least received it, she knew he was clever enough to guess what it meant. In leaving the ship in their father's name, she hoped he understood it was a truce, as a sign that "whatever's happening here, it's bigger than the both of us," but it still had to do with them, it was tied into their family, their history at the Academy, to Revan. If anyone would know anything, or at least where to start, it would be Aiden. Vale could only hope he'd accept, and answer.

Aiden, like the rest of the galaxy, may have seen her exposed records. Perhaps he, too, would make the connection when he saw her doctored files, especially the one masquerading as their perished aunt. That's why she used her father's name to lure him, to clue him in. And maybe in digging a little deeper, he might find that Revan was somehow involved, too.

How? Vale wasn't sure yet, but she was intent to find out.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, Jedi Academy
Darth Erebus

In the moments it took the Echani to cross the archive and approach him again, Erebus drew up what he could remember about the pilot whose ship he stole, dredging up whatever details his mind found worth storing. Despite his usually near-eidetic memory, the images his brain conjured were weak. Though anger often fueled his more brilliant bouts of genius, as a Sith would, it seemed his frustration upon leaving Anchorhead was enough to cloud his recollections.

Smuggler. Thirty-something. Human. Untidy. Broke… like every other smuggler in this damn galaxy. But there were a few things Erebus remembered that stuck out. Wyland Rhel, as he was called, was a fighter pilot during the Mandalorian Wars and had continued working for the Republic until the middle of the Jedi Civil War – Wonder what happened there? Since then, he'd been taking contracts transporting fuel, mostly, but occasionally ran jobs with the Golden Company. A hefty contract, and a risky one. All of this Erebus gleaned from the man's records of payment, which were the only thing he seemed to keep in any kind of order. The data file was easy to break into, so Wyland Rhel was most likely sentimental and all the more stupid for it - after a basic search, Erebus found the date the man had been recruited by the Republic on official record. So despite his current affiliations, Wyland was still sweet on his time as a soldier, it seemed. Either that, or it was the only date in his life, other than maybe his nameday, that meant anything to him and was worth remembering. Among his affects were other IDs, either stolen or forged, undoubtedly used for more delicate operations. That was about all he remembered.

The woman approached the table again, though did not afford Erebus another glance as she nonchalantly flicked through the datapad in her hand.

"So, who are you, another scavenger looking to collect?" she asked almost absently.

Depends on how you define 'scavenger', Erebus thought, because you're not wrong.

"I take it you're Irena," Erebus chimed back. "Charmed."

The Echani's eyes flashed before she calmed, a gloved hand flexing as he circled him, the other cradling her datapad.

"I'm sure one of the others spoke of me, though who we are is none of your concern."

"Yet I seem to be of some importance, I take it."

She scoffed and glanced down at the datapad again.

"We're running a simple background check, is all," she assured him, the calm in her voice wavering as her patience began to wear thin.

"And the Echani have authority in the Nespis System since…?"

"That is none of your concern," she smiled sourly, though she kept her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her this time. "I will be the one asking the questions."

"Alright, so I, a humble Republic citizen, is expected to blindly submit my rights to you because…?"

Normally, Erebus would never be so outwardly snarky, at least not in a position such as this. He was used to speaking with out-of-touch tribes, distant planets far-removed from the Republic or hapless traders who knew nothing of their older wares, and other such ilk. He knew enough to stay away from civilized space when he could, and if he had business here he knew who to avoid and how. But even still, this woman was Echani¸ not a beat cop with something to prove.

At this she smiled, though the pain was clear on her face. She was not trained to deal with the likes of him, at least not in a civil manner.

"It really is none of your concern," she said again, her teeth near gritted. What had her so rattled that Erebus barely had to try to get to a rise out of her? The man across from him let the subtlest of snickers escape his mouth but otherwise betrayed no emotion, looking down, letting his hair mask his face like a veil.

"Alright, alright, just making sure my rights as an honest to Force citizen weren't being taken for granted," Erebus huffed, finding that his voice took on more of a drawl the more he kept going. "How long's this gonna take? I have places to be."

Erebus recalled several military grade crates at the back of the ship when he boarded, his Force Sight granting him view of an array of weapons within. Weapons trade was big money, so however broke this Wyland Rhel was now, he wasn't supposed to be for long. So much for that. Wonder how that sorry smuggler's doing now…

Irena looked him over, seemingly unimpressed but still suspicious. She wasn't buying it.

"And yet, for someone with a busy schedule you still found the time to scope out the sights, I take it?"

"Thought I could score a few extra credits, something to sweeten the deal."

He hoped he sounded convincing.

"Wyland Rhel, thirty-six," Irena started, looking over the edge of her datapad at Erebus, "You've grown paler since your photo was last taken."

The woman turned the datapad so Erebus could see, the screen displaying a man with scarred but dark skin, the color of rich mahogany.

"Can never be too careful," he said, not too suddenly, "Dig even further and you'll find the ID where I hail from Ryloth. Record says I had my lekku cut off."

Erebus chuckled to himself, as if impressed, having seen other men do the same at countless cantinas across the galaxy. As much as he loathed the quality of the drink there, they were the best places to get information. In fact, it was how he learned about the site at Anchorhead.

Irena rolled her eyes and kept scrolling, looking nonplussed enough with the uncanny ID photo. To think the smuggler had several IDs in rotation was not unusual, especially given the rap sheet Erebus' own sister sported now, and for all the galaxy to see. It wasn't exactly a red flag that Erebus himself might be lying.

"Not exactly what I'd call a clean record," she said after a moment, reading the remainder of the file in pensive silence, though it seemed she found nothing of note – or at least nothing surprising.

How did these Echani get in good with the Nespis Police Force? If they had access to their files, could bar anyone from the premises of a location, and a Jedi Temple no less…? Erebus knew that there were people other than Nihilus who would be happy to see the Jedi gone, but at least he knew why. The Echani were not on good terms with Revan after the Civil War, but that was just one Jedi, and by then Revan had already turned.

"It says here you worked with the Golden Company."

At this, she smiled wryly.

"Unfortunately, everything on the premises has been turned over to us, so if you were planning on-"

Irena was cut off by a comm at her wrist, static warbling the otherwise unperturbed quiet. Even the man across from Erebus stirred. He stole a glance, before the man could see, taking in his young face and the lone swipe of dust across his brow, marring his otherwise crisp and chiseled appearance. A scholar, perhaps? A civilian?

"Yes?" Irena lowered her datapad with one hand and brought her other wrist to her lips, speaking directly into the device attached to it.

More chirruped warbling – that's when Erebus noticed the glint in the woman's ear, just beneath her cropped white hair. Whoever was speaking to her was speaking in code, their words filtered to sound like gibberish to anyone else within earshot.

Irena's eyes shot to Erebus as she listened, her gaze sharp though her eyes narrowed. He couldn't tell if they were always this bright of violet or if it was just the wealth of datapads gleaming in the room that leant to their almost ghostly glow.

"I'll keep an eye out," she said finally, her eyes never leaving Erebus. Their eyes locked, and she moved towards him, pocketing her datapad and unsheathing a retractable staff from her belt.

"Don't move," Irena warned, "We have eyes on you. Both."

The man across the table looked down again, as if embarrassed by being called out, and Irena began staking out the series of shelves that surrounded them.

A breach of security? Another unwanted guest?

When Irena was far enough, Erebus relaxed a little, letting down his outer guard to unleash the Force within. After a moment, he could see the archives in his inner eye like a blueprint laid out before him. Stacks of datapads and artifacts surrounded them, some pulsing with more uncertain energy than others. Erebus' blood quickened, his skin growing hot, already desiring to peruse the temple's stores or what remained of it – if he could somehow get around the Echani lockdown, that is. At least without seeming too suspicious. Perhaps his vision led him here to find something, to bring something back. Perhaps there was another pyramid, another holocron, another clue.

"The Golden Company, eh? You a scavenger as well?"

Erebus broke out of his reverie, surprised to hear someone other than Irena talking irately.

The man across from him finally spoke, his voice just above a whisper, but pleasant and calm. Erebus gawked for a moment before composing himself, surprised to find a friendly smirk on the young man's face.

A joke. He's joking.

"The lady pretty much spelled it out, didn't she?" he drawled again, almost forgetting his made-up persona.

"Right," the man laughed, his eyes twinkling as he gazed about, almost unbothered by the restraints on his hands, held tightly against his back. "I figure they can't hold us for long. Even the Nespis authorities wouldn't be able to do this. Unless-"

He stopped himself, laughing lightly. His eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the corners.

"Never mind," he said, "Say, can I- can I ask you something?"

"Can't stop you from asking but that doesn't mean I'll answer," Erebus quipped.

"Have you seen-" the man looked around and lowered his voice, "Have you come across any other artifacts?"

"Other?"

"Other than Jedi."

So, the Golden Company deals with Jedi artifacts.

"You mean, dark artifacts?" Erebus couldn't bring himself to say Sith, as if he would unwittingly out himself.

The man nodded.

Erebus wracked his brain again, recalling a few contracts for ancient scrolls and antique weapons under Wyland Rhel's Golden Company contracts, but nothing that screamed Jedi, or Sith for that matter. He had heard of the organization but only knew that they dealt in rare, high-end goods, often "off the record" and to the highest bidder, whether they be aristocrats or crime lords. If they were after artifacts pertaining to the Jedi or the Sith, things could get… complicated.

Before he could worry, or wonder how he might undermine the group somehow, the man before him spoke again.

"Anything like a holocron? A crystal?"

The hair on the back of Erebus' neck rose. Eden's gift. His work on Tatooine. Grey eyes set in stone.

"Something like that," he answered, "Why, there something here?"

"Perhaps," the man's blue eyes widened, a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. "I'm a bit of an enthusiast."

"Well, this would be the place to find one," Erebus answered, though he knew somewhere like Koribban might yield more Sith relics than this place. But the man wasn't wrong, and Erebus hadn't lied, either. The Jedi were known for collecting artifacts pertaining to the Sith, both modern and ancient, in an attempt to prevent such things from falling into the wrong hands. As an historian, Erebus thought he might wait before attempting to break into any one of the remaining Jedi temples, knowing they wouldn't be abandoned, or at least believing the Order wasn't stupid enough not to leave anyone behind. He had visited Coruscant and Lothal, and both locations had sentinels still on watch, but he might have underestimated places like this, forgotten cities like Nespis already on the cusp of oblivion.

"I have it on good authority that something originally from Onderon may be here. I figured if the Golden Company sent a, er, representative, that it might be indicative that I was correct," the young man mused, looking around. Erebus, though curious to find the man trusting a stranger with so much information, followed his gaze and found Irena stalking the perimeter of the archive, looking around corners with her staff held aloft and at the ready. "If only I could-"

Another warbling, the sound of static.

Eyes still fixed on one another, now in an unspoken alliance given their shared circumstances, Erebus and the man across from him fell silent, their ears straining to hear more.

There was someone here.

Erebus' Force Sight surged as his curiosity mounted, and not only was the room laid out before him without obstacle but so was everything, and everyone, in it.

The man before him pulsed with life, like anything else might, and perhaps it was for lack of reference but the young man seemed… brighter somehow, though not quite as vibrant as someone strong with the Force. He tried to look for Irena, but then he saw it – someone else.

A soft thrumming emanated from the darker corner of the archives, directly across from where Irena stood, watching but seeing nothing. Irena, he saw, was full of life, but her light was dimmer, duller. And the figure across from her? It shone like a distant star.

Perhaps not all the Jedi were gone after all.

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Hyperspace
Vale

"I hope your stay here isn't too uncomfortable," Captain Maris uttered unsurely as he ushered Vale into a seat across from him in the Harbinger's version of a dining room, which was really just a slightly nicer and smaller mess hall meant for the higher ranks.

"No worries, Captain," she smiled, already easing into the part, "I understand the situation completely. And the room is just fine."

Captain Maris smiled his usual uneven smile, or at least the only smile Vale knew the man to be capable of so far. His chief officer sat beside him, beaming in a way that told Vale smiling was none too common in the Republic navy.

"I'm only here on business, and since I missed the last transport I'm grateful for any assistance."

The words rolled off her tongue almost too naturally, though Vale was not a stranger to playing a part or answering to a name other than her own. She hoped her smile was more convincing than those of her present companions.

"Well, Miss Rissian, we're happy to have you aboard," Captain Maris concluded as a group of recruits brought their breakfast out on serving trays. "And as it turns out, you're not the only one. We picked up another diplomat who seems to have missed the same transport as you. A Republic officer, actually."

Vale feigned pleasant surprise, though suspicion took root in her chest.

"Always good to have allies," she said, laughing lightly, making sure the smile met her eyes in earnest. Picking at the food in front of her, Vale tried not to gorge herself on caf too eagerly, having spent most of the night awake, mulling things over and studying the fake profile Mission had given her. Not to mention, catching up on nine years' worth of news.

Hailing from the Anoat Sector, Vale was to be masquerading as Lan Rissian, a diplomat as well as a shareholder in a well-to-do local mining outfit throwing her support behind Queen Talia of Onderon. The crown was a loyal customer, and as a member of the company's board, Lan was repaying that loyalty with support in the form of credits. Lots of credits. Turns out, this was a mission already in-flux, but the original agent meant to head it was currently MIA. While Mission and Zaalbar would continue to help their Republic contact in finding out what happened to the original plant, Vale would go in their stead, killing two mynocks with one stone. At least for now.

"So, ever been to the Telos System?" Chief Officer Emet asked, dunking a triangle of mealbread into a purple yolk.

"Actually no, I haven't," Vale answered, comforted by the fact that both she and Lan shared that in common. "I figure the Citadel isn't much different than any other spaceport, I take it?"

"Not so much, no," Emet continued, wiping her chin gingerly, "But the restoration effort has put a bit of a damper on the-"

"I apologize for being late," a voice interrupted, and a presence appeared at Vale's side. A woman with wiry brown hair and a dark complexion took the seat beside her, her honey-brown eyes comforting as their gazes met.

"Rell Amara," the woman said, extending a hand as she settled into the empty spot at the table, "The time difference still has me a bit-"

"No worries," Captain Maris cut in as Vale tentatively took the woman's hand in greeting, "This is Rell Amara from Republic Intelligence. She's been reassigned to oversee the negotiations on Onderon as well."

"Popular destination," Vale joked, "I take it we'll be working together?"

The woman named Rell nodded and turned to the rest of them.

"I appreciate your quickness to come get us all the way out here. The Hyperion was supposed to remain docked until tomorrow, but some of its officers I hear were needed elsewhere."

Vale wondered just how much of this she had the clearance to hear, or whether this Rell knew that it didn't matter, somehow.

"Any word on who that might have been?" Emet asked, not keen to stop eating amid her questions.

"That's classified."

A silence hung over them before Rell pointed a finger exaggeratedly and laughed. Looking to Maris and Emet, Vale took the cue that she was welcome to laugh along with them.

"I mean, it actually is classified, but nothing to worry about."

Another recruit – young, fresh-faced, and with lekku still not at full maturity – swept past them with another tray. Once the food was placed in front of her, Rell began to eat with relish.

"Helluva week," she began again, not looking up from her plate, "How have things been for you, Miss Rissian? The last-minute change didn't inconvenience you too much, I hope?"

"Oh no, not at all," Vale said, beginning to ease into her own eating etiquette. She was careful. As much as she wanted to get down to business like the officers before her, clearly used to eating as efficiently as possible and letting the conversation weave itself in, Vale remained composed and proper. She was a business woman, after all. "As long as things keep moving along."

"Agreed," Captain Maris raised his cup of caf, and Officer Emet did the same. Rell looked between them both, her eyes glittering, and joined in.

"Agreed," Vale smiled, also hoping so in earnest.

The rest of their conversation was casual at best, and if anything, Vale felt only mildly out of place. She remembered the nature of the talk, how military folk were used to conversing and how naturally it all still came back to her, but she kept her poise. Thankfully, none of the Republic officers asked her many questions, at least ones she couldn't answer off the cuff such as what kind of caf she preferred or if any moons could be seen from Bespin's gas cloud of an atmosphere (she guessed the answer was 'no').

When they gathered themselves up to leave, Captain Maris promised Vale that he was just a comm away should she need anything and that they were set to arrive on Telos within the next few standard days, asteroids permitting. Vale thanked him, only sticking behind to order one last cup of caf for the road, or perhaps to ask if they could provide a carafe for her room.

"Miss Rissian?"

Rell's voice came from over her shoulder just as Vale thanked one of the recruits on duty, confirming that she could take a thermasteel decanter back to her room.

"You can call me Lan," she said, testing the name even as she said it. Lan. Lan. It was a lot like Lena, a name she had on Nal Hutta. Another identity outed, her dirty laundry out there for all the galaxy to see.

"Lan," Rell repeated, bringing Vale back to the present, "Could we- could we talk? About Onderon."

Before she could freeze up, before she could say no, the recruit reappeared at her side with the caf she asked for. She thanked him again, regained her composure, and turned back to Rell.

"Sure," she heard herself say, though she felt just the opposite. "Absolutely."

3951 BBY, Telos IV, Citadel Station
Atton

Atton wasn't used to being a passenger.

As a pilot himself, he couldn't help but internally mutter to no one in particular the entire way to Citadel Station. He couldn't help but grip the arms of his seat as the shuttle veered on both the takeoff and the landing, shaking his head to prevent his eyes from rolling all the way back into his skull as they finally docked. It took all his strength not to peer into the cockpit and spy the person flying the damn thing, if not just to give them a piece of his mind.

But he shouldn't complain, no. He couldn't complain. He needed to keep a low profile. Keep his head down and do the work until his debt was paid.

One year down, four more to go.

Besides, it wasn't as if he expected Peragus' modest mining company to have a skilled pilot on hand. They couldn't afford it, or at least, didn't have to. The mining colony liked to cut corners wherever possible. They knew their staff was made up of people who didn't want to be there but perhaps had to be, if only for the credits. The job paid well – labor laws saw to that. But anything in the way of comfort or luxury was a loss, so anything other than what was absolutely necessary was excluded for the sake of the budget. How else would they cover the hazard pay?

One of the few things the company did afford each employee was annual leave, usually one week's worth, though more depending on seniority or if there was a family to support on the other end of their check. It was the only time spent off-site, as per their contract. Atton had practically memorized it by now, often finding himself absently thumbing through the rules every other night, hoping there was something he missed, some loophole he could exploit. But he had taken this job willingly. It was an attractive prospect, given the pay, but the place was… lacking when it came to entertainment. Perhaps that was for the best.

Compared to what he was used to, Atton's eyes lit up at the sight of a cantina, its neon lights hailing his attention from across the shuttle bay. He had seen flashier and far more interesting places in his lifetime – or his short-lived smuggling career, even – but this would have to do.

Not only was this hole-in-the-wall a potential refuge, it was also a means to an end. Atton had already done himself dirty and made a deal with someone unsavory on-site, promising to smuggle in stolen goods, because if he wasn't a smuggler than what good was he? If he could score some extra cash, he could get off the explosive rock that was the mining facility sooner than he'd planned, and could finally get back to – well, whatever it was he was doing. Either that or he could at least buy himself something nice to keep in his sorry excuse for a bunk.

"Atton Rand?" a Twi'lek asked at the shuttle gates, "From Peragus, I assume?"

He nodded, looking the young man up and down, trying not to get any bad ideas.

"That'd be me," he muttered, almost unsurely. Atton was who he was masquerading now as anyway, and still it felt odd to hear the name sometimes, even though it had been a few years. As if someone was privy to a secret identity he didn't want known.

"If you'll just follow me," the young man smiled shyly. The head officer at the facility told him that someone would meet him here, that they would escort him to his abode for the week. Atton almost felt important.

The place was modest though relatively stark, barren even, but he couldn't be surprised. He was pleased the company offered this much, given how horrid other mining outfits were from the stories he'd heard. Most were closer to a labor camp than whatever this was. Atton couldn't come up with a proper analogy, and so stood in his new, temporary apartment speechless, thankful there was at least a holoplant in the foyer and the living room. Fancy. The Twi'lek found this an opportune moment to leave, for the lack of conversation if not for the awkwardness.

"Prob'ly for the best anyway," Atton sighed, sinking into an almost ancient couch facing the far window, granting him a breathtaking vista of the backside of a restaurant.

One year down, four more to go.

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Hyperspace
Vale

"Looks like we'll be cruising for a while," Rell smiled at Vale as they rounded on her quarters.

Vale felt the ship jolt slightly, and slow. Outside the window of her appointed room, she saw that the streaked stars of hyperspace had vanished, the view outside marked by unmoving stars in their natural state of ever-present stillness. They were either saving fuel or they were on patrol. She heard that might be the case, and was assured it was nothing to worry about.

"Nice droid," Rell spoke again upon entering the small room, "Selling him for scraps?"

"Something like that," Vale muttered, tucking away the remains of the HK droid that came to life in her shop, suspiciously calling her Master  what already felt like ages ago. "Caf?"

Rell's eyes widened as she nodded appreciatively.

"Please."

The woman was unusual, but not unpleasant. For an intelligence officer, she was oddly personable, and open. She joked readily, the ghost of a smile always clear on her face. Maybe the girl was just nervous.

"Long day, I take it," Vale said, pouring them each a cup and downing her first.

"Tell me about it," Rell agreed, taking her cup, hardly caring whether the liquid was too hot.

"So, you missed your transport as well?"

Rell swallowed the last dregs of her cup, just as eager for caffeine as Vale, and bit her lip.

"Okay, here's the thing," she started, hazarding a glance at Vale's closed quarter doors, lowering her voice, "I didn't miss my transport, but my colleague did... I'm just taking his place."

Two Republic officers MIA. Not good.

Vale poured them both second glasses, intent on Rell's next words.

"But I'm here to escort you to Telos, General Valen, whatever happens," she whispered, all mirth disappearing from her face, her stance straightening.

"An escort?" was all Vale could muster, "That's… certainly surprising."

"Surprising?"

"I guess… given the bounty, no, but I'm just-" Not used to this, she wanted to say, but the words couldn't make it passed her lips. "Surprised, is all."

"If it's the secrecy you're worried about, don't," Rell assured her, "You were plenty convincing back there."

"But what about you?" Vale asked. "I thought no one was supposed to know."

"Well, yes, but I was sent by-" Rell stopped herself short, biting her lip again. "Sorry, I am a bit new to this."

"Me too, kid. No worries," Vale sighed, sinking into her couch as Rell lowered herself into the small kitchenette against the far wall facing her.

"I was the one who found your records," Rell admitted, examining the texture of the cup in her hands, "I was the one who brought them to-"

She stopped herself again.

"Nevermind, but listen – as I'm sure you know, the Republic has been looking for you. Revan's orders."

"Revan?"

Rell nodded, solemn. Mission failed to mention that, or perhaps she didn't know.

Revan, of course. Vale shivered. Things didn't feel any better, and the more Revan cropped up the more the ominous, lingering, bad feeling she felt on Tatooine mounted in her chest. Nothing's changed, she thought, suddenly feeling young and vulnerable again, prying Alek for answers and getting none. Just like Malachor.

"Since when did Revan-?"

"She doesn't have clearance to give orders, exactly- didn't, either." Rell answered before Vale could even finish her thought, "But I have it on good authority that the man in charge has been acting on instructions left by her. A failsafe of sorts. At least, somewhat."

"The… man in charge?" Vale raised a brow, though she couldn't say the mounting mystery wasn't more of a surprise.

Rell shook her head, almost laughing, "They really should have briefed me more thoroughly. I'm not sure we're there yet, but you'll meet him soon. He'll tell you everything."

There yet must mean they weren't yet ready to disclose that information, or at least Rell wasn't sure what was classified and what wasn't. She sounded an awful lot like Mission, clear on her orders but fuzzy on the details.

"Okay, okay, so what now? Do we just… wait? Arrive at Telos?" Vale asked, suddenly tense.

"Something like that," Rell replied, "Keep a low profile, play the part. Breakfast went just as planned, I don't think Maris or Emet will have a second thought about you or the mining company you're supposed to represent. We just… need to get to Telos."

"Telos," Vale mused, looking at the remains of her HK droid, the only thing left of her shop.

"Telos." Rell repeated.

"So, tell me something…" Vale suddenly stood again, looking at Rell in a new light. "What- what exactly did you find out about me?"

Rell blanched, her eyes widening.

"W-what?"

"Sorry, I mean to say-" Vale paused, looking for the right words, "I have reason to believe that the Jedi thought I was dead. How did they find me? Who's left?"

Rell appeared to choke on her caf, coughing into her cup as she asked "Dead?"

Vale watched her regain her composure. Rell was trying hard to remain professional, but everything told her she wasn't aware of this information.

"How much are the Jedi in contact with the Republic, exactly?" Vale pressed, hoping this was something Rell could answer.

"It's hard to say how many are left, but there are a few. Not all of them died at that conclave," Rell said after clearing her throat, "I know one keeps in contact with the man you're about to meet, though it's supposed to be hush hush. I'm not sure he wants to be outed, just yet."

The man in charge, huh?

"His Jedi contact doesn't happen to be Master Atris, does it?"

Rell shook her head.

"No, I-I think she died. At Katarr."

Atris… dead? She could have sworn the only Jedi vindictive enough to even want to keep tabs on her would be Atris, but perhaps she was wrong. Vale searched her feelings, on instinct, but knew that the Force couldn't tell her anything. She shook her head.

"Bastila Shan?" Vale tried again, venturing another guess. Mission had mentioned her earlier and it seemed like a logical assumption.

Rell nodded into her cup, drawing another long sip.

"I think so," she affirmed. "Her name sounds familiar."

Rell drank the last dregs of her second cup of caf before looking at Vale again.

"I'm not sure if or why the Jedi thought you were dead, necessarily, but all I know is that they were looking for you. You fell off the radar and-"

Rell stopped short, her brows furrowing as she searched her memory.

"They were tracking you, I think. The Jedi, I mean," she continued, "Revan went looking for you and she-"

"Vanished," Vale finished.

Rell nodded, locking eyes with her, her expression solemn but serious.

"That's all I know."

According to the Jawa, Revan had been on Tatooine after she had gone looking for the Star Forge. Perhaps she had been looking for her. But they had also mentioned a dark one. She had originally thought the Jawa referred to Malak, but now? Maybe they were talking about the time she returned with Mission, with Bastila Shan. But perhaps there was another time, too.

Rell looked at the bottom of her cup sorrowfully, as if either hoping there was more caf or more detailed instructions as to what she could or couldn't say.

Rell's chrono watch blipped, drawing both Vale and Rell's attention to her wrist. Rell placed her cup gently on the kitchenette table as she read a message, reading across her display as she rose from her seat.

"A distress signal-" she started.

"A- a what?"

"It's a message from Captain Maris," Rell explained, looking up at Vale briefly before her eyes retreated to her wrist again, scanning the readout. "He doesn't know I'm escorting you, or who you are, but he is under orders to alert me if there's a change in plans. If-"

Rell paused again, reading and rereading the report as it scrolled over her chrono's screen.

"I guess I can't blame them for answering, but still-"

Rell rushed over to the small porthole of a window Vale's room allowed, peering out of the comically small oval.

"There- there it is," she said, almost unbelieving.

Vale rushed to her side, and Rell afforded her space to see, too.

In the star-filled barrenness beyond the Harbinger, two ships stood in stalemate in the distance.

"Looks like we won't get to Telos just yet."

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Outer Rim Territories
Vale

"So? Anything?" Vale now clutched a cup of herbal tea, inclined to undo all the work the caf did earlier. She couldn't sit still, and even when Rell returned, she was still far too eager for any details the woman could divulge.

"The distress call seems to have come from the smaller ship," Rell answered, approaching Vale's window again, using it as if it were a tactical map. "The larger one is just… empty."

She looked back, making sure that Vale's door was closed, and lowered her voice.

"They ran the ship's ID, but nothing came up. I think they're still waiting to hear back from intelligence to see if there are any database hits."

Rell's voice was curious, contemplative, almost confused.

"What do you mean the other ship was empty?" Vale asked, matching the other woman's tone of voice.

"Captain Maris tried hailing them, first. Nothing. They pulled up their scanners to try and get a reading, fearing they may be hostile and… nothing. No life forms."

"Did the smaller ship respond?"

Rell shrugged, as if reconciling the facts with herself before saying them aloud.

"No response from that crew, either. There was the initial distress call, originating from the smaller vessel. It was basically a mayday, requesting backup in what must have been a firefight. But why a small ship would even think of taking on something of that size…?"

Rell trailed off.

"When Captain Maris hailed the smaller ship, we didn't get a new response, but the initial distress call played again, as if on a loop. Either that, or maybe it was programmed to repeat."

"Maybe whoever's on that ship can't communicate or… doesn't want to," Vale offered darkly.

Rell shook her head, but shrugged, considering it.

"You could be right but-"

Vale glanced at the two ships in the distance, one completely eclipsing the other. The smaller ship was just a cargo vessel whereas the larger one was either meant for combat or command. It was difficult to tell from a distance. Neither one moved. It was as if they had always been this way, as if they were simply just a fixture in space like a moon or a planet might be. A lone marker of something that happened long ago.

"So, what's the plan?" Vale finally asked, unsure.

"Well, there's the bad news and then there's the bad news."

"Spare me the bad news and get with the bad news first," Vale joked, though her tone was serious. Rell laughed lightly, but it didn't linger.

"They're waiting to hear back on the smaller ship's ID, but I don't know about the other. Not sure if they could get anything from it. They might send a probe out to get another look first."

Vale squinted, wondering herself. She'd traveled plenty in her time out in the Rim, but most vessels out here were a jumble of old and new, salvaged and modern, antique or otherwise. Something about it looked familiar, but the damn thing was too far away for her to get a good read.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Rell said, and Vale almost rolled her eyes. As if I hadn't heard that before.

She retreated from the window, placed her empty cup on the table and began pacing the room as she played with the leather wristlet Asra gave her as a good luck charm. Well, sort of.

"Let me know what they say, if they say anything," Vale requested, "I'm sure whoever I'm supposed to meet will understand the circumstances, and it's not like I'm in a rush, but-"

Vale nibbled at her thumbnail, something she hadn't done since childhood, since Kavar still referred to her affectionately as young Padawan.

"All this waiting is making me nervous," she finished, eyeing the munitions pack tucked into the corner of her room. "But I assume everything will be-"

Rell's comm sounded again.

"Another message," she announced, her eyes already scanning the readout in miniature on her wrist.

"What's it say?"

"Whatever intelligence found, it must be big," Rell answered, "They're sending a boarding party and they're to retrieve the smaller vessel. Bring it back to Republic space."

Vale felt cold all of a sudden, but she didn't know why. She walked over the window and tried to get a better look at the scene again, but it remained unchanged. It was eerie, looking on the aftermath of a battle suspended in time.

"I'll see what else I can get out of them," Rell said, "Maybe even join this boarding party."

She sighed, and joined Vale by the window, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I'll tell you what I can," she affirmed.

Vale looked at her, their gazes locking as they nodded at one another.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Rell smiled, though it wasn't enough to mask her uncertainty, "I have a feeling something's going on here, something's not right. I wanna find out what."

Rell patted her shoulder firmly as Vale nodded again before retreating out of the room and back to the bridge.

"Yeah," Vale muttered to herself, "You and me both."

3951 BBY Nespis VIII, City Limits
The Last Handmaiden

Brianna realized that she had never once been alone with one of her sisters. There were moments here and there, passing one another in the halls or sparring, but walking with Arianna side-by-side was different. Her sister's elbow was still threaded through hers, as if they were old friends. Something Brianna would never once consider likening any one of her sisters to.

But the approval was enough, at least for now. Perhaps it meant something. Maybe she was on the right track for once.

"What do you see, sister?" Arianna asked after a while, her voice flat and demanding, though still sanguine. Brianna eyed her, thinking she sounded a lot like Atris.

"A city bustling with life, crime, and Maker knows what else," she said, "A hive acting as one, even if all the moving parts are completely unaware of the others, wholly believing they act independently."

Thinking of Mistress, Brianna called on some of her most recent lessons on life and those living it. Atris had a lot to say about life as a whole, and wondered what she might think of this wretched gutter of a city.

Arianna smirked and nodded.

"Not bad, and not wholly untrue."

She didn't seem displeased, but it was clear there was something else Brianna was missing.

Closing her eyes as they walked along, she wracked her memory, breathing deep and digging even deeper.

For a moment, she could see the city, bustling with life, energy all around her. Everything stilled. All she saw was light, and a feeling that-

A sound erupted from Arianna's comm, stopping her in her tracks. Brianna faltered at her side, brought to a sudden stop.

Arianna brought the comm to her ear and enacted her headpiece, a small silver device affixed behind her ear. Brianna didn't have one, nor had she seen it before. Something new? She toyed with the looking glass device in her pocket, as if to soothe her confidence.

"What is it?" she asked her sister after a long moment.

Arianna's brows furrowed.

"There's something wrong at the temple, someone's there."

She loosed herself from Brianna's arm and put a hand to her belt where her blaster was holstered. Arianna looked to her sister and nodded, as if in question. Brianna nodded in kind and moved her dark cloak ever so slightly, just enough to reveal the collapsible vibrostaff hanging at her waist.

"Shall we?"

Arianna fell into stance, looking as if she were ready to pounce, and Brianna fell into step beside her. When they locked eyes, Arianna pointed in the direction they needed to go and Brianna nodded again, and they set off.

 3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, Jedi Academy
Darth Erebus

Irena's comm sounded from across the room, and if it was indecipherable earlier it was even more of a mystery now. The sound was muted, but the tone was clear. Something wasn't right and Irena was on her guard.

Someone else is here.

"Did you get any of that?" the young man asked.

Erebus froze as Irena continued to stalk the archives, the man in front of him straining his ears, all the better for hearing. With his back to the archive, the young stranger couldn't see much. Erebus saw little with his own eyes as he pulled back from the Force, letting it go, his Force Sight dissolving instantly.

Erebus wasn't sure how to answer. He didn't want to give away that he was at all Force sensitive and wasn't sure if Irena had actually said anything at all in response to the coded message she just received. He was too busy tracking the other person he sensed in the room – the Jedi.

Jedi were easy to spot, as were Sith - if one were gifted with Force Sight, that is. The Force moved differently around different people, and its currents are more obvious around those who have a connection to it. Whoever roamed this room knew it well, their energy a near blinding white-blue, much like the archives themselves. But the color faded and the room grew darker as Erebus surveyed the space with his own nature-given eyesight and tried to act inconspicuous.

After a moment, he shook his head, hoping that he appeared to be as perplexed as the man before him, trying to get a better look or a sound for things as well.

Acting really isn't my forte.

The other man either didn't notice or didn't care, and did not press the matter further.

"Are Jedi contracts harder to acquire?" he asked in a hushed whisper, and Erebus was almost taken aback by the stranger's unending curiosity despite their circumstances.

"I'd say so," he responded, though it was more of a guess, "Why you so interested?"

At this, the edge in Erebus' voice rose, suspicious. The man blanched, all enthusiasm draining from his face.

"I didn't mean-" he stuttered, "No, never mind."

He shook his head, glancing back at the Echani. She was walking straight for them now, her expression none too happy.

"You two. With me," she barked as she approached, forcefully lifting the young man from his seat as she muttered into her comm.

"Excuse me?" the man protested, yanking his tied hands out of the woman's grip. "I don't know who you are, but with a simple call I can have the Republic here in a-"

"The Republic," Irena mocked, "If you were really affiliated, they would have been here by now."

The woman grabbed hold of the young stranger's arms again and looked to Erebus.

"Now, you-" she said, addressing him with eyes narrowed. "Ursa will-"

From the din of the archive, a rifle manifested from nothingness, its wielder appearing before their waking eyes. A high-grade security cloak dissolved and the man beneath it stepped forward, pressing the rifle into the side Irena's head. He smiled.

"I think we'll take it from here."

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Outer Rim Territories
Rell

"Everyone ready?" Captain Maris asked, the apprehension clear on his face though his stance remained in form.

The crew nodded, and Rell joined them. With her gear on, she felt heavier, as if the weight of this mission wasn't already enough. She didn't like it. Everything felt wrong. Even General Valen's face back at her quarters haunted her now as they stood in the loading bay of the Harbinger. The worry lining the woman's face made it clear that there was more going on here than any of them knew how to deal with, and no one on this search and rescue crew knew anything about it. Rell was on her own.

She tried to send word to the Jedi that Admiral Onasi had told her to keep in touch with before the party deployed, but Captain Maris wanted boots on the ground before she could wait for a reply. Rell breathed in deep and exhaled, watching the condensation accumulate on the inside of her helmet.

"May the For-" Captian Maris began, but he stopped himself before course correcting, shaking his head, "Good luck."

Old habits die hard, Rell thought, remembering when the phrase was common among Jedi and anyone else serving under them. Maris was a veteran, he must have said it a thousand times. Second nature, I guess.

The other crew members didn't flinch, each entering the shuttle with a curt nod at their captain before ducking their heads and taking a seat. There were nine of them, Rell the tenth and the last to enter the shuttle. She locked eyes with Captain Maris, looking into his cool blue eyes for an answer before entering the shuttle, only she didn't think he paid much attention to her. She kept forgetting that Maris knew she was a plant, but that he wasn't in on the entire plan.

Here goes.

She took a seat and looked around, none of the other soldiers looking up from the floor besides her. This was routine, perhaps, or some kind of coping mechanism. No one knew what was going to happen next, or what might befall them. Rell had gone through basic training, at least enough to prepare for a situation like this, but given her station she was usually working in a team where they were allowed to talk and shoot the breeze. Here, it was quiet as a tomb.

No one moved as the shuttle doors closed and the vessel took off, and no one spoke the whole way there.

The trip was short. Rell didn't need much to occupy her thoughts, either. She watched the others, none of them watching her. She had read their files on the way to the Nespis VIII Spaceport and a bit of it stuck. Most of the crew here had been soldiers since the Mandalorian Wars, many over the age of 35 or 40. Rell was one of the younger ones, the only other soldier her age being a Zabrak named Ythris. She was to be the leader of this expedition, her first venture into leadership. Rell watched for any wariness but saw none.

Ythris glanced at Rell sidelong, feeling her gaze. Rell nodded, trying to act friendly, courteous and professional, but kept her face neutral. Soldiers didn't smile. Ythris nodded and turned to the window.

As they came upon the larger vessel, Rell saw it now, the distinguishing marks.

The color was perhaps the most prominent - a dulled bronze made darker with years of carbon scoring. There was no doubt in Rell's mind that these scars were left from long before the ship had encountered the other vessel in apparent orbit. These were older battle scars.

Like those around her, this ship had seen war, and one war in the particular.

This was a Star Forge vessel.

A shiver ran along Rell's spine.

Perhaps the monolith had been here since then, caught in a stalemate or some other unseen circumstance. Either way, they would soon find out.

The shuttle scuttled up alongside the beast of a ship, locking with one of its outer ports. The other soldiers stirred, readying themselves. Rell watched them and followed suit, gripping her rifle as she looked to Ythris, as if the Zabrak's behavior might dictate hers. Rell was the outsider here, she needed to blend in, and for some reason she was drawn to the only other soldier close in age.

The others knew she was an intelligence officer, but it was still suspicious that she'd come along. Even without her aboard, they would report their findings to the higher ups, it wasn't as if any of this was a secret. Rell tried to act nonchalant, let her shoulders relax as her hands did the work, holding her blaster rifle at the ready – after all, she was only following orders as the rest of them.

The first soldier to approach the shuttle door stood beside it, ushering the rest of their crew members through, Rell included. She watched him as he watched her, nodding as she ducked under the frame again, only this time coming out on the other side of a ship she never thought she'd see.

The place was pristine, if not decaying slowly. There was no sign of a struggle, and the main engine seemed to be working fine. The lights were lit as if the ship expected to be operating with a full crew, though none were present. Rell could not help but eye some of the access panels as they passed in single file, admiring the alien buttons, switches, and other features. She had heard about the ancient and unfamiliar technology Revan had unearthed in the Unknown Regions, but had heard of it only. This was her first time seeing it. Tempted to stop and admire it, take notes if she could, Rell looked to Ythris again as a guide, watching her movements and mimicking them as best she could.

They were silent as they snaked through the halls, finally stopping once they reached a common area large enough to house them all side-by-side. Ythris stood before them, her arm raised to indicate that they all stop and heed her orders.

"This seems to be a main causeway," she said looking about, twin blasters aloft, "Break into teams of two and take a branch."

The Zabrak took her index and middle fingers, indicating groups as she raked the remaining crew members and pointed towards one of the many halls for them to tackle. Rell was the last one standing.

"You, with me."

Ythris nodded and each pair broke off, disappearing into the din.

"Intelligence officer, eh? Big guy keeping an eye on us small folk?" she asked the moment she and Rell were alone.

"Something like that, though my main mission is on Onderon."

"Ah," Ythris answered, understanding, "Escorting that diplomat, I take it?"

Rell nodded.

"Mess out there," the Zabrak continued, referring to Onderon, no doubt, "As for this mess-"

The two of them rounded a corner and happened upon a store room. Racks and empty canisters lined the walls, undoubtedly once full of equipment – now eerily empty.

"I'm guessing this was once an armory," Rell offered, entering the space and nudging an empty plasteel cylinder with the neck of her rifle.

Ythris examined a row of target dummies, lifting her visor briefly for a better look.

"Doesn't look too old, though," she continued, "The scoring on this is fresh."

Across the room, Ythris tested a few empty suits of armor, each one dark and foreign looking. They fell over easily, empty.

"Something's not right here," Rell said again, "Where is everyone?"

When she first stepped aboard, Rell hoped it was a ghost ship. She almost hoped to find bodies, lifeless and still. But instead there was… nothing. And it was the absence of answers that unsettled her most.

"This is certainly strange," Ythris agreed. "Ever been on one of these before?"

Rell turned to her, trying to read the woman's expression through the clear visor of her helmet.

"A Star Forge ship, I mean?" she clarified.

Rell shook her head.

"I was on one once, at the end of the war," Ythris continued, "I was probably too young to be admitted, but the Republic was desperate. We orbited Malachor, but we pulled out before the big blast."

Rell watched her as she walked the perimeter of the room, approaching a console and finding it dead. Malachor. General Valen had been there, she was the one who led the assault. Would any of these soldiers remember her? How many had known her personally and how many only knew her by her orders alone? There were plenty of soldiers who knew nothing of what Revan looked like, but Revan also had the convenience of her infamous mask. Eden was a young Jedi, not unlike Bastila during the Civil War, and there were plenty who remembered her. Rell swallowed hard and hoped Admiral Onasi knew what he was doing.

"Strange," the Zabrak muttered, pressing the console keys more forcefully and… nothing.

"Why would the equipment be gone?" Rell asked after a moment. "Why would everything be down? The engine's running, the lights are on."

Ythris locked eyes with her, wondering.

"Good question."

Her gaze narrowed and she exited back into the hall, looking right and left with her blaster first before making any moves.

Ythris raised her hand and motioned that they move left, further down the hall. Rell glanced back at the causeway they gathered in earlier, hearing the distant muttering of other soldiers.

"Anyone find anything yet?" Ythris muttered into her comm as she continued on.

A string of negative's poured through her device, each voice warbled slightly by static.

Ythris stopped as she came upon the next door in the hall, pressing her hand to the access panel and finding that it didn't work. She looked around, checking the coast was clear, and holstered her weapon as she drew a security tunneler from a pocket on her right leg. Rell kept her blaster at the ready as the door was unjammed. After a moment, it clanked open, revealing another room. Only it wasn't completely empty.

"Maker," Ythris muttered, rushing in.

Rell's blood ran quick and hot at her words. She looked back and forth down the corridor again before edging her way into the room. Inside, Ythris was kneeling on the ground, a man hardly breathing at her feet.

At least, he looked like a man. Sort of.

"Call the captain."

3951 BBY Nespis VIII, City Limits
Mission

"Okay, we've waited long enough. So, what's next?" Asra implored, hands on her hips before a flustered Mission and Zaalbar. The two looked to one another and Mission shrugged.

"I'm not sure yet, we're still waiting for word."

"Word from who?" Darek asked in his usual soothing tone.

"You know who," Mission answered curtly, still angry that she wasn't sure what she could or couldn't say. She glanced at Big Z. He grumbled comfortingly under his breath as a clawed hand reached for her elbow. She placed a hand on his for a moment, in silent thanks, before getting up and pacing the room.

"I'm about as tired of this as all of you are," she said, trying not to let the edge in her voice take over. "Trust me, this isn't usually how things go."

"What is it you guys do, exactly?" the girl named Glitch asked, and Mission wondered if this was the first time she spoke. She shook her mop of black hair, long enough to cover her face but not long enough to reach her collarbone, and Mission saw that both of her eyes were replaced with cybernetics, a glint of metal shining through her dark locks.

Zaalbar answered in Shyriiwook and Mission translated.

"We're cargo runners, mostly," she said, looking at him appreciatively, "Though lately we've been asked to help recover Jedi artifacts."

"Funny coincidence," Asra said, and though her words were tinged with her usual sarcasm Mission knew she meant no harm by it.

"Tell me about it," Mission huffed in agreement.

"Is that why you were asked to fetch Vale?" Asra continued.

Mission nodded. "We're usually known for our safe transport, but with our ship destroyed-"

"There's no knowing who could track us," Zaalbar finished.

"Our ship had this cloaking device that belonged to the Jedi on Coruscant, a gift from a friend of ours. Came in handy when we had objects of import," Mission mocked Bastila's turn-of-phrase despite those present not knowing who she was, "We might be able to get it installed on another ship of ours, but, who knows."

"So that's why General Valen had to go undercover," Orex said, piecing it together.

"Something like that," Mission answered, "Listen, I wish I could say more but-"

An uncharacteristically pleasant bleeping interrupted her. Mission spun around, looking for the source of the sound. Asra walked to the console on the hostel wall, realizing the origin before she did, and answered.

"…Yes?"

"There's someone here to see you," the woman at the front desk answered coolly.

Asra looked to Mission, wide-eyed, gesturing vaguely, unsure of what to do. Mission tsked and walked the length of the room.

"And who might that be?" she asked into the receiver.

"Nothing but a Fool's Errand," the woman said, sounding as if dictating something written. Fool's Errand. Mission wracked her memory, but it didn't take long for her to remember the mop of messy hair and the dark brown eyes beneath them. She smiled to herself. It's been a while, friend.

"I'll be right down."

Mission swallowed her grin and turned to the others, looking at Big Z in particular.

"Looks like an old friend's come to visit," she said, "What would you say if I told you your General Valen wasn't the first ex-Jedi I'd ever met?"

Mission went alone, confident she would be safe on her own. Despite the fond memories that bubbled into her brain at the thought of their visitor, she knew something was up. Somehow, everything was connected, and maybe he was just the person they had been waiting to hear from. Mission inhaled, suddenly finding herself nervous once she reached the bottom of the stairs. She paused, closing her eyes and steadying her breath, before exhaling and squaring her shoulders as she rounded the corner into the hostel's main foyer. It didn't take her long to scan the sprawling ground floor of the mid-level establishment to find him. Sure enough, sitting in one of the rec halls of the Nespis hostel sat a man Mission hadn't seen in almost ten years.

"Fool's Errand is about right," she said, entering the room, waiting for his eyes to fall on her, and when they did he smiled wide.

"Is it rude to say that it's weird to see you off Taris?" Zayne Carrick greeted, walking towards Mission and sweeping her up in a hug. He was taller now, shoulders broader. His messy hair was tamed somewhat, if not slightly shorter, and he sported a few scars Mission didn't remember seeing when they'd first met. "I still think of you when I think of-"

Zayne couldn't complete his thought, suddenly at a loss for words. He had lost Taris when Malak destroyed it as well, Mission realized, remembering that he studied there as a Jedi student. Even when he said the word, Taris, his voice was strained despite the smile on his face. They relaxed their grip on one another, but remained at arm's length.

"It's good to see you," was all she could muster, thinking of the Undercity, thinking of home. She sighed. 

"How did you-?" find me, she didn't have time to say, for Zayne cut her off before she could finish.

"I'll have to explain later. I'm afraid I need your help."

"Help?"

"A friend of mine is missing. Well, sort of-"

"Missing, how?"

"Well, I guess he isn't exactly missing just, I don't know - in trouble," Zayne inhaled, watching for Mission's reaction. "He's here, on Space City. I was told you were the person to ask."

Mission shook her head, already thinking of all the things Carth would owe her for once she saw him again. That old stickler.

"Good to see you too," she joked, finally pulling away.

Zayne smiled at her, and though he was older he hadn't changed much. Mission couldn't help but feel her cheeks grow warm. Frack, she thought. Have I really not changed that much?

"Okay, okay, so where's your friend, exactly?" Mission resigned in her usual sing-song. "Who's in trouble now?"

"A Republic Scout," Zayne said, looking serious, "Goes by the name of Mical."

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Nespis VIII, Jedi Academy
Mical

Mical had been here for three days. Day one, he scouted the ruins. Day two, he was apprehended. Day three, he was apprehended - again. And now, he was sitting in a room, bound again and more intensely than before, alongside the stranger and his previous captor. The white-haired woman remained silent, her eyes seething. The man at her side, however, was calm, curious if anything. A twinkle in his eye told Mical he was just as surprised by their capture, or re-capture if that meant anything, and appeared to be far more interested in where this was going than in finding a way out of it.

There was something oddly familiar about the man called and not called Wyland Rhell. And Mical wanted to find out what.

Mical knew the man was lying from the moment he arrived, jostled uncouthly as he was ushered to the seat across from him in the remains of the Jedi archive. It wasn’t unusual, in this line of work. Mical regularly lied his way into places he may not have otherwise been allowed, but he had his easy smile and pleasant demeanor to thank for that as well. His disposition was always genuine, despite the lies, but it was a necessary measure when it came to recovering what he could of the fast-disappearing Jedi. The man beside him, however, Mical wasn’t sure of. At least not when it came to his ultimate goal.

His cover story - an operative working to collect artifacts for the Golden Company - made sense. Interested only in credits and their wealthy connections, the shadowy syndicate of antique dealers often infiltrated places such as these if there was something of interest. With the Jedi all but gone, Jedi artifacts were easier to find and also easier to sell - who doesn’t want a part of a recently fallen ancient religious order?

The stranger’s story checked out until it didn’t, that is, and now Mical was itching for an answer.

It was clear that the Golden Company was holding them hostage now, not bothering with the false formalities the Echani had employed earlier or the man that sat beside them both now. But if Wyland Rhell was working for them, why was he here, bound by Mical’s side?

“Alright, now you three stay put, ye hear?” one of the mercs muttered as he fastened the Echani’s restraints, smirking as he spoke.

It was easy to tell he was Mandalorian, if not by his accent but by his profession and the means by which he bound them. Classic, Mical thought, trained to the last .

The knots he used, the weapons he brandished, even the armor he wore - none of it was Mandalorian, but it screamed Mandalorian just the same. A huddled mass of other faceless men and women waited beyond the door, ready to scour the area once they were secure, as the maskless merc made his way to each of them once more, testing their restraints and giving each of them a wink. When the man wasn’t looking, Mical rolled his eyes.

He didn’t flinch, nor did he scowl. Mical kept his face completely expressionless, pleasant if anything, which only seemed to infuriate the mercenary even more. He yanked harder than the others when he tested how tightly Mical’s wrists were bound, scowling as he moved away.

“We’ll break you yet, ye hear?”

Ye hear , he said it again. Part of Mical’s inner linguist began decoding the phrase, trying to see if he could place it with a specific clan, but the Echani spoke before he could reach any conclusions.

“You can’t do this,” Irena spat, eyes flashing, “You don’t have jurisdiction here. We can-”

“We don’t need jurisdiction,” the merc replied, shoving his rifle into the space between her shoulder blades as he passed, making for the head of the room - all the better to watch them, Mical presumed. “Credits trump everything, cuz. Get used to it.”

The Echani’s eyes were like fire, only the violet-blue of her irises almost blended in the whites of her eyes, making her look like something else entirely in the dim lighting.

“Didn’t the rest of your team already make off with most of the temple by now?” Mical heard himself say, hardly realizing he was speaking as he was thinking, adrenaline coursing his veins as his mind worked tenfold to read the situation and stay calm beside it, now eager to get an answer out of the Echani after hours of his own interrogation, “What else is there?”

“We haven’t found the-” she started, her breath in a rush, but Irena bit her tongue. Her eyes narrowed as her posture changed completely, her anger dissolving into a cool, steely calm as she turned to face the front of the room, holding herself as dignified as she could while still restrained. “It doesn’t matter, they’ll be coming soon.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Mical muttered, knowing there were only four, maybe five, other Echani in the wings. As for the Golden Company, he knew they were many, but for the man who was and wasn’t Wyland Rhell? Mical couldn’t be sure.

“They all secure?” a voice interrupted, a static piercing the momentary quiet. The merc plucked a comm from his belt and held it to his lips.

“Affirmative,” he said, keeping an eye on his captives as he spoke, “Send in Del-Nara when you’re ready.”

“Understood.”

“And you may want to keep an eye out for where these Echani have been storing their... bounty ,” he said, smiling eerily at Irena now, “They may have a cache of goods worth looking into.”

So the Echani were looking for something specific, and the Golden Company were as well. It would stand to reason they were both in search of the same thing, given that Irena alluded to a specific object of import and the merc referred to the current Echani inventory as more of a bonus than amain objective. Whatever it was, neither group had honed in on it yet, and apparently Wyland Rhell had the same idea - he watched the two curiously, eyeing each as they spoke, just as Mical was.

But Mical, too, was  watching. He eyed the imposter from across the room, waiting for him to notice. He could tell Wyland felt his gaze on him, purposefully avoiding eye contact until the moment was right. And when their eyes met, Mical’s blood ran cold.

I know.

Wyland Rhell’s face remained emotionless, betraying nothing of the words Mical swore he heard in his head before turning to face the front of the room again. A woman entered, burly and brusque as she nodded at the already-present mercenary and proceeded to gag each of them in turn, swathing their mouths with a rough fabric that made Mical shudder. Irena only glared over the edge of the cloth on her face, the thing hastily tacked to her person and clearly getting in her eyes. But the stranger Wyland Rhell watched Mical as his mouth was bound, not breaking eye contact.

I know you know , Mical heard in his mind, as if the man before him were speaking, though he knew he was not. And I’m going to make you tell me.

3951 BBY, Nespis VIII, Dock Hostel
Mission

“You’re a lot… taller than I remember,” Zayne said, trying to make conversation as Mission led him to the crew’s current room. He watched as she ascended the stairs, already dissolving into his usual charmingly awkward self.

“Well, that’s what happens when you grow up,” Mission joked, stroking one of her head tails, both of which had grown longer with age. “I’m not ten anymore.”

“Right, right, so I’m told,” Zayne chuckled gruffly. Mission looked at him sidelong and noticed that he still hadn’t managed to grow facial hair, or if he did he knew how to hide it well. It made him look younger than she knew he was, more like the version of him she’d remembered from Taris. He was much younger then, of course, but to a kid even teenagers seem like adults. It was odd, but even though she knew Zayne had matured, he still looked like the boyish, idealized version of him she’d had in her mind since she was a kid.

“So, let’s get a few things straight before we meet the others,” Mission said, changing gears. She couldn’t afford to be soft now, especially now that there was so much to keep track of and the news kept changing every damn day, “Who referred you to me, exactly?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Zayne started, slowing his pace. Mission slowed to match, knowing they were about to launch into the land of backstory.

“Oh, here we go,” she muttered under her breath. Zayne either didn’t hear her or decided to continue without comment.

“You were supposed to make a pickup in the Outer Rim Territories, right?”

Mission stopped in full now, pausing on the step ahead of Zayne, gazing down at him unsurely from her new vantage point.

“How do you know about that?” she asked, her question coming out in a breath.

“You see, I was supposed to make the drop off.”

“ You’re heading the recovery operation? With Bastila?”

“The one and only,” Zayne confirmed, managing only to roll his eyes in the slightest. Mission laughed heartily despite herself, “But also… not exactly.”

Zayne watched her reaction carefully, but Mission was too confused and too self-aware to give him the satisfaction. He’d been waiting for this, knowing it might put a kink in things, or at least encite questions. She let her laugh die naturally on her face, letting it settle over her features as she waited for Zayne to speak, knowing she may not be so amused the more she learned.

“Please, do go on,” she implored, half-sarcastic, half-tired with all of this already. When she took this job, like any other she’d run lately, she was just in it for the credits and for the quick in-and-out, something to do so she and Big Z could feel useful without feeling bad about the law and all. Carth had at least been good about that. She liked knowing she was following Nevarra’s last orders, that she was getting something done, but she also didn’t like thinking about what that meant exactly, especially when it came to all the Jedi stuff. She knew it’d become important eventually, but she didn’t expect it to be now and she honestly didn’t want it to be ever . She wanted Nevarra to return in one piece, for the Jedi to be restored or whatever, and for everything to go back to normal… or at least plain stay they way they already were. With Zayne here, now, Mission was instantly brought back to Taris, when everything about life was a right mess - Zayne included. And it seemed not much had changed since then.

“My old master contacted me, asked me for my help,” Zayne said sheepishly, as if it meant anything to Mission, though she could tell it was probably something odd for him. “Being a non-Jedi myself and all, I wasn’t exactly prepared to get roped back into this mess.”

Zayne’s shoulders slumped as he went on, his resolve dissolving before her eyes as if he had something to answer for.

“But given what’s happened and-” Zayne looked away, swallowing hard, “I kind of have a bit of experience with it, actually.”

“With what, exactly?” Mission asked, careful to keep the guarded skepticism from her voice.

“Force-related stuff, objects not meant to be handled lightly.”

Mission and Zaalbar had only been trusted with their cargo because Bastila didn’t know of anyone else, save for the few Jedi she knew of. With the others in hiding, making any contact was sure to warrant the attention of whoever wanted to see the Jedi die out. Mission rarely ever had to deal with the cargo herself, only with the transport, and she wanted to keep it that way. She wanted to tell Zayne, but part of her knew it was no good. She was already in this mess and she’d have to see it through if she wanted to see herself out of it - if that was even an option, now. After trusting in Nevarra? After knowing Revan? Not likely.

Mission wondered if she really was too trusting for her own good. For a moment, she thought of Griff and how he’d laugh at her, reassuring… but there was nothing reassuring about that image.

“And how exactly did this friend of yours get pulled into the mess? He’s Republic, right?”

Now Zayne really looked guilty. His eyes darted around the cramped stairwell, anywhere than straight at Mission, before he nodded soberly.

“We met during the Mandalorian Wars. Mical was with the medic corps, a good guy. Our backgrounds were… similar. ” Zayne looked as if he might elaborate but quickly thought against it before continuing, “He’s always been a bit of a history buff, a nerd if you will. He’d found a few things during the war, either come across by soldiers he was tending to or found on scouting missions. Whenever Mical would find something, he’d comm me and I’d swing by, taking whatever it was and dropping it off with my old master, Lucien Draay. Before I was even a Jedi, he’d been collecting Force-related artifacts, particularly things that were… darker in nature. Things that weren’t safe if left out for just anyone to find. And lemme tell you, they found a lot of interesting stuff during the war.”

Mission’s skin grew cold, thinking of the package that General Valen now carried with her, of the stories that Orex told of where it had come from and where he had seen others like it.

“Mical had a funny feeling that it was more than just a coincidence, so he kept at it. He stayed in contact with Draay, working without me. I went and… did my own thing for a while. I hadn’t heard from any of them in so long and then… I get a call, from Master Draay. A relayed message, a warning, from before the conclave at Katarr - he may have even sent the damn thing while it was all happening-”

Zayne ran a nervous hand through his hair, almost shuddering at the thought of the massacre.

“Draay knew it was the end for the Jedi, but he knew their cache of dangerous objects needed to remain hidden, and that whatever else was left out in the galaxy needed to be found. He wasn’t sure who else hadn’t made it to conclave, save for me , for… obvious reasons, I guess. But he knew someone would need to contact this Bastila of yours, and continue his work, someone to keep up the drop-offs.”

“She sure ain’t my Bastila, but-” Mission laughed now, the pieces falling into place, “Well, I guess she is.”

For all her exasperating behavior, Mission figured she couldn’t have been more different than the stiff Jedi-in-hiding, but Bastila had also been a friend, a confidante, and after knowing someone like Revan those were hard to come by.

“Girl’s a character,” Zayne laughed, “We’d never have gotten along at the Academy, I’ll tell you that. But I’m not sure she knows who I am just yet…”

Mission cocked her head, curious, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“Thing is, I’ve been following Draay’s orders, but I haven’t exactly… outed myself, you see? I have a feeling she knows I’m not Draay but that I can somehow be trusted. I’m not sure, exactly, but… does any of this make sense?”

Zayne sighed, suddenly out of breath, as his posture slumped against the railing beside them. Not much had changed, Mission was sure of that. Zayne was still the same old troublemaker, always explaining himself out of or into something.

“Well, sort of,” Mission said, crossing her arms over chest, “I get it though. Things are weird.”

Zayne looked relieved, though none too energetic about it, looking as if he might soon collapse into the nearest piece of furniture out of pure exhaustion once given the chance. Mission had a feeling more of the story would come out later, but there were still a few details she wanted to hammer out first.

“So this friend of yours, Mical?”

Zayne nodded and laughed, his voice hollow.

“Yeah, about that ,” he began, adjusting his posture so he stood up straight again, “Turns out he’s working for another friend of mine. A veteran, you might’ve heard of him.”

Mission waited a beat, even though she knew what was coming next.

“Lemme guess, Admiral Carth Onasi,” she drawled once Zayne failed to respond. His eyes widened, suddenly alert now, but Mission waved him off.

“I’m no Jedi, but I see where this is going, just- just tell me about this friend of yours and why he needs our help so badly.”

“I said Mical’d been looking for stuff, right? He’d been working in intelligence since the war, got news of a rogue Jedi or something. So he came here. And he - well… my friend found something. So he called, and I came. Only… I was a bit too late.”

“I see,” Mission said, sighing again as she took to the stairs, climbing towards the room where the others were waiting, “Best get to it then.”

She could feel Zayne bubble with questions as he caught up beside her, taking two steps to her every one just to keep up now. Mission shook her head, knowing she’d have to call Bastila, knowing she’d have to sort this mess out, and knowing there’d probably be a firefight by the end of the day to show for it.

“We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

3951 BBY, Coruscant
Carth

Carth hated Coruscant. Always had.

It wasn’t much different from many other places he’d been, Telos least of all. At least before the war.

He used to think it was because of that - the memories, the familiarity. But other planets, similar in their makeup and overall volume, had hardly irked him as much as this one had. No, it wasn’t that. Perhaps it was the new memories he had here and the mere fact that he associated the damn place and the now empty apartment he seemed to haunt rather than live in. Yeah, that was most likely it.

Carth thumbed through his personal datapad as the lift kept bringing him up and up and even further up , absently rereading reports as if new words might appear between the ones he’d already memorized - anything to keep his mind off the anxiety mounting in his chest. If the Republic didn’t have problems worth solving about every nanosecond, Carth was sure he would have already driven himself insane with worry and second-guessing, though his preoccupation with work probably wasn’t much healthier.

He was already at the end of his message log when the lift stopped, perching gracefully at the level he had keyed into the console what now felt like ages ago. Rain greeted him and his unsuspecting face. Blinking his damp welcome away, Carth pocketed his datapad and blended into the crowd as best he could. Hood drawn, as anyone with a desire to remain anonymous might, Carth was glad the rain masked any appearance of “trying too hard”. Carth was a soldier, he wasn’t trained to blend in and he had been told often enough that he didn’t know when to make himself quiet, small, and unnoticed – though he knew what they really meant was that he was incapable of keeping his opinions to himself. Well, that much was true, and any grumblings about the weather would at least go unnoticed for now and dismissed as “small talk”, thank the Maker .

As discussed, Carth made eye contact with no one, shuffled along with traffic, and ducked under the awning of a storefront, nodded at the cashier, and disappeared behind its many aisles. Once at the back of the store, he slipped through the service door and into a room full of other doors, each duller and more indiscriminate than the last. One of these doors was a closet, and within that closet was another, smaller, closet, and within that closet was another door, and beyond that door there was a lift. And waiting at the lift was Bastila Shan.

“We can’t keep meeting like this,” she sighed as he approached.

Carth paused, briefly considering making a joke but thinking the better of it.

“You’re telling me, sister,” he muttered, a smirk teasing his mouth though he chewed his lip to hide it.

Bastila watched him for a moment, her eyes rolling once the turn-of-phrase dawned on her. The lift doors opened and Bastila ushered him inside.

“So, what news?” she asked, staring straight ahead as she stood beside Carth.

Carth fidgeted with his datapad again, choosing to start from the beginning, to buy himself time.

“With another one of our ships missing, the closest Republic vessel we had was the Harbinger . We can’t afford to reroute it, not unless we want to garner suspicion. They’re set to arrive at Telos in a few days, five tops.”

“ Five days ?” Bastila reaffirmed sternly.

“It’s the closest Republic ship we have in the Outer Rim. We’ve already come up with a cover, and it isn’t even a ship for diplomatic transport, but it should all check out. It has so far.”

Carth had practically rehearsed this line all day, as if he needed to convince not only Bastila but himself as well.

“And with whom , exactly? The Republic?” Bastila snapped.

If Carth wasn’t already on edge, her shortness with him would have done it, and it took a lot for him to reign his own temperament in at the thought even now.

“ Yes, with the Republic ,” he replied, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep his cool, “ As we discussed , we don’t know who may be watching us, but someone certainly is. We need to take every precaution we can. I’m practically lying to my own men. To myself , even.”

If he had any other choice, Carth would have been the one to extract the Exile from Tatooine. Hell, the mess there may not have even happened if he had. With news of her records’ release, he could have been there before the woman knew anything was amiss - or anyone else on that backwater planet, for that matter. But it wasn’t worth regretting now. Carth had faith in Mission and Zaalbar. He had no reason not to trust them. He knew they would not only understand his instructions but his position, as well. There was only so much he could tell them, and there was only so much they could work with. The pair had done well so far. The General was given new clothes, a backstory, and Republic clearance, and according to Mission her boarding had gone off without a hitch, its commanding officers none the wiser. Now, as long as the Harbinger made it to Telos without issue…

“I know , I know,” Bastila sighed after a few tense moments, the pair of them still waiting in complete darkness as the lift brought them down, down, down after Carth had already travelled what felt like the length of Coruscant to get up to their pre-arranged meeting place . “This mess has made liars out of all of us. Even I don’t technically exist.”

“I know,” Carth said, “We don’t know what Jedi are left, but for all we know whatever wiped them out at that conclave is also responsible for our missing ships. That’s two now, and several others delayed. They say the equipment’s faulty, and there’s talk of a black hole edging into the Outer Rim.”

Carth watched Bastila mull this information over silently, though he had a feeling what ran through her mind. Was there really a black hole in the far reaches of Republic space? Or was there something darker out there? Waiting?

Bastila sighed, wrapping her arms around herself.

“It’s just, just-“

“ Everything?” Carth finished. It was inarticulate, but enough for the Jedi beside him to understand, apparently. She nodded, exasperated.

“There’s so much going on, so much I didn’t realize at first.”

“ None of us realized. We got too comfortable,” Carth said, thinking of his empty apartment, his empty bed, and how full everything had felt before Nevarra left and became Revan again, or at least left to follow in the footsteps of her former self.

The lift doors opened, revealing another maze of halls and doors, a tangled web of old, abandoned offices Carth still hadn’t asked Bastila how she managed to hide. He was almost familiar with the route now, following the young Jedi to her personal workplace.

“ Too comfortable ,” Bastila said after a while, considering the words as she said them, slowly. “Too comfortable, indeed.”

An unsure look crossed her face as she opened the door, letting Carth inside before using the Force to close it at his back. Carth swung around, mildly surprised, and watched as the doors swiftly met in the center of the frame, sealing shut. Bastila wasn’t one to use her powers for frivolous things, closing perfectly functional doors being one of them.

When Carth turned back around, the office was lit but the walls were dark, hiding the academy beyond from view of the transparent glass that surrounded them. Bastila was already seated at the console on the far side of the room.

“So, what’s this other news you needed to tell me?” she said in a rushed almost-whisper, clearly as anxious as he was.

“Well, it’s not good,” Carth started, already apprehensive, still unbelieving.

“I gathered as much,” Bastila snapped.

Carth inhaled slowly and exhaled, commanding his body to release all the tension it held. His shoulders slumped slightly, but his body did not seem to want to take orders.

“They found her ship,” he said, his voice catching, chest tight. “ Our ship.”

Bastila blanched and turned towards him, her face going white.

“The Ebon Hawk ?”

Carth nodded, collapsing into a couch on the opposite side of the room. Saying the words seemed to release everything. He dropped his datapad on the table in front of him, his hands rushing to nurse his temples.

“Where?” Bastila pressed, waiting patiently now. Her voice was softer, but she remained stern, trying to be strong for the both of them. Carth glanced up at her, thinking he could almost laugh. She was trying. She really was. Little did she know it only made him feel worse . He was a grown man for kriffing sake. And it’s not like he hadn’t lost someone before.

“In the Outer Rim. Peragus System.”

“Peragus?” Bastila asked, voice flat.

Carth nodded, “Not far from Telos.”

“Do you think she was on her way back? That she had found something? That maybe someone-?”

Bastila couldn’t bear to finish her thought, a concerned hand reaching for her mouth, as if to massage the words out of her but none came.

Carth shook his head.

“She wasn’t on board.”

“Not on-?“ Bastila started, stopping herself, already too wrought with questions to continue.

“They found an old woman in the med bay and a malfunctioning T3 unit in the cockpit.”

“T3,” Bastila repeated, hollow, almost wistful. “But this woman, was she Revan’s Master? The one Nevarra had gone looking for?”

Carth noticed how she distinguished the two – Revan and Nevarra – perhaps still guilty for what she and the Jedi had done. Or uncertain as to what repercussions their actions had, even now.

“Who knows, nothing came up on her. She seems to be in bad shape,” Carth answered, watching the young woman as he spoke.

Bastila did not make eye contact. Instead her gaze turned inward, her eyes fixating on a thought as she stood and began to pace the room.

“I forget how old Kae was when she was still at the Academy. I was still so young, but she could not have been that old,” she mused.

“You forget how unforgiving people can be when it comes to women and their age,” Carth reminded her, thinking of all the senior female officers still on the receiving end of undeserved flak and underestimation.

Bastila nodded, agreeing, but didn’t look at him.

“Where is the ship now?”

“I told the Harbinger crew to salvage it, to take in anyone on board,” Carth answered evenly despite the empty feeling in his chest.

“And they aren’t set to arrive at Telos for another five days at the most, I think I know the rest,” Bastila finished in a huff. She stopped pacing and fell back into the chair poised by her personal console, a hand still cradling her chin.

“She must have been returning, otherwise why would the Ebon Hawk be way out there?” she said after a minute’s pause and a moment’s thinking, “The last coordinates sent by T3 were from Tatooine, that’s a completely different sector.”

“Maybe that was the last time Nevarra was on the ship,” Carth offered, “Maybe she found her Master, maybe she-“

His ideas ended there, dissolving into a slew of endless what ifs he didn’t want to speak truth to .

“Perhaps,” Bastila sighed, “Where was the ship exactly?”

“That’s the other thing,” Carth said, leaning forward and watching Bastila for a moment before continuing. She locked eyes with him this time, unsure of what was about to escape his mouth, “It was found in a dead lock with a ghost ship. A Sith ship. From the Star Forge.”

“Sith,” Bastila echoed, her eyes going wide, “ Sith .”

Carth could only nod. Neither of them spoke, but he had a feeling that the thoughts rushing through Bastila’s mind were not unlike the ones he’d already turned over in his head a thousand times. What if Nevarra had fallen back into Revan again? What if her old students found her after fleeing Republic Space?

“There’s no point in worrying,” Bastila said suddenly, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush, “We’re already doing all that we can, we’re being careful. There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

As annoyed as he wanted to be with her change of tone, Carth knew this was Bastila’s way of comforting herself, of comforting him . In her own way, at least.

They sat in silence, soaking it in, feeling the weight of it. Carth almost felt calmer, and he wondered if Bastila were somehow harnessing her Battle Meditation to ease their worry. It wouldn’t do to think irrationally, not now, not when they needed to be careful, not when they still knew nothing of the threat that loomed on the horizon if there even was one, not while they still didn’t know why Nevarra left or what happened to her.

“Bastila, I-“

“Carth, there’s something else.”

He blinked.

“Something… else?”

Bastila nodded, waiting for his reaction, though it never really came. Carth felt a bit numb already, not ready for more bad news.

“I only just heard of this an hour ago,” Bastila lead with, turning around now, giving Carth little confidence in what was to follow, “I think we might have a situation.”

“A situation ?” Carth repeated. “You mean, other than what’s already going on?”

Bastila hastily tucked a temperamental lock of hair behind her ear several times as her console booted up, images forming on the screen as Carth stood up and watched on over her shoulder. A report manifested, complete with images and notes, detailing a Jedi academy on Nespis VIII.

“As you know, I had been keeping tabs on all the old academies, temples, and other Jedi headquarters since Katarr. Part of the Housekeeping Initiative-” she said, glancing at him momentarily before looking away, referring to Revan’s last orders, as if all of this already wasn’t a result of Nevarra’s final correspondence with the both of them, “There are other Jedi stationed all over the galaxy as you know, keeping watch, in hiding.”

“There’s an academy there?” Carth pointed to the screen, thinking it was no coincidence the Exile had just been there, and Mission and Zaalbar were still awaiting orders not too far away.

Bastila nodded.

“And it now appears to be under Echani jurisdiction. Their credentials check out.”

“Credentials?”

Bastila opened another file, a document of authorization appearing before them.

“It’s not so much a sanction, but they were granted rights by the station,” Bastila said, her voice stiff with dissatisfaction, “Without any formal Jedi to say otherwise, and with us all in hiding, they have the right to turn over the building to anyone with a claim to it.”

“And who would that be?”

Bastila shrugged, defeated.

“Does the Force tell you anything?”

Bastila rolled her eyes.

“That’s not how the Force works , Carth.”

“I know, I know, I was just - I don’t know - hoping it might be,” he admitted, turning away as he felt his face reddening. “I’ll have my people look into it. We should be able to recover any records at least, find out where this claim comes from.”

“I contacted what other Jedi I could, but there’s no knowing what others might be in hiding, ones we don’t know about,” Bastila continued, composing herself again, “And to be honest, I don’t blame them. With all that’s happened, anyone left may not know that others still remain, and looking for them could lead to trouble.”

“And I’m assuming the situation wouldn’t be much better if we did the same,” Carth mused, beginning to pace the area behind Bastila’s chair.

“Well, that’s precisely the thing…” Bastila began.

“That thing being?” he said, trying to coax an answer out of her.

“I’ve heard from one,” Bastila answered finally.

“What do you mean?”

“Mission contacted me,” she said, “Her message was coded-“

“Smart girl,” Carth muttered under his breath, still listening.

“She said a Jedi contacted her . A Jedi that knew you .”

“Me? Since when have I-?”

Carth almost caught himself saying Since when did have I had Jedi friends?, but saw the impatient look on Bastila’s face and thought the better of it.

“I take it you know this Zayne Carrick?”

Zayne Carrick.

The hair on Carth’s neck stood on end.

“Yes,” he said, the memories rushing back – a plucky stow away, just a boy, begging that Carth bring him to Admiral Saul Karath, who only wanted him for the murder of his fellow Jedi students. Carth had believed Zayne, there was something about the kid that made Carth think he wasn’t a murderer, no, couldn’t be. Then again, he had had similar thoughts about Karath as well as the man Carrick requested they contact, a man named Squint, a man Carth would later come to know as Darth Malak.

“Carth?”

Bastila’s voice brought him out of the past. He shook his head and steadied himself, focusing on her slate grey eyes as they watched him intently.

“I knew him, yes,” he affirmed, “What did he want? Was he in some sort of trouble?”

“He was looking for someone of yours, actually. A Republic Scout named Mical.”

Carth nodded, then shook his head.

“Part of Rell’s team, the girl we sent to pick up the Exile.”

Bastila’s eyes went wide for a moment, shaking her head along with Carth, not liking the sound of any of this the more each of them spoke. She swallowed slowly, watching for his reaction.

“Apparently this Zayne had been working with a colleague of mine, the very one whose artifacts Mission and Zaalbar have been transporting. One we lost at Katarr, I now realize. I’d hoped-”

Bastila paused, bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle whatever involuntary sound threatened to erupt at the thought of the incident. She shook her head again, willing the feeling away and looking Carth square in the eye again, keen on continuing.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Carth said after a moment, his voice betraying his suspicion, almost on purpose.

“That wasn’t all,” Bastila continued, darkly, ignoring Carth’s near-sarcasm but mirroring his thoughts in her expression, eyebrows raised as if to say of course this would happen , despite the uncertainty clearly blooming in both of their chests. “Aside from this Zayne’s connection to one of yours as well as one of mine, the last he’d heard of your Republic Scout, he was at this precise academy.”

“The… academy currently overrun by Echani?”

“The very one,” Bastila answered, “Now, what I can’t figure out is why the Echani of all people would be interested in the Jedi.”

“From what I remember the Echani don’t have a high regard for Jedi,” Carth said darkly, “Didn’t Revan ki-“

He stopped himself. Didn’t Revan kill one of their decorated generals? She had, and he knew it. But it still felt strange – remembering who she had been, what she had done, and wondering why .

Bastila watched him, aware of his inner dilemma, and Carth was sure she was thinking the same of her missing friend and mentor.

“His name was Yusanis,” she began, her eyes darting about as she mentally fit pieces of an unseen puzzle together, “Master Atris was to send our regards after the incident. I believe she was well-received, but again that was some time ago.”

“Atris is the woman who tracked the Exile, right?” Carth said, goosebumps spreading over his skin as the coincidences piled up.

“Indeed, and she was a renowned Jedi Historian.”

“And… dead , as I recall,” Carth tried to find a better word for it, but instead resorted to softening his voice as if it might sound more respectful despite his vocabulary failing him. Bastila glanced at him sidelong but didn’t press further on the issue, continuing only with the matter at hand.

“This is true, but,” Bastila paused, “The coincidences are certainly strange.”

“I don’t like this,” Carth said, “If you ask me there are too many of these damn coincidences.”

Bastila thought for a moment, her eyes faraway, before an uncharacteristic laugh erupted from her throat. Carth balked.

“Bastila, I don’t see-“

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, lowering herself into her chair again, “But perhaps you were right, for once.”

“Right? About what?”

“About the Force,” she continued, her laugh dissolving as she took a few measured breaths, “ There are no such things as coincidences, there is only the Force."

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Nespis VIII, Jedi Academy
The Last Handmaiden

The Jedi temple on Nespis VIII wasn't unlike any other that Brianna had visited in recent months, scouring the sites for anything lost or left behind for her Mistress to reclaim and keep safe. But this one… this one felt haunted somehow.

The halls were full of mercenaries, yes, but Brianna also felt other eyes on her, hidden ones. Arianna seemed unworried, at least by anything other than the present threat. When they re-entered the temple, they were greeted by its new occupants, as well as Orenna and Ursa, accompanied by Liana via comm. Irena was still in the archives somewhere, unable to answer, though they took it as a sign that she was captured or at least unable to escape safely.

They sisters four took out the front guard easily enough, at least the outer-lying scouts whose absence would not be noted for some time yet. They needed to get Irena and the items secured beneath the temple out with as little of a commotion as possible. Liana told them the docks were already on near lock-down, the Golden Company having made themselves comfortable there, too.

"You're lucky things hadn't quite gotten this bad on Tatooine, sister," Arianna had breathed as they retreated into the temple shadows again once they were safe inside to make their next move. "Things here aren't looking much better."

Brianna nodded, unsure whether to consider her sister's comment a token of concern or a backhanded insult, as if to say that Brianna couldn't handle herself without her sisters there to save her. But the feeling at the nape of her neck drew her away from any inner questioning, wondering instead who was watching them, and from where.

They were hidden in the alcove above the main doors, crouched in the dilapidated entrance to the ventilation system. Brianna eyed their surroundings, knowing her sisters were more than capable, but curious nonetheless if they could feel it too. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, prickled from her wrists up to her shoulders, trailing down back, as she hazarded a glance behind her to see if anyone was there. She knew she would find nothing but darkness, but somehow, in the shadow she knew something was waiting, watching.

She stood still, her sisters still speaking in whispers so quiet they could be mistaken for near silence, locking eyes with the darkness. Something shifted, the weight of the air around them, the temperature of the alcove, something… something.

"Brianna?"

Unmoving, Brianna stared still, waiting for the slightest sign of movement, of something, though she knew not what.

The air beside them seemed to solidify before her eyes for a moment, and then… sighed?

"Brianna-" Arianna gripped her arm, but Brianna snatched it back, and in doing so unlatched her staff and extended it as she stood, thrusting it into the empty air… only to hit something that was certainly not nothing.

A figure rippled into existence, forming from nothing, a figure completely clad in black whose chest was now wreathed in a deep dripping red.

"Quick, there's more of them," Brianna said before she knew what was happening, before she'd registered what she'd just done and how. Several figures spirited into being before them, all poised on the edge of the alcove as if they'd been perched there, waiting.

With another parry she managed to knock another off the ledge while Arianna reached around her and kicked the leg out from another. Five remained.

Brianna had not seen a foe like this before, but they reminded her of someone. Someone still fresh in her memory.

The remaining figures readied themselves as they passively allowed their comrades to fall, the expressionless masks betraying nothing of their next move. Arianna grappled with the first, while another figure leapt across the gap to reach Orenna. Three stood facing Brianna, each with a weapon in hand, and each ready to fly.

Within the span of a moment, time froze, as it did once… in a dream? Brianna did not have the time to remember, though a flicker of a memory, a half-thought, flitted through her mind before she calculated the moves she needed to take down the three foes standing before her. Almost without thinking, she hooked her staff with the first silhouette, feeling the electricity travel from its shock-stick to hers, snaking its way through her hands and up her arms. Instead of reeling, she felt herself absorbing the shock of the contact as she pulled downward, using gravity to her advantage. At that moment, the second figure poised to pull a trigger, but with Brianna's staff still on the down-turn she spun and kicked out, slamming her booted foot into the figure's hip to send them flying, the rifle's aim skewed just enough to hit one of the assailants behind her as they grappled with Arianna still. Now the third stood ready, needle-thin blades in each hand. As she landed, Brianna ducked, instinctively avoiding the first blade as she came up on the second, grabbing the hand of her attacker before they could lash out, using her staff to fling the first blade out of their hand. As one blade tumbled to the antechamber below, Brianna thrust the hand of the figure down so they fell along with it, toppling to the floor along with the others.

Turning, she found Arianna, Orenna and Ursa staring at her wide-eyed with only two assailants between them, now incapacitated on the floor.

"...Well done," Ursa finally uttered, her voice colored impressed yet tinged with something more like… disgust? Fear?

Brianna could only nod humbly, still catching her breath. She retracted and reattached her staff to her belt and slowly moved towards them.

Arianna and Orenna nodded, near-dumbfounded, exchanging glances as Brianna carefully made her way over the broken floorboards to where they stood, wary not to fall along with those… foes she dispatched.

"Now who are they, I wonder?" she said, her heart racing, unsure of what just happened, of what her sisters thought of her now, and whether she might finally be worthy of them.

Whatever similar thoughts ran through her sisters' heads dissipated at the question, Arianna taking the lead as she often did.

"Judging by their garb?" Arianna began, nudging one of the bodies with the tip of her boot, "Not a mercenary, that's for sure. I've seen some of this material used in other armors, older ones. Orenna, do you remember?"

Arianna knew the answer, but asked Orenna as if testing her. Orenna nodded, accepting the challenge, before kneeling to get a closer look. Her fingers hovered over one of the masked faces, as if curious to see the person beneath, but instead her hands moved to the figure's arm, running her fingers along their greaves. She paused before looking up at her sisters again, looking at them each in turn.

"We've found similar armor before, on the Outer Rim bordering the Unknown Regions. Get a closer look, sister."

Brianna watched cautiously as Arianna nodded at her, beckoning that she do as Orenna asked, almost afraid of what she might find, though she already had some idea. She knelt slowly, looking at more than just their greaves, but examining the rest of their armor, turning the body this way and that as if it were a training doll. Brianna's blood ran cold then, realizing what she'd done, knowing that this were her first real… kill. Her sisters seemed unfazed, perhaps having already done this on other excursions she was excluded from, or perhaps they just didn't care. They were trained not to, afterall, but Brianna couldn't help but feel unsteady, the air around them somehow thinner. She examined the now-corpse, suddenly aware of the rest of the temple, sensing the movement in the lower rooms, knowing there were others nearby, and the sheer weight of what remained hidden beneath it all. But was that because she knew how important Atris' work was? Or was it something else?

"Sith," Brianna breathed finally, though tension still mounted in her chest, "I'm certain."

"Assassins, I would assume," Ursa added. Arianna nodded, Orenna as well. "There are likely more of them, though try to keep count. We need to let Mistress know every detail."

So Atris' plan was unfolding. Was it just how she expected it to happen? Brianna couldn't get a good enough read on the woman to be sure, but every time she spoke with her, Mistress seemed even more on edge. She wondered if Atris had been the same when consulting her sisters, though she doubted the present situation brought their Mistress any pleasure, regardless if her predictions were correct or not.

"We need to get to that cache," Ursa urged them, readying her weapons again, "If the Golden Company is here and if the Sith are here then who knows what could happen if these relics fall into the wrong hands."

Arianna nodded, but Brianna shook her head.

"What is hidden here, exactly?" she asked. Arianna had explained the situation somewhat before they arrived, and they had learned of the mercenary group's arrival together via comm, but she was fuzzy on the other details. Why were the they here exactly? And how much of a coincidence was it that they ran into each other? Was this all part of Atris' plan? Was this part of what she had forseen? Was that why Brianna was sent to watch the Exile? Because Atris knew all of this was supposed to happen? That all of these paths would intersect somehow?

"Relics from the Great Sith War," Arianna confirmed, interrupting Brianna's already-rampant thoughts, "I'm not surprised the Sith would show themselves, though it's bold of them to appear like this. Mistress would be concerned."

"These are not just any relics of Kun or Qel-Droma," Ursa replied, though she did not emphasize, nor did she answer Brianna's question. "Mistress foresaw this, though I don't think she believed it would happen again so soon."

Ursa turned to Brianna now, her face stern, her eyes sad almost, betraying worry.

"We cannot let them have it," Ursa said, "By any means."

Arianna nodded in agreement. "If it falls into the hands of a Sith Lord, what then?" she said, her hypothetical question hanging in the air like a noose about their necks, for they all knew the answer.

"We mourn the galaxy, that's what."

Brianna's skin ran cold, thinking of the man from Anchorhead, his bright green eyes alight with anger as she came down on him in the Czerka loading bay, the way he snarled as he looked at the Exile only moments before, electricity snaking up his arms as sparks sputtered from his fingertips. Was he a Sith? Atris was far too distracted to give her an answer, too concerned with the Exile to note it. Or perhaps Brianna had not been clear? Would she regret not detailing the fight further? Would Atris find out? Angry that she had faced a dark Jedi on her own without making sure he did not follow her?

"Ready?"

Brianna looked to her sisters, their weapons at the ready, shaking the uneasiness from her mind.

She nodded, unsure of what lay before them, and what else their service to Atris might have them do. Brianna turned, hazarding a glance over the balcony of the alcove into the depths of the entryway below, spotting the lifeless bodies of the people she'd just … killed. Faceless, it was easier to accept, but there was still a gnawing inner worry she couldn't pinpoint. She was proud of her own quick-thinking, and she knew she would be dead had she not acted. Still, this was a first. And likely not the last.

Unbothered, her sisters accepted her compliance and moved onward.

"I was unable to conduct full checks on the men we had in custody," Ursa whispered to them as they quietly maneuvered around the ruined upper levels of the temple, careful to watch for the patrols below and careful not to make a sound, "But Irena is likely still trapped with them."

"We shall handle them as we handle the mercenaries," Orenna affirmed for them, coming to a decision on her sisters' behalf, "They are not our concern, unless they get in our way."

Brianna trailed behind her sisters, watching on as Arianna and Ursa nodded in unison. Orenna didn't even look to see if Brianna agreed, or had even heard what she said. Her eyes trailed along as she walked, discerning each shadow with more scrutiny than usual, suddenly afraid that the very air around them would move again and come to life, revealing more assassins laying in wait.

"We can circle around the archive, come up on it from the west end," Ursa went on, careful to keep herself hidden as she gave orders. Brianna glanced over the lip of the broken balcony as they snuck along its few precarious supports, spying the mercenaries making their rounds below, "It would be best to distract them, get Irena out of there unnoticed-"

"But surely they will notice she is gone," Arianna interjected. "How do we go about drawing their attention elsewhere?"

"That was my next point-" Ursa began, pausing now and lowering her voice even more. "Brianna, you have the shard Mistress gifted you, yes?"

Almost stunned, Brianna paused before nodding. She reached into her pocket and handed the odd device to Ursa. Her sister plucked it from her palm and shook it, using her nail to reach miniscule buttons affixed to one of its rougher edges to make a few adjustments.

"We can disrupt their comms with this," she said, stopping in full now that they were all standing in the shadows of another alcove along the upper wall, Brianna careful not to bump into any hidden assassins as she ducked out of view beside her sisters. In the dark, the white of their hair still gave them away, but with their hoods drawn the white appeared grey, and the grey melted seamlessly into the shadows around them, appearing as visual snow, an optic equivalent of white noise. Another design discovered by Atris, from the depths of some other ancient archive.

"We need to-"

"Wait!"

Brianna hardly heard the word as it escaped her own throat in an urgent whisper, unsure of why she said it just as an image appeared in her mind - bodies falling to the floor; blood coating the walls; a static ring permeating the space as the air slowed; a room filled to the brim with cold flames, ragged and flickering; a man escaping through a door, unseen, as time hastened to catch up with him.

What is this? Brianna thought, her breath quickening, blinking hard as her sisters all stared at her wide-eyed.

"Brianna, we can't-"

Blinking furiously still, the vision focused, like a kaleidoscope folding in on itself until a single image remained - Irena crushed beneath the weight of the temple, the walls closing in on her until no breath escaped her lungs, the life snuffed out of her in an instant.

Without thinking, Brianna launched herself over the edge of the second landing, somehow regaining her footing quickly enough to burst into a run once her feet hit the uneven floor. The two mercenaries standing outside the door were already on the floor, but she didn't have the time to wonder how or why. Ahead of her, electric tendrils slowly snaked their way through the lip of the plasteel door wedged into the wall, crawling upward like cracks forming in ice. And when Brianna kicked it down, the mechanism sparking as it came loose from the frame, the room's inhabitants remained silent and still as stone while death threatened to consume them.

"Brianna-!"

Her sisters appeared behind her just as the walls began to crumble, the electric energy now spread over every inch of the room, the people inside still unaware of their impending doom. Brianna's eyes flashed to the center of the room, searching for the source - a cryoban grenade, a disruptruptor set to self-destruct - but all she saw was a flash of black as a man exited the room, disappearing through the other side just as the door collapsed around him once the flames took hold, just like her vision.

Atris had warned them of powers like this, especially once she had returned from the failed Jedi conclave, her head in her hands. Their exercises had first doubled, then tripled, their workload exponential in the days and weeks to follow the disaster, their Mistress growing more distraught with every passing hour. The Dark Side is destruction. The Dark Side is death.

Remnants of a dream trickled back to her in an instant - falling snow stilling in the air, a woman found upon the mountain, the weight of her heavy yet amorphous as Brianna and her sisters brought her to Atris for a reckoning - but just as the finer details found footing, they slipped through her mind again, raced away by one final flash of the man from Anchorhead, the man now exiting the room she was entering, seemingly responsible for the carnage within.

The walls started hurtling towards the floor as if in low gravity, chunks breaking apart as time slowed, sending her into a nightmare made real. Brianna's sisters stilled behind her, but Brianna jolted forward as soon as she saw Irena's wide eyes from across the room. She dodged the falling debris, grabbing her elder sister by the hands before releasing her, urging her onward before realizing that Irena, too, was moving as if sedated.

It wasn't until she had Irena out of the chair that she saw the bodies, some splayed with blood on the floor while a slew of other assassins stood frozen, poised around the room like sentient statues. Unmoving, they would soon become unstuck, but if the room were to collapse... She had to get out of there, fast.

Her vision unfolded in reverse, the ringing appearing and resounding just as the realization struck her, Irena in hand. Without thinking, Brianna pulled Irena beside her, making up for her sluggish pace as she dodged the two bloodied corpses on the floor and the assassins sinking to join them from underneath the weight of the collapsing room. Brianna ducked and slid, pulling Irena along with her, before the world around her turned dark and deep and black, the ringing intensifying and occupying every inch of her brain until she knew nothing more...

3951 BBY, Nespis VIII, Jedi Academy
Darth Erebus

The boy's mind was difficult to crack, but Erebus managed it. He waited for the moment when the stranger's breath would catch, caught off-guard by the words spoken to him in secret, startled by the voice heard only in the confines of his mind before Erebus sunk in his proverbial teeth. Erebus even managed to coax a smile out of him - though a nervous one at that - a smile that went lax the moment it was in full bloom, losing fire like the expression of a dying man knowing full well this was his last breath. Does he know? Can he tell?

He knew the blond man could hear him, but could he see what he was doing? Could he tell that Erebus had pried open his thoughts enough to peek at what lay on the surface, to now know that his name was Mical, and all before rummaging further to find what he was looking for? The thought never stopped Erebus before, but the look in the stranger's eyes - so bright and so blue - he thought twice. Perhaps… and if so, the boy's Pazaak face was one for the books.

It was only the fraction of a second. Mical would likely not remember this part, and the others around them were far too preoccupied to notice. The two mercs stood talking in barely hushed whispers at the end of the room while the Echani focused all of her energy on appearing poised, perhaps as much for herself as it was a front to those who now held her captive.

Knowing he was unseen, at least for now, Erebus delved deeper, Mical's face now betraying no emotion.

Erebus had almost blanched when he'd heard of what Nihilus had done at Katarr. Erebus was the one to tell him about the conclave, the meeting spearheaded by his old Jedi Master, Atris. Part of him felt the invitation was meant for him, that it was not quite as intercepted as he made it out to be, intended more as a jab that Erebus had abandoned his post on Coruscant and was no longer welcomed, though perhaps only if he dared. Nihilus had laughed his inhuman laugh at the intel, the air momentarily sucked from the room as if an airlock had been opened, but Nihilus had never once doubted Erebus' words. This was the news he was waiting for, the prophecy come to light. His hunger would be abated, and Erebus would be paid handsomely for it… had Nihilus not returned with a new student, a pet.

But this… this… was something else. Judging by Mical's memory, there was a cache of Sith artifacts secured beneath the temple that would more than satiate Nihilus' interest, but more importantly, it linked to the reason Erebus dealt in artifacts in the first place, why he had ultimately chosen to become a Jedi after once fearing them, why he chose to pursue the title of Historian under Atris, and why he ultimately entered Nihilus' employ… and somehow, in spite of all of that, it also somehow linked back to his sister, to the artifact she left on his ship as payment for the notes she stole, an invitation to something larger, something yet unknown…

Before Erebus could truly register the weight of it all - the unending coincidences and the sheer marvel of the items he now knew lay buried beneath the temple - the air about them rippled again.

One by one, their mercenary sentinels fell without a word, the static from their comms reaching deaf ears as shock-staffs materialized through their rib cages, blood-spatter coating the room in a shuddering instant. Irena stiffened with a sharp intake of breath, and Erebus ripped himself from Mical's mind, perhaps a bit too sharply, though time did not grant him the luxury of using the Force with any grace. It did, instead, leave his fingertips bristling, electricity pooling in his palms.

As the bodies hit the floor, other bodies materialized to take their place, much as the mercenaries had appeared before… only these bodies were Sith. Erebus knew them instantly by their garb, ancient in origin and designed for both stealth and the fluid movement required for their brute strength. Sion's legion of Sith Assassins.

Without a second thought, Erebus let everything go. With a sharp crack, Erebus' restraints dissolved in a flash of violet-white light. Standing, he cast his arm out until the air around him stilled, the Sith Assassins' cover slow-dissolving at the far end of the room as if their stealth were aged honey. He wouldn't have much time, not knowing how long his Force Slow would hold, having only ever attempted it once before. The Echani woman watched him wide-eyed, but otherwise did not move, her white face and hair marred by the blood of their now-dead captors, her hands and eyes still as stone.

Erebus rushed the table and slid across it, landing unsurely on the other side, adrenaline coursing through him. Fingers fumbling, Erebus undid Mical's restraints, only wisps of electricity sparking at the tips of his hands as he worked, hardly able to snap the fibers before his powers gave out. But everyone else in the room moved as if underwater, Erebus moving inhumanely fast though out of breath as he finally snapped Mical's hands free and whispered, "We have to move - now!"

Not quite realizing how the words would sound in the man's head, Erebus lifted him up out of the chair and leapt toward the nearest door just as time began to catch up with him. Fear bubbling in his throat like bile, he closed his eyes and soaked the fear in, letting it steep into every fiber of his being before opening his eyes again, instantly sending the entire room up in electricity.

The walls began crumbling in slow-motion before quickly falling to the ground around them just as Erebus lead Mical out of the storeroom and into another dark hallway, then steered him into the nearest service duct, his teeth clanging in his skull before the dust could even settle.

"In here," he said, time now fully in motion again, sound traveling at its normal speed.

Going on his brief mapping of the building through Force Sight from earlier, the fastest way out of the action was do go deeper - closer to where he needed to go, but also likely where the horde would soon be as well. That was why they were here, was it not? He didn't have the time, or the strength, to reach out with the Force again, to get another read on the place. Now, they needed to move.

"Wh-why - where are we-?" Mical was still recovering from his Force-induced stupor as well as Erebus' Force Slow, his senses likely rushing back to him faster than he could reconcile.

"There's no time for that," Erebus explained in a hushed whisper, "You're going to have to trust me if you want to live."

Part of Erebus knew that he was fooling the man, at least to some degree, but he also knew he was being earnest. He wasn't sure what this Mical was capable of other than rattling off facts that could rival his own skills, but regardless of what he could do Erebus was his best shot at avoiding Sion's Sith and anyone else in this temple. Erebus was done playing games and playing parts. There wasn't time for anything else. If he had to, he would tell Mical everything, but for now all that mattered was that the man believe him.

Mical nodded, albeit unsurely as he looked Erebus straight in the eye, as if only just seeing him for the first time. The action was getting closer again, and whether he agreed or knew that he just needed to move, Mical nodded again with fervor and entered the service duct. Erebus followed, replacing the grate behind him as he urged Mical onward. On their knees, they were able to crawl through the duct with only minor discomfort, but it was the sounds behind them that troubled Erebus more than their current predicament. It would only be a matter of time before the Echani cracked, or Sion's assassin's found his trail. But if he was right, he and Mical should come upon a maintenance closet with easy access to the lower levels if they just kept going. A few more meters and they maybe stood a chance.

"Why are you helping me?" Mical asked after a few minutes of finding his way through the dark with only Erebus' curt instructions for direction, "How do I know I-"

"You don't know whether you can trust me," Erebus admitted, already sensing what the man was about to say, "But right now I'm your best shot, and you're mine. Now, where was that Jedi I sensed earlier? They were with you, correct? Keeping an eye on the situation with the Echani?"

Mical paused before nodding demurely, resigning to Erebus' probing, whether he truly trusted him or not.

"They were close, but not close enough to be detected. At least not by the Echani," Erebus began, piecing things together from what he had gathered earlier and what he had gleaned from Mical's mind moments ago, "But you knew they were there. You gave them a signal."

The man's behavior had been strange earlier, an almost hot-and-cold as he played cat and mouse with the Echani called Irena.

He didn't say anything in response, which to Erebus meant yes.

"I doubt your Jedi friend would leave you here, so they're likely getting... help, backup?"

"I'm not sure," Mical eventually said, almost sounding defeated.

"Hm," was all Erebus could muster. He'd have to check Mical's mind again when his strength returned, if he could, but for now, he needed to get to that cache. He directed Mical further, the sounds of the firefight thankfully falling away as they advanced on the next room. Just as Erebus was beginning to feel short of breath for the small space, Mical kicked out the next grate and exited into the maintenance room he'd been aiming for. The lights were out, so Erebus held his bristling hand aloft, the violet-white electricity illuminating the space just enough for the two of them. Mical eyed him curiously, but remained silent.

"I'm sure you have your theories," Erebus said, almost snide, as he searched his feelings for the door they needed. Mical said nothing.

Drawn towards another service door to the left, Erebus led them onward, and then downward, a ladder descending from an open shaft in the corner of the next room. Without a word, Mical followed, at least trusting enough to know that he needed to do as Erebus asked if he wanted to make it out of this place alive.

"I'm assuming you have a plan for getting out of here," Mical finally said once they'd both landed on solid ground again, Mical hopping off the ladder ceremoniously before dusting himself off. Erebus did no such thing, and only laughed in response.

"I will, I can tell you that," he snorted, "But for now, all that matters is that we get this cache out of here safely."

"Safely," Mical chided, shooting Erebus a hard glance.

"I take it you have some history with the Golden Company," Erebus said, careful as he chose his next words, "And I take it you can guess that I may have a history with those men that materialized back there." Men, women, it didn't matter. Once they were in Sion's employ they were his lackeys through and through. Weapons. Expendable. Meant to buy Sion time, meant to feed into his never-ending pain. "Trust me, you don't want them finding what's down here just as much as you don't want the Golden Company getting to it first."

Mical remained silent, eyeing Erebus' hand, the one that was just teeming with electric tendrils, the one he'd just used to destroy the room they were briefly held prisoner in.

"I'm sure you have your theories as to who and what I am, and for all I know you may be right."

Mical shot him another look, not doubting him this time but still unhappy with the situation nonetheless.

"But all you need to know right now is that I am perhaps the only person that finds any value in the objects that lay beneath us. At least half as much as you, if not more."

"I'll believe that much," Mical said, thoughtful. "You're trying a little too hard to impress me."

Erebus blushed but could do nothing to hide the blood now rushing to his face.

"Maybe you understand how much this means to me, then," he said, his voice husky and almost quiet, softer than he'd intended, "Regardless of who I am and who you're loyal to, we have that in common at least."

"I can agree on that."

Mical didn't look at him this time, intent on his own thoughts as they continued on. Erebus got the feeling that Mical knew where to go from here, now leading the way without Erebus' half-remembered direction. He had a feeling the man hadn't been here himself but had instead memorized directions, perhaps with the intention of coming here on his own, uninterrupted, before the Echani undoubtedly showed up and ruined his plans. Judging by what he saw and judging by those in attendance, it was no wonder the temple was swarming, and it would be a miracle if Erebus could figure out how to escape once they got their hands on the cache, once he finally had Exar Kun's very own -

"In here," Mical said finally, after leading them down a labyrinth of halls and storage rooms. In what seemed to be a nondescript closet, Mical recited something under his breath, the floor receding as a set of stairs materialized before them, each step illuminated by some unseen ethereal glow.

With careful footfalls, Mical led the way, as if afraid his weight may trigger a booby trap or some other device. Erebus didn't doubt it. Feeling a bit stronger, he reached out with the Force only to find… it was silent. Completely quiet and void. He stilled.

"What is it," Mical asked over his shoulder, sounding more like a lazy inquiry or a command rather than a question, clearly losing his patience as well as his nerve.

"It's-" Erebus faltered, unsure of how to word his thoughts, unbelieving even as he made the realization. It's barring me from entering. "I can't go further."

He should have known. If the Jedi were going to keep dark artifacts like these beneath the temple, it would have been to keep them safe… from his kind. From the Sith. From anyone strong in the Dark Side of the Force. And he'd taken these measures before, he remembered. With Atris, under her instruction.

Mical watched Erebus curiously, still not sure if he could trust him as far as he could throw him, and judging by his expression Erebus guessed it wasn't very far. He looked fit enough, but the stress was clear on his face, his cheeks hollow and gaunt, though his eyes remained a bright, brilliant blue nonetheless. How long had he been here?

"You figure a way out of here," Mical conceded, taking another tentative step downward, "It's probably best I do this alone."

If Mical was going to trust Erebus with their escape, he could at least afford unlocking the cache in secret. The man likely knew Erebus was the last person he should entrust such items to, if given the choice, and with a feeling that Mical wasn't a merc or anything of the sort, he figured this may be his best bet. If Mical could trust him, even the slightest bit more, maybe he could get close enough to -

"Sounds like a plan."

Mical nodded after a moment and descended, a pit of worry forming at the base of Erebus' chest. He watched until Mical disappeared into the depths of the temple, bracing himself for what came next.

The sounds were growing closer again, and Erebus was still weak. His hands trembled, but he wasn't sure if it was the Jedi failsafe now at his back or his nerves, or had he really been so out of practice that reading someone's mind and casting Force Slow was enough to drain him? He had also cast the room in electric flames, he remembered, and perhaps that was it. Perhaps he was still a sad, sorry historian so far out of his depths it only took diving into the deep end to see it. He braced himself, trying to afford Mical the privacy he deserved in the temple stores, a Jedi secret safe with someone at least. He scoffed at the thought.

If Sion was here… what did that mean? Was he here for the bounty on Jedi? Was he here for the cache? Was he here for… him? Erebus couldn't be sure, but the energy in the room earlier had instantly felt cold as Sion's assassins materialized. Erebus somehow knew it wasn't meant to be a rescue mission. Perhaps they hadn't realized he was there… Erebus had last checked in on Tatooine after all, gone for good or missing in action was anyone's best guess since then, right? But it wasn't like Nihilus and Sion to keep tabs on each other rather than remain at each other's' throats… and it wasn't like Nihilus to care about Erebus at all to begin with, if only to keep the leash on him tight.

Now wasn't the time to worry. There were things larger at work here. Larger than the Jedi, larger than the Sith threat Erebus kept close ties with on the edges of known space, and larger than whatever it was Erebus thought he would ever amount to in all his chameleon alliances, Force be damned.

Calming his nerves again, steadying his breath, Erebus counted as he inhaled and once more as he exhaled. His senses calmed, and when his eyes closed this time, a blueprint of the entire temple grounds and the surrounding city sprawled before his eyelids, specters of energy masquerading as varying shades of light as his Force Sight strengthened. Sion's Sith systematically took out the mercenary watchmen, but another group swiftly swept through the temple picking off assassins one by one. The girl. He didn't have to see her to know it was her, to realize that she was somehow related to his initial Echani captors, the sisters who resembled the girl from Tatooine only somewhat, any theories he had previously proven absolutely true. Her energies were the same, the Force moving around her more strongly than the others, as if channeling through her and with her at once. She'll find out soon enough. Judging by their movements, he doubted the other women knew their youngest was strong with the Force. Perhaps it was new, perhaps it had only just awoken. It had been the same for Erebus as a child, assigned to a Jedi Historian instead of a proper Master. Perhaps her hidden skills would keep them safe just yet.

The action moved closer, yet Erebus could tell he and Mical still had some time to kill. There was too much chaos for any of the three factions above them to begin making their way down just yet, their opponents still too imminent for any of them to get a foothold on the lower levels. Erebus had a feeling it wouldn't remain that way for long.

There was only one way out of the lower chambers, at least the way they'd came, but if they could somehow cut into the lower dorms and race through the old training chambers… they might have a chance. If Erebus had the energy to muster another batch of thunderous lightning, another cataclysmic explosion looked to be their only chance of making it out of there alive. Otherwise, they'd have to test their luck against the remaining mercenaries, six skilled Echani warriors and an army of Sion's Sith assassins...

Before he could wonder at how much longer Mical would take, the man appeared at his side, his face pale and his eyes wide. His expression was still as stone, his energy drained but an energy that told Erebus he wanted to keep on living strong in his veins. They looked at one another, Erebus eyeing the new satchel Mical now donned before nodding, trying his best not to pry, to save his curiosity for later.

Darkness threatened their immediate area, the air suddenly thick and hard to breath, Erebus' Force Sight snuffed out like a light by darkness and sharp breeze.

"So, about that plan?" Mical said, his voice more confident than he appeared. Erebus nodded, closing his eyes for another instant, memorizing the map in his head before looking at Mical once more.

"That depends," he began, bracing himself as he watched Mical for a reaction, "How do you feel about falling debris? And how fast can you run?"

3951 BBY, Nespis VIII, City Center
Mission

"So, where are we headed?" Mission asked, already out of breath once they made it out of the hostel and around the corner. Come to think of it, Mission didn't think any of them had relaxed since… well, before any of this. Once she and Big Z were asked to change course and find General Valen, they'd been either running or worriedly waiting ever since. And now, they were running.

"It's not far from here, don't worry," Zayne answered in a breath, "You're taking notes though, right?"

Mission nodded and hoped she'd come off as best bet was to stake out an exit plan, get Zayne's friend Mical out of the temple, the goods too if they were lucky, and head for the docks as soon as possible.

This wasn't much unlike her normal line of work. Hell, it was essentially the same thing, it was just odd hearing Zayne giving the directive instead of Carth or any of the other usuals she saw on her rounds. Occasionally running errands for the Jedi was not something Carth liked to advertise, not because he didn't want to necessarily, but because he knew how it would look. And deep down, despite his ties to Bastila, despite how much he cared for Nevarra after everything they'd been through, Mission could tell that part of him still didn't like it. And now, Mission knew why.

"I never thought to ask it before, but why do the Jedi keep so many fracking secrets?"

Zayne laughed, and Mission realized she had spoken aloud.

"Maker's balls," she sighed, embarrassed, "I didn't mean-"

"Oho, no you meant it," Zayne affirmed, shooting her a grin as they reached the center of the marketplace, the stale city air growing damp and humid, threatening rain, "But lemme tell you, I wonder the same damn thing all the time."

"Oh, right," Mission said, "You're not exactly a Jedi either, are you?"

"Why does everyone always assume I'm offended by that?" Zayne asked, laughter still evident in his voice, lingering somewhere in his eyes as well, still sparkling, "I'm kind of proud of it actually."

Now, Mission was glad the others hadn't come along just yet. She looked at Zayne, the moment stilling as the crowd jostled around them, moving about as if the two of them didn't exist. He looked off into the distance, either wistful or checking to see if the coast was clear, but there was a glimmer of something in his eye, a playful knowing Mission knew was hiding somewhere beneath his mischievous exterior.

"Proud, huh?" she asked, and he nodded. Now she knew - why it felt so natural around Zayne, why it felt like nothing had changed, despite having travelled with him so little and not seen him in so long. He was every inch the older brother she wished she'd had, the brother she wanted Griff to be. Griff would joke and jab, but he'd always be hiding a secret, a surprise with an not-so-happy ending. At least with Zayne, whatever he was hiding underneath was noble, and at least he was trying. Whatever chaos erupted in his wake, it was out of his desire to do good, even if things didn't quite turn out that way. And seeing Zayne now, after all these years, Mission knew that Griff may have very well wanted the best for her, but somewhere along the way let everything else get in the way. Zayne wouldn't let that happen, to her or to anyone else. Not even the Jedi, the faction that betrayed him, that cost him everything he'd been and hoped to be, and ultimately changed the course of his life forever. He still wanted to do right by others, even if that meant returning somewhat to a life he'd spent so long distancing himself from.

"Proud that I made it on my own," he rejoined finally, looking her in the eye. He paused, holding her gaze for a moment before nodding across the square, never breaking eye contact. "We've got company."

And just like that, Mission's easy smile faltered, easing into a discomfort she wasn't that unfamiliar with.

Several mercenaries popped up around the square - she could tell just by the look of them, and this wasn't her first run in with the Golden Company, either - but each one she spotted was looking around the marketplace, searching for something…

"They're plotting an exit," Mission said, the realization dawning on her as she spoke, her voice coming on in a hushed whisper. "We were too late."

"Something's happened at the temple if they're already-"

"Mission-" a comm rang in her ear, though to anyone else it would sound like a growl.

"I hear ya, Big Z," she answered, looking at Zayne pointedly, speaking without words as the pieces unfolding before them each as the data trickled in, via comm, judging by the looks of the market square, and by the tower of smoke rising in the distance Mission now noticed…

"The docks are swarming," Zaalbar grumbled, his voice agitated, pin-pricked with more guttural grunts he was known to emit when anxious. "Mercenaries are thick here. Better hurry, we should make a clean getaway. And fast."

Zayne raised his eyebrows in question, only privy to Zaalbar's message by what he could glean from Mission's expression. Mission only shook her head.

"Not good, huh?" a faltering smile played across Zayne's face as he nervously looked to the other side of the marketplace, exactly where they had been headed. "I'm not sure if we'll-"

If Zayne said anything more, it was drowned out by what came next. Mission turned her head, but it felt as if it took years for her to move, as if she were wading through water though she wished to be running in a dream, a nightmare. A cloud of smoke rose from the other end of the city, just beyond the square, dust and debris filling the air until it blotted out what could be seen of Nespis Major in the distance. And above it, a sea of ghost ships loomed overhead, dark and massive, riddled with cannonfire but airborne despite it, eclipsing all light.

A darkness crept through her, filling her lungs, her legs, rooting her to the spot like lead. Before the dread could overtake her - the panic, the uncertainty, the shock - a hand snaked through hers, fingers rough but reassuring as they tugged her attention away from the sight as it unfolded before them.

"We need to leave," Zayne said, his voice low and even.

"But your friend, we-"

"We need to leave," Zayne repeated. "Now."

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Nespis VIII, Docking Bay

Erebus

“I’ll do you a favor,” Mical breathed as they entered the now-dilapidated docking bay, “I won’t ask how you managed that.”

“Good,” Erebus replied, silencing the droid manning the garage and sending him up in sparks. With another wave of his hand, the loading ramp to his ship descended, and without a word, Mical rushed onto the ship and Erebus right after him.

“In there,” he directed towards the cargo bay once inside. “You’ll find a place for that thing, I’m sure.”

Erebus’ ship was outfitted for the transport of delicate goods, unsure what the Star Forge had use of for a ship like it but thankful he had found one, nonetheless. This ship had been his home for the past few years, and whether he was being chased by his Sith masters or no, he intended on keeping the thing, if he could. But first -

“Where to?” Erebus said from the controls, scrambling, knowing they hadn’t much time. “Where are you headed?”

“You’re being awfully generous,” Mical called ominously from the cargo bay, “How large of a sum do you expect when this is all over?”

“I’m not interested in money ,” Erebus spat. “We need to get out of here, fast .”

A ship had blackened the sky upon their escape. Erebus first thought it was the debris from his escape plan clouding the city, but when the dust had cleared and the shadow remained, he afforded himself a glance upward to realize that Nihilus’ resurrected flagship, the Ravager , was in orbit overhead. Somehow, he knew Nihilus hadn’t been after him after what happened on Tatooine. Erebus wasn’t that important to him - only when he delivered a relic of note did Nihilus ever seem to care - but now that he had relics once belonging to Exar Kun, well, maybe now Nihilus might bother trying to find him. And seeing his ship on the same planet sure wouldn’t help.

“I need to get to my crew,” Mical said again, now entering the cockpit, looking over Erebus’ shoulder while he fussed at the navicomputer. “We need to plan a drop off.”

Erebus side-eyed Mical, almost glaring at him. 

“As if we have time for that,” he muttered, “ Where to? ”

Mical’s mouth opened, as if to answer, but a sharp thrum pierced the air, a shaft of light emerging from nothingness, instantly silencing them both. A flickering silver light cut through the cockpit, dividing Erebus and Mical from the viewscreen. A lightsaber.

“I’m getting tired of this,” Erebus uttered with disdain despite the genuine fear creeping over his bones as his eyes traveled the length of the silver beam to the hilt that created it, and the woman now appearing at its command beside him, close enough to feel her breath on his neck.

“Dantooine,” she said through a shuddered breath, “Plot a course for Dantooine .”

Erebus was about to retort with another witty rejoinder, as a defense mechanism if nothing else, but as the realization struck him his throat grew dry, the words suddenly stilled in his throat, stuck.

In his lapse of response, Mical sputtered to life, logging in the coordinates to Dantooine as if from memory, the navicomputer chiming pleasantly as he finalized their destination. Erebus remained fixed, watching the woman with rapt attention, realizing he knew her, realizing now just how old she’d grown and how much time had passed - her black hair now streaked with grey, her once lively amber eyes now dull, dark and angry. Even her lightsaber had changed, faded from a bright cyan to a pale silver in the din of his salvaged ship. Erebus had had one other Master before Atris, only one other instructor, briefly, before his reassignment as prospective Historian. As if any more pieces of his past needed resurrecting, as if he needed some reminder, some warning of the things to come.

“It’s good to see you again, Master Vash,” he croaked after a moment, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I wish I could say the same, Aiden.”

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Outer Rim

Vale

If Vale was good at anything anymore, it was repairing droids. Always had been, always would be. She was good enough that she made a living of it on Tatooine, when milking a living of any kind was near impossible. Good enough that she was often commissioned by Jedi Masters and Knights alike to fix any bugs in the protocol droids roaming the Academy grounds, wherever she happened to be studying. Good enough that Revan once asked her to repair her personal droid, as a joke, just to piss Alek off once. And now, she was repairing a droid that looked an awful lot like that one - an HK, its shining hull the same shape, its eyes set in the same half-malevolent glare - only it was a newer model, silver instead of bronze, and this one had claimed she was its Master.

Shit, don’t call me that Ede, Alek had muttered to her once he had unofficially become her instructor during the second leg of the war, indignant but somewhat amused when she had jokingly called him Master while sparring. We’re friends, right?

Friends. She almost snorted at the thought, with only the half-aware HK intelligence module to ridicule her for it. Asra had been a friend. Darek could have been one - and perhaps could still be a friend, once this was all over. So could Orex, so could Glitch. They reminded her of the people she’d served with alongside on Dxun, aside from the fact that Orex had actually been one of them . Her troops were the closest thing she’d had to a family since Aiden. Perhaps even more so. There’s something about the closeness of the end of the world and its impending immediacy that brings people together, keeps them on the same page… it had brought her and Alek together, at least that’s how she saw it, initially. Until it separated them once they’d become dangerously entwined, and utterly tore them apart. 

After a few adjustments, the HK flickered to life, its eyes now aglow in the din of her appointed dormitory aboard the all-too-quiet Harbinger , suspiciously still since the salvage team returned from the frozen wreckage outside, still no news from Rell. 

“Greeting: It is a pleasure to see you alive, Master, provided my receptors are not off-focus,” the disembodied head of the HK mumbled as it gurgled to life, its vocabulator no doubt still recovering from the jolt Zaalbar gave it back on Tatooine. “How may I be of assistance?”

“First thing’s first,” Vale began, placing the head on the generously spacious desk on the far side of the room. “I’m not your Master. And second, where the hell did you come from?”

“Pointed Recollection: Why, you purchased me, Master.”

Vale hung her head, already annoyed as she began pacing, thankful the HK wasn’t completely reassembled yet.

“ I know that ,” she replied, wracking her brain for the memory of the transaction, coming up just a bit too short for her liking, “It was two weeks ago, part of a large shipment if I’m remembering correctly.”

The HK remained silent, but it didn’t counter her claim.

She knew she was, in fact, correct. But it had been a week of busy orders, many customers looking to buy, to sell… only now a part of her realized this was all on purpose. If only she’d thought to bring her shop log along with her before the blast. She’d always made a point of keeping records, regardless of the transaction, and now with everything from the past few days weighing on her brain, her memory felt clouded, leaving her unnervingly unsure. And now she had nothing to weigh her memory against, she’d have to go on gut alone.

“I take it ownership occurred when the transaction was completed,” Vale stated, tentative, anxious to hear how the droid would phrase things. If HK models were known for anything, it was for their unique choice of words, which is why Revan had one specifically designed to kill on sight but only after cracking wise.

“Assertion: That is correct… Master .”

Vale let out a hollow laugh, unsure if the droid was being smart with her or if this one was naturally annoying. Protocols of any variety were the most challenging to crack, especially when ancient, but fascinating nonetheless. Their developed personalities could sometimes be traced to their wiring, a history of damages and repairs either written into their code or evident in the state of their plating if it hadn’t been completely replaced. But often there were missing pieces, ticks and traits that could only be explained as having been acquired over time, gleaned from experience and some sort of artificial evolution. But this HK model was new. She’d seen its innards, some of which were still strewn across her neatly-made bed on the other side of the room, and they were immaculate. Before the damage Zalbaar had done to the thing, it wasn’t likely this droid had seen action of any kind, at least nothing outside a factory…

She’d gotten lucky in the past month… more new droids than usual, which was something, since Vale had never actually seen any new droids in Anchorhead at all. A few were sold to her at the beginning of the month after a ship crashed out in the Dune Sea, likely spilling half of its contents across the sand like a bread trail to the city. Several scavengers had come in asking for more coin than they were worth, but Vale liked to think she could tell who needed the money more than the others. She still did business as routinely as usual, offering only the fairest price she could afford if she wanted to stay in business, if she wanted to eat that week, if she wanted to pay the cooling bills. But the other set of shiny new droids she recalled were sold by a young woman, a Zeltronian desperate to get off-world, willing to part with all of her belongings if it meant she could make it on the soonest shuttle. Whether she was a plant or one of the myriad of salvagers taking advantage of the crash was responsible for this planted HK, Vale was yet unsure, but she knew the answer was close somehow.

“So what kind of service can I expect from you, as your… Master?”

“Humble Explanation: As a premier-model HK-series protocol droid I am equipped to assist in a number of personal tasks, whether it be a question of translating binary sequences or nullifying any hostile targets.”

Vale only watched the disembodied HK head waiting for a reaction, though she knew she would receive none, before muttering, “Hm, thought as much.”

HK’s were clever in their ability to appear domestic when their true purpose was more akin to a personal bodyguard. But that got her thinking… did this mystery seller want her protected? Did they somehow know about the price to be placed on her head? As if they anticipated a swarm of mercs and bounty hunters to come and claim the sum?

“And as your Master,” she began, rounding on the desk again, placing both hands flat on its cool surface, leveling herself with droid’s line of vision, “I need you to tell me where you came from. Who sold you, and if not that, then who made you.”

“Unfortunate Confession: I cannot, Master. My memory begins and ends with you.”

Vale only smiled, though her expression soured.

“I doubt that,” she said, “You seemed to have a good idea of what you were doing, what was happening.”

Vale recalled those final moments in Anchorhead as painstakingly as she could, closing her eyes for only a moment and instantly placing herself there again. The HK had stirred once Asra had disappeared from the back of her shop, as the others made their first attempt at escaping ahead of her while Vale held the bounty hunters off, distracted them with the destruction of her store front, stalled only by the very HK before her.

“You knew there were people after me, after the price on my head. You knew where I kept my kriffing blaster rifle,” she could almost laugh, re-imagining the HK reach behind her to grab the gun, firing enough rounds to nullify the hostile targets that entered her shop with intention of killing or capturing her. “Explain that.”

“Impassioned Defense: Master, it is my job to keep you safe. I may have appeared deactivated, but my processor was on standby. Several interested parties visited your place of business in your absence. I merely kept tabs on them.”

“...Huh,” was all she managed. The droid was likely telling the truth, but she knew it wasn’t all of it. My memory begins and ends with you . Was that it’s way of telling her it had been programmed to follow her, somehow? To serve her? Or perhaps deliver her to someone else? 

“If that’s so, then please report.”

She did her best to appear interested, neutral if anything. Protocol droids of any variety could detect some level of interest, though many failed to pick up on the nuance of human sarcasm.

“Recalled Observation: The day before your arrival, the shop was not empty, as it should have been in your absence, Master,” the droid began, as if aware that Vale was at rapt attention, “Several interested parties entered the establishment under the impression that they were not watched. A mercenary, a bounty hunter, and a man.”

“A… man?”

Vale could have questioned the HK’s suspiciously poetic rendering of a single scout from each interested party, as if there was any true distinction between a merc and a bounty hunter other than level of freelancing if anything, but doubted the droid would respond to any such suspicion.

“Affirmation: Yes, a man. Clothed in black. Facial structure similar to yours, Master. Likely from the Ploo Sector, Serroco System.”

“Interesting,” Vale countered, raising a hand to her chin in thought, “Did this man… do anything? Or take anything?”

Detailed Recollection: No, Master. Though he did… touch a great number of things. The counter, for one. The doorframe. Your tools. And the-”

“That’s enough, I get it,” she said, raising a hand to shut the HK up if it didn’t already get the hint. Vale had done as much as she’d meandered Aiden’s ship once she realized it was his, admiring his handwriting, his work, realizing that every surface smelled like him, spoke of him. Even if she could no longer feel the Force, the entire vessel thrummed with his energy, heavy with his presence even when he was not there. Perhaps her shop had felt the same to him, even if he had tried to kill her moments later, his teeth bared like a beast in thrall.

“No discernable affiliation for the… man , I take it?” she ventured, grimacing slightly as she said it, still uneasy to say his name, even if it meant nothing to the HK. 

“Confident Assertion: Not that I could detect, Master.”

“But what of the others?” she countered, ready to be snarky again now that she reckoned the droid had nothing else to say about her brother, “A bounty hunter and a mercenary are easy to spot?”

The HK remained silent, its eyes’ lights blinking rapidly as if buffering, before it could respond.

“Master, I-”

“Miss Rissian?”

Vale’s head spun around to the console on the far wall by the door, the disembodied voice startling her before she realized what it was.

“Miss Rissian, if you have a moment.”

It was Captain Maris, his voice tense but urgent over the inter-ship communication console. 

Vale swiftly shut the HK off, dislodging a wire at the back of its head, before sweeping across the room to the console, answering Captain Maris’ call immediately.

“Yes, Captain?”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Captain Maris said as his face appeared on the screen, a wave of static rippling from top to bottom as his image rendered before settling, his pale face and fair hair set in a blue-white hue. “I just wanted to confirm that the ship will be resuming its scheduled arrival on Telos after a quick detour.” His expression soured for a moment before continuing, “We need to refuel, but we should be arriving on Citadel Station only a day later than originally expected.”

“That is… good news, Captain,” Vale responded, almost unsure of how her alias should be answering instead of herself. “Is there anything I need to-?’

“No worries,” he said, before she could finish voicing her thoughts, “You can remain in your quarters for the time being. Meals will be served as usual, if you need sustenance. The ship should be-”

The feed gave out just as the ship lurched, Vale’s senses akimbo as she regained her steadiness, “Captain? Captain, can you read me?”

A flash of memory - rain, static, interrupted calls as she commed her platoon, stationed at the temple on Dxun, their words drowned out by both the weather and something… else … something darker, something deeper than the rain-soaked mud that caked their boots and kept them from being quiet - and it was gone, just as fast as it had come. Vale blinked, and waited, hearing only static again for a moment before a voice cut through the white noise.

“- see to it, Miss Rissian. If you need anything just report to -”

The static sliced through his words again, filling the silence with even more uncertainty. As the comm went quiet, Vale could only glance out the window at the two ghost ships still hanging in the distance, stilled by time and something more mysterious, something darker.

“Sure thing,” she responded to no one, glancing at the console only to find it frozen, and back at the HK only to find it deactivated, just as she’d left it. Vale sighed, shoulders slumping, knowing she wouldn’t be sleeping for a good long while….

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Outer Rim
Rell

“You can confirm it? The ID? Everything?”

Rell had only ever met Admiral Onasi in person once, but even given her limited experience in the man’s presence she knew he was a man not often ruffled, unfazed by anything other than duty, driven by purpose. But now the man’s eyes were wide, almost manic, though he maintained an outer calm ever-present on his face as he questioned her now via holo. His image flickered in the space before her, a ghost in miniature on the console at her fingertips as her hands braced either side of the Harbinger ’s monolithic conference table, replaying the mission in her mind over and over again, sure she had every detail down to the tee.

“I’m sure of it,” she affirmed. “The make and model, the carbon scoring you described, and then some. The layout is exactly the same, every nick and scratch accounted for interior-wise, though I can’t say the same about the hull.”

“And the navicomputer? Did you try to access it?”

Ithiris had taken the lead on that as well, searching every crevice of the starcraft, poking and prodding where she could. The ship had certainly been in recent use, despite some evidence otherwise, but the still-warm astromech proved that the ship had only been inactive for a day or two at most. The lack of life on both ships, not to mention the ... bodies … made Rell want to think these ships had been here for years, but the evidence just didn’t add up. And neither did the navicomputer. It had also been in recent use, since the only logged activity viewable was from a couple of days ago, coordinates to the exact spot where these two ships now hung in uncertain balance. But otherwise…

“Voice-locked,” Rell sighed, “Couldn’t crack that code no matter how hard I tried.”

And in fact, she had. It was part of her job description afterall…

Admiral Onasi nodded in understanding, though he looked none too happy at the news.

She shook her head, recounting her intrepid exploration of the Dynamic-class freighter, fearless until she came upon the body in the security room. It was one thing seeing the scarred body of the mangled man on the abandoned ship at first, but there was something about the lifeless body of the woman in the cloak, her face somehow unreadable though Rell could count her every feature, as if every detail was outlined as normally as any other face, but instantly forgettable - not because it was plain, but because it was… cloaked somehow, as if she were programmed to be forgotten upon trying to remember her. Rell shivered still, unsure if this detail was of any use to the Admiral, seeing as she was not the woman he was looking for.

“And the old woman,” Onasi said, as if his thoughts had touched on Rell’s, “She’s-?”

“Confirmed dead by several medics, sir. No ID on her either.”

Admiral Onasi seemed unconcerned with the woman’s identity, as if he may already have some idea of who she was, might have been, or knew of someone he could ask for further clarification. Someone far above her paygrade.

“What of the droids?”

“The…” Rell floundered, her memory malfunctioning as she processed the question. “The what?

“Droids,” he repeated, “What of the droids on board.”

Rell swallowed, resuming her usual professional calm as she laid out the ghost ship’s contents again, its layout, its every detail, as far as her recent recollection could tell her.

“Husks,” she answered after a moment, the image clearing once she got a hold of herself, “A disassembled HK unit was in the main hold, slumped up against the canteen, and a badly damaged astromech was found in the garage, still sparking enough to potentially cause a small fire.”

“Reparable?” Admiral Onasi asked so quickly, so swiftly, the inherent upturn to the question falling flat as he said the words.

“The HK unit is missing parts,but the astromech looks to be in better shape, given the circumstances. Nothing a mechanic can’t fix.”

“Good, good,” the Admiral mused, seemingly pleased as he absently stroked his beard, combing his fingers through it as if Rell were not there. She felt as if she were intruding on a private moment, wondering if the Admiral perhaps forgot this was a visual call and not purely an audible one. “Good.”

The last word he said with some finality, alluding to a potential end to this call, or perhaps a purpose. Rell wasn’t sure what her next objective was, let alone what was even going on. 

“Make sure the ship and all contents are brought back to Telos, I’ll make sure my people are there to greet you and take it from there. The Exile as well.”

Rell nodded as she stood at attention, happy to hear some directive, suddenly more at ease despite how little any of this made sense to her.

“What about the other specimen, sir?” she asked, almost regretting it the moment she did.

“The specime-? Oh, you mean the body.”

“Well the bodies, plural, yes sir.”

“The bodies.”

Admiral Onasi wasn’t so much asking as he was repeating it, as if he almost didn’t believe it himself. Rell had no idea what any of this meant, let alone who the two bodies were once, but what had allowed for a once-violent standoff to end in apparent stalemate despite both vessels housing dead bodies… Not to mention that the Sith vessel was oddly empty, despite needing a fleet of a crew to operate. But from what she knew of what the Sith had been once, she ventured it may have not been too much of a stretch to assume the near-destroyed man they’d found had somehow held the ship together himself. She’d heard horror stories of what Darth Malak had done to deserters, to those that still followed Revan, even after she was defeated, even if they still followed his cause. She shuddered at the thought, hoping Admiral Onasi would continue before she had to step in again.

“We’ll take care of that as well,” he said finally, offering her a polite smile though none too pleasant, “I can take it from there. Just let us know when you expect to land.”

“Will do, Admiral,” she affirmed again, “We’re expected to in about-”

“Officer Amara,” a rap came at the door moments before it opened, Captain Maris stepping in before awaiting her response. “Admiral Onasi,” he nodded, his face grave before facing Rell again, apparently keen on having the Admiral listen in on what he was about to say, “It appears we may have a bit of a situation.”

“A situation?” Admiral Onasi asked, his holo-clone crossing its arms as he asked the question, doubt clouding his face even more clearly now.

“A few of our crew members have gone missing in the past twenty minutes,” Captain Maris announced in a hushed whisper, only loud enough for Rell to hear and the for the mic to pick up. “Either our communications have been tampered with or…”

“Or what, Captain?”

Maris turned to Admiral Onasi now, brows knit.

“I’d rather not consider it,” he said, voice hushed still, “I’m not a superstitious man, but-”

The lights cut out for a moment, Admiral Onasi’s flickering image the only light in the room as the ship seemed to sway slightly, the lights returning only to find Rell’s wide eyes on Captain Maris’ increasingly worried expression. Rell nodded slightly, as if confirming his fear, feeling the doubt she’d sensed on the freighter grow tenfold.

“I don’t like the sound of th-”

And with that, Admiral Onasi’s image disappeared entirely, the room plunged into sudden darkness, impenetrable black swallowing the windowless room whole. 

“Captain-”

“Agent Am-”

Rell readied herself, hand at her holster before she truly realized what was happening, before her senses could catch up in real time as the lights slowly returned… and Captain Maris was nowhere to be found.

3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Outer Rim
Vale

The caff had grown cold hours ago but Vale continued to sip it, suffering through its bitterness as she fought down the urge to explore the ship, to pay the mess hall a visit and maybe grab a snack… or a three course meal.

Vale was a woman of extremes when anxious. Either she could go hours without eating or down entire helpings of food without ever feeling full. The aching hunger or the temporary relief of eating continuously provided her with the same satisfied feeling that came with avoiding something, enough to push her worries to the back of her mind to instead focus on baser needs. But the caff wasn’t cutting it, at least not anymore, and if anything it was only making things worse. Captain Maris mentioned that meals would be served as usual, though she was sure the mess hall wouldn’t be devoid if snacks should she go looking for some… 

She was about to sweep from the room before pausing at the mirror fixed to the wall, almost startled by the unfamiliar silhouette that met her peripheral vision. Still clad in her foreign garb, Vale suddenly felt strange, tugging at the clinging fabric as if it might strangle her if she didn’t change into something more… comfortable.

Sighing, she crossed to her bed, rummaging through what other items Mission had grabbed before sending her off on her rendezvous, though none of the team were too clear on what would happen next regardless of outfit choice. Inside her pack there was a set of sleeping clothes, it seemed, not quite suitable to wear during meetings but certainly better than what she was currently wearing. Slipping into a loose-cut mint-green shirt that exposed her midriff, adorned with gold -threaded sleeves that stopped just short of her elbows, along with a pair of deep burgundy loose pants that tapered at the ankle, she wondered why this wasn’t the original outfit of choice upon departing. Still unused to clothes that didn’t feel like a second skin, this new garb at least didn’t have a tendency to cling to her limbs in a way that reminded her of groping hands and unwelcome advances, instead giving her room to breathe.   

“ Much better ,” she said to no one, glancing at the disassembled HK in the corner before reaching the door… only a knock came rapping at it just before her palm hit the panel to open it.

“Miss... Rissian?”

Vale paused, startled.

“Miss Rissian, a word, please.”

The voice was garbled, quick, and Vale was already on edge, not on her usual game due to the lack of sleep and overcompensation of caff.

“ Maker please, ” the voice said again, though this time it sounded more like it was talking to themselves and not any perceived party, and it was with that that Vale decided to open the door.

Only to find no one there.

She paled, blood freezing in her veins. 

Someone was here moments ago, and now the hall was empty, the lights uncharacteristically dimmed.

Maybe they’re refueling, Vale told herself, commanding the door to close again as she steadied her nerves. Or preparing to refuel. Saving energy until we arrive. 

Glancing out the sorry excuse for a port window her room offered, Vale glanced at the grand expanse that was space, noting that it was empty. No planets, no stations, no way points in sight. They’d left the Sith vessel to hang in the middle of space for the rest of eternity while Vale noticed that the smaller cargo freighter was attached to the hull for transport, but they’d yet made hyperspace since then, drifting somewhat aimlessly until they’d made preparations for the jump… or so she’d assumed.

She needed to find Rell. Something wasn’t right.

Vale paused again, re-examining her pack and its contents, eyeing her weapons and her non-alias related clothing, considering foregoing the charade entirely. But something told her not to. At least… not yet. Something told her she’d be back here again, before all was said and done. Whatever that meant. Ever since she’d lost sight of the Force - stopped feeling it, channeling it - she’d had thoughts like these, just as sure but of unknown origin. A gut feeling, she ventured. Whatever it was, she trusted it, but something about the HK caught her eye.

“Rise and shine,” she cooed, re-enabling the intelligence module, “How do you feel about going for a little walk?”

“Surprised Statement: Master, my joints are aching for a stroll,” he garbled, eyes flickering before glowing at full capacity, “Except I cannot seem to feel my-”

“That’s because your heads not attached, dummy,” Vale quipped as she tucked a shock stick in her pocket - something these pants seemed wealthy in, to her pleasant surprise, both pant legs generous in the amount of hidden room they offered. “Now, I need to know I can trust you to follow me and follow orders. Are we clear?”

“Bemused Declaration: Master, that is my precise programming. Lead and I shall follow.”

Vale hinted a sense of sarcasm, only highlighted by the droid’s complete lack of emotion. All dorids lacked facial expression, though Vale always found the HK models to be particularly cold compared to others.

“Good, now try to stay quiet. Don’t say anything unless inquired and…” she wanted to say search for hostiles but knew better than to promise anything, lest the bastard get trigger-happy. Or maybe that was just Revan’s model… Vale tried not to dwell on it. “Don’t get yappy, alright?”

“Mild Indignation: Master, I would never.”

Yes, sarcasm, she sighed, keeping her mouth shut for her own benefit as well as the HK’s. Definitely sarcasm.

“Alright, let’s move out.”

It didn’t take her long to reattach the rest of the HK’s limbs’ together, mildly surprised that Zaalbar’s annoyed trashing hadn’t done more damage - not that she’d blame him.

Vale nodded at the HK, waiting until it slowly nodded its head in return before making for the door again, nervous as she touched her palm to the panel once more. Pressing firmly, realizing her skin was clammier than expected, the door slid open, a rush of tepid air meeting her expectant face as the hall opened up much as it had before. Oddly dark and oddly empty.

Earlier, there had been the dull ambient sounds of officers milling about, going about their duties, but now all Vale heard were the engines running, the halls quieter than they should be otherwise.

“Stay close,” Vale said, pulling a palm-sized holopad from her pocket, “But not… too close.”

The HK unit nodded and Vale loosed a breath, thankful this one was good at following directions. At least so far.

Glancing at the holopad, she tried to upload a map of the ship but found that the connection was fuzzy. Slapping the thing against the heel of her palm, the image jolted slightly before coming into focus. The light flickered, offering her a brief window to examine the layout of the floor she was on and the route to the bridge before the entire thing cut out, the light flickering and shuddering out of existence.

“Communications are more than just jammed,” she whispered, half to herself and half to the HK unit. Something or someone wasn’t just tampering with the systems on this ship but draining the power somehow, sapping it dry. “What the hell did they find on that thing?”

Goosebumps rose on her skin as she asked the question, as if giving the words open air made it seem more real, more mysterious and more… strange, a bad feeling creeping in and settling over her like a shroud, doubt and worry making itself right at home as she thought back to the objects hidden in her pack, the things they’d found on Tatooine and what had happened there...

The rest of the hall stretched on, lifeless, though lights promised some activity further down, where the hall branched out to other sections of the ship. Captain Maris hadn’t spoken with her that long ago, had he? How much had happened since then? And if this ship was anything like the ones Alek had commanded during the war, then there would be no shortage of officers going about their routine responsibilities, whether they were on active duty or not, preparing for battle or simply going through the motions, keeping the ship running…

Vale thought of a joke, something about taking up journaling once this was all over, but realized that the thinly veiled dark humor masquerading as humor at all would be lost on the droid, something better intended for Asra. She wondered what they’d all do next, if the hunt would lead them further down Revan’s rabbit hole along with her, or if they might find something more profitable, something worth pursuing, something that might allow them all to eke out a living without chasing ghosts.

Instead, she chuckled, at nothing and no one, knowing (or hoping) that the HK wouldn’t react and would allow her this small thing, this one human thing, despite the fear coiling inside her, ready to spring, ready to-

“General,” a voice cut through the dark, thick with the heat and loud with the rain from outside, “Where to?”

Eden looked ahead to only find more impenetrable darkness. Abandoning her eyes, she reached out with the Force to find the entire temple laid out before her like a starlit field, rooms illuminated like star maps, lifeforms glowing like distant planets catching the light as they continued in orbit. Behind her, her troops stilled, awaiting orders. Ahead there were beasts, creatures that had long since made these halls a home, allowed their darker energies to penetrate their simple minds and twist them… but something else lingered here. Someone… though no longer living. And something… hungry for what might be living beyond its walls.

“We go right,” Vale said in the present, the memory ringing clear as it overlayed her current consciousness like a kaleidoscope, inwardly joking again that this was something to journal about, something to remember. The memory was clear now, the temple on Dxun. Orex had been at her side, then. He may have even been the one to ask the question.

The HK remained silent at her side, playing along, quiet as promised. The hall ahead was barren as well, but there were echoes here, evidence of some not-so-distant activity. Vale glanced at the HK and nodded, as if in silent reminder that it follow along and stay silent as she took the lead again. She took a step forward.

As soon as she entered the next leg of the hall, the hair on the back of her neck prickled, her elbow grazing something solid even though she was at least a foot from the wall. Vale spun around, meeting the HK with a grimace.

“ Please take a step back,” she whispered, “I said follow close by, but not right up my-”

She paused, straining her ears, her eyes, her senses, pushing them to the limit. The hair on her arms now stood up, her ear sensing something shuffling beside her, though she saw and felt nothing… but it was almost as if the space beside her sighed , as if the shadows shifted before settling, as if-

“Amused Query: Up your what , exactly, Master?”

“You know what I meant,” she hissed, turning back to the HK, annoyed, “Just… stay a step or two behind, is all.”

She didn’t like this. None of it. The hall shouldn’t have been this empty, nor this quiet, even though she swore she could sense something just on the edge of hearing, on the edge of feeling, on the edge of seeing…

It was as if she could feel the Force rippling around her, but was unable to tap into it, as if she were on the verge of channeling the Force but unable to find the right channel to tune into, forever her phantom limb.

“Confident Assertion: I can follow orders, Master,” the HK said quietly, its mechanical eyes providing little light to the dimly lit hall, “So long as you can lead the way.”

She took it as a challenge, sighing as she turned towards the hall and its closed doors again, wondering if any of them worked, wondering how she managed to inherit such a sarcastic droid at a time like this, figuring it was just her luck and she shouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest. 

“Let me know if you sense anything,” she said over her shoulder as she ran her fingers over the shock stick still snug in her pocket, “Movements, voices… tell me if you pick up anything.”

“Pointed Observation: The hall is empty, Master,” it said, its voice level but sinister somehow, “However, there are movements up ahead, at the end of the hall and approaching the junction.”

Sure enough, up ahead was an intersection, a cross between four hallways converging into one. The end of the hall directly before them was completely dark, only the emergency lights outlining the dysfunctioning panel on the wall, thankfully leaving the blast door open for them to pass through.

“I’m not sure where he’s gone but since all the comms are down-” a voice said, starting off muffled but growing clearer as Vale inched onward, “I don’t know, but if we want to secure the-”

“We should just continue with the drill,” another voice cut in, urgent, “We’re still not sure what caused the- shit. ”

Two officers appeared in the junction ahead, the man on the left approaching the panel that likely controlled the entire intersection, before he noticed Vale’s silhouette further down the hall. He paused, hand on his holster, but he didn’t move beyond that, he only asked, “Identify yourself officer.”

Vale raised her hands slowly as if in friendly surrender, mustering up what she remembered of her cover story if asked anything beyond her name.

“Lan Rissian? I’m bound for Onderon, or at least Citadel Station. I was brought on board to-”

“ Ah , right, the diplomat,” the other said, a Twi’lek she realized as his dark green lekku took shape, stepping out of the shadows and into the poorly lit junction beside his partner. “Are you alright?”

Vale took stock of herself, as if she weren’t already sure before being asked, though she glanced warily at the stretch of darkness that stood between her and the officers, as if she knew they were not quite alone, “I think so, yes.”

Both officers glanced at one another before eyeing the HK behind her with equally wary expressions, the shadow between both parties revealing nothing and no one, though Vale’s senses said otherwise.

“I didn’t pass this through customs,” she explained, as if being interrogated or brought to task, “He was disassembled when I brought him on board. It. Whatever,” she was nervous now, though unsure exactly as to why, “There’s a log of it, I just… felt safer going beyond my room if I wasn’t alone.”

Neither officer answered, but neither seemed to object or suspect her story. It had been true, after all…

“Have you heard from anyone at all?” the human asked, glancing at Vale now instead of the HK, though he still seemed a bit on edge because of it. 

“No, not for a while anyway. Just a message from Captain Maris but that must have been an hour ago.”

He nodded, looking to his partner as they exchanged knowing glances.

“It’s not unusual for this sort of thing to happen out in the Outer Rim, as I’m sure you’re aware, Miss Rissian,” the Twi’lek said, crossing his arms and mulling it over, as if trying to convince himself just as much as he was her, “Independent systems are known to set up satellites in more remote parts of the Rim to jam systems, block communication and otherwise weave panic in passing ships, especially if they hail from the Republic. I’m sure we’ll be out of it in no time, especially since we’re nearing the waypoint now.”

The waypoint. They must have been really far out there, nearing the Unknown Regions if anything, a black hole not far off if they were navigating this carefully. 

“We’re telling everyone with a functioning door to meet in the med bay,” the human man continued, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “All crew are required to update their vaccinations before re-entering Republic Space. Plus, with the systems malfunction we could do with the headcount. At least until we can get things up and running.”

Both soldiers sounded just as unconvinced as they looked. All she did was nod in response, taking the man’s advice about heading to the medbay, a maw of dread taking root in her stomach as she moved passed the two officers, grimacing in an attempt at ‘ thanks ’ before moving towards the only of the working doors in the junction.

The officers watched as she walked on, waiting until she was out of view before speaking further or going about their business. She could feel the HK humming beside her, as if itching to speak.

“Just spit it out,” she said once they’d turned another corner, drawing closer to the medbay if her memory served her correctly.

“Pointed Observation: Master, I have a bad feeling about this.”

Vale could only roll her eyes and suck in a breath.

“I’m getting really tired of that phrase, y’know that?”

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Hyperspace

Mission

“I need you to get to Coruscant as quickly as possible, or anywhere Mid-Rim if you can,” Carth was near manic now, his nerves apparent even on the hologram, “Did you get a good look at the ship?”

“It’s a Star Forge Centurion-class battlecruiser, that’s for sure,” Orex replied, arms crossed and voice gruff as usual, “Though it looked pretty beat up. Not sure how that thing was still in orbit.”

“What’s on Coruscant, Carth?” Mission asked, already impatient, “I don’t even have anything to deliver to Bastila, the Exile still has the… erm, the package, or whatever it is.”

“I realize that, but I need you to get as far away from the Outer Rim as possible, do you hear me?” Carth said, almost reprimanding, concern coloring his face. Mission wanted to make fun of him for it but instead bit her lip and let the amusement wash over her, a pleasant change from the panic that had otherwise taken over. 

“Not to butt in here, but we had orders to rendezvous on Dantooine,” Zayne cut in, “I don’t know exactly how this little operation worked before Draay had me take over, but the rest of my crew’s at the old temple, and if these Sith are looking for something specific-”

“They’re looking for something specific alright,” Carth said, “The Exile.”

The room fell silent as Mission, Orex and Zayne all exchanged glances, waiting for Carth to continue but finding that he wasn’t about to award their patience just yet.

“But-” Mission began, looking at both Zayne and Orex before turning to Carth again, “Isn’t she headed for you?”

“I sure as hell hope so,” Carth replied, sighing, shoulders slumping slightly at the admission. The man needed sleep, Mission knew that much, but wasn’t sure if he’d get any. None of them had. “We lost contact with the Harbinger a couple of hours ago. We’ve heard nothing since.”

There was only silence and dread. Mission didn’t want to look at the others, her gaze fixed on Carth as he watched on anxiously, and she knew it killed him to appear too vulnerable. But what with Revan gone and everything going south...

“This is no coincidence,” Zayne assured them suddenly, taking on an air of authority that wasn’t wholly out-of-character but still jarring, as if things weren't dire enough, “But I still say we head to Dantooine. It’s enough out of the way for us to disappear while things blow over. If anything, our heading compared to the Harbinger may confuse them, if they’re still chasing her.”

“The Exile was last seen with us, I’m sure of it,” Mission said, “I’m pretty sure we were followed for at least part of the way in the market, and if anyone thought to keep tabs on us after-”

Carth nodded though not quite in agreement, more like he was thinking things over, considering all possibilities.

“That might work,” he eventually said, a hand stroking his bearded chin, the streaks of grey even visible in his holo-double. “It might be our only option, given how much time has passed.”

They had jumped to hyperspace as soon as they were in range, but even then they had only just jettisoned to the nearest fueling depot. Zayne’s shuttle was already sputtering by the time they’d cleared the Nespis moon, and even now it was rumbling unnervingly beneath them as they talked things over.

“If you do go to Dantooine, make it quick,” Carth conceded after another moment of consideration, “If these Sith are looking for any remaining Jedi, they just might head there first.”

Zayne nodded, understanding, his expression grim. Carth nodded again and without another word signed off, the space where his holo-shadow had been now strangely empty, the room oddly quiet. 

“So I guess we’re going to pick up our original shipment after all?” Mission asked, turning to Zayne now, who was running a hand through his hair. 

“Looks like it,” Zayne let out an uneasy breath, and turned to Orex, “And if we’re lucky, maybe a little extra. Y’all along for the ride?”

“To the end,” Orex affirmed, hand on his blaster as if the man were swearing an oath. His good eye turned on Mission, and she couldn’t help but nod in return.

“To the end,” she said, wishing she had a drink to toast the sentiment with. A strong one.

3951 BBY, Hyperspace

Erebus

“May I ask why you’re so keen on Dantooine, Master ?” Erebus sneered, uncomfortable with the amount of strangers on his ship and the circumstances under which they were all here. Mical was still looking meek, though more-so by choice than by nature, strategically shrinking himself into the background by remaining quiet and compliant. On the other hand, Master Vash wouldn’t stop examining every corner of Erebus’s ship, but not with any innate curiosity, something more like an insatiable impatience.

“The visions said as much,” she responded, absently examining every surface still, unsatisfied with what she’d found.

“Right, obviously,” he murmured, sighing as he collapsed into his desk chair. “When you’re ready to give me some real answers, just let me know.”

Master Vash shot him a glare.

“Judging by the… items in your possession, I would say you’re not one to judge.”

“Yet here you are doing just that, judging . I don’t answer to you anymore, Lonna , nor do I follow the will of the Council as you may very well guess,” Erebus mocked, waving a hand about at his cargo hold, “And let’s be fair, no matter whose side I’m on, this is still my. ship. ”

It all felt surreal. Sleep deprivation and pure exhaustion would have otherwise wrecked him, but now he was running purely on the now-potent fumes of fear and anger, almost egging himself on as Lonna Vash explored his stores without express permission. He could live off his fear for long enough, but it was the anger ran through him like adrenaline. His eyes would glow a molten yellow if he was forced to keep it up, as he knew from experience, fading only when the aggravation faded… or when he let it.

Lonna flashed him another glare, and limped toward him. 

“This is as much a shock to me as it is to you,” she admitted, setting herself down slowly on one of Erebus’ unopened cargo crates across the room from him, her eyes intent on holding his gaze as she spoke, “I am only here because the Force wills it.”

Erebus rolled his eyes before he began nursing his right temple with a thumb and forefinger, “Why am I not surprised?”

What else did the Force have in store for him? He could scoff at the idea, despite the mounting evidence. 

“It’s only going to get worse,” Lonna laughed a hollow laugh, her expression dark, “Trust me.”

Erebus’ hand dropped from his head and into his lap, both hands now forming clenched fists - attempting to control his anger, temper it, lest Master Vash get another snippet of his thoughts unwillingly - before releasing all tension by spreading his fingers wide again, like a blooming flower. No electricity prickled at his fingertips with the movement. He breathed, relieved, but continued to watch on as Master Vash made herself comfortable with a wary gaze.

Lonna closed her eyes, inhaling slowly as she let the weight off of her bad leg. Erebus glanced down but saw nothing other than the cloth of her pants and the edge of her boot, seemingly intact, only extending to just above the ankle. Whatever injury plagued her it was an old one, her appearance otherwise unruffled. 

“Let’s start at the beginning shall we?” Erebus smiled sourly, sending a wayward glance at his desk and the onyx pyramid that stood there, its dark energy radiating. He wondered if Lonna Vash could feel it too.

“As you know, I was one of the Jedi that judged your sister some nine years ago,” she began, pulling no punches.

Erebus nodded, remembering the news clear as crystal. He had been both enthralled and horrified when Atris told him. Elated to hear that his sister had been dealt due judgement for her actions, for rebelling, but devastated to hear what had become of her, to hear of the shell of herself that she had become. He could feel the hollowness of her cheeks, could see the dark circles wreathing her eyes, sense the sallowness of her skin, the ache in her heart and in her chest and her bones. And to hear Atris deliver the news with such righteous surety, with a fire in her eyes he was certain could not be sated, it broke him. Even as a nemesis, Eden was more worthy of her attention than Aiden, Atris’ own student. It was no wonder he fell not long after that, letting a bloody brawl in an alley of a backwater metropolis lead him down the path he was still currently headed on… granted Nihilus didn’t kill him for it. 

“I had my doubts then, as I’m sure Atris might have told you.”

Master Vash said this was absolution, and Erebus nodded again. He remembered Atris’ rant, her angered words as she paced the Jedi Archives in retelling the trial in its entirety before him as he tried to catalogue their latest shipment of ancient scrolls. 

“Yet you still voted in favor of her exile,” Erebus mused, “Curious.”

Vash sighed, “This is true. Though I will admit, it was in part due to my trust in Master Kavar. He seemed quick to judge her, his own student.”

Wrong , Erebus thought. Kavar had nearly become Eden’s Master, before he chose a seat on the Council over her. In that regard, Erebus had always been happy that his sister had some inkling of what it felt like for your mentor to favor another protege over you, even though Kavar chose the Jedi as a whole over Eden instead of a single student, as Atris had with her, before realizing Eden would rebel against everything she believed in. 

“I doubt it means anything to you, but that single decision haunted me for years,” Vash said, closing her eyes for a moment before saying anything further, “Zez-Kai Ell as well. He believed we should have explored her abilities, allowed her a full trial. I think he was right, and I know I wasn’t the only one, eventually. But none of us did anything about it. We lived with our choices and then moved on. Until Revan came… again.”

“Again?”

“You’ve undoubtedly heard the story, or some version of it,” Lonna continued, a wry smile spiriting over her lips “Revan is betrayed by Malak and suddenly becomes an agent of the Light again? A tool of the Jedi?”

Erebus shook his head. He’d heard of Revan’s change of heart, but among the Sith the nature of her new allegiance was glossed over, likely due to Malak’s attempt at keeping the remaining Sith under his power in line, a haphazard effort of turning those who followed solely for Revan into loyal followers of whoever held the Sith mantle. 

“An interesting story at that, and none that would paint the Jedi too kindly.”

Mical appeared in the doorway now, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame, locking eyes with Erebus before he said, “We’re on course for Dantooine, alright. We should arrive within the day.”

“Excellent,” Lonna said, “ You should be happy.”

Mical balked, looking at Erebus again before continuing.

“Erm… me ?”

Lonna laughed knowingly, but didn’t elaborate.

“You arrived just in time for a history lesson,” Erebus greeted, extending a hand towards another unoccupied cargo container, “I heard you were a fan. Take a seat.”

Heard. More like pried into his mind and extracted, Erebus thought. Though best to assert dominance where he could, especially now with another Force user on board. Mical scowled but did as Erebus said, his wary gaze shifting between Erebus and Lonna, looking the opposite of relaxed once he sat down.

“As you were saying,” Erebus said, directed at Master Vash now, “Revan, the Jedi tool .”

Mical sighed and mouthed a silent ah, as if he knew the story, watching Master Vash with some mild intent despite sensing Erebus’ latent bitterness.

“I won’t go into detail, though perhaps I will later, if you have a mind,” she said, as if silently making fun of Erebus, a Sith, for not knowing the true nature of Revan’s sudden change of allegiance. “But it didn’t sit well with me, nor did it sit well with Zez-Kai Ell. Though I wouldn’t have long to discuss it at length with him. Or anything else for that matter.”

Erebus waited, watching Master Vash, noting the dark coloring of her robe, the streaks of grey in hair, yet the sharpness that never seemed to leave her eyes despite the pain she was in, even while sitting.

“And not long after Revan’s change of heart, Jedi continued to go missing. What I mean to say is that Jedi had been disappearing since the beginning of the civil war, undoubtedly in part to Revan’s influence. But even while Revan was being watched by the Jedi it continued, much as it had before, but this time under Malak. And then once Malak was defeated, things were quiet for a while. Until it started happening again, six months ago. Though, I have a feeling you may know what’s behind that.”

Erebus remained silent for a moment, mulling it all over. He had been one of those first missing Jedi, gone rogue once the civil war broke out.  Recruited by Revan, though not personally, just a remnant of a program she had put in place. But he hadn’t turned out of love for Revan. In fact, he still felt the opposite, even all these years later.

“I’m curious as to how you can say that with such surety,” Erebus drawled, narrowing his eyes.

“As much as it may seem the contrary, I am not here to accuse you,” Lonna continued, “Your Master is the key to the missing Jedi, yes, but there is oh, so much more to it than that.”

“This is where the visions come in, I take it?” Erebus asked, almost accusing. He wasn’t sure where Master Vash was going with this, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“As a matter of fact yes ,” she said, standing again now, “As well as your visions.”

Mical looked between the two of them, unsure of what was unfolding and unsure of whether he wanted any part in it. Erebus’ gaze remained fixed on Lonna, who now stood over him with her arm outstretched.

“Let me see the artifact,” she said quietly, and Erebus knew exactly what artifact she meant. “ He might need to see it, too.”

She glanced at Mical, surprised again to be acknowledged.

“Then you might want to show us what you uncovered back at that temple.”

3951 BBY, Citadel Station

Atton 

Atton eyed the Pazaak table, still unsure.

Nursing his second drink, he tried his best not to watch the gambling but failed, keeping a keen eye on each player’s hands, looking for even the slightest movement in the eyes, a blink or a twitch, a tap of the knuckles, a twinge in a lekku strung over a shoulder. Instead he feigned to appear nonchalant, bored almost, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t tempted to go at it himself. 

You’re a natural, his father would say. A shame you can’t teach me how you do it.  

He’d tried, once or twice, but his father’d been slow to read others, too preoccupied with showing off and making a show than anything else. Atton had tried getting him to look at the smaller details, teaching him how to read the other players and how to keep track of the numbers in his head. But Atton was shit at explaining things, and his father was shit at listening. Plus, if Atton couldn’t help his father cheat at cards, there was no reason for him to stick around, no reason for his dad to pity him and let him pocket some of his winnings before being shooed back home to his hovel where his mom would be waiting, with credits if he was lucky.

He hadn’t yet decided if Atton was the type to gamble, the sort of man to place his bets. It was gambling that got him into this mess in the first place, the reason why he decided to saddle up with the Peragus mining outfit to settle his debts. Jaq had been an amazing gambler, gambling often and recklessly with his life and his money. But the aliases that came after had varying luck, and his last one dealt the worst hand of the bunch.

His fingers itched, his brain already busy counting, singling out the victors before the game was even half over. Even if he didn’t play, he could still turn a credit on backing a winner alone. But that was still betting, wasn’t it?

Atton downed his drink, at least certain that this Atton Rand was a drinker. He could play Pazaak games in his head if he wished, but conjuring the effects of juma was something else entirely. Maybe if he could somehow figure out how to more effectively numb himself - his thoughts, his feelings , his regrets, and daresay his fears - then maybe he could manage foregoing it. For now, the alcohol was necessary. Very necessary.

As if reading his mind, or at least craving the credits, the bartender slipped his empty drink out of one hand and slid a full one into his other. Too thankful to be dumbfounded, Atton only nodded and began sipping again, trying not to eye the Pazaak table now, as if were a challenge.

How long can you go before you slip? He thought bitterly, How long does it take for the memories to creep back? For the guilt to set in?

Sneering at no one, Atton turned to the other side of the bar, now in full view of the performing band and the throng of the dancing crowd beyond. Despite a lack of skill, he could lose himself in there. If he downed another drink or three, he could disappear, dissolve until he was nothing but sweat and heavy breathing, the beat thrumming in time with his pulse as if it was all he was born and bred for. It was either that or waste away in his designated apartment, surfing the spice channels until something worse came his way… 

But what he really wanted was… sky . Space and sky. And stars.

He’d applied for a delivery rotation with Peragus, not knowing they weren’t the type of outfit to take position requests. They were full up on delivery pilots, booked with ship outfitters and repairmen, no need for a single worker having anything to do with their incoming, outgoing or out-of-commission vehicles or even a position with even a sliver of a view of the wrecked asteroid field and the stretch of space it hung precariously in. But they were in constant need of miners, considering the hazard pay and all - not that the money made up for the mortality rate. Which Atton took as a challenge after considering it. But as much as he might deserve death, he was a survivor, above all else. And he'd yet to change his mind.

The view was shit here on Citadel Station, the window outside the cantina offering little else other than countless finger smudges on the duraglass that separated the station from the inhospitable atmosphere outside, but it sure as hell beat the view from Atton’s room. Maybe he’d meander the station for a while, clear his head, and try to forget about Pazaak, about his debts, about his father, his past…

He downed the rest of his drink and began rummaging through his jacket pocket for credits, only for the bartender to stop him. The bartender held up a hand as the droid beside him tendered credits from a woman across the bar, her pink skin aglow as she winked at him and nodded, biting her lip as she shooed him off, assuring Atton silently that she’d cover his tab.

Atton paused, unsure if he’d ever seen the Zeltronian woman before and if he’d ever made a pass at her, or worse, owed her money, her gesture more of a threat than one of good will in hopes of a future rendezvous. Or perhaps she was just an interested patron, hoping to catch a man drunk enough to dance.

He doubted it, but Atton nodded in return all the same, brows furrowing as he turned to leave, his limbs suddenly leaden with the movement. Atton shot the woman one last glance, her eyes still on him as he retreated from the bar, a strand of crimson hair falling into one of her eyes as she watched him leave, gaze unwavering. Atton froze. Normally, he wouldn’t walk away from an invitation, but this one seemed… strange. He hadn’t been looking to shack up with anyone, but more than that, he felt as if this gesture came with strings attached, though still unseen. So he thought it best to cut ties while he still can, acting as if he’d always meant to leave, regardless if this woman wanted him to stay or not.

He turned back again, eyes fixed on the cantina’s exit, knowing the entire time that he was being watched. Atton scanned the space with his peripheral vision, careful not to linger on any one person for too long, uneasy as he made his way back to his sad excuse for a room. He glanced at the duraglass, hungry for some slice of sky, but the air outside was instead full of a thick, grey smoke, billowing in stacks just beyond the window.

“Ain’t that a metaphor if there ever was one,” Atton murmured, shoving his hands in his pockets, already hungry for the empty black of sleep.

3951 BBY, Hyperspace

The Last Handmaiden

Fire. All she could see was fire. A blue-hot flame at the core of the galaxy, burning, burning… burning bright in the center of a black hole, time warping around it in a way she could not explain only… feel . It echoed within her, the very core of her, somehow, commuting its existence without words, before disappearing entirely. And then… she was in a room, but asleep, suspended in something but not swimming, unaware of what was around her other than the lukewarm liquid that made her skin tingle as if she were drenched in menthol, cool and warm at once. She could feel lights shudder out, one by one by one, before the darkness settled in, like a ship overhead, eclipsing the sun, much as it had back on Nespis VIII, back when-

Brianna woke with a start, fever in full swing. When she opened her eyes, the world was black static, the ship around her slowly coming into focus as the sounds around her grew to a low murmur, then a gentle hum, like an engine running. Only… there was an engine running beneath her. The ship… Her hands grasped at the sheets she was wrapped in, her palms pressed against the thin mattress as if to confirm that she could feel the engine running somewhere beneath her, that she was on a ship, that she was no longer in the Jedi Temple on Nespis VIII…

The last she remembered she was running through a room full of bodies, either dead or about to fall, and a man… a most familiar man…

“You’re finally awake,” Arianna’s voice floated into the room from nearby. Brianna swung to meet the sound but found herself dizzy, her vision swimming. “ Sit , sister. Sleep .”

She could hear her sister cross the room and set herself down beside her, the weight of her body shifting the mattress slightly.

“I’m surprised we got you out of there,” Arianna continued bitterly, “If there were any time to lose consciousness, that was not it.”

Brianna was too weak to reply, though her mind knew she was in the right, that she had acted accordingly, though… how did she know? Her memory was fuzzy, though part of her knew something wasn’t right, something hadn’t added up back at the temple. But she was in no state or test her theories, and no state to trust her own judgment or recollections…

Brianna tried to will herself awake, though her vision was fading again. With Arianna at her side, the blue-hot flame from her dreams formed again in her central vision, though her sister’s hand on hers anchored her to the here and now, an image transfixed like a ghost in the room that only Brianna could see.

“Your fever should break, before we arrive,” Arianna said, resting her other hand on Brianna’s burning forehead for a moment before pulling away.“And Mistress says you’ve done well, for now,” her sister continued, almost cooing, as if Brianna were still a child needing coaxing before bedtime. Brianna wanted to glare at her, but another part of her shrunk away, ashamed as always, wondering what she could have done to do better, to be better, allowing the dream-image of the flame and the pressing dark of sleep close in around her.

Mistress had trusted Brianna with her initial mission after all - her first foray into the galaxy alone, without her sisters, without supervision. It was nice, for a change, but temporary. Only temporary. 

And with that, Brianna drifted back into a fitful half-sleep, filled to the brim with dreams and visions, and the unending black at the edges of space.

3951 BBY, Citadel Station

Atton

Atton had never ridden a swoop bike, but now he was betting on one. He’d approached the table with an intention of hitching a ride, or at least bartering with the bookie to let him take one for a spin. But it was a no-go. It was all bets or nothing, and unfortunately, Atton had the credits to spare.

He started small - five credits. Then ten… then fifteen… but he stopped at twenty. Managed to stop at twenty, giving himself hell for it after forking over the last of his pocket money. He’d intended the cash to pay for juma and juma alone, and it was the lack of drink in him that convinced him to stop betting. And it was on his last bet that he actually won . 

No. Not again. Not now.

As soon as the cash prize was doled out, Atton strode to the bar with his half-finished drink, making sure to turn his back to the swoop den tucked in the corner of the cantina, lest he find himself itching to place another wager.

“Come here often?” a voice cooed in his ear as he finally edged into a seat as its previous owner edged out of it.

Atton glanced sidelong at the voice’s owner - the Zeltronian. Again.

“I take it you already know the answer to that,” he replied darkly, taking a sip of his drink, the heat of it slithering down his throat, “And I take it you must come here often enough to notice.”

“I only notice people worthy of my attention,” she said. Atton doubted that, about to abandon his newfound seat to find a table somewhere, one without unoccupied chairs - but the woman stopped him, a manicured hand caressing his chest until he sat back down again. She smiled, the pointed edges of her incisors peering out over the edge of her red-painted bottom lip.

“Whatever it is you’re selling, I’m not interested,” Atton said without breaking his gaze, downing his glass and placing it on the bar with purpose.

“Who says I’m selling anything?”

Atton narrowed his eyes and glanced at the swoop bike den, at the pazaak tables in the corner, thinking only of the debt he owed. Shaking his head, he stood back up despite the Zeltronian’s hand still placed gently on his chest, though he knew an old version of himself would gladly take her up on her offer - whatever it was.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” was all Atton said before walking off.

He craved another drink, or maybe three, but he didn’t like the feel of this. In another life, Atton would have taken any offer handed to him, and in another, he would only do it if he deemed it worthy of his time, depending on his mood. He might have flirted a bit more back at the bar but still… he knew a swindler when he saw one, and even an afternoon with a plaything wasn’t worth it. Not that Atton had any interest at the moment, anyway.

Without thinking, he’d walked himself to the shuttle depot, watching as countless ships docked and undocked and undoubtedly argued with the port authority on landing codes from the comfort of their own cockpits. Maybe soon he’d transfer to a shipping unit, managing cargo to and from the mining facility. Maybe his transfer request would be granted once he returned from his annual leave. One year down, four more to go. He sighed, knowing his luck didn’t run that thick.

With nowhere else but the bar to haunt, Atton considered grabbing a bite before ultimately settling on the idea of sleeping. Like a ghost he wandered the station, wondering how in the ‘verse he landed with such a sorry lot this time. Well, at least I’m not dead , he thought, keying in the code for his sad excuse for a company apartment, eager to toe off his boots and dive head first into the lumpy bed assigned to him for the week being. But when the doors to the module slid open, a woman was waiting for him at the small sitting area, a blaster in her hand. 

“I really just wanted to talk, Atton,” the Zeltronian said at the sight of him, running a nail along the white leather of the chair she sat in, and tsked casually before continuing, “Now look what you’ve made me do.”

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Hyperspace

Erebus

Mical's eyes shuddered, moving rapidly beneath his closed lids as his fingers brushed the surface of the onyx pyramid that Eden left for Erebus. Not that she knew her brother by that name, at least not yet.

Erebus watched on intermittently, his gaze flickering between Mical and the sketches he had pinned to his workstation, sketches that roughly resembled the object before them all, granting the Republic officer with whatever visions it deemed worthy. Lonna Vash watched on unblinking, arms crossed over her chest, guarded yet somehow unfazed, as if none of this was news to her.

Before Mical could properly react, or even catch a breath, Erebus sighed with indignation and turned to Vash, his expression one of pure impatience.

"Now that we've completed your little pet project, will you finally tell us what this all means, pretty please?"

Vash met his gaze with an unwavering stare, her dark eyes deep and unyielding.

"I see nothing has changed," she answered curtly, her movements in contrast with her expression as she reached for Mical in what Erebus could only assume was meant to be an empathetic embrace. "What is it you saw?"

This last part she directed at Mical, whose gaze was middling, his eyes darting about Erebus' cargo hold yet focusing on nothing, as if reliving his visions once more before committing them to words.

"An empty hall on Coruscant, an unfinished data entry left unattended, forgotten… And then a desert stretching into the distance, endless, and it was somehow both night and day. I don't know how but I know that I was seeing the same desert over centuries, time passing… and then a flash and I was in the corps again, on the front lines at Jaga's Cluster, tending to the wounded when I heard that the Republic fleet commander was dead, that Cassus Fett had fled into deep space after severing his head… and then I was looking out over a deep chasm on Malachor, though I've only read reports, I-I've never actually been there. I don't know how I know it was Malachor, but something tells me that's exactly what I saw."

Erebus winced.

"What did you see in that chasm?" he heard himself say, regretting it the moment he said it, "Describe the sky."

Mical blinked at him, his gaze still unsettled, unready to focus just yet.

"A blinding green light. Fluorescent green, sickly. From the chasm, I mean. Unearthly, almost. The sky was… stormy. Lots of lightning. I could feel the thunder in my bones."

Erebus nodded, his eyes firm on Mical's, bright and blue, knowing his own eyes mirrored the scene on Malachor - pale green, bright, and venomous, no longer the once-soothing sage of his youth.

"Sounds like Malachor to me."

Lonna turned on him now, an arm still cradled around Mical's arms, firm but unwanted judging by the body language Erebus witnessed beneath her hand.

"I would ask what you saw but I have a feeling I already know," she said to Erebus darkly.

"Of course you do, but why don't you ask me anyway?" Erebus said, plastering a sickeningly sweet smile across his face, the sarcasm dripping from his every pore. Lonna afforded him a glance but said nothing as she released Mical from her grip and let the boy sit down. "Or better yet, why don't you tell me what I saw? All this talk of visions and you've yet to tell us what it is you already know, and why you're putting up with me."

"I know that's why you're making this difficult," Vash sighed, "I get it, I really do. After all these years, the Force begins to...wear on you. It's mysterious ways, it's indignation to divulge further details, failing to tell you what possible futures will come to pass and which ones are already dead in your wake."

Erebus wanted to retort but found that he couldn't, suddenly in odd agreement with Vash. He felt like a child again, playing the brat to counter his own frustration than anything else, not quite making it hard on those around him with the intention to be difficult but to feel less alone in his vexation. Not that it made his behavior any better…

"You're right though, I should explain myself."

Vash lowered herself onto the same crate she had claimed as a seat earlier, easing the weight off her leg as she did then, too. She watched Erebus' gaze as he surveyed her, nodding as she continued.

"I know, I know, there's a lot to explain and that will come into it, too," Vash glanced at her leg and winced, as if acknowledging it made the pain flare up.

"Old injury?" Mical asked, noticing as well. "I was a medic for many years. Many veterans develop the same sort of difficulty, even once the leg has healed it's-"

Vash held up a hand to silence him, smiling despite Mical's efforts as she silently indicated that he need not speak further.

"I'm well aware, but I'm afraid not. In fact, there is no injury."

Mical cocked his head, much like a curious gizka.

"I guess I'll start there," Vash laughed, her voice hollow, "The reason I mentioned your sister earlier, Aiden, is because I never stopped thinking about her. But there was more than just what the record showed of her trial. We on the Council never admitted to what we truly sensed from her, at least not in writing. You know we were cautious of her uncanny ability to create Force bonds, no?"

At this, Mical paled, though Erebus was unsure as to why. Part of him wanted to pry into his mind again, either out of his insatiable curiosity or the odd sense of territorialism he felt at seeing a stranger react to news about his sister. Instead, he only nodded, eager for Vash to continue and for any of this to start making sense.

"Force bonds in general are not wholly unusual. They can often develop after shared traumatic events, or even occur between siblings."

Vash paused, watching Erebus for a reaction. Their eyes met, understanding flowing in their gaze, but Vash did not elaborate further. Erebus' own connection with his sister was not seen as unorthodox when they were children, in fact it was almost expected of them, especially being twins. But once the nature of his sister's abilities became clear, where Erebus had no such affinity for bonds outside of the one he shared with his twin, the Council's attention soured.

"As you may very well know, our most recent war hero had a special affinity for such a talent."

Erebus scoffed.

"Are you talking about Revan and her famous fever dreams or the Jedi pawn Bastila's Battle Meditation?"

Vash's eyes widened but Erebus only waved a hand at her, swatting away her surprise.

"I knew Revan's redemption was oft contested but I wasn't the aware the details had reached even the Si-"

"Word gets around," Erebus cut in before Vash could insult him further. "Jedi aren't as good at keeping secrets as they'd like to believe."

"I would argue, but…. You're right. And not only that, but there are plenty of things that the Jedi unfortunately keep from each other," Vash sighed with resignation. "Which will unfortunately play it's own part in this tale, eventually. And I have a feeling you have some idea of what I'm talking about."

Vash nodded towards Mical, looking meek as always, unsure of whether he should speak. The man didn't seem bashful, more respectful than anything, and Erebus wasn't sure if that made him more annoyed or if it made him respect the man more.

"Aye, Master Vash. I know I was meant to convene with you at the Temple though nothing quite went as planned. I am happy to finally make your acquaintance, but not like this. No offense."

"None taken," Vash laughed, the light returning to her eyes for a moment before flickering out and making way for what Erebus assumed was her now-usual weariness. "Though I am curious as to why a Republic recruit with a relatively clean record would sign up for such a job."

"Job?"

"Your senses failed to tell you?" Vash replied sardonically, "Mical here was hired by one of our old colleagues. You may remember a certain Lucien Draay? Some would call him a heretic, but others might be familiar with his Jedi Covenant, a covert operation that tried to prevent Revan's rise to Sith power but unfortunately only made way for Darth Malak."

Erebus paled though he tried to hide it, hoping that his normal pallor would mask whatever winded him.

"Ah," was all he managed to say, instantly brought back to Atris' archive chambers, hard at work with little sleep trying to track down lost Jedi artifacts to win her favor. "I'm quite familiar."

"I'm not surprised, really," Master Vash said, her tone changing now as she glanced about the cargo hold, her eyes flickering over his sketches, stacks of notes and datapads, her gaze lingering on each item as if she knew exactly what moment of his childhood predated his current obsessions. And in a way Erebus would not be surprised if she did. Master Vash was the instructor he had during his most formative years, at least before the tumultuously formative ones he spent studying under Atris and struggling to make her see why she had chosen him as an apprentice, initially. "This all must strike a chord for you."

"Oh, you think?" Erebus tried not to balk, but the truth of what was happening was as clear to Vash as it was to him. Mical watched, his eyes volleying between each of them as they stewed in their thoughts, waiting for one of them to respond.

"I'm afraid I owe you an apology," Erebus found himself saying after a few tense moments, standing now and looking Mical square in the face, "From one historian to another, I knew what you sought to recover from the temple. In fact, I saw before I'd barely landed on that moon. In a vision, granted by that thing, over there."

Erebus pointed to the artifact, demure and docile on his workbench, yet sinister in its silence, its all-swallowing blackness, a surface so smooth that it should shine but instead soaked in all light as if it sought to snuff it out entirely. A blackhole in miniature. How quaint.

"Why are you telling me this?" Mical looked to Vash as if for an answer, despite not trusting either of them it was clear the boy was more inclined to ask the Jedi for guidance.

"Because it's why we're all here, isn't it?" Erebus said, spreading his arms wide, as if to show off his stores. But his crates were sealed - Mical and Vash could not see their contents. Though he had a feeling Vash already knew what was inside each and every one of the boxes stacked within the room.

"I guess it's my turn to monologue?" Erebus asked cheekily.

"I was hardly finished, but please, do go ahead."

A ghost of a smile spirited over Master Vash's lips and Erebus almost wanted to smile back, if not sardonically. How often he'd hoped to impress her as a child, or Atris, only to come up empty. As if the Force wasn't already hard at work making him bask in his own regret, it was now adding irony to the pot as well.

"I have a feeling this is all connected, but you already know that."

Master Vash's eyes softened as she surveyed him, soaking in the sight of him for a minute before nodding sagely. Yes, you're finally getting it now.

"You may have noticed that I have sketches of the very same object all over this workstation," Erebus started, pointing towards the desk. Mical's eyes followed, as if just noticing the pictures displayed there, though Erebus knew he'd taken stock of them the moment he stepped foot on his ship. "I've been searching for objects of import, particularly Sith in origin, that can extend one's life. Perhaps, unnaturally."

He glanced at Vash, who only raised her eyebrows, obviously displeased with his choice of words but otherwise keen enough for him to continue.

"On the behalf of my… benefactor."

"I take it your benefactor is a proper Sith Lord," Mical mumbled, his eyes still fixed on the sketches pinned to the wall beside the desk with interest, though Erebus could hear the honesty in his voice.

"Proper?!"

"Just, go on - please," Vash cut in, eyes flashing despite the polite expression plastered to her face, "Aiden."

Still feeling the child, Erebus obliged, though the edge remained in his voice as he continued.

"After years of research into an ancient cult there's little evidence of ever having existed, I was brought to Tatooine, believing it to have once been an outpost of sorts. There were several others but nothing remained. All reports were the same, detailing an outlying village with no ties to any major cities, sustained mysteriously with limited trade, though their one export was that."

Erebus motioned towards the pyramid, still sinister in its silence upon his desk.

"That makes sense," Mical mused, examining the sketches again, but this time his gaze danced from the paper to the object in question, as if he were cross-referencing it now. "Tatooine was likely home to a thousand cultures over the eons, each one eventually swallowed up by sand and fast forgotten. Even outposts as recent as sixty years ago have sunk beneath the dunes, never to be heard from again. But that's sort of the nature of the Outer Rim, isn't it? Once a resource dries up, you just move on. Onto the next, without another thought. Because there's no room for anything other than survival. But sand can be a preservative, there's probably a thousand lost civilizations beneath the Dune Sea."

Erebus wanted to say something biting and smart in return but found that he came up empty. The man was absolutely right, even if he didn't have to go on at length just to prove a point.

"No better place to hide a secret Sith cult, no?" Erebus joked instead, though his demeanor was nothing but serious as he continued. "At least, I'm not sure the cult knew necessarily that the objects they worshipped were Sith in origin. Much like you said, this town popped up out of nowhere some eighty years ago and disappeared just as quickly. No one batted an eye. I checked the records from the Tatooine spaceports, and honestly? They could care less who lives and who dies beyond Anchorhead, or any of the other major ports. There was hardly any record of the place alongside a thousand other settlements that had mysteriously either moved in anticipation of an oncoming storm or disappeared entirely."

He stopped, realizing he needed to take a breath. He looked from Mical to Master Vash, surprised to find them both at rapt attention. His throat dry, he attempted to swallow and continue, his voice a rasp husk of what it usually was as he went on.

"I'd been studying this place for some time, unsure of where it was on the planet exactly, and yet when I arrived in Anchorhead…"

I found Eden again, he almost said, the discovery dawning on him as if for the first time, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. It wasn't so much a surprise as much as it was validation. He'd been irrevocably connected to Eden since their birth, their connection through the Force the first thing he'd truly felt coming into this world and the only thing that remained a constant in his life - until Malachor. But it was because of this tether that he knew - he knew - that if Eden had perished that he would have felt it, that he would feel that tether wrenched from him as she left this plane of existence. He would know.

"I waited. A disturbance in the Force held me back. I quickly learned that my twin sister was living in the city, but she was out of town on a job. I waited around, hoping to… well, I'm not sure exactly what I hoped, but when she returned she was only keen on leaving Anchorhead and Tatooine altogether. And with good reason."

"I take it this is about the bounty posted by the Exchange?" Vash peppered into Erebus' offered pause. He nodded.

"Precisely, which is another coincidence I don't believe to be quite the happy accident it seems, though I haven't figured that one out yet."

"Wasn't there already a bounty on Jedi?" Mical chimed in, clearly confused now as he pushed away from Erebus' desk and began to pace the small space shared between them.

"Oh, you may not have heard, being held hostage and all," Erebus said with a casual air despite his growing discomfort at Mical's growing ease to peruse his ship as he wished, crossing his arms as he leaned against the cargo hold door with a careful nonchalance painted heavily with passive aggression, "The Exchange posted a bounty on all Jedi, yes, but General Eden Valen's records and most recent whereabouts and aliases were posted to the holonet boasting a handsome fifty million credits if she was found alive."

"Found alive? And what, brought to the Exchange?" Mical asked, almost outraged at the news.

"Presumably."

"But for what purpose?"

"Who knows?" Erebus countered, exasperated, "At this point I'd like not to care, but I'm honestly probably just as afraid as you are at the idea. There were rumors during the Mandalorian Wars of a rogue doctor testing Jedi, though I don't know what ever happened to him or if he was ever brought to justice. But somehow, whatever it was Eden was doing out there when I arrived at Anchorhead, she ended up coming back with that." Erebus pointed at the black pyramid again as if they needed any reminding, almost jarred by how serenely it sat there despite everything. "I won't get into the boring details of how we managed to leave the city and end up on Space City, but she found the outpost I had been searching for somehow. I'm not sure how or what else she took from there, but she left one piece. For me. Perhaps she saw the drawings and left it as a peace offering, I really don't know. But when I touched that thing? I saw the Temple, but more specifically, I saw Exar Kun. He led me there. To you."

"Exar Kun?" Mical repeated, inching toward Erebus with a furrowed brow, "In the flesh?"

"No, no, the mural of him. The one that graces the city walls leading to the Temple like a warning."

"A warning of what The Great Sith War might wrought if the true threat was not destroyed," Mical mused, still pacing.

"I take it this is where you fit into all of this?" Erebus asked, this time actively trying to wring his voice of all bitterness, in an attempt to play nice.

Mical paused and locked eyes with Vash, who only nodded before dropping her gaze to the floor, losing herself in thought before Mical elaborated.

"I may be a Republic Scout but I have a history with the Jedi. I served with the Corps during Revan's war, made a few friends. There's a theory about some things they found during the Dxun campaign, as well as a few others, though Dxun being the most notorious. As you may know, Dxun and its history with the orbiting Onderon factor heavily in Exar Kun's fall to the… Dark Side." Mical said, his voice straying over the last two words as if he didn't mean to offend, perhaps not out of fear but out of confusion for just what their allegiances meant in close quarters like this, not quite enemies but still far from allies. "What with Revan's sudden change of heart and history repeating itself all over again, I don't think there's any coincidence about it. And the fact that there were skirmishes out on Tatooine, skirmishes that Revan herself fought in, not far from where you found that thing-"

"I didn't find it, Eden did," Erebus corrected, though his voice was almost whispersoft, afraid of growing accustomed to saying his sister's name out loud again - Eden, Ede - as if doing so might either summon or banish her, and he wasn't yet sure which was worse.

"Which is even more peculiar, I think," Mical continued, picking up his stride again despite the small space, "Considering there are reports of General Valen finding similar objects to this one on Dxun. Different in shape, yes, but with similar properties, similar makeup. Objects which were conveniently lost in transit. Revan, General Valen, the myth of Exar Kun, the Sith - it's all connected somehow. But, what I'm wondering is… why now? Exar Kun fell to the Dark Side and turned almost fifty years ago. But now the Jedi are vanishing, and Revan went missing earlier this standard year, the exiled General Valen suddenly re-emerges…" Mical shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. "There's something larger at work here."

Erebus looked at Mical square in the eye now, keen on making another smart remark about the Force and coincidences, but when their eyes met he found that he couldn't. Mical's bright eyes bore into his, almost pleading, and though it was in the spirit of making his case, Erebus felt as if he owed the man an apology - but for reasons unknown to him. If Erebus had not so easily succumbed to anger all those years ago, would he be anything like the man standing before him? Square jaw and sweeping blonde hair aside -

"Wait," Erebus said, the hair on his neck truly standing on end now as a memory took form in his mind's eye as he spoke, an image of the man before him morphing into something similar yet different - smaller in stature perhaps, and younger. Oh, so much younger. "I know you."

Though Erebus' eyes never left Mical's, he could see Lonna Vash smirk in his peripheral vision, though she remained quiet, watching.

"You came to the Archives, on Coruscant. You wanted to study under Atris, with-"

"With Eden Valen, yes."

The moment solidified as Mical confirmed it - a young boy of about twelve wandering into the Archives, bothering Erebus (Aiden, then) for an audience with the Master Historian, claiming to have a long-standing appointment, and Erebus arguing with him that it could not be the case because he knew every minutiae of the Historian's schedule down to the precise moment, only to find himself terribly wrong once Atris swept into the room to sweep the boy right back into her office without as much as a backward glance, much less an apology. Mical had been exceedingly polite then and almost as much now, circumstances willing, but back then he'd been Atris' attempt to keep Eden with the Order, a consolation prize meant to spur her onto Knighthood.

"You were meant to be her apprentice, her Padawan…"

I won't be bribed, Eden had said, If they wanted to make me a Knight they would have done it already, they would have assigned me to a proper Master and given me the same courtesy they did you. You didn't see what Revan showed me out there, Aiden, she'd pleaded, You have to believe me, it's worse than anything you could imagine.

All roads lead to Eden, he thought, laughing darkly.

"You knew this already, didn't you?" Erebus said, tearing his eyes away from Mical's equally surprised gaze, the words finding purchase as he looked Vash in the eye. "I think it's time you finish that origin story of yours."

Master Vash only looked back at him, the smirk she wore earlier fading slightly into something more serious. She brushed a strand of greying black hair behind her ear and reached into her robe, producing another black pyramid, this one smaller than the first, slight enough to comfortably hide in a closed fist.

"I was there when the Jedi found her," she began, her dark eyes fixed on the pyramid as she held it up to examine more closely. Mical's face paled.

"General Valen?"

Vash shook her head.

"No, Revan."

Neither Mical nor Erebus spoke, glancing at one another before awaiting Vash's response, a new kinship kindled between them in unknowing, the mystery unfolding before them both despite their past or their current affiliations. The Force would see to it that they were in this together, now, whether they liked it or not.

"We found her wandering the desert."

She didn't have to say which planet. Erebus already knew.

"She didn't carry anything with her. Only this."

Vash tossed the pyramid gently into the air, catching it gingerly in her palm, feeling the weight of it before she leaned over and set it on the desk beside its matching piece, the one Eden left behind.

"We brought her to Nespis, just as you had been, Aiden. I'm surprised this thing was still there."

"I take it the Jedi never discovered its true properties?" Erebus ventured. Vash shook her head.

"My Master back then saw a vision as well, when she first touched the artifact, though she never told me what she saw, nor did she let me touch it myself. Nothing indicated that she saw anything dark or disturbing. If anything, it validated her decision to bring Revan to the Jedi, to train as one of us."

Vash sighed, her eyes still fixed on the pyramids, now a pair.

"Your Master?" Erebus probed, uncertain whether Master Vash had ever mentioned any of the Jedi Masters that had trained her in their time together as teacher and student.

"Master Arren Kae."

A shiver ran down Erebus' spine at the name. Disgrace, he instantly recalled Atris saying, A traitor if there ever was one.

Master Arren Kae had not only gone on to train Revan but had also followed her to war, a grievous offense in Atris' book. She is the antithesis of everything it means to be a Jedi, a devout follower of the Light. Not only had she trained the next Exar Kun, but there were also rumors of Kae and an Echani General, whose name escaped Erebus despite how much it bothered him to forget something - regardless of how trivial.

Echani. Like the young women at the temple...

"My apprentice and I were scouring the old Temples for anything that could lead us to the new Sith threat, anything we could pass along to the Republic." Vash continued, interrupting his thoughts, "Lucien Draay had headed the effort years ago, but after what happened at Katarr, someone needed to take over where he left off. This pyramid was still sitting in the archives on Space City, unmarked, along with the cache you recovered, Mical, as well. I couldn't get to it once the Echani started watching the perimeter, much less when the Golden Company moved in."

The hair on the back of Erebus' neck stood on end as he followed Vash's gaze from the desk to the satchel Mical had brought aboard from the Temple. The cache so prized it was one of few objects set apart from the rest of the Archive's contents, let alone from any potential Dark Side users that might attempt to steal it - someone such as himself. But he'd glimpsed its contents when he had peered into Mical's mind, the mounting coincidences still not lost on him.

"Exar Kun's lightsaber," he breathed, almost reverent. Erebus almost expected Mical or Vash to make a face (A Sith? Fawning over the Dark Jedi Exar Kun? How cliché... ) but neither one reacted. It was the stuff of legend, but for Erebus is was both the dream and the nightmare. The famed object he'd coveted as a child yet feared all the same.

"I should have sensed the path you might take, Aiden," Vash said, her voice rasp with remembering, "You modeled your first lightsaber after this one, no?"

Erebus nodded, his eyes still fixed on the unopened satchel.

"What did you think of a Padawan fashioning his lightsaber after the weapon of a turncoat? Back then, I mean?"

He hadn't expected to ask, though he felt as if the question had been there all along, so much of his past coming to light that unearthing any more of it seemed only natural.

"I thought it was a coping mechanism," Vash admitted, "So many children were afraid, back then especially, but you most of all. The other Masters told me what happened when they first brought you to Space City, what you said about the mural. And despite whatever it is that brought you to where you are now, I suspect some of that still holds true."

"Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate. You know the rest." Erebus wanted to laugh, though his voice was far more somber than intended in his sarcasm. Vash smiled and glanced down into her lap.

"Something like that."

"I don't mean to interrupt this meaningful catch-up or anything, but-" Mical interrupted, polite as ever, his face painted with pure concern, "But you said you were at the Temple with your apprentice? As in… your current apprentice? Just hours ago?"

Vash looked at Mical and nodded, the weight of her unspoken answer clear on her face and obvious in her apprentice's absence.

"I'm... so sorry," Mical said, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "If there's anything I can do-"

Vash put up a hand, pleading "Please, I appreciate it but I think the best thing we can do is consider our next steps."

"Our?" Erebus butt in, "And is this when you tell us where your injury comes from, finally?"

She nodded, inhaling a bracing breath before regaling her audience with an answer.

"I've yet to figure that out, to be honest," Vash winced again followed by a sharp intake of breath, "Though it's worth noting that my apprentice, Korath-"

She paused, a lump forming in her throat as she continued, her eyes welling up..

"Korath was taken down in a rain of blasterfire when the Golden Company arrived, completely severing his right leg."

She swallowed the rasp in her voice away, or at least attempted to, looking at neither man as she continued.

"He'd been touching the artifact when they materialized, the visions likely overwhelming his Force sense."

"And where were you?" Erebus said, at least trying not to sound accusatory, though his voice betrayed him despite it.

"I was in the library when they attacked him, watching you."

The Jedi he'd sensed in the Archive, of course, Erebus had figured as much. "But that still doesn't explain how you know-"

"I saw it," she said, interrupting him, "In my mind's eye, through the Force. It was as if… as if I was seeing it through his eyes. As if Korath wanted me to see. To perhaps help him, I…" she trailed off, shaking her head a shaking hand reached up to massage the back of her neck. "I don't know."

She looked down, her hands having descended from her neck to now wring together in her lap. "But I felt it, too. The pain in my leg. It was as if I was being shot at as well, bleeding out on the floor. You can see why your sister plays a part in this, and I don't think it's a coincidence that half the galaxy's now on her tail, either. Especially after all these years."

Erebus shook his head, though in sage agreement, knowing there was more to why Eden was of particular interest to Darth Nihilus and could not explain, and knowing that he had so many questions for what Vash sensed from Eden the day she was exiled, understanding why the woman would be wary to deign him an earnest answer.

"Korath was still holding the artifact when I found him, his fist closed tight." Vash mimicked the movement, her knuckles turning white. "And that's when I saw it. All of this, the Temple collapse, this ship, you… and Dantooine."

"So that's how you knew to find us here?" Erebus confirmed, Vash nodding solemnly as their eyes met briefly across the room.

"And what awaits us there? On Dantooine?" Mical asked, his voice soft but soothing in the seething quiet that followed Vash's vision.

"The next piece of this puzzle, I imagine," Vash said, sighing, "I think it's worth noting that an unaffiliated group of otherwise unknown Echani as well as the most notorious mercenary group in this sector were interested in what was kept in that Temple is a start. And like I said, I don't think it's a coincidence that these objects link to Revan and Exar Kun both."

Vash and Mical, as if on cue, both turned to Erebus, watching him for a reaction.

"Oh, I imagine this is where you suspect I come in, then?" he asked, clutching his chest dramatically to show his offense, since their imposing presence on his ship wasn't proof enough.

Vash shrugged meekly as Mical crossed his arms, his expression unchanging, neither one of them elaborating on their stance, though their opinions seemed set in stone.

"Ah, I see," Erebus said, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth, "Not only have I studied these objects, but I'm now supposed to be your stand-in for traitorous Jedi? Since it seems neither Revan nor Exar Kun could make it. Busy schedules and all, being either missing or dead. Okay, sure, I'll play along…"

Erebus stood up straight, pushing his out his chest as he clasped his hands behind his back, his fingertips already tingling with electricity. Calming himself with a measured breath, he continued, making sure to look both of them square in the eye, one after the other and back again, as he spoke.

"I will warn you, though I assure you I don't have to," he began, his voice a chilling monotone, soft enough that both Vash and Mical were forced to lean towards him in order to catch his every word, "That my Master is likely on our tail if he's not already on Eden's. He knows we crossed paths, I can feel it. And if he sees fit to catch up with us - with me - and demand answers? I cannot protect you, even if I wanted to."

"And your Master… is he- erm, are they-?" Mical started, though the words died on his throat before he could finish.

"Oh trust me," Erebus interrupted, his voice harsh and unrelenting, and not because he wished to instill fear in his unwilling companions but because the most he could do for them as well as himself was tell the truth, "You don't want to know. And if you did, you'd wish you didn't."

If you even want to refer to Nihilus as anything that might make him seem human, Erebus thought, thinking it best if he not elaborate - at least not out loud - thinking on the horror that was his Master. But for Erebus, it was the horror that fascinated him most - the horror and the awe, the utterly unfathomable thing that he was, something and somewhere between being and nonbeing, hunger without end. Vash's eyes were steady on him, her expression unwavering, as if she knew that Nihilus was the one responsible for Katarr. Erebus could only hold her gaze, regardless of what conclusion she came to, before breaking away and making his exit.

"We have three days before we reach Dantooine," Erebus finally said, breaking the silence, though his voice was just as severe, just as sinister, "I suggest you get some rest. I can't imagine we'll get much in the eons to come."

And with that, Erebus left Vash and Mical in his cargo bay - along with his notes, his life's work, and a slew of other things he'd prefer to keep from prying eyes - and closed the door so he was finally alone in the cockpit with only the white-blue of hyperspace for company. As soon as the thing shut, his fingers exploded with static energy at his sides, muffled only by the fabric of his robes.

Seething still, Erebus steadied himself with a few deep breaths, trying not to reach out with the Force to watch as Vash and Mical undoubtedly proceeded to peruse his things or talk behind his back. Instead, he sunk into his pilot's chair and, propping his boots up on the console, figured it best he take his own advice, and sleep.

3951 BBY, Telos

Atris

"We should be arriving within a standard day, Mistress," Orenna spoke into the transponder, her holo-visage a ghostly blue in Atris' chambers, "We managed to retrieve some objects of import mentioned in your manifest, but overall we were unable to recover everything before the mercenaries moved in. Would you like for us to pursue?"

Orenna, like the others, was so serene, so calm. A pool of water waiting in a glen, stirring only with a ripple at the mere hint of the breeze. Concentric circles forming one from another, an echo in endless chorus until… nothing. Stillness, again. Calm.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

"Not for the moment, no," Atris said, matching her voice to the Echani's timbre. She wanted them to pursue, yes, but she needed to study what they found first, her thirst for knowledge as insatiable as ever. The logs she'd retrieved years ago divulged most of Nespis VIII's stores, but it was different seeing the objects in person. It was different seeing an object through the Force - raw and rending, like tearing flesh straight from bone. Pure and untainted.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

"We will re-evaluate the situation once you return," Atris elaborated, "We still have the Exile to consider."

"Understood, Mistress," Orenna nodded, reverent.

"And how is your sister?" Atris asked, her voice brimming with unknowing as she spoke, though she did her best to conceal it.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

"She is stable, for now," Orenna responded, looking over her shoulder as if checking on Brianna herself, though they were clearly separated by the walls of the ship, "I don't believe she is in any state to report, however."

"There is no need, at least not for the moment." Atris smiled, her expression tranquil as the gesture scarcely graced her features, "We will speak when you return."

Orenna nodded, a similar smile overcoming her face. Echani took after the physical appearance of the parent whose gender they matched, and though Atris had never met the sisters' mother she could still sense a bit of Yusanis' regality in the girls, in the way they carried themselves and the way they spoke, even if they did not resemble him physically. It was what had drawn her to the sisters from the moment she met them, tasked with divulging the news of their father's passing on behalf of the Jedi at the end of the war. But Atris had met Brianna's mother once, the bastard sister bearing another woman's face… but she could no longer recall her name, nor what she looked like, Brianna's face now a similar blur in her memory. And Atris did not know why.

"Mistress-?" Orenna interrupted, her expression growing concerned, "Is there anything I can-?"

There is no emotion, there is peace.

"No, no," Atris laughed genially, an inner calm falling over her like fresh snow, "Just alert me when you have arrived."

"And of the ship we saw dock at Nespis?" Orenna asked again, this time uncertain.

Release her records, the woman had said. The Sith will follow.

"We shall devise a plan upon your arrival."

Orenna hesitated a moment before nodding in affirmation, signing off. Business as usual.

Everything was falling into place. But now… Atris would wait.

She would retreat to her study until the sisters returned, meditate on what she knew to be true and what she willed to be so, trusting the Force to set things right and avenge the Jedi that sacrificed their lives for the secret she now knew to be true.

There is no death, there is the Force.

The future of the Jedi rested on her shoulders alone, now. And she would shoulder the burden, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

3951, Peragus Mining Facility
Atton

"Anything you'd like to report?"

"Um, excuse me - what?"

"Anything you'd like to report, sir? In your luggage?"

Atton was good at smuggling. Or at least he had been, given his current performance. Not used to being flustered, Atton mustered as charming of a laugh as he could to coax some false-friendly sympathy from the Peragus intake officer looking him deadpan in the face.

"Ah yeah, actually," he answered, trying to sound casual and failing, "Got a new jacket, some boots, and-"

"Alright then, just log them in here, here and here," the woman cut him off before he could flourish his half-lie with something even more inane than what he'd already said, thrusting a datapad at his chest.

The new jacket in his luggage wasn't a lie, nor were the boots… but what was inside the boots, well, that was another story.

Atton restrained himself, careful to keep his dumb mouth shut, and took the datapad from the officer's impatient hands. Doing as she asked, he logged the new duds and nothing else. Smiling awkwardly, he handed the pad back to her, her expression unchanged.

"Okay, now I just need you to sign this waiver-"

"Waiver?" Atton held up a hand to stop her, "Wait a minute, I signed a waiver when I joined this mining outfit. Why do I need to do it again?"

"New company policy," the woman shrugged, seeming more annoyed than anything. Atton watched her for further reaction, but after revealing none he snatched the datapad back from her and scanned the waiver now displayed on its screen.

"Says here the hazard pay's gone up. What's that about?" Atton's heart skipped a beat as his brain processed the technical salary increase, but knew better than to get his hopes up.

"Haven't you heard?" the officer said, rolling her eyes, "This asteroid could blow any minute now, what with the uptick in mining accidents."

"But there are always mining accidents," Atton answered, "Isn't that the reason this job is what it is?"

"Not like this," she replied, sighing and raising her brows as she glanced at his file open on another datapad at her fingertips, "We lost ten miners since you set off, it looks like."

"Lost? As in… died?"

The woman nodded, solemn despite the clear annoyance still painted on her face.

"Does anyone know why? I mean, accidents happen, but any idea why there are so many?"

The woman shrugged again.

"Management won't tell us anything, just that it's under control. Whatever that means."

Atton huffed in snark agreement, "Of course."

Signing the waiver finally, wondering just how harrowing his next four years here might be, Atton was suddenly feeling better about the contraband hiding in near-plain sight in his carry-on, almost forgetting the deal with the Exchange lackey that forced him into this mess.

One down, four to go. Though if everything went as planned, he'd be off this rock in no time.

3951 BBY,  The Polar Regions of Telos
The Last Handmaiden

"And that was the last you saw of the Exile?"

"Yes, Mistress," Brianna's voice echoed through Atris' chambers, even the quickness of her breath reverberating off the stark walls that surrounded them. "Is there any more you wish from me?"

Atris remained silent, her fingers steepled in thought as they cradled her porcelain chin, considering Brianna's words. Atris betrayed no emotion as she considered the Last Handmaiden's account, though she already knew what happened from the reports Brianna had sent. After a few agonizing minutes, the woman shook her head. "I believe that will be all for now. Good work."

Good work?

Brianna would hardly call it good work. Though she was glad for her sisters' unusual accolades, nothing of what had transpired over the last standard week felt good to her.

"I sense some uncertainty," Atris said, a wan smile crossing her pale features as her gaze lifted to meet Brianna's inquisitive stare. "If you have any grievances, please share them."

Brianna was unsure if this was a request made in earnest curiosity or one meant to draw out her ire.

"Perhaps I misinterpreted your instructions, Mistress. I was under the impression that I was to continue to pursue the Exile, even after she left Nespis."

"Ah," Atris said, her voice soft and soothing. Mistress uncoupled her hands and pressed them to the desk as she stood, her white robes billowing as she swept across the room to Brianna's side. "That was the intention, yes, but the Force has since shown me another path."

Brianna stiffened as Atris placed a hand on her shoulder, afraid there was some unseen reprimand yet to come though inwardly pleased at the closeness, her Mistress' smile an almost motherly welcome.

"As their only other living witness, you have further confirmed my fears that the Sith have returned. It is only a matter of time before they reveal themselves in true and wage war on the Republic as we know it. But for now we must rest and await their arrival."

Brianna nodded, tempted to mirror Atris' serene smile though finding she couldn't at the thought of the man with the violet saber back at Anchorhead, perturbed that Atris seemed so sure that the Sith would continue to emerge from anonymity, finally making themselves known.

"Tell me what to do next, Mistress," Brianna bowed her head, reverent, awaiting her Mistress' next command.

"I have something for you," Atris answered after a moment, her voice soft but aloof now. "See that plasteel container by the door?"

Atris removed her hand from Brianna's shoulder, the Echani's arm suddenly cold at the absence of her Mistress' touch. Brianna glanced back in the direction Atris indicated, finding a demure box waiting by the exit to the study, hardly distinguishable from the other packages piled up along the walls - undoubtedly housing artifacts yet to be examined, items yet to be logged into Atris' never-ending inventory.

"Take it with you when you return to your quarters. Think of it more as a test than a gift."

"Yes, Mistress."

"You would do well to consider your Echani oath," Atris continued, hooking her hand beneath Brianna's chin and guiding it so that their eyes met. Mistress' angelic smile remained, her eyes warm despite their iciness. It was a wonder Atris was not Echani herself, given her appearance, though it was clear she revered the race highly for their discipline as well as for how well their faith coincided with that of the Jedi. "I will need all the protection I can get."

"Y-yes, Mistress."

Atris removed her hand from Brianna's chin and Brianna bowed her head again, wanting anything but to look Mistress in the eye.

"And speak with Orenna about blocking," Atris said, returning to her desk and immediately busying herself with a datapad, as if Brianna had only just interrupted her and had not been speaking for the last hour, detailing every step of her journey. "And try not to take it personally, or anything your sisters say for that matter. I believe it was sentimentality that ultimately led your father to his unfortunate demise."

She knows.

Atris was not even looking at Brianna as she said this, her voice casual and nonchalant as she continued. Her father was murdered by the traitor Revan, Brianna and everyone else knew that. But she knew what Atris spoke of, if not indirectly - the thing that haunted her every waking moment, the mistake Brianna never made but was born with the burden to bear. Brianna the Bastard. The Last of the Handmaidens.

"You would do well with some guidance," Atris said with some finality. An edge laced her voice as her eyes rose to meet Brianna's, briefly, before smiling and returning to her work without another glance. This was meant to signal Brianna's dismissal and mark her uncouth exit from Atris' chambers to again consider the sins of her father, ad nauseum.

Brianna waited for a moment, almost hopeful that Atris was not yet finished, but when her Mistress continued to read her datapad without so much as another upward glance, Brianna nodded, bowed, and retreated, picking up the plasteel container as she went.

Once out of sight of Atris' chambers and clear of the long, somber causeway that separated their Mistress' quarters from her Echani advance guard, Brianna stopped mid-stride and leaned against the wall, letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

Her fingers prickled, almost cold, as if she had been out on the mountainside. Brianna's knuckles were white against the plasteel container still in her hands, and with a trembling grip, she opened the box to see what was inside.

At first, she saw nothing, just the black nothingness of an open box. But as the light adjusted, she saw it - grey fabric on grey fabric, shades upon shades of grey. The box nearly clattered to the floor as Brianna extracted the cloth in its entirety from the container. What little color she had drained from her face at the sight. They were robes. Jedi robes.

Oh, she knows.

3951, Peragus Mining Facility
Atton

"So, do anything interesting off-world?" the new-hire beside him asked. Atton only shrugged, trying his best to keep his mind focused on the data running across the screen in front of him. The mining droid on his other side twitched as it idled, as if awaiting Atton's command with impatience - which only made Atton want to punch the thing square in the module that looked almost like a face.

"Really, nothing?"

The young humanoid was eager for Atton's opinion on all things Peragus, including the quality of the food, the linens the bunks were outfitted with (Atton couldn't help but snort when the kids uttered the word 'linens'), and of course, what their once-a-year leave would consist of once he qualified for it.

"Played some cards, ate some take out. Stuff we can't get around here, that sort of thing. Enjoyed the peace and quiet," Atton answered reluctantly after a moment, doing what he could to be as vague as possible while still giving a meaty enough answer in hopes of shutting the kid up.

The new recruit was fresh-faced and new to the job - quite literally. Having only just arrived that morning, Atton's shift manager thought it best to have him shadow Atton first thing once his paperwork was signed and ready to process. Fresh from the dire warnings that management bombarded the poor kid with during orientation, he was likely looking for a ray of hope, hungry for any indication that this mining outfit wasn't so bad. Atton didn't want to outright depress the guy but he also didn't want to lie, though ultimately Atton wished he didn't have to talk to him at all.

"Aw, really? Didn't meet up with friends or family or anything?" he asked.

Atton almost laughed.

"Don't have either, though plenty of the others do. The company can arrange for family visits if that's what you were trying to ask."

"Ah, yeah, I was wondering," the new recruit said, shifting now as he watched Atton work from over his shoulder, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable it made him, "I'm trying to help my family win back their estate on Coruscant. Since we couldn't afford to send any of my siblings to school, we sort of ended up finding odd jobs around the galaxy."

"And you got sent all the way out here?" Atton asked, trying to mask the agitation in his voice.

"Tough breaks, right?"

"Eh, it's not so bad once you get used to it. There are worse things you could be doing."

'Worse things' is putting it lightly. Atton eyed the corner of their work station where nestled into a bit of rock at the base of the current excavation site was a satchel he left unattended by the entrance. All workers carried their equipment to and from their work sites, but they also carried a satchel with any nonessential gear like water or other provisions they might need for their shift. Atton's satchel had been equipped with only one nutrient bar and a water canister that was now attached to his hip. The rest of the satchel's contents would hopefully only be discovered by the man intended to pick it up, per the Exchange's orders, during the next shift change. The drop-off would be seamless, if all went as planned. And no one would be the wiser.

"I'm only here for a year, so it shouldn't be so bad."

If he was lucky.

"So, how long have you been here?"

Atton gritted his teeth, doing his best to ensure his work was accurate while trying not to be rude, doing whatever he could to appear as unsuspicious as possible.

"A while," Atton answered absently, punching in a code that should keep the droid happy for a while. After hitting the execute button, the droid began mining as directed, and Atton sighed as the kid beside him laughed, clapping on needless congratulations.

"Whoa, that was awesome!"

"Uh, yeah sure," Atton said, checking his chronowatch. Only twenty minutes and he would be in the clear. His immediate future was already clear in his mind - lunch scarfed down in a minute flat followed by a much-needed nap in his bunk. Once the drop off happened, he'd feel a lot better. And he could finally get back to paying off his debts, worry free.

"So you're good with numbers, huh?" the kid asked, returning to Atton's shoulder, scrutinizing the program he just entered into the datapad. Atton could only roll his eyes.

"Sort of, it's just a basic equation. Once you learn the ropes here, you'll see, it's just a programming spec meant to-"

"Hey, is your datapad working?" A voice interrupted from Atton's other side. He spun around to meet the sound, his eyes falling on a short red-haired woman running up beside him and his undesired intern.

"Uh, yeah why?" Atton answered, instantly forgetting the woman's name despite having been assigned to the same shift as her for the last six months.

"I dunno, mine's acting kind of funny. Won't take any commands. Do you mind taking a look?"

Atton minded, but didn't want to voice as much. After quickly eyeing the unattended satchel in the corner again, he nodded, knowing it would be best if he acted as normal and unassuming as possible - even if normal for him meant avoiding everyone at all costs. And to his dismay, his little sidekick fell into stride once he agreed to follow along and see what the problem was.

"I'm no expert or anything," Atton warned them both, putting up his hands as if in surrender, "But let's see here-"

The woman's station was on the adjacent wall, her datapad propped up against a jut in the metal paneled wall. After punching in a few codes, it was clear his co-worker's data was sound, her programming even more polished than his if anything.

"Huh, that's weird," he muttered, punching in the sequence to run diagnostics. "Everything seems clean. Perfect, even."

The woman beamed at his side but bit her lip once she caught sight of her droid again, clearly malfunctioning beside them.

"You don't think-?" she started, but she trailed off. Atton side-eyed her, her brown eyes meeting his for an instant before she shook her head. "No, nevermind. I'll figure it out next shift."

She powered down the droid and nodded at Atton in thanks before taking her datapad back and submitting a Help Desk ticket.

"That happen often?" the new kid asked as they walked back to Atton's station. Atton couldn't help but eye his own assigned mining droid with suspicion, content it was doing as it was told but uncomfortable with how it had been acting earlier - not to mention the rumors running around the station since he'd returned from Citadel Station.

"No, not really."

"Weird."

They worked in silence until the end of the shift, to Atton's relief, the new recruit only asking him about trivial things like how many suits they were issued and if they were allowed seconds at meal times. He kept glancing back at the woman from before, her droid thankfully slumped and still powered down since she willed it to be so, unmoving.

"So, are there designated 'lights out' times or-?" the new kid asked just before the shift change was signalled. "Oh, what's that?"

"Shift's over," Atton said, packing his datapad away and making a point to not look at his abandoned satchel. As they approached the elevators, Atton watched as the next shift filtered past them.

Once inside the lift, he couldn't help but look back, knowing that his gaze would be indistinguishable among the rest of the group waiting for the elevator up. Watching as the new shift took their stations, Atton saw a man kneel down and snatch up his abandoned satchel, slinging it over his back as if it were nothing. With close cropped hair and sharp blue eyes, Atton didn't recognize the man - only knowing that he fit the sorry excuse for a description the Exchange provided. And for now, that would have to be enough.

"Did you hear about the explosion down in Sector Two?" a Twi'lek muttered, idly moving the food around her plate with a fork.

"I thought it was in Sector Eight? Sector Two is way too close to the administration level," her companion said.

Atton did his best to keep his head down and eat as fast as he could, but he couldn't help but get sucked into the gossip already on fire at the table he was unfortunately sitting at.

"No, I'm serious. Sector Two! And management isn't doing anything about it!"

"How do you know about it, then?"

Atton's eyes volleyed between the two women, the second one a humanoid with blue markings dotting her gold face. The Twi'lek sighed and glanced about the dining hall again, apparently uninterested in Atton, who was hopefully doing a decent enough job of pretending to be equally uninterested.

"My bunkmate is stationed there, said she was lucky to make it out alive."

"You should file a formal complaint. The least they could do is ignore it, right?"

"I think it was fake," the Twi'lek said instead

"Fake?"

Her companion nodded, grave as her eyes scanned the room to spot any eavesdroppers, lowering her voice and leaning forward as she continued.

"It was planted, for sure. You heard about the ship they found last week, right?"

The other woman shook her head.

"I hear they found some people on it, salvaging the rest, I guess. Not sure who though, but they must be important because there've been a ton of inquiries."

"Inquiries?"

The Twi'lek shrugged. "Why else would people care?"

"What do you mean by inquiries, though? Like, is it someone famous? Or-?"

"Not sure, but I have a feeling it has something to do with money."

The other woman chewed as she considered the Twi'lek's words, narrowing her eyes as she mulled it all over. "You don't think it's a Jedi do you? I heard there was a bounty out for any found alive."

"Psht, they don't even exist anymore, Mara. I doubt it's a Jedi."

"I dunno. I mean, the bounty's pretty high. And you heard about someone trying to smuggle frag grenades onto the station, right?"

"What?!" the Twi'lek exclaimed, though managed to keep her voice somewhere in the range of an urgent whisper. "No way. That's the dumbest thing someone could do."

"Yeah! Or, I don't know, might have been a blaster rifle or something or other, but either way, I hear that's why they've ramped up security since yesterday."

"Ugh, they just want to make it look like they have the situation under control when they really don't. Why would these explosions keep happening, anyway?"

Atton wanted to hear more, suddenly nervous about whatever the hell he just smuggled onto this rock, but instead reluctantly relinquished his seat for the next hungry worker. Glancing back as he neared the exit, he found the two women conversing still, heads bowed together now, eyes darting about the room. But they weren't the only ones, he noticed. Nearly the entire hall was flush with the sound of hushed whispers, charged with an unseen energy that Atton felt without question. He was anxious when he returned from Telos for the unchecked cargo he brought with him, partially against his own will, and while that anxiety never faded it quickly fell in line with the anxiety already running rampant throughout the station, though for reasons that were still mysterious to him. And everyone else for that matter…

"Hey! What's all this talk about accidents?"

The new kid from before sidled up alongside Atton as soon as he entered the hallway, bustling with other workers as they changed shifts. 

"Remember the hazard pay they had you sign off on?" Atton said, sighing. The kid nodded, though he still appeared confused.

"Why do you think that number's so high? Because it's boring here? You do know what 'hazard' means, right?"

"Of course I do, but-" the new kid paused, looking about the hall for another sympathetic face and finding none that could read his mind, "I dunno, it all seems wrong though, doesn't it? Hazard pay or no?"

Atton wanted to agree but he also wanted to be alone in his bed with only imaginary Pazaak cards for company.

"Just- don't worry about it, okay?" Atton conceded, "Everything'll be-"

But before he could finish his sentence, he felt it. It. That tingling sensation at the base of his neck that always managed to tell him when everything was about to go sideways.

"Shit."

Before the thought could properly register, Atton's senses exploded, suddenly hyperaware of everything around him - the new kid turning at his side, the bustle of people walking in the opposite direction, a deactivated mining droid ahead of him and a shipment of food being delivered to the dining hall behind him as it swerved to avoid passersby - and just as time sped up to meet his senses, his arm reached out to cover his face as a very real explosion blew Atton off his feet, sending him straight into the wall at his left.

Skull, shoulder, and hips collided with tempersteel as all thought rushed out of Atton's head, his limbs acting out of instinct to protect himself on impact. Several bodies crashed into his other side as the air in the hall exploded and then compressed, a dull, faraway ringing replacing all sound.

Atton collapsed, his senses on fire, his muscles jelly, when his mind suddenly reached out, all objects in the hall somehow visible in his mind's eye: every person, every machine, every piece of debris as it swirled through the air around them as if in slow motion. And that's when he sensed it – the second explosion.

Without thinking, and still unable to feel his extremities, Atton scrambled into a blown open service closet just ahead of him, ducking inside the moment the second explosion hit.

Everything went black.

Silent.

And then… ringing, low murmurs. Energy swarmed around him. Time passed, though he knew not how much.

It was almost like waking, treading the space between dreams as they bled into the real world, only prolonged, as if Atton were half-awake and hardly aware of everything around him but only marginally so, half of his brain straining to sleep and the other half urging him desperately to get up - GET UP.

"I think this one's stabilizing, finally," a voice came into focus from the void.

Atton's entire world was still a swirling blackness, but the voice grew clearer, closer.

"Can't say the same for the rest of them."

"Damn it, really?"

A low beeping resonated through the space around him, Atton's senses slowly returning, everything hurting and dialed to eleven.

"Lost this one."

"This one, too."

"Shit, why does this keep happening?"

"Has management said anything? Are they launching an investigation? Or-?"

"Management doesn't give a shit about us," another voice huffed, Atton's vision now surging with light, the waking world still a blur, "I think this one's waking up. Hey? Hey! Can you hear me?"

"Hm?" Atton's lips were numb, tingling if anything, but he could feel them, or at least sense the lack of feeling in them, which was better than nothing.

"Good, good, now just keep talking, stay with me here."

"What happened?" Atton heard himself say, his voice about as dumb as it was hoarse.

"You were hurt pretty bad, there was an explosion down by the cafeteria a few hours ago. Do you remember anything?"

A few hours ago?

"I remember…"

It had happened so suddenly, yet Atton could dissect his every second as if he were watching a play-by-play, each frame pausing long enough for him to register all present information, and it still only felt like moments ago, his brief coma lasting longer than it seemed.

"It's okay, take your time," the medic slowly swam into Atton's sight, kaleidoscope vision slowly merging into one as Atton continued to take deep breaths, his mind still reeling with what just happened. A woman stood over him, a wan smile on her face as she observed Atton - the rest of the medbay slowly coming into focus behind her and her halo of honey brown hair. "Just keep talking to me, keep talking."

"Uh," Atton muttered, his lips still unfeeling, his entire body a senseless mass, both amorphous but painful all at once, "There were two explosions, I think."

"Two?" the medic pressed, this time jabbing an intravenous needle into Atton's forearm, a warm hand briefly checking his forehead for a temperature, "Are you sure?"

Atton nodded, finding that his head pounded with the action.

"Take it easy, easy now," the medic steadied him, a gentle hand on his strapped-in arm, the IV draped over his wrist and already pumping strong with a hell of a painkiller, Atton's limbs suddenly euphoric as his mind cleared.

The medbay was full. And Atton was the only one conscious, save for the medics.

Beyond the medic at his side, several charred bodies lay on slabs beside him, white cloth barely covering their corpses. Other medics rushed about the room, medical droids buzzing at their sides.

"Two explosions," Atton repeated, unable to say more as if his mouth were suddenly full of cotton.

"Did you see who did it? How it happened?"

Atton shook his head. The play-by-play was clear, but his brain couldn't yet decode the images, his mouth nowhere near as caught up to speed as his memory.

"We're losing them-" a voice said from the other side of the room, panic rising in their throat. The medic at Atton's side turned to look, and upon looking at Atton again began wheeling him out of the room, the stretcher beneath him lurching as they went.

"What happened before the explosion? Can you tell me that?" the medic asked, clearly trying to keep Atton's attention away from the room they just exited, strong with the smell of burnt human flesh. "Do you remember anything, no matter how small?"

Atton tried to nod, but his head only swayed, heavier than he anticipated. It lunged to his left, and as they barreled down the hallway Atton glimpsed into another room full of kolto tanks alight with an ethereal blue-white light, like hyperspace. Each one housed a body, floating ominously in the viscous cerulean fluid, each tank's vital bars flashing orange with urgency. Atton tried nodding again as the door closed, his body still not entirely his own, only managing to shake his shoulders as the medic wheeled him into the auxiliary holding room usually reserved for workers awaiting blood tests.

"Take it easy," the medic said again, her brown eyes coming into focus as Atton finally stilled. "Don't wear yourself out, you've been through a lot."

"What happened to the others?"

"The others?"

"Yeah, there were a bunch of people in that hallway. I-"

"Hard to say," the medic responded, almost too quickly. "Can you tell me anything else?"

Atton's mouth slowly regained feeling - his lips were chapped, and he tasted blood.

"I-"

She had been like this just before she died, right before Atton killed her. The Jedi. Her lips parched, dry except for the blood bubbling from her throat, still smiling despite everything.

You can feel it, I know it, she'd said. You are a survivor, through and through. Your allegiances tell as much. But it is your connection to the Force you must thank, for it is the reason you yet live.

She was trying to teach him a lesson, his third eye finally opened, only Atton wasn't interested in seeing what was on the other side.

"No-not sure," Atton choked, the metallic taste of blood slithering down his throat as his senses continued to return.

"It's okay, it's okay. It's over now," the medic soothed, though the panic was clear in her voice. They were now in a silent room, but Atton still remembered the room they'd left and the one they passed along the way. The Twi'lek from earlier had mentioned an explosion in Sector Two, maybe the bodies were from that accident? But if the station's kolto tanks were already full, then where did that leave everyone else?

"You don't remember anything suspicious, do you?" the medic pressed again, "Was it a mining droid again?"

"Hard to say, I think the explosion came from right next to me. A cart was being pushed. Food, I think. For the dining hall."

The medic considered him, her expression growing graver by the second as she checked his vitals.

"You're one lucky bastard," she laughed, though the seriousness was clear in her voice, "You were the least injured of everyone we managed to pull out of there."

"Managed?"

"Half the hallway collapsed, there are still miners trying to get the rest of the survivors out, or at least recover any bodies- er, I mean, anyone else that might be stuck under the debris."

A survivor through and through.

Atton's chest lurched, launching his torso forward as he began to retch.

"Oh frack, here-" the medic balked, swallowing her surprise quickly enough to shift back into doctor mode and bring Atton an empty canister to shove his face in. "The meds might make you sick, forgot to mention that. It doesn't usually affect humans this strongly, but-"

Atton knew it wasn't the meds, though he thanked whatever nonexistent gods might be listening for their existence as the medicine coursed his veins, numbing the rest of his body from whatever hell he managed to avoid for the time being.

"Is this the only one?" Another medic approached them while Atton's head was still extended into the empty canister, his lunch thankfully remaining in his stomach despite the nausea that now roiled through him. "Just got the word from the infirmary."

"What word?!" Atton's attendant pulled away, her voice growing softer as she assumed an urgent whisper in response, "I just came from the infirmary."

The adjoining medic only shook his head. "The others are gone. None of them made it."

Gone. In minutes.

Atton retched again.

It is your connection to the Force you must thank, for it is the reason you yet live.

"What?!"

The other medic only nodded in response as shock painted both of their faces. Atton's attendant buried her face in her hands before raking her fingers through her hair, taking a sharp intake of breath. "Call the security officer. Now."

"What? Why?"

"They need to launch an investigation. This is getting ridiculous. No, we're well past that-"

"Yara? Yara!" Another medic came rushing into the room at a light jog, pausing only before she was close to her colleagues, glancing at Atton cursorily before continuing, still out of breath. "Did you order another round of medication to be distributed to the kolto tanks?"

"What? No, I've been in the infirmary, and now here. Why?"

"Then you need to come see this," the woman said, now nodding at the second attendant. "You, too."

All three medics looked at Atton apologetically, as if they owed him anything, the drugs now in full force as he felt both heavy and weightless at once.

"Someone will be back to check on you shortly," the second medic assured him as the three clinicians rushed out of the room.

And just like that, Atton was alone again.

Chapter Text

3951, Peragus Mining Facility
Atton

Atton's body ached. One and all.

First it was his head. A typical headache that soon blossomed into a full-blown migraine, and one the likes of which even the most hungover version of himself could not fathom surviving. And then it was his chest. It wasn't a respiratory ache, but a skeletal one. As if he'd been kicked in the sternum at full force, the ribs beneath cracking in on themselves like an accordion, and while the medic assured him that he had nothing but a dislocated shoulder and some bruising from where he hit the wall on first impact, he felt as if each of his bones had been stomped on, chewed up, spit out, and hastily gathered back together before being glued and taped haphazardly, hoping for the best. His legs were still jelly, but they felt better than the rest of him, and for that he was thankful.

"Just another lap around the medbay and we should be good for the afternoon," his medic assured him, her mask of a smile having quickly become his new normal.

No other survivors came to join Atton in this wing of the medbay, and while Atton was thankful for the alone time, there was something about it that irked him. Especially seeing how on-edge his attendant was, how her eyes always seemed to be on alert despite the put-upon warmness she'd conjure while in his presence, trying to save face in a valiant attempt at bedside manner.

"You're already miles ahead of where you were a few days ago," she laughed, this time sounding genuinely pleased. "You might even be allowed back to work in about a week, if you're lucky."

Lucky. Atton agreed he would be lucky enough to go back to work, even if it killed him. But his attendant didn't know his sins enough to condemn him to the death that would certainly grant him, and he knew the comment was all part of her charade to make everything going on sound normal. If he was reading her facial expressions correctly, she believed that no one should be put back to work on this rock, at least not until the mysterious accidents stopped entirely. Judging by the look in her eyes and despite her forced smiles, she believed the facility should likely be evacuated completely, if anything, and Atton would have to agree. Not that he'd want anyone to know that.

"You sure about that, doc?" he joked, trying to act polite, trying to act normal. If keeping his head down before was hard, trying to act like the guilt of being a lone survivor wasn't eating away at him was another job entirely, and Atton wasn't sure he could keep it up much longer.

"Positive," she said, her brown eyes locking with his for a moment, her confidence shining through for once, even if she felt no one should be here at all, under any circumstances. But perhaps this was as much a show for him as it was for her, an elaborate farce meant to convince herself that it was worth staying here, if not for the pay but for the mere fact that management had them all trapped here until the next fuel shipment was set to leave the station in a standard week. "Wanna venture down the hall?"

"Sure, yeah, let's do it," Atton said, immediately trying not to shake his own head out of embarrassment for himself after he spoke, hoping he didn't sound as dumb as he felt. "You think I'm ready?"

"Psht, how will you know if you don't at least try?"

Well, damn. She's right.

Atton nodded, still feeling foolish as he allowed his medical attendant to stand him on his own two feet while she reached for the door's console to open it. She reached awkwardly forward, trying to keep hold of his torso in case he leaned too far left or two far right without assistance, and pressed her palm to the door's panel, the durasteel sliding out of place to allow them access beyond with a pleasant swish. The air hit Atton's face as if he were walking outdoors for the first time, and though he was still only exposed to the same old re-circulated air of Peragus' less-than-fresh ventilation system, it felt still felt like he was encroaching on new territory as he was led out of the primary medical wing and into the annex, where the more serious cases were often held.

The medbay was emptier than when he'd arrived, thankfully, but it still felt oddly hollow, lonely almost.

"Doing okay?" his attendant asked after a few paces. He remembered another medic calling her Yara, but he still felt strange referring to her as such, though part of him felt that she had introduced herself at some point but Atton simply failed to remember, either because of the drugs or the supposed concussion he suffered back in the rec hallway.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," Atton said, though his voice was stuck somewhere in the middle of his throat as he chalked up the strength to make every step beyond the open doorway, as if he were learning to walk again for the first time. He imagined it wasn't much different - smaller legs, maybe, but the feeling just as jelly-like.

"Now, just turn this corner here," she eased as Atton inevitably leant into her as they made a wide right turn into the adjoining hall, "Aaand we're clear."

He could feel her smile beside him, forced as usual, and especially so as the ICU loomed into view. From past experience, he knew the door to this room was not often left ajar, but now attendants raced in and out of it, reading datapads as they went, unable to waste any time walking that they could spend reading patient charts and calculating life-saving doses of Maker-knows-what.

When Atton first arrived, all the kolto tanks in the ICU were full. Each of them housed a miner, some still clad in their uniforms - the suit still fused to their skin in some cases. But there was one woman in the middle, clad only in the outfit-issued undergarments all miners were given, only she was wearing a set from a couple years back. Not too revealing, but revealing enough to expose the scars on her forearms, her weathered hands. A veteran, no doubt, though her face still seemed a bit too young for that to be the case, her sharp features framed by the black hair floating in the kolto fluid… or maybe it was brown? No, dark blonde-

Atton watched the woman from the corner of his peripheral vision as they walked the length of the hall, trying to glimpse at her silhouette from beyond the other busied medics that paid no attention to him or anything occurring beyond their data pads.

"Will they be okay in there?" Atton asked, his eyes never leaving the dark-haired woman in the center, even if his gaze wasn't exactly direct. Part of him almost felt embarrassed to look, bashful that he was even interested in who she might be if not a miner, but another part of him was simply too pained to look far enough in her direction to get a good enough look, his neck still stiff after the explosion.

"For the moment," his attendant admitted, "I'm still checking on them here and there, when I'm not looking after your sorry ass."

Atton paused, unsure if she was being serious or if this was her idea of a joke.

"I'm kidding," she said, though there was hardly a look of mirth on her face, "You only need to worry about yourself, hotshot. I'm not sure if anyone else will give a damn once you're dismissed."

"Dismissed?"

This time, she laughed, though more out of exhaustion than actual pleasure.

"Dismissed from medical leave," she confirmed, the laugh still pleasantly flavoring her voice even as it faded, "Once you're okayed to go back to work."

"Oh," Atton said dumbly, catching one last glance of the mystery woman in the ICU. "Right."

By the time Atton thought of speaking again, they were already back at his usual resting place, still void of any other patients, though Atton knew they were plenty.

"Any word on when I can at least start taking walks on my own?"

"As soon as your chart says so," she said, giving him a stern look though smiling despite it, "Though I have a feeling it will be soon, so don't worry."

She smiled wide enough that her eyes were barely slits, only Atton knew she wasn't smiling - not really.

"Sounds good," he said, attempting a smile in return, though knowing he failed despite the fake gesture.

"I'll be back tomorrow," the medic assured him from over her shoulder as she exited the room, the worry fast returning to her face as she approached the exit, "See you then."

"See you."

Yara. Her name is Yara. He wasn't sure why it mattered, or why he was so reluctant to say her name, to thank her. Likely because he didn't think he deserved to be alive, for one, and likely because a part of him felt that they would never see each other again.

3951 BBY, Dantooine
Mission

It had been four years since Mission last stepped foot on Dantooine. As they descended the loading ramp, part of her was instantly transported back to that first time at Nevarra's side, eager as ever to be off Taris. But another part of Mission was hopelessly lost as she came face-to-face with the tall vegetation whistling around her, trying to make heads or tails of the place that resembled nothing of what she remembered.

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" Mission asked above the din of the ships' dying engine, her eyes squinting against the unyielding yellow-orange of the setting sun, "I thought this was supposed to be the main docking bay."

She was nearly yelling now as Zayne's piece of junk aircraft struggled to settle despite having already landed, the motors still running.

"That's what I thought," Zayne answered, coming up behind her, grabbing part of the landing module on the side of the ramp for support, struggling against the rush of air still whirring from the engine exhaust, his mop of hair obscuring his face entirely. "Why does it look so barren?"

Mission held up her right hand as a visor to better scan the horizon. This seemed to be the right place when they'd landed. From above, they could see the clearing set aside for the docking bay set not too far from a cluster of buildings, though it certainly all looked larger from the air, and the grass far less imposing from the top down.

"There," she said, pointing towards a large structure to their left, "I think that's one of the main settlements we saw before landing. I actually think we're outside the Jedi Temple, not beside it."

Mission recalled questioning the farmers here, residents that had claimed these rolling hills for millennia as they used it as their defense in what she remembered was a hard-boiled murder case - but her memory couldn't have been right about that, could it? It seemed so heavy in retrospect yet it was the memory that stuck. But even back then, the grass wasn't this tall. Sure, it was tall enough to hide the bulk of the property from outsiders, but it wasn't enough to dwarf the main dwelling entirely. The growth around them was certainly not intentional, and Mission felt strange as she further descended the ramp and walked into the grass in full, submerging herself as if in water.

"Hey Big Z, can you see anything?" she asked over her shoulder, sensing her long-time companion approach from behind, his familiar scent an anchor to both her past and present.

Zaalbar approached Mission with his usual lumbering stride, still a good head taller than the rest of them, though the grasses still shrouded his view in parts. He only nodded down at her after a moment, confirming her earlier report.

"Really? Just the one building, yeah?"

The more she stood on tiptoe, the more she recognized this specific valley, but the more the location registered the less it made sense. When they'd last been here, the main docking bay was adjacent to the Jedi Temple itself. The one they just landed in was more than several miles away, and in the middle of what had previously been open farmland and rolling hills. There was no other landing bay in sight when they landed. Whatever she had known before was gone entirely.

"I guess I'm surprised it's even still standing," Mission said softly, though she knew her voice wasn't audible over the still-dying engines. After a moment, she felt Big Z rest a hand on her shoulder, the sentiment translating regardless.

"I guess I didn't realize just how much damage Darth Malak really wrought on this place," Zayne muttered from nearby, still grasping the loading gear, though now it seemed to be out of an emotional need than a physical one.

Malak. In uttering his name alone, Mission was truly transported back in time. Even in their pursuit of her current whereabouts, Nevarra instantly became Revan in Mission's mind - though in memory only, not in spirit. Mission only ever knew the woman as Nevarra, insisting that she continue to call her such even long after their collective revelation. But the weight of Nevarra's past came back in full at the mention of Malak, once Revan's best friend and confidante, though Mission only ever knew him as a villain. It occurred to her now that Zayne had perhaps known the man too, being a Jedi and all, but also in the way he spoke his name, emphasizing the Darth moniker rather than the Malak end of it.

The engines were still sputtering to a halt when Asra appeared at the mouth of the ship, her eyes mere slits to sheild against the sharp winds whistling through the grasses in their direction.

"Not as formal as I expected," Asra said, the Togruta putting on airs as she forced a smile while descending the ramp. "Is that supposed to be our welcome party?"

Just beyond the field of grass was a dilapidated wall encircling an outdated console, and standing guard beside it and equally ancient was a rusted-silver protocol droid, growing copper at the hinges, twitching as it looked in their collective direction.

Asra and Mission locked eyes, shrugging in unison before they both waded through the shorter though still knee-high grasses over to the droid, casting wary glances about them as they went.

Zaalbar and Zayne weren't far behind. Once Asra and Mission cleared the grass and set foot on smooth stone, still cracked in places enough to let the weeds push through, the droid ambled toward them, eager for interaction.

"Greetings and good day, traveler. On behalf of the Khoonda settlement, I am programmed to welcome you to Dantooine."

"Oh, is that all?" Mission said, chuckling darkly through her sarcasm, "Can you tell us what this Khoonda even is?"

"Gr-Greetings! Greetings and good day, traveler. On behalf of the Khoonda settlement, I am programmed to welcome you to Dantooine."

Zayne and Zaalbar approached beside them, eyes questioning as the droid drawled on, twitching unnervingly as it went.

"Oh boy," Asra muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, "Is this one of those protocol droids that needs a specifically worded prompt in order to function or is this one just busted?"

"Greetings!"

"Busted, it looks like," Mission sighed, "Guess we should just head to the settlement we saw, right? Take our chances?"

"I am programmed to welcome you to Dantooine."

"Probably our best bet," Zayne replied, eyes already squinting against the horizon to find their directive again, "I remember this hunk of junk. Damn thing hardly worked then, and I doubt it works now. I'm honestly surprised it hasn't been scrapped for parts."

"You remember this thing?" Asra asked, her eyes scanning the droid from top to bottom as if searching for any kind of remarkable feature.

Zayne didn't respond at first. Instead he studied the ruined walls that surrounded this sorry excuse for a landing pad, as if he recognized where they'd been salvaged from, as if he knew every minute detail that had altered this planet in the last ten or so years since he'd last been here. Of course he does.

"Not sure if the others told you, but I don't just have Jedi friends. I used to be one, too. Well, sort of."

Asra watched him for a beat, something akin to pity painting her face as she mulled over a reply.

"I'm sorry," she said after a while, her voice quiet, "Knowing what happened here and all."

"Thanks," he mumbled, his eyes locking with Mission even though he was answering Asra. Mission knew Zayne had formally trained on Taris, not Dantooine, but Taris had unfortunately met the same fate. Mission figured Zayne hadn't been back there yet, either.

"Don't worry about it, let's just keep moving."

"Random building it is, then," Asra resigned as they changed course, now faced with the taller grasses as they pushed onward.

"Any word from your friends?" Mission asked after a few quiet moments as she caught up with Zayne. A ghost of her old crush came rushing back as he glanced over his shoulder at her, a familiar warmth returning to his eyes as he quelled a smile.

"Not yet, though I expected the radio silence. They mentioned running into some trouble here after they'd landed and made camp, but nothing they couldn't handle."

"Trouble?" Mission echoed.

"Rural political stuff, local drama, that sort of thing," Zayne said, shaking his head, not worried or at least trying to act like it, "I didn't get the details, but it sounded more like a nuisance than any real trouble. Or at least, I hope so."

Mission suddenly felt bad even asking, biting her tongue before she could say anything else.

Big Z rumbled beside her, a comforting growl she was used to hearing whenever she got too deep in her own thoughts.

"Thanks, buddy," she murmured, glancing at him as he paved through the grass making way for the rest of them, hoping Zayne didn't hear or catch on as he fell a few paces behind.

"You sure Orex is okay holding down the fort?" she heard Zayne ask Asra after a few quiet beats.

Through the grass, Mission saw the silhouette of Asra shrug in response, confident as ever.

"Orex can hold down anything, though I'm sure he's antsy to get off that ship if that's what you're asking."

"How long have you known him, anyway?" Zayne ventured, slowing down a bit now.

"Not long, though it feels like longer. Been working for him for about a year now, though Darek's been on longer."

"How long have you known Darek?"

"A while," was all Asra afforded this time, and though she shied away from any specifics she did nothing to hide the ghost of a smile as she spoke.

"Orex seems to know what he's doing for someone so removed from the Jedi. But what's Darek's story?"

Big Z slowed once he realized the others were dawdling, Zayne perhaps stalling out of fear for what the rest of his crew might be caught up in despite his show of bravery, though Mission was only guessing.

"Ex-Mandalorian, Neo Crusader."

"Ah," was all Zayne said, the weight of his knowing evident in his tone, now coming to a full stop as they approached the proper mouth to the valley. The large estate wasn't far off, but now there was a silhouette fast approaching them, the shadow of a bobbing head floating through parted grass as it drew nearer.

"So I'm guessing this is the welcome party?" Asra asked, not expecting an answer as the distance between them and their mysterious pursuer drew smaller.

A hand shot into the air, an awkward hello from a few yards ahead, and the neighborly part of Mission emerged unwittingly as she returned the gesture.

Within moments, the silhouette became a slight brunette human woman with tired eyes, her hair pulled into a tight bun at the crown of her head, shiny enough to reflect the morning sun like a halo as if to make up for the clear exhaustion that painted her face.

"More visitors," the woman sighed, already exasperated as she approached, "You must be here to join the plunder of the old Jedi Enclave, like the rest of them. I'm afraid I can't just let you roam the grounds though, you'll have to speak with Administrator Adare, first."

Big Z looked at Mission, who looked at Asra and Zayne, all shrugging in turn.

"Not to be rude but...What are you talking about?" Zayne asked after exchanging glances with the others and awaiting a response, only to receive none.

"You're salvagers, right? Your ship looks banged up enough to be a part of that lot," the woman said, venturing a glance past them at the dock before looking both Asra and Mission from head to foot, as if with distaste, "But you look… different."

Asra and Mission exchanged glances, a heat rising in Mission's chest as words escaped her.

"Excuse me?" Asra asked, a sharpness rising in her voice Mission had not yet grown acquainted with but was instantly thankful for.

The woman shrank away slightly, raising her hands as if in apologetic surrender, though Mission still noticed the stranger's eyes scan both Mission's and Asra's lekku, as if it proved some unspoken point in her unintended backhanded comment.

Mumbling a half-hearted apology, the woman shook her head, a hand cradling her temple as if she'd been dealing with miscommunications like this all day. Or maybe all week.

"I'm sorry," she groaned, though she sounded more annoyed than anything. Mission only glared at her and rested her hand on her holster while they awaited the woman's further reply. "It's just that the only recent visitors we've had are salvagers. That, and a slew of mercenaries."

"I take it you don't get many visitors?" Zayne asked, crossing his arms.

"Not really, no. And when we do, they're usually-" she paused, unsure of how to continue as she looked about the four of them, eyeing Zaalbar last and longest.

Mission could feel the unspoken word trouble hang in the air between them, and knowing the woman would never finish her sentence, decided to speak up for her.

"Just show us the way, will you?" she said, her impatience clearer in her tone than she'd like. Glancing around, Asra nodded in agreement, looking towards the woman as she took another affirmative step forward, as if urging her reply. Big Z did the same, grumbling in the affirmative, though by the looks of it their mysterious greeter took it as some sort of threat. She took a step back, and after a moment simply nodded and braced herself before formally responding.

"Right this way."

Turning on a point, the woman parted the grass behind her and began walking, assuming an air of authority she'd yet to exude - and it was then that Mission also realized she'd never once introduced herself, not mentioning her name, her position, or where she stood in Dantooine's aftermath.

"So I guess we're off to see this Administrator, huh?" Asra said as she made to follow their mysterious greeter, Zaalbar not far behind.

"Guess so," Mission answered, shrugging.

Waiting a beat to take the rear, Mission saw that Zayne had yet to move, his gaze far off on the horizon still, lost in a thought that was far away from here. Not in distance - but in time, memory.

"You okay?" she asked as she stepped closer, placing a tentative hand on Zayne's shoulder. He tore his eyes away from the distant hills when her hand made contact, a pleasant shiver running through her as their eyes met.

"I will be," he said after a beat, smiling despite the sadness clear in his warm brown eyes.

"Good," was all Mission could muster, unsure of what to say. Zayne clapped her shoulder in kind, in quiet thanks, before he followed the others. But Mission paused.

Glancing toward the hills Zayne had been watching, Mission saw that the sun had fully risen, a golden disc now hanging serenely over the hills. Just as it had been that first day off Taris with Nevarra, still raw from the destruction of her homeworld. Suddenly growing cold from an unseen chill, Mission wrapped her arms around herself, goosebumps rising along her skin despite the warmth emanating from the sun as she soaked the scene in.

The Jedi Temple is just over the ridge, she knew instantly, the fact taking hold as the view registered in her memory. Through the valley a ways, just past the river.

She could almost hear the trickling of the water as it flowed under the austere bridge that separated the rest of the valley from the sprawling grounds of the Jedi Temple. The birdsong that echoed over the grasses, the monolithic shadows of the brith lazing overhead like the occasional cloud-cover. Mission was bristling with too much teenage angst to admire the views then, and the planet was too ravaged for her to do so now. Sighing, she pressed onward, not quite eager to catch up with the others, wondering where Nevarra was now. 

3951 BBY, Dantooine
Mical

The hilt was rough-hewn. Worn from use, yes, but the recklessness of its design was intentional. As if it were a hackneyed half-thought, a thrown-together weapon of little thought. But that was the idea. Make the opponent believe it was primitive. Have them grow accustomed to the single hilt, the lone blade erupting from the short end of the otherwise long stick. The weapon of a Jedi, but not one worth fearing...

Only for the other end to yield a longer blade - rougher around the edges, wilder, yet more precise in its execution. Its energy crackling with untamed energy, bristling with chaos and ruin.

Exar Kun's lightsaber was a thing of genius. It was not just a lightsaber, but a puzzle. It was an illusion meant to lull his opponents into complacency, into believing they knew his fighting style, that they knew his traditional, if not unusual, Jedi weapon - an easily recognizable symbol of the Order and everything it stood for, only for it to transform before the final blow, before the second blade would surely cut through whatever defense his adversary had already choreographed in their mind's eye, rendering them helpless, if not dead in an instant.

And this is what made Kun's weapon so utterly and undeniably Sith in design. Subtle, subversive, serving a higher purpose. That, and it was dramatic as hell.

"It's no beauty, but it's also not as ugly as I imagined," Lonna Vash uttered from beside him, eyeing the contents of the parcel with distaste but respect, her gaze intent but critical, ever the Jedi. "But perhaps it is because of the history that comes with it. It's hard to believe that legends can alter memory so completely."

"And it's only been forty years, if we're counting back to the defeat of Exar Kun and not just the man at the height of his power. And that's the power of myth, isn't it?" Mical said reverently, his fingers spiriting over the hilt, housed in a bed of soft felt, "It didn't take long for Revan to don the mask and rise to prominence, for her visions to gain traction and near-mythic proportions, to become a symbol and more than a woman."

"Who knew that a repurposed Mandalorian mask would be the face of the Mandalorians' very enemy?" she smiled, not from any warmth to the memory but perhaps out of acknowledging the bitterness of the truth. "Still, a strange thought to consider."

Mical thought the hilt was beautiful in its simplicity, in its utter deception. The metalwork was unfinished in places, the veneer uneven in others. But the innerworkings were intricate, precise enough to house a second crystal and harness its raw power unlike any other Jedi-crafted lightsaber in known history. It was the first double-blade known to modernity, though legend had it that Kun had fashioned this saber from an ancient Sith design. He knew not where, though he would love to find out. Perhaps the Sith that ferried them now would have some idea…

Mical and Vash had taken to the rogue Sith's cargo area for the last couple of days while in hyperspace, seeing little of their host but much of his work. Master Vash spoke little of the man, only recounting sporadically recalled moments from distant years she spent with him as his first Jedi Master when he was a child. But the information she had seemed outdated if anything, and only relevant in the way the man's childhood interests clearly played a role in his adult present. Mical hadn't minded being locked in here for two days with little food since he had the man Master Vash called Aiden's work to sift through, piles of notes and unlocked datapads at his disposal, and nothing the likes of anything he'd ever seen before. Decades of Sith history rested demurely atop the messy-but-organized workspace begging to be perused, bits of information that were otherwise inaccessible to anyone not of the affiliation. But none of it dated beyond the Sith of Korriban lore - Ajunta Pall, Ludo Kresh. Mical knew they were not the first Sith. Nor were they the first to study, let alone worship, the Dark Side of the Force. It seemed their host knew this and was well aware of the fact, his research leaning towards not only ancient Sith but Sith origin as well, only to come up empty.

"My hilt was smoother, I'll say that," a voice came from over Mical's shoulder. He should have heard the door slide open, he should have felt the air pressure shift. But part of Mical knew this was the Sith's trick, his very intention to arrive unannounced, to see what his uninvited guests were doing unattended in his private quarters. "Though in my defense, I only ever had technical drawings to work from, never the real thing."

The man brushed a strand of dark hair from his sickly green eyes, piercing as they glittered over the now-exposed lightsaber hilt of Exar Kun, whose ghost had spoken to him in a vision. Mical glanced at Master Vash, as if for direction, wondering if they should perhaps cover the thing up lest it fall into the wrong hands. Vash said nothing.

Instead of reacting, the man ran a hand over his hair, long on top but cut short around the sides, before crossing his arms, watching both guests with a wary stare.

"Also, do call me Erebus. Aiden… no longer suits me."

Somehow Mical knew the man had not reached into his mind but must have simply overheard them in the past couple days, undoubtedly sick of hearing his abandoned name repeated - Aiden, Aiden, Aiden. Mical wanted to ask where Erebus had come from, and if there was an official tradition to Sith names, but instead found himself quiet as he simply shut the parcel closed so the famed saber was hidden out of sight again.

"Erebus," Vash said, as if tasting the name, testing it out. After a moment she nodded, "Erebus it is, then."

As much as Mical couldn't read the Sith, he also had a hard time getting a good impression of the Jedi. One moment she was critical, only to find her exceedingly agreeable the next. There seemed to be no rules to her logic, leaning conservative on some things but liberal in others, especially when it came to her former student.

Erebus nodded curtly, trying not to appear pleased with the approval, and sucked on his teeth, looking around the room as if it were all new to him.

"Perfect," Erebus said quickly, crossing his arms, "Well, if you're interested, as I'm sure you are, we are set to arrive on Dantooine within the standard hour. I have some rations in the cupboard against the far wall if either of you are interested. Vintage Sith rations from Revan's empire - fun, I know. Not sure what the fare will be once we land or who will welcome us, if anyone. The landscape's changed, but I trust you two know more about it than I do."

Erebus looked around the room again, avoiding all eye contact, as he tried to peer at the container that now safely housed Exar Kun's lightsaber, trying his best not to appear interested or disappointed that it was being stored away from his prying eyes.

"You were supposed to meet up with your contacts here, yes?" Vash said, placing a gentle hand on Mical's shoulder. "Assuming they escaped Space City in time, we may run into them here if the Force wills it."

"I have a feeling we will, seeing how things have turned out so far," Erebus sighed, "Let's just hope my former Master doesn't catch up with us."

"Former?" Mical said before he even felt himself think it, instantly regretting speaking upon doing so. Erebus winced as if he felt the embarrassment second-hand.

"It's a guess, but seeing as I've been avoiding Ni-" Erebus almost uttered a name but stopped himself short, his eyes flashing as his gaze flitted from Mical to Vash with mild surprise before recovering, "Since I've avoided reporting in lately, my Master might assume I've gone rogue. And since I've yet to make up my mind on that front, such an assumption might be correct enough to act upon."

Erebus flashed them a sardonic smile, masking his fear with false bravado, fooling no one.

"There's a radio over there," Erebus said, trying not to sound helpful despite everything he was doing to prove otherwise, "In case you want to try and contact your - I don't know - your crew, your people. Whoever."

With a shrug he was gone again, the door that separated the cockpit from the cargo hold closing at his back with an audible whoosh this time. Mical and Vash exchanged glances before looking toward the far wall, noticing a small comms system hidden behind a series of paper notes tacked over it. Wanting to preserve the data, Mical gently tugged at the paper to reveal a panel underneath, his fingers enraptured by the feel of it, unsure he'd even seen paper up close before despite having read about it all his life. The comms system beneath it was strange, both outdated and futuristic at once.

"Have you seen this sort of ship before?" Master Vash asked as Mical paused over the control panel, his fingers touching the buttons but failing to press any of them, admiring the design of it all.

"It's a Star Forge vessel, isn't it?" he answered, trying to keep the awe from his voice. Vash only nodded, her eyes glittering over the panel as if she, too, was in wonderment, trying to soak it all in and make sense of it.

"I believe it is."

"You never saw one up close?"

Master Vash shook her head as she grimaced into a half-smile, meeting Mical's eyes for a brief moment before looking back to the panel, pressing a corner button that made the entire console light up. Unlike ships native to Republic space, these buttons were hexagonal, some diamond-shaped and others pointed, almost pyramidal, and each of them was a shade of white, cream or gold in color. One lone button in the corner was black as the space between stars, but the rest glittered like a sky in miniature

"It's so foreign," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Yet so familiar."

The panel was not unlike modern comms systems in its layout, though the design was so utterly different. Mical wondered what had come first, only knowing part of the history behind Revan's mysteriously instantaneous fleet, yet somehow he knew that this was the blueprint for everything that came after, that every facet of this ship was likely as much a relic as anything Erebus had tracked and collected in this very room. But just how old was the blueprint? Where did she find it and will it into being?

"How much of this did you see in your vision, exactly?" Mical asked, turning to Master Vash. "You said you saw Dantooine, but did you see the planet? The Jedi Temple? Something that would happen here?"

"Bits and pieces," she said, her eyes faraway as she recalled the vision, "I saw the rolling hills, the ruined Temple. I saw you there, actually, poring over datapads in the remains of the library."

"And Erebus?"

Vash's mouth thinned into a line, her gaze now intent on the panel and nothing else.

"I saw the two of us training. It looked like the Temple ruins, but I can't be sure. I haven't been here since the attack."

"By a one Darth Malak?"

Vash nodded.

Darth Malak. Mical still remembered the look of him from the holovids, his metallic jaw gleaming in place of his once-handsome face. Mical had met him once, briefly, as a Padawan first entering the Medical Corps, not realizing he would never be taken on as a Jedi once the war was over. Going by Captain Malak then, he'd been so charismatic, his easy charm overshadowing his unnerving height, something that made him so undeniably intimidating once he returned as Revan's Right Hand of the Sith. How was it that Malak had succumbed to the Dark Side, while Revan was saved from it? Mical thought of the man piloting them now, trying to recall how Erebus had looked when they'd crossed paths on Coruscant all those years ago. All Mical knew was that Erebus' eyes had not been nearly as piercing, not the sickly yellow-green they were now, and wondered what color they were before. Malak's eyes had turned a bright ember orange, going by the holovids, no longer the serene blue Mical remembered.

"Do you think there is hope for a man like him, for Erebus?"

"Hope?" Vash scoffed. "The Jedi have fallen because there was something flawed about us. Perhaps not in our intentions but in how we executed our beliefs. If anyone knows Jedi history and the intricacies of it, it's that man. And if he turned to the Dark Side before the Order fell to ruin, then I fear he may have had a good reason for doing so."

Vash looked over her shoulder at the empty door that separated them from Erebus, and Mical turned to look along with her even though there was no man there, only metal. But in his mind's eye, Mical wondered what Aiden had looked like as a boy, as a Jedi, what his copied saber had looked like, fashioned from the legend of Exar Kun, whose ghost haunted the galaxy still, just as Revan did now, though still more a woman than a spectre.

"I don't mean to say that I condone his affiliations or whatever he's done to sustain them," Vash corrected, turning her attention from the closed door to Erebus' myriad of notes and scribblings, "But I can see why he did, is all."

"And what of his sister, the Exile?"

"I wish I could tell you," Master Vash said, her voice lilting, "And the fact that I cannot is unfortunately the reason why I fear we're all here."

3951, Peragus Mining Facility
Atton

The medbay was quiet. Eerily quiet. All Atton could hear were the soft whirring sounds of the machine beside him, lulling him to sleep, as needle-thin tubes administered more pain killers and antibiotics. The last medic to do a sweep of his empty ward gave him the run-down about a half-hour ago but Atton was already fast forgetting every word the young Sullustan said, who looked over his shoulder after every other word as if someone were watching him, or as if whatever treatment Atton was receiving were clandestine. Both afraid of and eager for the solitude, Atton nodded impatiently as he spoke, only calm once he was alone again… just for the panic to take over.

With the medics around, he was tense. Alone, he was a mess. Atton wasn't sure which was worse.

As predicted, his attendant from the past few days – Yara – had yet to return, the medic turn-over almost as staggering as the number of incoming patients in the medbay's ICU. Atton was still the only occupant in the well ward, not that he was exactly healthy, but the fact that he wasn't in critical condition seemed to be the determining factor in his placement. Still, he saw little of the others, only catching glimpses through the open door whenever a new medic entered to administer another round of treatment or ask Atton how he was doing, as if he were an afterthought tucked away in an unused corner of the medical bay. And in a way, he was. Whatever was going on outside the ward was ravaging the station, though no one would give him the details.

What the hell is going on here?

But now, all Atton yearned for was sleep. He'd tried to glimpse at the bottle the Sullustan stuck with the IV needle before hooking it up to Atton's arm – y'know, for future reference – but he wasn't so lucky, the aurabesh too small for him to read from a distance.

Damn, I'm getting old. At 32, Atton was feeling the weight of his reckless decisions more and more now, especially after working in the gas mines for the last year, and he figured his newly acquired injuries only depleted his life expectancy if anything.

Before he could lament his possible future, Atton began to drift off, his eyes drooping, senses dulling, though he still seemed to have a fuzzy view of the room he was in, as if his eyes were only half-closed. But he was quickly losing command of his limbs and all voluntary movement, his body fast becoming a cage. And while part of him liked it, another part of him felt suffocated, unsure of this prison, even if it meant he could at least rest for the moment. If all he had to look at was the empty wall for several hours, then so be it.

The room remained unchanged, though Atton did not know for how long. Dreams flitted in and out of his bouts of consciousness, though his corner of the medbay remained a constant, a background character almost, as his mind delved into the abstract.

Atton never let himself dream. Even in his sleep, he was counting cards and power couplings, never sure of who might be watching, who might be looking for him. Revan's empire died not long after Malak took over, but he knew the others trained like him were still out there somewhere. One could never be too careful. But slipping into dreamlike oblivion was almost blissful now despite the chaos he knew that ravaged the rest of the station now, his mind both emptied but full at once. He dreamt of everything and nothing, his memory capturing nothing but trails of thought that dissipated as quickly as smoke. But then... there was the droid.

It was an HK model. Not the kind seen on Peragus in any capacity. Especially considering a protocol droid was hardly needed here, if ever. It drifted about the room, as if floating, before suddenly appearing before Atton's face, its intelligence module mere inches from Atton's half-lidded eyes. He knew he was still dreaming, but part of this felt real – too real.

Atton tried to jerk awake, tried opening his eyes, but they only seemed to want to close further, the panic rising in his chest as the HK's amber eyes bore into his unblinkingly, saying nothing. He felt a metallic hand at his wrist, and then his elbow, and pluck. The IV the medic had inserted earlier was removed and replaced with something else, though Atton could not will his eyes to move enough to see what it was. The droid's cold fingers graced his wrist again, this time checking for a pulse. After a moment, it finally pulled away and paused, admiring its handiwork before gliding away.

But upon exiting the room, it stopped, poised in the doorway, unmoving. Its silhouette stilled, swaying gently on its metal perch for what felt like eternity, becoming a fixture in the room just as anything else, before it swiftly turned on its heel and rushed towards Atton's bedside again, this time to shut his eyes closed, cold fingers flitting over his face as though Atton were a corpse. He shuddered and the HK was gone.

And then the nightmares started.

Chapter Text

3960 BBY, aboard The Leviathan, on the edge of the Unknown Regions
Eden Valen

“Revan said you were as good as dead,” Alek had spat at her, his eyes bright and blue, menacing in the half-darkness as she circled him from the shadows of his viewing deck.

“If she’d not miscalculated, I would be dead,” Eden had replied through gritted teeth. As the Force ebbed away from her, an ever-retreating wave, Eden fought to retain control of the crystal embedded in the saber she held aloft now, its shaft crackling like an unstable flame. Alek’s eyes flashed, watching her cerulean blade flicker and snap. Eden swung, hard, smiling as she saw Alek’s eyes go wide.

“Careful, Captain Malak,” she’d warned, “I’m afraid you’re likely to be next.”

“Next?” he sneered, though she could hear the fear thick in his voice.

“She knew I’d say no, she knew I’d never follow her. That’s why she sent me to Malachor, with every intention that I would die there. Now, you, however-“ Eden swung at empty air again, knowing she wouldn’t hit Alek but knowing that he was growing increasingly wary of her tone of voice. She’d never spoken like this to him before. Nothing louder than soft affirmations in recent years, but even before then she’d been too awestruck to say anything cutting in his presence unless it was to catch him off-guard in the friendly sense, to impress him. But now, she wanted to wound him. She wanted him to hurt, she wanted to affirm his deepest fears and drive the knife in as far as it would allow. “She knows you’ll follow her, but only for as long as it suits you.”

Alek ignited his blade to meet hers, a shining red now instead of the calming blue she’d come to know, missing her only by a hair.

“Revan and I were both there,” he hissed, “She wouldn’t have been able to accomplish any of this without me!”

Eden could hear the righteous fury in his voice, trembling with realization as her words sunk in.

“You’re right, she couldn’t have.” Eden smiled despite the sick feeling in her stomach, “But that won’t stop her from striking you down.”

She knew her own words to be true, but she still hated saying it. She hated that she was even here, now, fighting with Alek despite all they’d been through, still mourning every bit of him he’d sacrificed to this war and hating every new part of him he’d built to take its place. A new person entirely - not just a ghost of his old self but a mockery of it.

Alek hissed again through his teeth, igniting his lightsaber once more and slashing into nothingness.

“You take that back.”

“Why would I?” Eden purred through the darkness, her connection to the Force still ebbing as she spoke. “Search your feelings. You know it to be true.”

Alek only glared at her through the shadows with eyes bright like ice, every bit of his old self gone until only Malak remained.

Eden regretted all the pain suffered at Serroco, Dagary Minor, at Malachor, and held herself personally responsible for all she had done there. But she did not once regret slicing Alek’s jaw from Malak’s face, wishing she could have done more.

3951 BBY, Dantooine orbit
Erebus

Eden never fell to the Dark Side. Erebus would have felt it. She’d flirted with the Dark Side, yes, but she’d never once succumbed to it. At least not the way Erebus had. And overhearing Vash practically say it was fact from the next room made him feel...well, he wasn’t sure. 

Part of him was angry, as much as anyone disseminating false information angered him on the regular. But another part of him was almost prideful, covetous of this little secret that only he knew. Atris had later claimed that anyone who followed Revan to war was already lost to the Dark Side, even if Revan’s official involvement in the conflict was sanctioned by the Council, hypocrite that Atris was. Erebus could argue that the other members of the Council later adopted Atris’ mentality but he knew that wasn’t true. He knew Vash and Zez Kai-Ell had argued the opposite, despite Atris’ insistence. He’d overheard their debates and was on the receiving end of Atris’ many tirades afterwards, wondering if Atris ever blamed herself once he, too, disappeared - if she’d ever connected the dots. Part of him felt she had to, even if she didn’t admit it. 

And perhaps that had been the key to Atris’ sanity - accusing Eden of falling to the Dark Side, as if it were the consequence for not accepting her as a teacher, all while conveniently ignoring the mysterious disappearance of her actual student just as Revan rose to power as a Lord of the Sith. Erebus smiled, not knowing if it were true but finding solace in the idea of it. 

His smile tightened as the planet loomed into view, lingering if only for the actual happy memories he still associated with the place. But after talk of Exar Kun, of his old lightsaber - torn asunder and abandoned in the fields just before he accepted the position as Atris’ student Historian - and his sister’s nonexistent fall to the Dark Side, Erebus’s face soon harbored a snarl as the planet truly neared, still a beautiful blue-green from orbit despite the damage he knew it sustained since he’d last been here. 

Erebus’ hand reached for the intercom, pausing just as his fingers hovered over the button. He’d already told his passengers that they’d be arriving soon. There was no need to tell them they were ready to land, lest they all get too friendly…

Instead, Erebus reached for the landing gear - only to pause there, too. No, not yet.

He looked at the planet again, as if it might look back at him. How long has it been? Eight years? It felt longer. And how long had it been since Malak doomed the place?

The orb was serene, same as it had the last Erebus remembered, the damage invisible from this distance. Trying not to develop expectations of the changed landscape, Erebus reached for his ship’s control panel, keying in the sequence for his cloaking device. Can’t be too careful.

Within moments, the ship was invisible. In the years since Revan’s redemption, many Republic planets had developed technology to detect cloaked Star Forge vessels, but Erebus had a feeling Dantooine wasn’t one of them. The lack of comms activity attested to that. As well as the mounting dread growing in his chest - partly anxiety and partly the Force confirming his suspicions, though it told him nothing more. As per usual. 

He sighed, closing his eyes. He needed sleep, he needed to not be doing this, whatever this was. Steadying his breathing, Erebus honed in on his frustration, harboring the energy borne of it and saving it for later, should he have need of it. With an exhale, he opened his eyes, calmer now… save for the imminent collision with a huge chunk of debris that was now headed straight for his ship.

“Shit.”

With a jolt, Erebus sprung for the controls again, careening the ship to the right. And then left, and then up, and down, down, down and around again.

“Maker preserve me,” he gasped, white-knuckled, pulling the ship up and reducing the speed as much as he could before they all turned to space dust. 

It was everywhere. Debris, ship remnants, rock, dust - all manner of space trash.

Malak.

“Everything okay up there?” a voice asked from the back room, muffled through the closed door. 

Huffing a breath, Erebus slammed a fist on the door panel, the air swishing as the barrier slid open. 

“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” he shouted over his shoulder, the anger already threatening to bubble over, his fingers hot on the controls. 

Within seconds, Vash and Mical were at his side. Mical gasped as he entered the cockpit, a hand flying to his mouth as he witnessed it, ducking slightly as if it would make a difference when Erebus swung low to avoid the floating detritus. Vash was quiet, her mouth a thin line.

“Is this all Darth Malak’s doing?” Mical asked, his voice aghast.

“Likely,” Erebus breathed, still piloting like his life depended on it - and it did.

“Even after all these years?”

Erebus bit the inside of his mouth, holding his tongue. Quelling the strong desire to roll his eyes, he looked back at the man, a few choice words ready on his tongue before he felt Master Vash’s hand on his shoulder. Spinning, but still piloting to the best of his abilities, Erebus met her gaze to find her eyes closed, her grip tightening.

“What’re you-?”

And then he felt it. Complete serenity. He blinked, and within moments his limbs loosened, grip easing on the clutch as his mind emptied of all thought and worry. Time slowed, allowing him to maneuver seamlessly, his hands moving as if of their own accord. It washed over him, like the pleasant warmth of alcohol upon the first sip, before Erebus snarled. He shot a look at Vash, knowing she could sense it even if she could not feel it, and shook the feeling from his veins. With a flourish, he upped their speed again and shot through the remaining debris like it was nothing, the planet looming into view faster than any of them were ready for.

“Next time, ask for permission,” Erebus said through gritted teeth, “And don’t expect an affirmation.”

Mical balked before he realized the jab was not meant for him, shrinking into the corner of the cockpit as Erebus brought them in for landing.

The view rapidly changed from that of a nearing planet to a planet in full, the atmospheric barrier soon eclipsing their field of view entirely and making way for mountains and scorched fields, either barren or overgrown beyond the smoldering viewport of Erebus’ ship having entered the planet’s atmosphere all too quickly. Where the Jedi Temple should have been were ruins, but before he could peruse them for a landing pad Erebus veered towards the valley, knowing a grove that might hide his ship. Erebus encroached on a patch of blba trees overlooking a sharp cliff and engaged the landing gear, watching Vash with a scowl as he keyed in the final sequence, his hand steady on the lever as she watched him with a measured gaze.

“I was only trying to save our skins-” she started but Erebus cut her off.

“I know what I’m doing!” he barked over his shoulder. “And if we’re to work together, whatever that means, you’re just going to have to trust that - even if you can’t trust me. Go on faith here, it’ll be easier than us butting heads.”

“Faith is an interesting word,” Vash countered, her eyes narrowing.

“It is, isn’t it?”

You’re not my Master anymore.

With minimal turbulence, the ship eased into the blba grove as if it had always belonged there, nestling beneath the cover of branches overhead through what Erebus now realized was the grey of early morning. Without another word, Erebus shot up out of his seat, grabbing his cloak from the makeshift hook on the wall. The engines still ran hot as the loading ramp descended.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Neither Vash nor Mical moved.

Erebus sighed, the indignation clear on his face.

“The ship was cloaked if that makes either of you feel better. But the longer we linger here, the faster we’ll be found out. And if that happens, it won’t be my fault.”

And with that, Erebus exited the ship.

3959 BBY, Outer Rim
Eden Valen

It was like a limb lost, but worse. Dying slowly, flickering in and out of feeling before being snuffed out entirely. A fire burning bright until only embers remained before turning into dead ash. She’d experience flashes here and there – feeling tethered to the world around her by more than just intuition, feeling the way energy moved around her but only for a moment, or sensing someone’s emotions from across the room for an instant before she could glean nothing but dead air. She almost preferred the gnawing hunger, the ache of death that overcame her in the wake of Malachor, knowing that it was the least of what she deserved for what happened there. To feel nothing was a blessing she did not deserve, and the guilt hardly made up for it.

3951 BBY, Khoonda Headquarters, Dantooine
Mission

Her name, it turned out, was Dillan, and her air of annoyance seemed to be an eternal one. Even as the woman she had ceremoniously introduced as Administrator Adare spoke at length, Dillan did nothing to hide her frustrations - nursing her temples at every word while rolling her eyes at every other. It was clear that her issue was not with Administrator Adare herself, but with the matters of which the woman spoke.

“I’ve allowed the scavengers to pick the ruins, knowing that it soothes the remaining residents’ conscience,” the Administrator said once they’d stated their business and asked what exactly was going on here on Dantooine. Adare was gently pacing a few steps before Mission, Zaalbar, Zayne and Asra as she spoke, her arms clasped in front of her with a measured grace. They all stood in the center of what Mission had aptly recognized as the Matale estate - or had been - though she was unsure of what this room had been used for prior to its current function as a makeshift command center. A few out-of-place desks were scattered about the large room beneath a ruined chandelier and a flickering holo-plant in the corner, monitors set up around the dias as if the place were designed for surveillance instead of hosting guests. “It proves that we care not for the legacy of the Jedi, given what devastation happened here as a result, but in truth we really need their help.”

Zayne laughed, hardly containing his mirth at the recounting of circumstances despite Administer Adare’s earnest plea. Mission jabbed him in the ribs before mustering up what she could to console the woman, though she seemed stoic enough on her own.

“I understand. The Jedi are powerful and could help with such matters is what I’m gathering, yes?”

Mission’s voice sounded so unlike her own, and judging by the way Zaalbar shifted beside her, the change in character was obvious. Mission was never good at playing politics, but knowing that whatever planet-side political nonsense played into whatever it was Carth expected her to do here, the best she could do was muster her best Bastila impression. At least in vocabulary and cadence alone. It made her feel more professional. The attitude was something she had picked up from Nevarra.

“Well, something like that. You see-” Adare paused, tilting her head just so, as if her next words were encrypted on the strange dais in the center of the room. Her silver headdress twinkled in the light, Mission’s eyes straying to the odd accessory even as she was trying to focus on whatever the woman was trying to say, “We’d made the acquaintance of a certain Jedi, a survivor from the Temple here, but he’s gone missing. We’ve secured several of the more… delicate Jedi artifacts we were able to extract from the ruins, but without him we are not able to-”

She paused before trailing off, her thoughtful face looking to Dillan for assistance.

“What the Administrator means to say is that we can’t fend off this new brand of mercenary, at least not without a Jedi’s help. But what we really want, is a deal with the Republic.”

Where the Administrator was calm though severe in both her appearance as well as her manner of speaking, Dillan was more matter-of-fact and tired-of-this-shit. While Adare looked on imploringly, her expression nothing but diplomatic, Dillan stood with her hands on her hips, eyeing them all with a steady gaze.

“A deal?” Mission sighed, “Look, I’m no emissary. None of us are. We’re just looking for-”

“You’re just looking for what everyone else here is looking for - Jedi relics. Just because you’re Republic doesn’t change that. We happen to have said relics, which is information we don’t entrust to just anybody.”

“I don’t follow,” Zayne said, shaking his head, his gaze volleying between Dillan and the Administrator. 

Dillan sighed and looked him dead on.

“Because you’re Republic, you have something we need. Something more than just credits. So we are asking that you assist us in brokering a deal.”

“A deal?” Zayne echoed, shaking his head as he approached the center of the room, “Listen, we’re only here to follow through on the deal we had already planned, okay? We’re not here to negotiate a new one. Not to mention the fact that we didn’t get here early as a show of good faith. Not that we come in bad faith, so to speak, but do you know what happened to Nespis VIII?”

Neither Adare nor Dillan spoke, though they exchanged glances within a nanosecond before returning their attention to Mission and Zayne before them, Dillan’s green eyes scanning Zaalbar’s height for a moment as if she were doing some inner math before choosing her next words.

“There was news of a communications block out in the Outer Rim, if that’s what you mean,” Dillan said finally, though she sounded unconcerned. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with-”

Zayne took another step forward, about to launch into another speech before Mission reached out and stopped him, her arm latching onto his elbow with a firm but gentle grip.

“What exactly is it that you want, hm? I can at least… I don’t know, put in a good word, if that means anything to you.”

Zayne said nothing, though a world of question blossomed on his face as he turned to face Mission. What are you doing?

Mission shrugged, hoping he got the ‘Just follow my lead’ gist she intended to go along with it. She wasn’t about to drag these poor settlers into another Sith-related dispute after having clearly not gotten over the last one, and she hoped Zayne calmed down enough to realize that in the moments it took for Adare and Dillan to similarly negotiate amongst themselves in silence. 

Adare nodded finally as Dillan shrugged, relenting. 

“How good of a word?” she asked.

“I’ll talk directly to the head of the acting Republic, good?” Mission ventured, trying to sound convincing. Judging by the look on Zayne’s face and Asra’s stifled laughter from over her shoulder, she had the feeling it wasn’t.

“Prove it,” Adare countered, “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“How do we know you are?”

This time it was Asra who spoke, her hand on her holster, almost as if she were casually reminding their present company that danger could be had if necessary. The room was guarded, but barely. What passed for security around here was laughable, and it was because of that fact that Mission wanted to help. And it was also why she had a feeling they were telling the truth.

“If you care about the future of this planet, you should care about what happened at Space City,” Mission said evenly, “And if you want me to ‘broker a deal’ as you say, then I’ll need to see the goods. You already have a known agreement with my friend Zayne here, so you can trust us. I need to let our people know just how serious you are.”

Both Asra and Zayne exchanged glances and nodded, Asra inching closer to Adare and Dillan as if demanding a response. Zaalbar said nothing, though he squared his shoulders as he placed a heavy hand on Mission’s shoulder in solidarity.

Dillan rolled her eyes again, taking a step toward Asra before Adare held her back, her back straight as she looked the Togruta in the eye with nothing but seriousness. Just as Dillan paused, Adare nodded, closing her pale eyes as she did so, as if to sell the solemnity of it all.

“Fair enough,” the Administrator muttered before signalling to the guards at the door, summoning them to her side. “Come with me.”

She smiled a professional smile, if Mission ever saw one, and keyed an invisible panel behind one of the desks on the side wall next to her. One of the panels in the floor slid open, revealing a narrow set of stairs that led into the darkness. 

“Is this the part where we’re never seen or heard from again?” Asra whispered. Mission glanced at the woman and tried not to shrug, doing her best to evoke the gesture only with her eyes. 

“We have people waiting on us, you know,” Zayne said audibly into the room, catching Asra’s drift and making it known that their absence would be of notice.

“This will only take a moment,” Adare promised, Dillan appearing almost somber at her side while one of the guards joined them. Mission looked at everyone, her eyes meeting Zaalbar’s eyes last before nodding, taking the first step forward into the darkness before her.

“Shall we?” she said through a tight smile.

Adare almost mirrored the gesture, but not quite, allowing the guard to lead them first before falling into step beside Mission. 

“We already know you are acting on orders from Admiral Carth Onasi,” the Administrator finally admitted with a hushed breath, “We just wanted to make sure you would make good on your promise, first.”

Mission only looked at Adare through slitted eyes, sidelong, unsure of how to respond.

“Of course you did,” she finally replied once they arrived at the bottom landing, their advance guard opening a lock after turning a corner and revealing what appeared to be an old vault. “What did the Matales use this for?”

“Money, I suppose,” Adare said, “Though it was empty when we made a home of this place.”

Adare entered the passcode on the panel beside the vault, careful to keep the sequence from Mission’s eager eyes. The seal hissed as the door opened, allowing them passage.

“After you,” Mission said, her smile still polite, still painful to keep up.

The room was dark. A terror gripped at Mission’s insides as she watched the Khoonda guard enter the shadows, the darkness swallowing her whole. Moments passed before the lights flickered on one by one, weak and feeble even as Adare finally entered the room and beckoned that Mission follow.

“We hope the vault would be enough, but the lights are a last ditch effort at deterring anyone that might trespass here,” the Administrator explained as she entered the room proper, turning around once she met the center to greet her guests. Mission felt Zaalbar return to her side, Asra hovering near the door in case they needed someone at the exit while Zayne entered the room without pause, wide eyes scanning the room.

“So this was salvaged from the Jedi Temple, when exactly?” Mission asked as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. 

“It was secured sometime shortly after Darth Malak’s attack,” Dillan answered, “But it was housed elsewhere by the Jedi first.”

“And how did this come into your possession?”

At this, Dillan and the Administrator exchanged glances.

“It exchanged hands before we were able to… to secure it,” Adare said, unsure if secured was the right word even as she said it, “But I assure you that our ownership of these items were sanctioned by the singular Jedi I mentioned earlier. He also mentioned something peculiar, which might be of interest to you. He said that the collection was incomplete when it was first salvaged, as if someone had anticipated Darth Malak’s attack and ensured the items be sheltered elsewhere.”

Mission’s eyes met Zayne’s as if to ask did you know about this? But he only shrugged.

“We’ll put in a word with the Republic,” Zayne said swiftly, his eyes still locked with Mission’s. Before she could silently ask what the hell he was doing, Zayne only nodded, silently affirming the importanct of whatever was stored here before he nonchalantly crossed his arms and turned to meet the gaze of the Administrator. “Or we can at least verbally support your claims regarding what you have in your possession, when you ask for-?”

Zayne paused, his face level with Adare’s as he stared her down. “I don’t think you’ve told us yet.”

“We want Republic aid.” 

“Aid?”

“For all the Republic’s talk of preserving the will of Jedi after Revan saved it, they’ve shown little support to us out here, or anyone else in this system. We want military support and economic sanctions. We need to rebuild. Malak’s destruction wrought utter havoc on our farming communities and stalled all of our planet’s exports, which has in turn seen to our complete lack of imports. We thought the Jedi would have returned by now, at least rebuilding the Temple enough to jumpstart travel, encouraging merchants to return to our docks. But you’ve noticed our makeshift port and complete lack of port authority. We simply do not have the manpower, nor the materials to reconstruct a proper port at all. We are in dire straits,” Adare sighed at this, though managed to appear regal despite it, her posture never wavering as she looked Zayne in the eye, “It’s time the Republic extend their good graces. Yes, the people here resent the Jedi, but I think the lack of government support following the disaster only allowed for that bitterness to grow. Did this planet only hold value because the Jedi once chose it as a refuge? The Jedi would not have survived had we not cultivated the land here. They supported us so long as we kept them fed, but now that they’re gone and the planet ruined because one of their own turned on them is not our fault, so surely the Republic will see this. So long as we provide them with provisions, yes?”

No one spoke, the tension in the air thick enough to slice. Mission hadn’t realized she’d not blinked during the entirety of Adare’s speech, finding her eyes suddenly dry with the effort. 

“Right... that,” Mission responded, clearing her throat. “Like my friend Zayne said, we’ll put in a word.”

She wanted to promise more, knowing the woman had a point, feeling something akin to shame for being so closely affiliated with the Republic and with the Jedi yet not knowing how they operated or why, finding much at fault with both factions in her loss for words.

“A word?” Dillan tested, narrowing her eyes. “We need more than a word.”

“That’s all we can promise for the moment, despite our wishes as well as yours,” Mission shrugged, though her voice was sharp with agitation, “Even if we wanted to do more, we couldn’t. All I know is that I have access to communications with those in highest command, and all I can assure you is an audience with them. From what you’ve said, I’ll wager you haven’t a chance at getting half as close, so those are our terms. Take it or leave it.”

“Show me,” Adare said, squaring her shoulders, “I don’t just want a promise. Put me face-to-face with your contact, then we have a deal.”

Zayne simply nodded at Mission, resigning, knowing that arguing would get them nowhere.

“Fine,” she said, sighing, knowing Carth wouldn’t be happy. It was nice to think she and Big Z had it easy, cruising the galaxy at their leisure without ever having to answer for what it was they were doing for the Republic or for the Jedi, let alone why. But now, she felt just as much the tool as those standing before her demanding answers.

And quite frankly, Mission wanted answers, too.

3955 BBY, Outer Rim
Eden Valen

It was nice, being dead to the Force, an interloper in a world full of life. Death followed wherever she went, so she decided to chase it, to clean up after it. Might as well do some good for all the bad she wrought, for all the mess Revan started and only sought to leave behind when her glory faded.

It was nice not to dream, to slip into a calm nothingness the moment her eyes closed to eventually wake up come morning, feeling well-rested for once in her life. It was strange being alive, like anyone else, oblivious to the machinations of the galaxy around her. She did not deserve it, but she came to appreciate the smaller things. The warmth of a cup of tea. The feel of the wind weaving through her hair. The heat of suns, the cool of night.

And there were no strings attached, no feelings, no visions. Only her.

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility
Atton

“Where were you two nights ago?” a voice echoed in on itself inside his mind.

Before, there had been blissful nothingness, but now the intrusive presence of something was disrupting whatever inner calm Atton had managed to achieve for what might have been the first time in his waking life.

“E-excuse me?” he said eventually, slurring his words.

Two nights ago. Atton didn’t even know when now was, let alone what had happened two nights prior. 

“Where were you two standard days ago?” the voice repeated as Atton’s vision still swam, light slowly swirling into his world of mostly-black. He tried to fight it, yearning for sleep, already missing the unending blackness of nonexistence. His head killed him, now, as if a plasma torch were searing into his forehead.

Atton could feel himself swerve, still not in control of his body, his torso leaning too far right before - “Ah, shit!”

The metaphorical plasma in his mind manifested in the real, singing his forehead as he made contact, and when he did his senses jolted awake. His memory crashed back to his consciousness and Atton now knew he was no longer in the medbay but instead propped upright in a force cage in the security bunker. The room was blurry beyond the cage, but he remembered it from his first formal tour of the place, thinking he’d do his damnedest not to end up here. 

“I said, where were you two nights ago?” 

Atton now recognized his antagonist as Rostek Vet, the ever-annoyed Peragus security officer, his thick brows furrowed as he leaned close towards Atton, his hard features only blurred by the white-orange of the active cage.

“How long have I been here?” Atton asked, for starters, doing his best to hold Vet’s gaze with conviction before he let the roiling nausea threatening to course through him from taking over.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Quit it, Vet,” another voice said, “This is pointless. We know he was in the intensive care unit.”

Atton’s gaze moved left, settling on a man he did not recognize. Vision still swimming, Atton could make out an odd pair of goggles set atop the man’s head, somewhat taming the shock of orange hair that seemed to be fighting gravity itself to stand on end.

“Shut up!” Vet muttered, turning to Atton again, “You were the only one in the ward when it happened. Tell me what you saw.”

“When what happened?” Atton asked, growing cold as the realization set in, the weight of the details hitting him before his memory came back in full. The droid, the drugs…

“When the entire ward was-”

“Shut up, Vet!” the other man said. As his vision returned, Atton saw that the man sported the coveralls of the station mechanics. The goggles made sense now. “If he knows anything he’ll say so. If he’s guilty then we’re just feeding him more information than he needs to know, and accusing him of-”

“I’d say we’re beyond petty accusations if you’ve already shoved me into this force cage,” Atton uttered, trying his best to steady his nerves, “I was drugged, if anyone would believe it, or if my medical records say as much. Put to sleep so I wouldn’t see exactly whatever it is you’re talking about.”

Vet pursed his lips while the mechanic gestured vaguely in the air, as if to say See? 

“You just returned from annual leave,” Vet continued, leaning closer, “The register here says you brought something back with you. What was that, exactly?”

“A new pair of boots,” Atton sighed, “And a jacket.”

“It wouldn’t happen to be this jacket, would it?”

Vet slammed his fist on the force cage, deactivating the force field long enough for him to throw the lump of leather that was Atton’s jacket at his unsuspecting face. Just as it made contact, Vet hit the console again, the plasma buzzing back into high gear.

Atton wanted to laugh if it weren’t for his throbbing headache. Of all the things Peragus security could have confiscated from his bunk, they chose this - his ribbed jacket, the one item he’d collected on his travels that he seemed to like and for no particular reason other than that it was weird and it made him feel taller, somehow. He’d picked it up at a refugee lost-and-found back on Nar Shaddaa, before he’d even chosen the name Atton. It was a pitiful thing. It didn’t even have sleeves. But it fit the bill, for the moment, keeping his torso warm when nothing else he’d owned managed to do the job. It was likely stitched out of some form of leather now banned on most inner-rim planets, but Atton didn’t care. 

“Actually, no.”

“Well, it tested positive for active charges,” Vet said, the agitation increasing in his tone of voice with every syllable, “Can you explain that?”

The thing had withstood laser blasts and plasma shields galore, it was no wonder the thing tested positive for anything. Atton wouldn’t be surprised if it had carried a virus or two when he first acquired it.

“What am I being accused of here, exactly?” Atton said, shouldering the jacket on. He was cold, not that the vest-masquerading-as-a-jacket would do much, much as it had back in Hutt space.

“I’m wondering that myself,” the mechanic muttered, glaring at Vet. “This isn’t helping us, Vet. Every second we waste here with this… this guy, is another second wasted not protecting this damn facility.”

“Will you just-?!”

Before Vet could ramble on again, a siren wailed, cutting him off and making the throbbing in Atton’s head a thousand times worse.

“See?!” the mechanic pleaded, “Disaster strikes again. And all while this guy’s been in our custody.”

“My custody.”

Vet stood now to join the pacing maintenance officer, his eyes never leaving Atton’s, his brow furrowing even more if it were possible.

“We’re not done here,” he said through gritted teeth, “Believe you me.”

With that, Vet walked to the other side of the room, slapping a palm against the door panel while his eyes remained on Atton’s, knowing he was guilty somehow despite the mounting evidence. And the worst thing was, he was right. 

The frenzy of the station outside his holding cell sent a shiver down Atton’s spine, and he couldn’t shake the undeniable feeling that came with it - death. He thought of the explosion in the rec hallway, the kolto tanks in the medbay, and the unnerving emptiness of the ICU before that droid put him to sleep…

“You might need this,” the mechanic said, still lingering in the room as Atton combed through his thoughts, his nausea calming to a low simmer as he slowed his breathing, “I’ll work on contacting the medbay for whatever it is you’re supposed to be prescribed, but for now I think you could at least do with a hot meal.”

He opened the force cage to hand Atton a warm bowl of something, Atton wasn’t sure what it was but was too famished to care. Their eyes met as the bowl passed between them - the mechanic’s eyes an unusual aquamarine for a human - and Atton nodded in thanks.

The mechanic waited until the bowl was safely set in Atton’s hands before enacting the plasma shield again, lightyears more courteous than Vet would ever be. 

“I imagine it won’t be much longer,” he said, as much to Atton as to himself. “Either they’ll figure this all out or they’ll finally issue an order to evacuate.”

The mechanic shot Atton a tight smile, an expression Atton would not have returned even if it weren’t for the bowl of warm soup he had currently pressed to his lips. They both knew neither of those things would happen, but it was nice to think it might. 

“Yeah, sure,” Atton muttered after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, settling the bowl beside him haphazardly as he looked to the mechanic again. “Hey, before you go-”

Atton stood, though he wasn’t sure it was totally necessary. The mechanic watched on, his eyes wide with surprise at first before he settled back into his put-upon polite smile, in an effort to calm Atton as much as he assumed.

“I did see an odd droid in the medbay. At least… I think I did.”

“Oh?” the man rounded on him now, true surprise coloring his face, “What kind of droid?”

“Protocol, I think.”

The mechanic pursed his lips before nodding curtly. 

“Thanks, I’ll look into it.” The mechanic stood, his expression only wavering slightly as he walked to the door, though Atton could see the denial taking shape behind his eyes. “I’ll be back with those meds.”

He shot Atton a reassuring glance as he walked out into the mayhem beyond the security office door, weaving between hurried officers before disappearing into the hallway as the door closed behind him.

Atton sighed, wondering if he’d ever live to see those meds.

3951 BBY, Dantooine Outback
Erebus

It was one thing returning to Dantooine after all these years - after turning away from the Jedi, to see the planet in such distress, the landscape so utterly changed - but it was another thing entirely to return to Dantooine with companions. One old and one new.

Erebus had traveled alone for the better part of the last eight years, often reveling in his own company, grateful there was never a need to fill the silence with anything other than his own thoughts. But even now as he stood out on the plains, or whatever passed for plains now that the land was either scorched or overgrown, he could not soak in the scene without feeling the presence of someone at his back, brimming with questions.

Seeing Master Vash, here again of all places, was like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare. Part of her was still so familiar to him. She was almost just as she was when he was a boy, though greyed around the edges, and kinder now - though he didn’t deserve it.

“What happened here was a travesty,” Mical said as he joined Erebus up on the ridge, as if he were some intrepid explorer being asked a question that had not already been answered by Republic news circuits the galaxy over since Malak destroyed the place five years ago.

“Yeah, shame,” Erebus muttered, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

“Not a bad job landing, considering this isn’t even a landing pad,” Mical said, ignoring Erebus’ response and flashing him a polite smile. Wavy blond hair already whipping wildly in the afternoon breeze, Mical brought a hand up to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun, if only to hold his expression steady as he stared at Erebus head-on, aggressive in his niceness, if anything. 

“Well, landing on uncharted planets can teach you quite a bit about the limits of landing gear,” Erebus sighed, “This? This was nothing.”

“I’d like to hear about that sometime, if you’ve a mind,” Mical said, the look in his eyes as earnest as he sounded, “About the uncharted planets, I mean. Out on the edges of the Outer Rim, I take it?”

Erebus nodded, still surveying the area, ignoring Mical and his cerulean eyes as best as his attentions would allow.

“The Outer Rim and the fringes of the Unknown Regions, somewhat,” he tried not to sound pleased by the man’s earnest interest, warmed that anyone other than Nihilus would express interest, and Erebus had a feeling Mical had no intention of seeking out artifacts for the selfish purpose of living forever, “Not passed the cluster, though. This ship couldn’t handle it.”

“Unfortunate,” Mical said, finally turning from Erebus to survey the valley along with him, “I wonder what’s out there.”

“Me, too.”

Erebus hazarded a sidelong glance at Mical, this time allowing himself the time to pause. His blond hair shone gold in the sunlight, the system’s star high overhead now, the gleam cradling his silhouette like a flaxen halo.

Erebus wasn’t sold on the whole companion thing, tenuous as their alliances were, but he had to admit he wasn’t entirely against it either. 

“You weren’t surprised,” Erebus said, deadpan, the thought nearly falling out of his head as it slipped past his lips.

“Surprised?” Mical stared back at him, perplexed behind his cerulean blue eyes, a flaxen brow furrowed.

“About the prospect of the Sith. About me, about my Master.”

“I had a feeling who you might be-” Mical started but Erebus cut him off.

“What was it, the garb? Do only Sith wear dark colors now?” Erebus laughed, “I wore black back on Coruscant, though my Jedi Master at the time detested it. Perhaps that’s why she decided to don all white… but I won’t take credit for that.”

Despite the jest still clear on his face, Erebus smiled inwardly, remembering a time when Atris still wore shades of beige and blue. Why are you always wearing black now? She’d say, meaning to offend him somehow by stating the obvious. Erebus would cite the old ways, stating that Jedi did not always adhere to strict codes of dress, but Atris would scoff before letting him finish, simply turning her nose up at his attire on days she chose not to mention it. 

Mical only sighed.

“There are more than just the Jedi and the Sith. I know that as much as you,” Mical brushed a stray strand of golden hair from his face. “But perhaps the rest of the galaxy has yet to catch up.”

“Evidently,” Erebus conceded, “Though I guess in my musings I’ve truly revealed myself then, yes?”

It was all out in the open. It felt strange saying it, and to a Republic officer no less.

“I suppose so,” Mical said, inching nearer. He paused a few feet away from Erebus but close enough for his scent to reach him, a warm musk Erebus knew well from combing the archive stacks, the smell of stagnant air and old paper where it could still be found. But there was another scent too, brighter and more vibrant - citrus, perhaps. “But I guess I knew they existed; the Sith I mean. I believed Draay’s suspicions, and with what happened at Katarr…”

Mical needn’t say more. Erebus only nodded.

“Still. Odd, isn’t it?”

He was talking more to himself now, a past self, a self that had been so sure of the Jedi, so sure that the Sith were defeated, that they had vanished with Qun and Qel-Droma. And yet… here he stood. In Revan’s wake, but also somehow in spite of it.

“How safe do you figure this is?” Erebus said, now directing his words at Vash who was still sitting in the midst of the glen, meditating. “Wasn’t the threat of what happened at Katarr exactly why the Jedi went into hiding, what few remained going underground to weather the coming storm? Why face it head on now? Why trust me when I could lead them right to you?”

Vash’s meditation did not falter. Sitting cross-legged, she sat hovering a modest half-meter from the mossy earth, only descending after a few minute’s contemplation. As if floating on water, Vash lowered herself to the ground, and with an unending patience Erebus had never once recalled feeling himself, Vash stood, fixing her cloak and hood, patting the cloth of her pants free of morning dew, before she finally spoke.

“Or you could lead us to them.”

It was then that Vash opened her eyes - truly opened them. She crossed the swath of grass that spanned the cliff, walking slowly towards Erebus, her eyes boring into him, seeing more than just his appearance but sensing him as well, testing how the Force moved around him, listening to how it whispered.

“And I know that because you said it yourself, back on your ship as well as here, now. You have a loyalty to the Sith ideology, to Sith individualism, but not to the Master who gave you the rank you bear. Knowing who you had been, once, I know you are loyal to your interests before you are loyal to people, and as little as my vision will tell me, I have a feeling you’ll be interested in seeing where this particular trail leads.”

Vash did not blink, her brown eyes almost silver in the grey morning light as her gaze moved from Erebus to the sky, as if watching for a sign. 

“Something about this, the sky, the pattern of the clouds-” Vash shook her head, several silvered strands loosening from the bun at her neck to frame her face, “I saw this in my vision, parts of it, but the more time passes the more details slip through my fingers. The faster we get to the Jedi Temple, the better.”

She locked eyes with Erebus for a moment, knowing passing through their gaze before she looked towards the hills behind her. She knew we might crash, he thought, thinking back to his haphazard landing. She’d seen it. A possibility - the future always in motion. He swallowed hard, keeping his face free of emotion.

“If we head to the Temple now, we can head off the mercenaries-”

“Mercenaries?” This time it was Mical who cut in as he took a few steps toward her. “Like the ones at the Temple on Nespis?”

Vash shook her head again.

“I don’t know, by the looks of them they could be anyone. Mercenaries aren’t hard to come by in the Outer Rim, but knowing what we encountered there they very well could be.”

“If the Golden Company has anything to do with the recent heists other than the one we nearly witnessed, then I want to get to the bottom of it,” Mical affirmed, squaring his shoulders. “We should get ahead of them if we can, we should-”

“What about the cargo though?” Erebus interrupted, his eyes now fixed on what he could see of his ship through the trees, “We can’t just leave it here. Especially if anyone might be after it.”

It felt strange to say, coming from him, especially since he knew quite personally that if anyone wanted to own this particular piece of Jedi history it was him. There was hardly anything stopping him from taking it. What did he care about some nobody historian and an old Jedi Master, a woman he hardly knew anymore? He could just take it, leave them both stranded here on the edge of the Outer Rim, desperate for passage off this sad grassy rock while he hurdled back into space, back to - where, exactly? Ah, yes. That. 

“We take it with us,” Vash said, still looking at the distant hills, as if already carving out their route, “For now.”

For now.

“But we’ll be back as the Force wills it. And then we can leave.”

Vash only looked at Erebus as she said this, a shiver running down his spine. Mical did not seem to notice. The man only nodded, so used to taking orders and following them, before disappearing into the cargo hold to retrieve the damn thing. Erebus had a pack he knew would help in the transport of the satchel, but he waited, wanting this moment alone with Vash before following Mical to offer his help.

“Will he be alright?” he found himself asking, despite the myriad of questions that circled his mind in truth. Vash’s mouth formed a thin smile, though it didn’t meet her eyes.

“He will be.”

Erebus watched her, nodding after a moment before heading back into the ship as well. 

“Better off than me, I take it,” he said as a joke, both in jest to Vash as well as at the expense of her Jedihood, at what had become of him despite his training. But the look on her face told Erebus that he was all too right. Only time would tell if he would regret it.

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility
Eden Valen

First there was nothing. The blissful black of nonbeing, memory dissolving, dissolving, dissolving until there was nothing left. Only unending quiet enveloped in the softness of oblivion, empty and absolving.

And then there was light.

A star shattered into being, dust and shimmering shadow adding shape to the nothingness. Undulating, it unfolded, expanded, and burst into a brightness that was all-eclipsing. And then… she woke.

And the Force woke with her.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility
Eden

Eden Valen had grown to live without the Force.

She’d reach for it here and there, less so as the years went on. In the Force’s absence, her gut took over, her intuition filling the gaps and hoping everything made sense once the pieces were put together.

Now her gut was wrenching in agonizing pain, and the Force, for the first time in her life, was dialed to eleven.

Eden lay sprawled on the floor of an unfamiliar room, lights flashing, siren wailing. Her memory was blank, knowing vaguely of who she was but none of how she got here. The last she’d known, she had been asleep. Before that, Tatooine. But only bits and pieces, nothing concrete: she recalled the name Vale, the texture of droid-oil caking her fingers, the almost permanent feeling of sand in the heels of her boots, and the ever-pervasive heat of the planet’s suns on the back of her neck. But after Tatooine… she was here, wherever this was, her face streaked with tears as her throat retched her awake, emptying her stomach of liquid as the palms of her hands dug into the countless shards of duraglass that scattered the floor of the unfamiliar medbay that now housed her.

She reached a hand to her aching mouth, her fingers coming away bloody. Amid the metallic tang of blood, there was a sweet salinity, a viscous softness coating her mouth that said only: kolto.

Looking over her shoulder with effort, still sprawled belly-first to the floor, Eden glimpsed the broken kolto tank behind her, a memory flashing as she saw it – a medbay, but not this one, an HK droid at her side, the overwhelming sense of dread eating away at her stomach as she worried about her luggage, about a black pyramid set atop a desk she did not recognize but somehow knew to be important.

Whatever had happened, she’d been brought from one medical facility to another, though this one was entirely unfamiliar from the first. Unlike the medbay from her most recent memory, this room was circular, not long and rectangular like the last, boasting only seven tanks compared to the last room’s twenty, give or take.

She tried to stand, her limbs jelly though they coursed with energy, adrenaline running in her veins like powered battery acid. The Force flowed through her tenfold, but to the point where it was blinding. She felt every molecule in her body weigh against one another, working as one to make her broken form move with superhuman strength despite the pins and needles.

She should be dead. She felt it. Her stomach retched something other than kolto, as if it were trying to digest itself from the inside out.

Eden coughed until her throat was raw, surprised there was no blood from within, her only wound contained to a broken lip alone. She licked her bloodied mouth, feeling her lower lip begin to swell from where it had cut the glass now shattered beneath her in an unplanned escape. A memory echoed, a voice speaking in her head though it was not her own - Awaken, it had said, soft and soothing, the voice unfamiliar.

Eden Valen had woken, yes, but not just to consciousness. Among her usual senses, she felt it again – the Force – and through it she could tell that she shared the room with six dead, and many more on the floor beyond. Eden still did not know where she was, but this place…

This place was death.

3951 BBY, Telos
Atris

"Mistress, are you sure? We can go out and fetch it, bring it back here for your approval,” Orenna urged her, “Tell us where to find it and—”

“No.” 

She hadn’t yelled the word, but Atris’ voice echoed through the chamber as if she had, each of her Handmaidens quiet, eyes wide like Orenna’s. Atris shouldered on her cloak for the first time in what felt like ages, both enthralled and anxious to step foot onto the mountainside. 

“It is of the utmost importance that I do this alone,” Atris said after a moment, her words assuming their usual authoritative calm, “What you can do for me is guard the Academy.”

Other than answering to Atris’ orders, the Handmaidens’ only other eternal duty was guarding their sanctuary. Though she was only stating the obvious, simply saying this fact seemed to set the girls at ease. 

“And keep a close eye,” she added, pulling her cloak tighter as she adjusted the white-gold clasp at her throat, “We need to be just as careful as we always are, if not more so.”

“Of course, Mistress,” Ursa said, Orenna nodding in unison. Behind them, Arianna stood at attention while Irena walked to her station by the causeway entrance, opening the airlock to where Atris’ personal ship was stored. And beyond them all, almost out of sight, was Brianna, watching on attentively. She made eye contact with Atris, her gaze wavering for a moment as if she had not meant for Atris to notice her before she swallowed all doubt and held her stare.

Doubt is good for her, Atris thought, betraying none of her inner judgements on her face as she tore her eyes away from the Last Handmaiden. As long as it does not stray into fear. 

“Ready the ship, Irena,” Atris sighed, “It’s not a long journey but I will need to be quick about it.”

Irena nodded before disappearing into the makeshift docking area. To the untrained eye, the dock was just an exhaust port leading to nowhere, hiding the better part of the unused irrigation system installed on this planet ages ago, though Atris wondered how long she had before the Ithorians stumbled upon her hiding place. She’d assign Arianna to the task as soon as she returned.

“Mistress?” Ursa said, interrupting her thoughts, “Will you be needing your lightsaber?”

Atris instinctively palmed her hip as she shook her head, calmed by the metal protrusion she felt beneath her robes. While her personal saber was kept safe within the wells of the Academy, there was always another by her side. It was out of an abundance of caution - not that harm might come to her and she would have need of it, but for her own peace of mind, a constant reminder of the worst that might happen should she fail. 

“Not for the moment,” Atris said, more for the assurance of her Handmaidens. After what the girls had experienced on Nespis, Atris’ predictions come to fruition, she needed to remain calm. She needed to ease their worry as she readied her next steps. “I’ll be back shortly.”

It was nice to be back in her ship as Irena readied it, the engines already running by the time she eased into the pilot’s chair. Even the landscape calmed her, despite how anxious she was to be outside the Academy, out in the open and alone. She’d made a promise before Katarr that she would not surface again, afraid of who or what might sense her, and with her theories proven correct she felt stupid for ignoring her own advice. But she also knew that she did not trust another living soul with her current task, let alone with where the directive had come from. Atris was not sure of the origin herself, only knowing it to be true. 

Within moments of clearing the plateau, Atris saw it - billowing smoke, already a wispy grey. It had likely been a deep dark black upon impact, so she didn’t have much time if anyone surveying the Telos surface had already spotted the crash and sought to investigate. As if accessing a seventh sense, Atris eased the controls around and downwards, landing her craft as silently as snowfall. Her engine still purred warmly as she exited the craft, the cold wind a harsh slap to the face as her hood swept back over her bun, her pale hair whipping wildly about her head.

But there it was, a crashed Republic escape pod, half encased in a snowbank on the side of the mountain. Most of its hull had melted upon entering Telos’ atmosphere after having hurtled here from Maker knew how far. Atris’ memory was hazy, but the Force assured her that this was all according to plan.

Summoning energy, Atris tore open the hull of the pod with her mind, the metal prying open for her like butter parting when met with a hot knife. The inner chamber was intact, as the pod was designed, and sitting idly in the space meant to house a humanoid person or two was a solitary crystal.

It was black, but bright, an inner light shining from within its rough-hewn frame, its shape a clear prototype for what would later be classified as a Sith holocron. But this… this was unlike anything Atris had ever seen before.

The crystal was ancient, its surface somehow betraying its age in how it contrasted with the cheap vinyl lining of the pod it lay in.

“This is pre-Hyperspace War,” she uttered to no one, her voice reverent as her breath hung in the air. The object warmed to her voice, a faint whisper joining the whistling of the wind as it glowed faintly, sighing almost, a swirl of stars in the miniature universe now churning beneath its surface, as if answering to her call.

As Atris neared, she saw it - the multitude of worlds within the crystal, glittering with some unknown substance she could only compare to spacedust, the stuff of a planet’s rings or luminous clouds of ephemeral luminescence that hung between stars, a swirling rose, ember and gold not unlike a sunset. Against her better judgment, her fingers reached for it, aching. Atris’ fingertips met the cool of the crystal, and her eyes rolled back in her head. 

At first she saw nothing. Felt nothing… was nothing.

And then… starburst. Gas and dust and debris and matter and gravity all taking shape within the span of a moment, spreading and sprawling into eons, millennia, ages come and gone, planets sprouted and doomed before her waking eyes, the Force silent but seething all the while. And then she saw it, the Force itself, unfettered and raw, brighter than starlight and the energy of a thousand suns, and warmer too. It enveloped her, seeping into her every pore as it sung to her - We feed the Force and Force feeds us - with a voice hollow yet booming, both alien and familiar, singular yet belonging to a chorus of thousands and not a one speaking or singing in the same tone. Clouds billowed, building and building and building before collapsing into storm and light, and then...  nothing again, but not nothing in the absence of something, but as if it never was.

Atris was sucked back to the present, the crystal suddenly hot to the touch as it clanged from the vinyl seating of the escape pod to its still-melting metal floor, bounding off the hot surface and into the snow with a soft crunch. It steamed, snow melting where it met the crystal, now fire-bright as Atris caught her breath, her energy sapped from her, the Force suddenly mute.

It was the most beautiful thing Atris had ever seen. And by far the most terrifying. 

---

Her hands shook as she placed the now-cool crystal on an empty plinth in her chambers, appearing almost demure in the company of her horde. It shrunk amongst her collection of holocrons, each one twinkling in the dimness of the room, each crystalline form shining from within. But where every other holocron in her possession shone, this one devoured, a black hole intent on absorbing all light instead of emanating it. 

Atris stood back, her eyes fixed on the object’s silhouette. The galaxy-in-miniature within lay dormant, its surface now matte. But the memory of it remained, etched in her mind’s eye. She hungered to see it again, to feel the Force as raw as it was, to comprehend its powers in full. But it would have to remain just that - a memory, nothing more. Anything beyond that would be sacrilege. 

For now, she would simply wait and observe, if there was anything else to see. 

Beside it, stood a transgression – an object she’d stolen from the Archives for research to fuel a hunch that had ultimately gone nowhere. Until now. She allowed herself a small smile, basking in the genius of her intuition.

It was a black pyramid, small enough to fit into the palm of one’s hand, comprised of materials not entirely found in this galaxy. It was something she’d logged initially as an apprentice, but for some reason stuck with her. It was found along with another item of import, though the weapon it accompanied garnered much more attention than the mere accessory that attended it. Perhaps that was why she was drawn to it, or perhaps the Force had told her that she would see something similar to it again later. Something important. 

We found her in the Dune Sea, a memory interjected, the shape of the thing suddenly triggering a half-thought as it coursed through Atris’ mind. The image of a young Arren Kae with her sight still intact, her eyes a pale slate-blue, spirited into Atris’ memory and spoke as she watched the relic. She carried an object with her, now safe within the Temple Archives.

Atris rushed to her stores, the ones the Handmaidens stockpiled and tended to, holding the memory close lest it should escape her. It did not take long for her to locate the Nespis cache, rifling through boxes and containers until she found it - a data log with an attached photograph, counting a one solitary pyramid, small and unassuming, onyx black with a square base. The two were connected, she was sure of it.

She says her name is Revan, the memory continued as Atris’ eyes scanned the datapad, and so she shall be known.

Atris knew she had met Revan before, but the memory back then had never been so clear as it was now. Atris was only a year or two older than the girl, a mere eight years of age to Revan’s five or six. She remembered smiling at Master Kae in greeting, eager to meet the renowned Historian since she aspired to be one herself, only for the woman to flick an eyebrow up as she hardly glanced at Atris in return. Atris never saw the woman again, at least not until the Council banished her for following her former student to war, before she met her end on Malachor V.

Arren Kae, Arren Kae…

I will send word. You will know of what I speak when it arrives. It should be seen by your eyes alone.

That’s what the mysterious woman had said, the woman Atris’ Handmaidens had found on the mountainside. Or had that been a dream?

For now, you will forget me.

Atris blinked, a chill coursing through her as the memory slipped away, weaving between past and present and back again, her mind grasping at something she wasn’t sure of, a half-forgotten memory that was only falling further and further away the more she tried to remember it. 

This was how she knew to look for the Republic escape pod. She had expected it, she knew it would come. It had been sent to her and her alone. But not by Kae, surely, having been dead these last nine years…

But as far as the galaxy knew, Atris was dead, too. For all she knew, she might have convened with a ghost within a dream. The Jedi had written about such things before. However it had happened, the Force willed it. Atris had to believe that much.

Regaining her faculties, Atris tore through the container before her, doing her best to set aside whatever the Handmaidens had managed to recover with a gentle hand, but despite her search the pyramid was not there. She checked the log again, noting that several things were missing, mostly unimportant in the grand scheme of things, internally commending her girls on their handiwork despite the trouble they ended up having to contend with… but in reviewing the log again there was one glaring absence in addition to the peculiar object that Atris now knew was somehow linked to Revan, to Kae, to Eden - no, not Eden, to the Exile – an object that was logged with a similar black pyramid, one she now held in her possession, an object that Atris knew could be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands. 

The lightsaber of Exar Kun.

3951 BBY, Dantooine
Erebus

It was like meandering a dream.

Each corridor was the same, Erebus remembering every turn of the Academy before they came upon it as if not a day had gone by since he’d wandered its halls. But it was eerily quiet, and dark, save for the spots where the ceiling had caved in, cracks hundreds of feet up in the concrete offering a glimpse of sky above. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish what work I was sent here to do,” Mical said after a while, his voice reverent despite their collective exertion at having to navigate around fallen debris and collapsed passageways. “I’m still on the Republic’s payroll and all.”

“I’m sorry we were not able to recover what we were contracted to back on Nespis,” Vash said, “Though I’d imagine your bounty should be enough for now.”

Erebus eyed the plasteel container he’d leant Mical to house the famed lightsaber as Vash mentioned it, itching to feel the weight of its hilt, the weathered patina of the metal casing he’d studied so closely as a padawan. His current weapon was nothing like it, nor the one he’d modeled after it in earnest, abandoning his interest long ago. And yet being in its presence, he couldn’t help but wonder…

“I’m sure my contact will be happy to have this in their possession, knowing that it’s safe.”

Erebus swallowed hard, turning away. He wasn’t sure why he cared whether his emotions played on his face, already knowing that his audience was aware of his interest. It was the perceived weakness that bothered him, the fact that a mere object could have such sway over him even if it was only out of pure curiosity. But that was the reason behind anything he did, wasn’t it? It was his curiosity that led him to the Jedi Historianship as well as away from it, it was the only reason he let himself be ingratiated in Nihilus’ employ, happy only to spend the creature’s resources if only to learn about civilizations on the edge of the galaxy that Republic Space had all but forgotten about. 

“Have you heard back from them?” Erebus said after clearing his throat, “Your crew, I mean?”

“Yes, I did, shortly before our crash landing,” Mical answered, his eyes scanning the modest walls as if he’d never seen walls before, “Half the crew is here, though I wasn’t able to determine where, since the connection broke up in orbit.”

Erebus winced but also couldn’t help but laugh.

“Apologies,” he offered, though he wasn’t entirely serious. As a fellow historian, Erebus had respect for the man. As for his affiliations with the Republic, however, that was another story. Not that Erebus was loyal to his own employer or anything…

“I suspect it will only be a matter of time until we catch up with them,” Mical offered with a conversational laugh, though it felt more forced than ardent, “I’m sure I’ll at least hear from them soon, though from the sound of things, the situation doesn’t seem so stable.”

“I would guess as much,” Vash added, informed by her visions Erebus figured, “Ah, I think we’re upon the Archive now.”

Erebus froze even though he knew Master Vash was right, his memory filling in the gaps where the debris took over. It was as if his mind had been shut off these last few moments, so intent on what Mical was saying, wondering what his inner world consisted of and what Republic Space was like now, wondering if it had changed much in his time away… as if to shield himself from the memories still so fresh here. Erebus’ blood chilled when Vash’s words registered in his mind, a recollection returning in full the moment his eyes fell on the Archive doors.

“Atris chose you as her protégé? But I’m already her student!”

Eden only shrugged as Aiden’s words echoed about the halls, milling students either turning to look or pointedly ignoring the conversation as if they hadn’t heard.

“She said she ‘saw something in me’, whatever that means,” Eden said eventually, her face reddening, exasperated. “I thought you’d be happy! This means we’ll finally be together again.”

Together again, yes, but not like this. Not where Eden could overshadow him, again, despite her uncertain hold on the Force, her focus more on the physical rather than the metaphysical, the abstract. 

“Did your love of history start here?” Mical asked tentatively as he approached Erebus where he stood, having stopped in his tracks, staring, without noticing he had. 

“Sort of,” Erebus swallowed, thinking of how he and Eden had come to make the Dantooine Archive their playground before he was officially stationed at the Jedi Library on Coruscant, “I used to-”

But before Erebus could finish, a small device at Mical’s hip buzzed. The man held up an apologetic hand as he slipped the thing from his belt.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Mical said to the static on the other end of his comm, a model Erebus was not familiar with. Republic, most likely. Nothing else about Mical screamed Republic other than a few scant items, such as the comm he used now or the military-grade boots Erebus noticed during their trek underground. Everything else about the man was as plain as can be, or as plain as any other humanoid spacer. His clothes were simple, and washed-out to boot, his only other adornment a modest vest that if anything was a little too pressed and a little too clean, though that could easily be chalked up to having recently been purchased.

While Mical paced the ruins, seeking a better signal, Vash sidled up to Erebus though was careful not to get too close.

“Be on your guard,” she said, nodding.

Erebus nodded back. Her vision.

Mical spoke into his comm, a disjointed voice speaking back, though he was now too far from the two of them for Erebus to make out the words.

“My sister may be dead to the Force, but I can still feel her in this place,” Erebus said, feeling oddly sentimental standing at the ruined entrance to the Jedi Archive of his childhood, “Is that unusual? Or is that just my memory at work?"

Vash reached for Erebus, her hand hovering near his shoulder before she retracted, sucking in a breath. Erebus turned to meet her gaze, her expression unreadable.

“Your vision?” he said, though it felt strange to say considering how many times he’d wondered what it was that Vash saw. 

Vash nodded.

“Not this, but your sister. Your connection to her.”

Erebus shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Vash paled.

“I’m afraid you will,” the woman replied, her mouth thinning to a line before she stepped away, turning to the ruined Archive entrance to begin paving a way through as if it might fill the silence.

“Need help with that?” Mical asked just as soon as he’d noticed, clipping his comm back to his belt as he began hauling rocks, hardly waiting for Vash to respond. Erebus stood, frozen, unsure.

My connection to her?

The memory of Eden telling him of Atris’ assignment replayed in his mind, as well as a myriad of other smaller memories, a patchwork of moments stitching themselves together into something as abstract as a dream, spanning years and housing feelings that ranged from sorrow to elation and anger and everything in-between, ultimately leaving him with a lingering sense of something bittersweet, but sour still. 

“Step aside,” he said after a moment, the feeling steeped in his chest, his voice quiet. Vash and Mical paused, exchanging glances before doing as they were instructed. 

Erebus closed his eyes, the feeling welling within him, quickening his every breath until he felt his blood pulsating in his wrists, as if itching to get out. With so much as a gentle push, he reached out with the Force - no, shoved - and the wall relented.

The collapsed entrance melted away, revealing a clean passage as if a curtain were opening. He was being careful, but the amount of energy it took to move that much matter? If he hadn’t been angry, if he hadn't felt so suddenly distraught, it would not have been possible. Not after everything he managed back on Space City. 

Erebus looked at Vash, his face expressionless. She watched on with wide eyes but said nothing. She nodded.

“I guess we owe you thanks.”

“You could have done just as well,” Erebus said, though he didn’t mean it bitingly. “Diving into the deep end of the Force is quicker, easier. But it does come with a price.”

And sometimes the asking price demands to be paid upfront.

It should have been an emotional release, but it wasn’t. His acting out through the Force would only demand more from him if he didn’t rest, but at this point it was likely the only thing keeping him from keeling over with exhaustion. It was an addiction, a sickness. No wonder Sion is the monster he is. It was almost easy. For now, he would let it sustain him, but he wouldn’t attempt anything else unless the situation called for it. As Vash and Mical moved to enter the dilapidated room before them, Erebus only made it as far as the entrance before sliding down the closest in-tact wall and settling somewhere in the dust that now caked the Archive floor. 

“I never knew Dantooine’s Archives were so vast,” Mical said, “It’s a far cry from the Nespis stores, but I wasn’t expecting something of this caliber for such a small farming outpost.”

“Dantooine was one of the busier training grounds not too long ago,” Vash said, looking around the room with a careful gaze, her brown eyes scanning the half-lit and broken holos that lined the shelves, “But the surrounding area remained relatively modest. It was no Nespis or Coruscant, but it still supported a successful farming community. For a time, at least.”“Not anymore,” Mical said almost casually as he slipped some of the still-functioning holos from their shelves and into his eager hands, “My contacts tell me things have grown quite bleak around here since the Jedi left.”

At this, Erebus saw that Mical looked up from the holos balancing in his arms, watching Master Vash for a reaction. But the woman gave none.

Vash instead circled around the console in the center of the room, almost as if she had never seen such a device before. She ran a lazing hand across its surface, unearthing it from a sheath of dust.

“Hand me that package, will you?” she said, gesturing towards Mical though her gaze did not meet his. Mical paused, looking at Erebus as if for a second opinion, but he only shrugged. Relenting, Mical crossed the room and removed the munitions strap from his shoulders, gently letting the satchel drop at Vash’s feet. Vash looked at Erebus, gauging his distance, and opened the box.

She hesitated a moment, her fingers poised above the saber, as if relishing the moment or anticipating some sort of reaction before gingerly taking it in her hands. Vash held the hilt aloft, examining its rougher edges with a fingertip, before placing it above the console and swiftly typing in a sequence. 

Mical watched on, as did Erebus, eyes wide. The console whirred to life, setting the dark room in a hue of glowing white-blue. 

Erebus could see the shadow of aurabesh on the screen reflected on Vash’s face, her eyes moving rapidly to meet the text almost as quickly as it appeared on the display before her. She entered a new sequence, pulling up another data log, nodding to herself, silently, before procuring the onyx pyramid from her inner robes, the one she had recovered from Nespis, placing it on the console as well. She entered the same sequence as before, the system taking longer to generate a response this time, but it wasn’t long before the console delivered another answer. 

“Curious,” she said to herself, though Erebus knew she meant for him to hear. Mical leaned in close now, placing his salvaged holos on a nearby shelf before looking over the woman’s shoulder. 

His blond hair turned silver-blue in the light, and his eyes even more cerulean than before, Mical looked straight at Erebus, eyebrows raised. “You might want to see this.”

Brow furrowed, Erebus stood with effort, his left knee cracking as he took to his feet. After bracing himself, cleansing his body of the roiling anger that fueled the Force still churning within him at the thoughts still lingering in his head, he made his way over to Vash and Mical. Vash’s eyes remained fixed on the screen. Mical held Erebus’ gaze until he approached the two of them, looking at the screen again only when Erebus was in view of it as well.

Before Erebus could read into the man’s unnecessary courtesy, he looked at the display. 

“Recovered from the Tatooine Dune Sea,” Erebus said, reading the screening. “And? Isn’t that what you told us?”

Vash pressed her finger to the display, zooming in on the data log though Erebus had a feeling her intent was to get him to look closer, not enhance the image.

“What’s missing?” Vash insisted.

Erebus shrugged, his eyes scanning the page. For a moment, his mind was blank, his body still too exhausted to do anything other that be annoyed. But then… it clicked.

“There’s no mention of who recovered it.”

“Exactly,” Vash said, “When we brought Revan to train with us, I was the one tasked with bringing the pyramid to the Archives. Not only did I see Master Zeph catalogue the thing, but he also linked it to a similar object, promising me that it would be looked into. Which brings me to the first thing I searched.”

Vash commanded the console to retrace its steps, bringing up the first item she researched upon booting it up.

The stern visage of Exar Kun stared back at him, a three-dimensional model of his head spinning slowly beside the logged description of his salvaged lightsaber as it was recorded for the Jedi Archive. His eyes were white in the hologram, the edges of the brand on his forehead barely visible with the grainy resolution casting a ghostly imperfection over his face. The depiction was not nearly as detailed, nor as dramatic, as the mosaic rendering of the man back on Nespis, but this version of the Dark Jedi was somehow more menacing. Just beside his face, spinning slowly in miniature, was a model of his famed lightsaber.

“Recovered from the moon Yavin IV by exiled fallen Jedi, Ulic Qel-Droma, to be inherited by his apprentice… Vima Sunrider.”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Vash said, her voice only an octave above a whisper. “Read on.”

“I’m not following,” Mical said.

“Vima Sunrider was one of Eden Valen’s Jedi Masters,” Vash replied as an aside while Erebus’ eyes scanned the remainder of the log. “But that’s not all.”

Vash input a code, one only used by registered Historians or members of the Council. Upon completion, hidden text appeared below the general log, showing information only accessible to those with the highest clearance.

“The lightsaber itself predates Republic Space,” Erebus read on, chills running down his spine, “And was logged along with the following item.”

Beneath a depiction of the lightsaber as it was originally catalogued was a tiny, black pyramid. Four-sided and all.

“This can’t be right,” he said, near breathless, “I studied this log a thousand times as a padawan, and as Historian in training. There was never any mention of an accompanying item!”

Erebus felt as if he were going mad. He’d spent hours looking at this diagram of the saber - and given the crude rendering of the thing in the log it was no wonder his copy was so inadequate. Erebus ran his finger along the console angrily, pressing the screen as if it might scroll faster and give him the answers he was seeking.

“There’s no record of who originally logged this,” Erebus huffed, “There’s no more detail here. Why?!”

“What do your feelings tell you?” Vash said, the smirk on her face detectable through the bite of her words. Erebus rolled his eyes.

Erebus’ mind raced as he scrolled, reading and rereading what little text there was. This had to mean something. It was no coincidence that two of the most recent fallen Jedi had encountered the same object. Erebus’ own history only added to the conspiracies spiraling through his head as he searched for answers.

“Let me try something,” Erebus said, typing in another command before he could grow too agitated. It was a back-end code, one used only by Archive staff to trigger the history of any given log’s metadata. His query inspired an answer, but not one he liked.

“The log’s been altered,” Erebus muttered, his eyes still fixed to the screen, hoping more insight would jump out at him from the nonexistent subtext. “The metadata says the log was first made thirty years ago, but there is no name attached. However, it was edited… six years ago? By—”

“By whom?” Mical cut in.

“By… me.”

Erebus stared at the screen, unsure if he was reading the log correctly. But there it was... his name, Aiden Valen.

“You don’t recall making these edits, I take it?”

Erebus shook his head.

“I don’t. For one, I’ve been in search of these objects for three years now. I’m sure I’d remember having seen these things before, especially if I knew any existed in the Jedi stores. And two, I… I was no longer with the Jedi Order when these edits were made.”

Mical exchanged a look with Vash, who only nodded in response.

“It also says several of the more high-level items from the Dantooine stores were shipped off-planet at the same time, approved with my login. But judging by the dates this was only a few standard days before Darth Malak massacred the planet.”

“Almost as if someone knew it might happen,” Mical said in a hallowed whisper. Erebus nodded, goosebumps erupting over his skin at the thought.

“I’m afraid we may need Master Vrook’s insight,” Vash sighed, “I did not know about this, and having been a member of the High Council at that time, I find this greatly troubling.”

“Vrook? What does Vrook have to do with this?” Erebus cringed. He never had quite the same distaste for the man as many of his fellow Jedi as a child, but hearing his name all these years later didn’t set him at ease either.

“Vrook was here when Malak attacked the Temple. And when the Jedi decided to go into hiding after Katarr, Vrook was the only one of us who remained on Dantooine. If anyone might know, it would be him.”

“You don’t think he was the one to alter the record?”

“He might have been,” Vash conceded, “But I’m also curious as to why this log isn’t linked to the record of what we found when we brought Revan to train with us. Why aren’t the two data entries connected? Surely, someone overseeing the archives would have caught such a detail.”

“Atris would have noticed,” Erebus said, turning to Vash now, meeting her gaze as her eyes widened slightly, not surprised by his implication but by what it could mean should it be true. “Atris never missed a detail. I’d be remiss if she oversaw something like this.”

“But do we know what she was cataloguing during her time as Historian?” Vash countered. “An item like this would have predated her appointment by at least a decade, not to mention she left the role of Historian when she took a seat on the Council.”

Erebus shook his head.

“Atris combed through everything. And I mean everything. She had me fact-checking documents as old as the birth of the Republic when I was her apprentice. Even then she would double-check my work, never satisfied with a judgment unless it was corroborated with her own. Even if she was not an acting Historian when these changes were made, I have a feeling she would care about this sort of thing.”

“And you said you don’t recall ever seeing an object like this?”

Erebus shook his head.

“Never, but if anyone had access to the record or to objects in storage, it was Atris. Even if someone had gained unauthorized access, something like that would not have gone unnoticed. She was acting Head of Council when Malak came to power, but I was gone by the time these changes were made…”

“Does it say where the items were transferred?”

“Not a word,” Erebus swallowed. “Who was the acting Historian here when Malak attacked?”

“Master Dorak, I believe, though he might have been preoccupied at the time…” Vash answered, her eyes darting about the room. Mical stood near motionless, his gaze volleying between Vash and Erebus as he took a decades’ worth of drama in as much as a third party could. 

“Preoccupied?” Erebus laughed, “Practicing whatever story the Enclave Council had prepped to convince Revan of her hero’s journey-to-be, I’d imagine?”

Vash nodded curtly, her expression betraying no emotion.

“Something like that, but Vrook was there as well. And with both Dorak and Atris gone, Vrook seems to be our best bet for answers.”

Atris gone. Part of Erebus was relieved to hear the words uttered by someone else, though somehow it made him question the truth of it, wondering whether Atris wasn’t out there somewhere, still harboring her ills, awaiting his return as if he’d simply not remembered to show up to work one day.

“Only problem is, I have no idea where on Dantooine Vrook happens to be in hiding.”

“Wait,” Mical said, eyes wide. “I have an idea.”

He sidled past Vash to get closer to Erebus. Now shoulder-to-shoulder, Mical uttered, “Check your user’s log history. All of it.”

“But—”

Before Erebus could finish his thought, he felt faint, his skin turning to ice in an instant as if he might collapse.

“Erebus?” Mical asked, quick to catch him. Maker, the man is strong, Erebus thought as his faculties shifted, his tether to the Force shaky for the first time since childhood when he wasn’t quite sure what this sixth sense was.

“I’m fine,” he urged, taking a deep breath. Blood returned this face, his cheeks suddenly flush as he stood. But something still felt… off. “As you were saying.”

“Your user history,” Mical continued, as if uninterrupted, “Someone used your login because they knew your account was still open, which means they likely knew you would not use it. If they authorized this change as well as the shipment of other items, whoever did this may have done more with your account knowing it would go unnoticed.”

Erebus blinked, watching him, his senses still on edge – both from his overuse of the Force these last two days as well as… well, whatever was happening to him now. It was as if his hold on the Force were ebbing and flowing, alternating between receding and drawing nearer with every second, his other senses compromised in the push-and-pull. His vision swam for a moment, Mical’s bright blue eyes and flaxen hair a kaleidoscope swirling and folding in on itself over and over as Erebus processed the man’s words.

“Go ahead, try it,” Erebus said, realizing the truth in Mical’s words but otherwise unable to control his body. Mical watched him uncertainly for a moment before Vash took over, relieving Erebus of the weight of his limbs while Mical typed furiously away on the ancient console.

“Your vision?” Erebus asked, his voice a whisper despite his better efforts.

Vash pursed her lips and nodded once.

“This is only the beginning, I’m afraid.”

Erebus swallowed hard and nodded in return, fear running his veins. If anything, it might grant him the vitality he needed to keep moving, but not for long.

“There’s more,” Mical said, turning around to meet both Erebus and Vash’s gaze. “Several items were sent to a location, undisclosed, mid-rim. But it also looks like a large portion have been sent to… to Telos IV? That can’t be right. Some dates are as recent as… as yesterday.”

As Mical typed, Erebus’ vision swam – amid the glowing rows of datapads, he saw a medbay and tasted kolto, the palms of his hands numbing with pins and needles as he struggled against Vash to regain his footing.

“Let me guess, items from Nespis?” Erebus managed, his lungs tight as he spoke.

Mical nodded, his golden hair falling into his eyes as he nodded fervently.

“More than half of these caches are ones on my list, many dictated by Draay before he left for Katarr. He must have known, but not enough to stop whatever’s happening now.”

“It’s possible someone intercepted whatever messages Draay had sent you,” Vash said as she managed to get Erebus standing again, his right shoulder now draped over hers to keep him steady, “He didn’t happen to mention anyone else he may have been in league with?”

“No one that’s still living,” Mical sighed, “But it looks like there are a few artifacts still listed as ‘transport pending’. Maybe that’s where we should start?”

Erebus wished he could see the log for himself, but his vision was still a kaleidoscope of the present intermixed with images of an unfamiliar room and the ever-present sense of death.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Mical asked, finally turning from the console to look Erebus in the eye. But before Erebus could return Mical’s gaze, his vision darkened at the edges before slowly fading completely to black.

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility
Eden

By all rights Eden should have been cold, but her blood was running hot. Her unfamiliar undergarments stuck to her skin, slick with sweat, and she perpetually felt as if she might faint save for the unnatural energy that flowed through her. It was adrenaline on adrenaline. 

Her fingers slipped across the console of the medical supply room as she typed in queries only to receive uncomfortable answers. Something terrible had happened here, and somehow only Eden had survived. Someone had made sure of that. 

Shaking, trying not to think of the bodies hanging lifeless in the room where she awoke, Eden went from room to room, finding each one suspiciously emptier than the last. Consoles were still active as if someone had just been there working before being called away, fully expecting to return. Doors were left unlocked, medical charts half-finished, caff only half-drank.

There were no windows. Eden meandered the endless grey halls, shielding her eyes from the fluorescent lights with a wavering hand as she tried to reach out with and mute the Force at the same time, ending up with a middling result of realizing that she was all alone... but not quite. Machines hummed, power surged, and she sensed… something. But the panic rising in her throat only made her handle on the Force shaky at best, and her recent memory loss all the more palpable. None of this was right, it didn’t make sense. For her to be here, for her to feel the Force, for her to sense so many dead and yet…

She retched when she opened the last door in the medbay hall. The room was small, but the stench was potent. Rot. While the rest of the facility seemed to be working business-as-usual despite the mysterious lack of staff, this room had the clear signs of neglect, like the kolto chamber. 

Several beds lined the walls, each one draped with a white cloth and an unfinished chart clipped to the footboard. Spying the dates on the nearest datapad, Eden knew it hadn’t been long since she’d last been in Anchorhead, but long enough for the bodies in here to begin decaying. She still had no idea how she got here, how long she’d been here, or where here even was.

She remembered her exile, and she remembered Tatooine - the only place that felt anything like home in her recent recollections. She still had no idea how long she’d been there or how long it had been since she left the Jedi Order, though judging by the datapad in front of her it had been nine years almost to the day since she set a course for Coruscant, to seek out Kavar’s advice and to face Atris’ scorn, Alek’s singed flesh still fresh in her memory after all these years. And the last date she recalled had been a few weeks ago. A new shipment of salvaged droids had come through, some of the usual fare often bought by moisture farmers as well as an odd protocol droid that Eden now recalled had called her Master at some point, though the memories ended there.

How she got here was another story, and Eden wasn't sure she wanted to know all the details.

This was too much like Eres III, too much like Dxun, when the recovered bodies of soldiers were presented to her so she could assess their remains, their physical features too often unrecognizable without using the Force to glean who they once were. 

She paused at the edge of the bed furthest from the door, a charred hand peering from under the white cloth dressed over it. Whatever had killed this person had not been the same as those back in the kolto tanks, poisoned beyond hope of recovery. No. This person had been alive before they were abandoned here by whatever fate befell this place. It wasn’t the Force that told her so much as the shockstick just out of reach of the body’s burned flesh, the holster sitting empty and skewed on the bedside table, as if this person had reached for it in an attempt to end the pain once they realized help would not be coming…

“Find what you are looking for amongst the dead?”

Eden froze. How had she not heard it? The ruffling of fabric at the far side of the room, a shape taking form atop the bed closest to the door. It was as if her senses were only just catching up with her in hindsight, fast-forwarding until they caught up with the present, as if someone had quieted one part of her mind while the other half inspected the body before her. 

The hair on the back of Eden’s neck stood on end as she grabbed the shockstick on instinct, holding it between her and the spectre that suddenly showed signs of life after only feeling death upon entering this room.

Awaken…

“Your voice,” Eden croaked, the realization dawning on her as she spoke, shockstick still held aloft, “I heard it… I-"

Eden felt as if she were grasping at a memory that was fast falling away, as if trying to capture smoke with her hands. She knew this woman, that voice, and not just from the kolto tank… but from where? She took the woman’s appearance in, though the shock made it hard for her to focus, everything feeling too bright and too dull at once, like walking through a lucid dream promising to remember every detail come morning and losing each facet of the vision with every moment spent in waking life. 

The woman was unremarkable, other than being considerably aged. Like so many spacers, and so many Jedi, she wore a nondescript brown robe that was considerably worn but kept in otherwise good condition. Her hood was pulled low over her face, leaving only a wizened chin and pouting mouth visible below it. Brown cloth stretched over the skin of her neck, covering the woman entirely aside from revealing two plaits of silver hair held in place with plain bronze clasps. The woman shifted, as if testing her weight on the bed, before speaking again. 

“Yes, I had hoped as much,” the woman sighed, standing with effort. Her voice was deep but soothing somehow, her syllables rounded out and softened despite the undercurrent of authority in her words. “I slept here too long and could not awaken.”

She spoke so casually for a woman having just awoken from the dead, tilting her head just so as she adjusted her hood and stretched her limbs, settling into them before setting them gently again on the bed beside her.

“Perhaps I reached out unconsciously - and your mind must have been a willing one. Or maybe you have been trained for such things?”

“Slept too long?” Eden said as she lowered the shockstick, freeing a hand so it could nurse her temple. “You looked dead when I came in here, not to mention the rest of your—”

She stopped short, looking about the room, pausing on the charred body she’d taken the shockstick from.

“My company?” the woman finished for her, as if reading her mind.

Eden turned her attention back slowly, the room still too bright, everything moving too fast, her handle on reality and how the Force enmeshed itself with it still too new and too unpredictable for her to control with any finesse.

“They likely thought I was dead when I was brought here. I slept as you did. In stasis, one could say. Though perhaps my age betrayed me the luxury of being granted kolto treatment as you.”

“Do I know you?” Eden asked, a half-realization dawning on her though no answer rose to the surface of her mind, her memory still too scattered to make sense of.

“I am Kreia, and I am your rescuer. As you are mine.”

Kreia. The name meant nothing, and yet something about her tone of voice, the tilt of the woman’s head as she said it… something was familiar, though Eden could not decipher what it was.

“Tell me – do you recall what happened?”

“What happened?” Eden echoed, suddenly feeling the need to take a seat. She slunk into the empty bed beside her, careful to keep the shockstick in her hands while she rubbed her eyes hard enough to start seeing stars behind her closed lids. “The last thing I remember, I was… I was aboard a Republic ship, the Harbinger.”

The medbay from her memory… it had been aboard the Harbinger, hadn’t it?  Images flitted through her mind but the sensory overload coming at her from all directions – the fluorescent lights, the stench of death, the dampness of her clothes, the cuts still stinging in her palms, itching as they healed amid the remnant glass, the retching pain in her empty stomach, and the Force pushing in on her from all sides demanding her undivided attention despite it all – muddled everything to a blur. A very fast-moving blur that whirred itself around her, willing her onward yet overwhelming her so entirely that part of her just wanted to sleep, not caring if she woke.

“The Harbinger,” Eden repeated once she took a breath, calming what she could of herself and looking the strange woman in the eye… or the dark shadow of her hood where her eyes should have been. “What happened to it?”

The woman called Kreia stood near-motionless, and in that instant Eden knew that feigning death was likely the least of her talents.

“Your ship was attacked, and you were its lone survivor… a result of your Jedi training, no doubt.”

“Jedi?” Eden almost spat, wanting to both laugh and scream at the thought. “What makes you think I’m a Jedi?”

“Your stance, your walk tells me you are a Jedi,” the woman said evenly, “Your walk is heavy, you carry something that weighs you down.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Eden huffed, running a hand through her damp hair to find it knotted in beaded braids at the nape of her neck. She retracted, wondering just how many parts of herself she’d left to rediscover before any of this started to make sense. “I could ask the same of you, given your—" Eden waved her hand about vaguely, too tired to wrack her brain for descriptors, “Your whole deal. Last I heard, it wasn’t wise to advertise any relation to the Jedi, or any knowledge of them.”

“So it would seem,” Kreia nodded and pursed her lips, though was undeterred, “Keep your past, as I shall keep mine. Let us focus on the now.”

“You said you were my rescuer,” Eden said, “And I yours. If the Harbinger was ‘my’ ship, as you called it, then where did you come from?”

A ghost of a smile spirited over the woman’s lips.

“So you recall the Harbinger, but not what you were doing on board?” Her smile widened ever so slightly, though it did nothing to make her appear friendly, “I was recovered from another, smaller ship. Does that sound familiar?”

“I saw it outside the port window,” Eden said, the memory rushing back to her, the feel of a cold cup of caff in her hand as a woman named Rell made her a promise she had a feeling the Republic agent was not able to keep. “Two ships in stalemate. The Republic wanted one of them obtained, the other investigated.”

“Precisely,” Kreia said, “I was brought aboard the Harbinger to recover from my injuries. You and I met in the medical bay, but I assume that memory is gone, too.”

Eden shook her head. It would explain how she knew the woman, why any part of her seemed familiar, but her memory dredged up nothing at the thought.

“The last thing I remember is the medbay of the Harbinger but nothing beyond that, and not much before it either.”

Kreia tsked with understanding.

“Ah, I see,” she muttered, “Then I imagine you’re wondering where we are, just as I am. I was removed from the events of the world as I slept, though my memory otherwise remains.”

“So you know who attacked the Harbinger?”

Kreia nodded.

“The very same attackers as my ship, unfortunately,” she said, massaging her wrists. The woman’s hands were lined but strong, several of her knuckles cracking loudly as she pressed into the joints. “It seems the Harbinger walked straight into their trap.”

Eden recalled the large vessel, a prehistoric one if her scant memory was correct. Hanging in space as it did outside the window of her quarters on the Harbinger, it seemed too ancient to still be functioning. Something didn’t quiet add up, though Eden knew from what little she did remember that Kreia was telling the truth.

“So, I’m assuming that despite whatever state you were found in, you managed to bring me here? How?”

Eden couldn’t help but judge the woman for her age, though if she were at all trained in the Force as their tense exchange suggested, then the odds of the woman attempting such a feat seemed more plausible.

“I did,” Kreia answered somberly, “We were likely the last to make it out alive, if not the only ones.”

For the first time since waking, Eden sensed some emotion come off the old woman as she glanced sideward in recollecting whatever had brought them here. Kreia shook her head, looking down at her booted feet, still wringing her hands, before continuing.

“We were attacked once, and I fear our attackers will not give up the hunt so easily.” Kreia stretched her neck, a flicker of a wince crossing the lower part of her face before her gaze returned to Eden and continued. “Without transport, weapons, and information, they will find us easy prey indeed.”

Eden stood, nodding. Through the Force, she could tell that it, too, flowed through Kreia, though more slowly than herself at the moment. Perhaps her stasis story was true, the old woman’s senses in as much need of awakening as her near-ancient limbs.

“You’re clearly more cognizant than I am,” Eden said, testing her grip on the shockstick still in her hand, figuring it might come in handy given the old woman’s words, “You sure you can’t tell me any more about this place? I’m drawing a complete blank.”

Kreia nodded soberly before leaning against the wall at the head of her bed, “Even as I slept, I felt much unrest here. I saw strange visions, minds colored with fear. Now, everything here feels terribly silent.”

Eden could only nod again, at a loss for words. If Kreia felt unrest where Eden felt absolute death, she wasn’t about to announce it. Even as a fellow Force-user, this woman was a stranger, and as far as Eden could tell, the last she remembered of herself she had been deaf to the Force completely.

“A last word of caution,” Kreia said again with a sigh, as if catching her breath, “I would find out as much about this place if you can, and fast – I fear we will need to depart as quickly as we arrived.”

What Eden wanted to say was What aren’t you telling me? But what came out instead was “Will do,” as if she were following orders. This was already feeling too much like Eres III, too much like Dxun, and despite her misgivings something told her that the similarities would not stop there.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility

Eden

Another droid down, another memory of a slain soldier falling, body-turned-corpse by the time they hit the ground if they had been lucky. Most weren’t.

“Emergency lockdown overridden,” a soothing voice cooed at her over a loudspeaker as Eden bashed her way through another malfunctioning door, the shockstick hot in her clammy palms. She was beginning to wonder if this was a test of her sanity somehow, an elaborate ruse created as a means of finally punishing her for what happened at Malachor, and every battle that preceded it. 

Downing another droid and ignoring another corpse, Eden sped into the last room at the end of another long windowless hallway, eager to be free of this place - whatever it happened to be. Dozens of blank screens stared down at her from three of the four imposing walls upon entering, each screen static-heavy. The ceilings were oddly high for a room this size, as if it were choking on consoles, and the static only made her feel less at ease. But the room’s many screens were silent, barely humming as Eden kicked the last droid she’d destroyed out of the way so she could enter the room proper. 

She hated this. She hated that this place had no windows, that everyone in this place had either died or disappeared, and she hated having to destroy all the droids. Given the proper tools, Eden could disable them, at least. Once-upon-a-time she would have been able to set any machine in stasis with a wave of the Force. But the Force had no mind to cooperate with her now, still intent on flowing through her more powerfully and unpredictably than she’d ever felt it, setting the one droid she tested the trick with on fire without so much as a flick of her forefinger.

Eden sighed as she slid into the security chair to find the vinyl already warm, as if someone had just been sitting in it. The Force told her she was alone here, and a moment later she felt the heat from the nearby computer reach her skin, never having been powered off. Sighing, both relieved and unnerved, Eden fiddled with the command console and demanded it play the last security log.

“The next one of you juma-heads to try and smuggle a blaster, or so help me, any sort of military-grade frag weapons into my facility, is going to take a long walk out the airlock.”

This does not bode well, a voice drawled in her head. Eden spun around to find no one in the room with her, her skin prickling with goosebumps as the realization crept in. 

“Kreia?” she said to no one, only to have the recording respond instead.

“So if I catch any one of you with anything other than sonic charges or mining lasers, I’ll burn you and your contract. Security out.”

Mining lasers , Kreia’s voice echoed in her head again, that would explain the poor quality of the facilities here . Eden could almost see Kreia look about the room she was situated in, disappointed, still resting in the morgue where Eden had found her. I’d suggest we leave sooner rather than later, this place could be more dangerous than we know.

“Kreia?” Eden stammered, knowing full-well that she was capable of Force bonds, but she’d never experienced one this direct other than the one she shared from birth with her brother. Her brother . Aiden’s face swam into her mind from memory, both the boy he’d been and the man he’d become as she had last seen him briefly on Tatooine, before biting the thought back lest Kreia could see. “We only just met. How are we - ?”

She should have known. Eden had heard Kreia’s voice in the kolto tank, calling out to her. Kreia said they’d met earlier on the Harbinger. But a woman, no matter how strong in the Force, couldn’t have opened Eden up to the Force again and tethered herself to her - could she?

I don’t know, Kreia said eventually, the matching disbelief in her voice convincing enough for the moment. Perhaps we can use this to our advantage for now and explore the intricacies later. I fear we are running out of time. 

In that moment Eden recalled Kreia’s story, her retelling of an attacker in space, and again on the Harbinger . With her brother’s face still fresh in her memory, his green eyes aglow beneath the twin suns of Tatooine, Eden wondered if he was also the assailant that hunted them now. If Eden was open to the Force again, Aiden would surely know it. He would feel it . Doing what she could, Eden wracked her brain so her focus remained on Kreia as she shoved her brother out of her mind.

“I’m game with that,” Eden said, wondering if Kreia could sense her unease or her newness to the Force, wondering if she should have mentioned this earlier. “Let me know if you sense anything else.”

Will do , Kreia said, echoing Eden’s words from earlier as her presence dissipated, leaving Eden alone in the security room again.

Eden sighed, her lungs expunged as if she’d just resurfaced from a deep-dive underwater. 

“I don’t like this,” Eden muttered to herself as she eyed the security console, shaking her head. “No. I hate this.”

After replaying the last security log again, Eden keyed in a demand to pull up all log info. There was no login name, just a number, and 0897715 must have been the designation assigned to the dark-haired and perpetually on-edge security officer of this place. 

There were earlier logs but none were recent. The last entry was a terse report about a suspect being held in the detention bay, so Eden figured she should start there. If anything, even if the suspect was dead, she might have a better idea of what happened here.

If this was a mining facility, the most likely tragedy to befall this place would be an explosion, right? But if the place was still standing…

Nothing added up. If anything, sabotage was the more likely culprit. But why, or how Eden factored into all of this, was still a mystery. Judging by the logs back in the medbay, the kolto patients were saturated with a deadly amount of a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory. Harmless in small doses but likely to cause overdose under the wrong circumstances. As a Jedi, her body had been trained to resist most poisons so it was unclear whether she was even an intended victim since she received the same dose as everyone else. But seeing as she and Kreia were the only survivors on this otherwise abandoned facility, it was strange that the only two remaining people alive were not only newcomers but also Force-sensitive. Perhaps the kolto room was dosed just-so on purpose, so that according to the record it looked as if Eden should have died along with everyone else...

It was either meticulously planned or a very, very cruel coincidence. 

There are no coincidences , Alek had whispered reverently to her once while they both watched on as Revan retrieved a slain Mandalorian’s mask from the seafoam after witnessing the genocide at Cathar, glimpsing the multitude of terrors to come. There is only the Force.

Pushing away from the desk, Eden skidded the security chair backward, hopping off before it could collide with the far wall. On the wall adjacent to the one she entered through was another door, tucked beneath the largest of the security feeds still emitting static. Ducking under it, Eden exited the room and finally saw stars.

The room beyond was enormous, almost as large as a viewing deck on any of Revan’s warships. Several clusters of computer stations scattered the open area. Some surrounded sprawling ceiling-high neon maps while others dotted the promenade in groups of three beside buzzing power conduits. But it was the mainframe computers that lined the far wall that drew her attention, offering a view of something Eden wasn’t expecting she’d be so comforted to see - space . 

Three massive computer stations stood in the center of the room, overlooking the view. The seemingly endless expanse of duraglass set before them lent a glimpse into the world outside the facility, allowing Eden a view of far-off stars and what appeared to be a circling asteroid field. Wandering towards it, as if entranced, Eden’s mind slowed, her eyes glazing over as she soaked in the spacescape, wondering what it might feel like to drift as listlessly as a piece of space debris.

But that was when she felt it - a prickling, a mental itch that set the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. At first it was just a feeling, goosebumps rising along her arms at the thought. But then there was a surge of energy, as if a computer nearby just powered on, its electric hum filling the empty space with ambient sound. Life . Someone was still here.

Eden spun around, now standing in the middle of the command center, trying to find the source of the feeling. The Force was still off-kilter as it flowed through her, both amplified yet ambivalent. After dredging up what she could of an old centering technique from the depths of her memory, Eden’s gaze settled over a nondescript door tucked into the back corner of the room, almost imperceptible beside a gaping hallway that led elsewhere.  

The detention center. It had to be.

Eden approached, finding that the door opened the moment it sensed her presence. She paused, eyes darting at the door’s mechanism before it disappeared entirely into the walls beside her.

“That’s weird,” she muttered, spinning around and finding no one. None of the other doors in this place were open, each one requiring either a bypass or a downed droid to get through, and this one had neither. 

“Weird? I’ll give ya weird,” a voice said from the far end of the room. 

Eden spun around again to face what appeared to be the facility’s only two force cages, one of which was occupied with a brown blur of a human being.

“Weird… weird is what I’d call that mining outfit,” the voice continued with croaking syllables, which Eden now realized belonged to a very sickly looking man slumped at the bottom of the detention cell as if he’d melted there. The man cleared his throat. “What, you miners change the regulation uniform while I've been in here? Not that I’m complaining or anything."

Eden approached slowly, as if nearing a trapped animal. Recalling the security officer’s log, she said, “Atton… Atton Rand?” as she looked the dark-haired stranger up and down, unsure what to do with her first survivor, though thankful she’d found one. 

The man swallowed and gawked, blank-eyed, before finally taking a breath and answering as he nodded. 

"Excuse me if I don't shake hands. The field only causes mild electrical burns."

The pale humanoid man Eden now knew for certain was called Atton held out his arm, even though the cage was still active, and with glassy eyes he shook the empty air with his raised hand, miming as if the force cage weren’t there at all and Eden were eager to greet him. 

“Eden,” she said unsurely, the name tasting strange on her mouth as she said it. “Eden Valen. And I’ll pretend you didn’t just deliriously try to flirt with me.”

Valen, Vale . Something about the name stuck out but Eden wasn’t sure what, only knowing that she hadn’t actually introduced herself to Kreia and wondering if the woman thought ill of her for it. 

“Valen, huh?” the man repeated, smacking his lips and hiding it poorly with what was likely dry mouth from severe dehydration, “You didn’t fight in the war, did you?”

“Which one?” Eden deflected by laughing darkly, examining the room. There was little evidence of any activity in here, other than some meager truth to the man named Atton’s gaunt features - a lone bowl of half-eaten stew sat on one of the desks, the leftover remains congealed to the point of being considered a solid rather than a liquid. He must have been stuck in here for days.

“Heh, it never ends does it?” Atton drawled, mustering up what little energy he had to appear cordial. “Hey, you don’t see any-?”

Before the man could clumsily finish a sentence, Eden spotted a ration stick sitting on the edge of the desk, still in its wrapper. She picked it up just as she pressed her palm to what appeared to be the force cage’s controls, allowing the barrier to dissolve just quickly enough for her to toss the thing. Atton scrambled to catch it just as Eden reactivated the cage and stepped closer.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re in here first,” Eden demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. 

She almost felt impolite watching as the man ripped through the ration stick’s packaging, ravenously consuming the entire thing in two desperate bites. Atton closed his eyes as he savored the sustenance, a swath of dark hair falling into his eyeline, and for a moment Eden thought the man was about to be sick. But then color flooded his face as he stood to full height, stretching with such relish that several of his joints popped in quick succession, a strange smile spreading over his face. 

This man hadn’t eaten in days, that much was clear. It was a wonder he was still alive. His face was awash with stubble, which meant he was usually clean-shaven or at least had been before whatever landed him in here. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, instead sporting a usual spacer’s garb, typical of anyone Eden might see wandering a docking bay or a cantina bar. Nondescript but casual. His cheeks were gaunt and his eyes sunken, though she could see the life trickle back into what Eden guessed were brown eyes from what she could tell through the orange glow of the force cage.

It took a moment for Atton to catch up with her words, Eden’s unanswered question still hanging in the air between them. He opened his mouth, about to answer, when he stopped himself, his eyes going wide.

“What?” Eden asked, finally feeling cold for the first time since awakening, vulnerable in only a damp jumpsuit.

“ You ,” he said, backing into the force cage though careful enough not to touch the edges, “You’re that Jedi the miners were talking about.”

Jedi . There it was again. 

“I’m gonna need you to back up here,” Eden said as she twirled her index finger in a whirlwind motion as her blood ran hot at the man’s implication, the second in just under an hour, “What Jedi? And what miners? This place is… deserted.”

“It’s not deserted, it’s--” he said suddenly before stopping, his voice growing hollow as the realization sunk in. Atton slumped against the back of the force cage again, his gaze never leaving Eden’s, shock painting his face. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?”

Eden bit in her lip, creating a thin line where her mouth once was as every image of each corpse she’d unwittingly come across in the last hour resurfaced in her mind’s eye. She nodded.

Atton shook his head, leaning against the only uncharged wall of his cell as he closed his eyes, nursing his temples as he sought the right words for what Eden feared was a story she didn’t want to hear.

“There were rumors,” he said as his gaze glazed over upon opening his eyes, his voice a husk of what it was only moments ago, “Unfounded, naturally, though in hindsight maybe they weren’t. No one’s seen a Jedi since that big disaster happened, whatever that was all about. But that doesn’t stop people from talking, right?”

Judging by the way Atton spoke, even in his half-starved state, Eden could tell the man was fond of talking, and he was certainly relishing in it now as he pretended not to sneak glances of Eden’s still-glistening legs from his vantage point during every dramatic pause.

“They found a ship apparently. I’m not sure, I just got back from shore leave when it happened,” Atton laughed a hollow laugh, “But when I got back, there were bets on who exactly was recovered from the ship. There were even a few attempts at sneaking weapons onto the facility. The two are probably connected, and what with the bounty on Jedi-”

“Bounty?” Eden interrupted.

“Yeah, haven’t you heard? The Exchange put out a bounty on Jedi about a week ago. Maybe they want one as a trophy, or someone’s got something against the Jedi and is looking to collect.”

Eden nodded, doing what she could to appear only mildly interested as she crossed her arms tighter around herself before turning to pace the room, thinking it better that Atton couldn’t read her expression. So it’s not just me , she thought, recalling the release of her records as Glitch and Orex scrolled through the listing back on the ancient console parked in Eden’s droid salvage on Tatooine. Still, whether the miners knew who she was or not, the fact that she was pegged as a Jedi was the reason everyone here was dead. If I hadn’t come here...

“Not many Jedi left…” Atton continued. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the bounty’s pretty high.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Eden said, trying her best to banish the guilt from filling her chest as her eyes scanned the remainder of the room. Like the rest of the facility, everything looked to have been left in a hurry. The console in the corner of the room was still active, and a cup of caf sat undrunk in a now-crusted puddle on the desktop. Next to it was a fresh flask. Eden had seen these things marketed all over the docking bay of Nespis, advertised as the best cooling thermos this side of Coruscant. She picked it up as Atton mumbled behind her, opening it to find it full of fresh cool water.

“The ones that weren’t killed in the Jedi Civil War ended up switching off their lightsabers years ago. Word is there isn’t even a Jedi Council anymore--”

Before Eden could intervene or question how much a spacer like Atton would know about the Jedi, she took the bottle to her lips and drank deeply, closing her eyes as the chilled water met her tongue, the back of her mouth, her throat, filling her chest with a calming coolness she wanted to soak her entire body in.

“--but who knows?”

Atton wasn’t paying close enough attention to realize that Eden was no longer listening, though she could feel his eyes on the back of her exposed legs as she turned away from him, savoring in the moment as she quenched a thirst she hadn’t realized was there, wishing briefly that she’d kept that ration stick for herself as well.

“But wait… if you’re a Jedi, wouldn’t you know about all this?”

Atton’s brow furrowed as she turned to face him, the half-filled flask still in her hands. 

Eden ignored his question and opened the force cage again, this time leaving it open. She sighed and slumped her shoulders.

“Here, drink.”

Eden regretted the handoff the moment Atton reached for the fresher flask despite knowing it was the right thing to do. Atton looked from her to the contents of the container only once before drinking from it himself, tilting his head back as he left no droplet undrunk. 

Be mindful, Kreia’s voice interjected as Eden watched Atton, taking in his appearance again without the orange-wash of the force cage obstructing her view, though the starved nature of his face didn’t do much to paint a better picture. This one’s thoughts are… difficult to read.

Eden tried not to jolt at the sensation of the woman’s voice again. Though soothing, it was still unnerving to have Kreia butt into her own thoughts at unpredictable moments. Before Eden could wonder just how much Kreia could see and how long she’d been watching, she dwelled on Kreia’s presence, silently asking the woman to keep going, to tell her more. 

But you have nothing to fear from this one , Kreia continued after a long moment. I am afraid he might yet prove useful.

Afraid? Eden echoed mentally, but Kreia was already gone from her mind before she could dwell on the word, the man before her already stirring. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Atton breathed upon finishing, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“No, I didn’t,” Eden sighed, noting that he already looked more bright-eyed and cognizant now that he was minimally hydrated. “And I don’t have to let you out of this force cage either. But I will.”

Atton stood, shaking his head, about to launch into another monologue before Eden stopped him. 

“Don’t ask me how I know, but I don’t think you’re responsible for--” Eden looked behind her at the open doorway, knowing where every corpse she’d come across still lay, thankful none of them were in her line of sight now, “I know you’re not behind whatever happened to this place. I know you’re guilty of something , but… not that. The timeline doesn’t make sense.”

“Trumped up security charges, you know how it is,” Atton laughed a little too lightly, too quickly. Eden only nodded, already uncomfortable with the fact that her opinion was based more on Kreia’s words than on anything that exited Atton’s mouth, second-guessing herself and her fellow Not-a-Jedi as each moment passed.

“The miners can’t all be gone,” Atton continued, a hurried desperation sneaking into his voice.

“I haven’t checked the entire facility yet, if that eases your conscience,” Eden continued before Atton could form any more coherent words, “I’ve only been through the medbay and security.”

“Then maybe they’re still in the dorms, the docking area, maybe even the mines--”

Atton hurried past her towards the command consoles in the room beyond the detention center, his pace slowing only for a moment as he took in the emptiness of the room before panic resumed and urged him onward towards the main command center. Before Eden could ask what the man was even doing, Atton was typing away furiously, calling up security cameras and access logs, growing increasingly manic as each feed showed nothing but stillness, each one devoid of life or activity.

“This can’t be right,” he muttered as Eden approached, “It couldn’t have been more than, what, two days? Three?”

Eden inspected the stubble on his jaw again, the gauntness of his face, unsure if the man’s perception of time was off or on-point, still unsure of when she arrived on this facility herself.

“Everything is locked,” Atton said, his fingers pressing the console buttons harder than necessary in his untempered frustration, “Emergency lock down my ass .”

Eden was about to say something but paused as Atton pulled up a map of the entire facility. Just as he’d said, every access to another marked location -- the dorms, the mines, the cafeteria, the docking bay -- was barred, marked in flashing red on the screen. There was still a ship marked as docked in the garage just beyond the dormitory, and while Eden had no idea if it was the one Kreia spoke of, it was their only shot out of getting off this rock.

“You mentioned miners,” Eden said as she finally turned from the map back to Atton, cautious to keep her tone gentle, curious if anything, “But… of what exactly? There are mining droids littered everywhere, and--”

Atton turned to look at her, his eyes wild, expression tensed in a silent what?!

“ You mean… you didn’t come here on purpose?”

Eden swallowed, her eyes jumping from Atton’s surprise to the duraglass view of circling asteroids as she shook her head, shrugging. 

“I was unconscious when I got here so I don’t remember much. All I know is that I ended up here by accident. I think I was originally headed for…” she searched her memory, most of the recent stuff still foggy, but she could feel the planet’s name on the tip of her tongue, “Onderon, maybe? No -- Telos .”

Onderon had been part of her cover, but Telos had been the destination. Details swam in her memory like a shadow in her peripheral vision, taking shape but of nothing yet concrete.

“Telos,” Atton echoed, still typing away, “ Telos, yeah, that makes sense. Well, this slice of paradise is Peragus II, the only supplier of shipping-grade engine fuel to this corner of the galaxy. Telos being one of our main buyers.”

Our . So Atton Rand was an employee here, at least at some point. 

“Wonderful,” Eden replied, trying to sound more annoyed by the implications rather than the cause, “Glad to know no one will miss this place operating as expected.”

At this, Atton truly afforded Eden a glance, looking her up and down in more of a ‘ is this lady seriously cracking jokes?’ way rather than the ‘ this half-naked interrogation is a personal fantasy of mine’ look he’d been giving her thus far. 

“You sure you’re a Jedi?” he asked, a hungry sense of bravado elevating his voice above the barely-functioning state he was currently in and trying to ignore, for her benefit as well as his own.

“Never said I was,” Eden replied as she flashed him a fake smile. “And open the lock on the mining shaft entrance while you’re in the master controls, will you?”

“I’m--” Atton balked, “What? Why?!”

“Because I’m going down there,” Eden said, squaring her shoulders as she grabbed a comm from the command console beside Atton and brandished it in the air between them, “It’s the only way to get to the docking area, and if we want to get off of this likely-explosive rock as you’ve just explained, then we’d better find a way out of here fast.”

“We,” Atton repeated, almost choking on the word, “Who’s we?”

“I could leave you here to die, if you want,” Eden shrugged, ignoring the question as she began to walk backwards towards the barred hallway she’d seen earlier beside the door she found Atton behind, now knowing that the only thing stopping her from going through it was the press of a button. “Either way, I’m finding a way through that door. Are you going to make it easy for me or not? It’s no skin off your back.”

Atton’s eyes widened and then narrowed as he shook his head, the confusion making his already gaunt face appear even more sickly as Eden backed away from him, awaiting a response.

“Suit yourself,” he finally said, pressing a series of buttons before giving Eden one last look. “Trust me, if there are any miners left I want to find them. But we can easily use the console here to check up on the other sectors of the facility. Before I landed myself in that cell, I was in the medbay recovering from a planned explosion. If you’re willing to get yourself blown up just to get out of here, be my guest.”

Atton shrugged, his shoulders jutting upward a little too quickly before he punched in the final code that opened the door Eden was still nearing.

“You won’t regret it,” she called after him, thankful to be alone again.

“Don’t make me change my mind!” Atton called back after her, the hunger returning to his voice as he fell out of view. 

You and me, both.

3951 BBY, Jedi Temple Ruins, Dantooine

Erebus

Erebus nearly retched with every breath. Each time his lungs took in oxygen, his body threatened to reject it. His gag reflex reacted to every mouthful of air as if it were poison.

“Easy, easy, ” a voice said through the haze. It sounded as if it came from beside him, but his vision told him otherwise. His body was slumped against a rough wall, he could feel it, but his consciousness was roaming some mid-grade mining facility - he saw the malfunctioning droids milling about, the readouts of power supplies lining the walls. He’d exploited a few similar outfits in the Unknown Regions, but none as advanced as this. Outer Rim Territories, most likely , he thought, trying to bite back his surprise at witnessing events he was clearly not present for but experiencing nonetheless.

“Can you hear me?” the voice asked. “Can you see anything?”

“Yes to the first,” Erebus struggled, his voice sounding far away even as it erupted from his own throat, “And yes to the second, though… likely not what’s in front of me.”

“What do you see?”

Something about the tone of the voice, its closeness, told him that it was Master Vash, attentive at his side. A foggy memory of what had transpired before his current state swam in his consciousness, melding with what he was seeing now.

“I see…” his vision blurred, changing drastically from the mining outfit to somewhere out in the jungle, marred by a rain so heavy it blocked everything else from view. But the smell… the smell . Wet earth, sweat, blood. It filled his nostrils as if these things were laid before him as specimens for examination. But before he could place the images, put a place-name to the sights and smells, the image shifted to an empty dormitory, void of life but full of death. And then... nothing.

“Nevermind,” the voice rejoined, “Just… just breathe, I guess.”

Erebus wanted to laugh at Vash sounding so out of her element, surprised that the source of the sound was so clear now that his vision vanished. His mind was in knots, reconciling senses from different places, different times, and not all of them his own. 

“I think…” he said eventually, his voice much weaker than he intended but stronger than he felt, “I think I feel her through the Force. Like I did before, when we were children.” He knew he wasn’t being clear enough for Vash to understand. His mind struggled to find the right words and internally cringed at the ones that managed to pass his lips. “I see what she sees.”

It was the jungle that gave it away. He’d seen it once, through her eyes. It was why he later elected to investigate the Dxun moon on Nihilus’ behalf. He knew the Temple of Freedon Nadd would be of interest to him as a site of once-teeming dark side power, but knowing that Eden may have come upon the relic herself made him want to visit it far more than if she hadn’t. More than he’d like to admit.

“Your sister?” Vash confirmed, “Are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

The last he’d seen her, she’d been wide-eyed on Tatooine, and while he had no reason to believe she had any business roaming a deserted mining outfit, Erebus knew without a doubt that Eden was doing just that. He laughed.

“What is it?” Vash asked, incredulous.

Erebus fought back another wave of nausea as all the energy within him drained, a laugh dying on his lips. Eden’s presence grew stronger again - through her eyes he saw an abandoned repair bay full of disabled droids, slumped as if in submission, after which he witnessed Eden’s deft hands work away at a lab workbench, hastily slapping together subpar medpacs and shoving the slim cylinders into the folds of her hair, no pockets or bags to be found. Eden closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, and suddenly Erebus felt himself level out. His body solidified, his unease quelled, and his eyes opened.

“What?” Vash asked, her brown eyes swimming into his slowly focusing vision. “What happened?”

“She…” Erebus paused, breathing in, relishing in how natural it felt now, how steady his body felt compared to before, “She’s getting used to it again. The Force.”

And so am I. 

“She can feel it again? She’s open to it?” Vash asked, the words exiting her mouth faster than she could enunciate the syllables, stumbling through her question as she went. Erebus nodded. He almost laughed at the look of excitement in Vash’s eyes, only stopping himself because he knew why she might be so eager for this news. She knew it would happen. She’s seen it all before .

“She has full control. Well… sort of.” 

He wanted to laugh again. It was very much like when they were children, still so new to this sensation as they stumbled through every discovery. He wasn’t experiencing it directly, but the newness to the Force felt fresh in his memory, having just witnessed his twin sister revisit it after so many years. Vash looked at him with a furrowed brow.

“Interesting… interesting.” Vash shook her head as she began to pace before Erebus. “I cannot quite explain what I felt in the Council chambers the day we sentenced her to exile but… it was soul-crushing. It was like being on the fringe of a whirlpool, or at the mouth of a blackhole. The weight of all your sister had experienced filled the room, choking us with it. With death. Did you feel any of that?”

Erebus shook his head at first, though he eventually nodded.

“Yes and no. I felt it then, but not now. She remembers it but the feeling is different, faraway almost.”

“Faraway?” Vash echoed, inching closer with curiosity. 

“She doesn’t quite feel like a wound,” Erebus said, “At least not quite. She feels a bit like she used to, when we were kids.”

“From what I recall, you were always able to sense your sister through the Force,” Vash said quietly. She paused and looked at Erebus, her expression bashful but probing, as if wondering whether she wanted the answer to the question brimming in her throat. “I’ve only experienced a Force Bond later in life… what was it like?”

“When we were younger we used to share our thoughts more easily, if not all the time. We grew up knowing nothing else, so we believed that was just how things were. ” Erebus said through an unwitting smile. He missed it, and he missed her . He’d never admitted it, not at the Academy and not now, but he truly, deeply missed his sister, and seeing through her eyes just now made the feeling all the more real and raw and impossible to ignore. “We learned, eventually. It wasn’t until we started keeping secrets from one another, until we got older and learned that it wasn’t normal. During the war I’d occasionally see snippets of her life as I’m sure she glimpsed mine, usually when I let my guard down. It was usually as I was falling asleep or just waking up. But sometimes the visions would interrupt whatever I was doing, especially if whatever it was Eden was feeling was… visceral. But towards the end, I--”

I went too deep. I was already drowning. 

If Erebus were honest with himself, he’d admit to falling to the Dark Side long before Darth Revan’s quick-witted, smooth-tongued assassin reached him on Coruscant several years later. It wasn’t so much a fall as much as a gradual wading into the deep end, and Erebus imagined he had been easy to break. Because he’d already been broken for so long. Erebus always believed he fell because of the anger he’d bottled over the years, brimming with unspeakable rage that boiled beyond a breaking point. But he’d never considered that maybe it was also because of the mounting pain and anguish he felt on behalf of his sister, fighting an unwinnable war half a galaxy away, too. 

Erebus paused, his throat threatening to spew bile at the memory, his body already weak in its current state. He sputtered, and Vash rushed to his side. Before she made contact, Vash paused, as if remembering their tenuous alliance and the fact that Erebus was no longer her apprentice. 

“This place will do that to you,” he laughed weakly, reading her expression. Judging by her recoil, Erebus was right. “Ghosts, everywhere. Memories… lingering yes, but no longer true.”

But he wasn’t just referring to his and Vash’s previous relationship. He thought also of his sister and wherever it was she roamed now, awake to the Force in nearly a decade and scared out of her mind. 

“I’ve never felt true fear, not until that day.” Vash said after a moment, avoiding Erebus’ gaze. “I didn’t expect to feel it again, when we left Nespis.”

Nihilus . 

Before Eden had gone quiet to the Force, Erebus sensed her one last time and it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. The only thing he could liken it to was the flash before a bomb went off, a burst of light followed only by the sudden absence of sound. But nothing after. No big boom, no thunderous roar of destruction. Just… nothing. An endless, vacuous nothingness. Which was exactly what Erebus felt whenever he was in Nihilus’ presence -- a cosmic absence. Maybe that was why it had been so easy to fall into Nihilus’ employ, why the fear spurred him on instead of horrified him. It was familiar, yet unlike Eden following Nihilus was at least somewhat tangible. Until now.

“What did you see? Where is your sister now?” Vash said, interrupting Erebus’ thoughts. 

“A mining facility, though I’m not sure what of, or where,” he said, closing his eyes as if to better dredge up the more recent memory in light of his older ones. “Wherever it is, something bad’s happened.”

“What makes you say that?”

From what he saw through Eden’s eyes, the bodies in the dormitory were enough. But it was more than that.

“A feeling, mostly,” he said, “Whatever happened there wasn’t an accident, this was deliberate.”

This was murder.

This was a fact Erebus didn’t think Eden was aware of, her senses still swimming the last he’d seen of her. But as his visions gained clarity, the details slowly falling into focus as the immediate world around Erebus also grew more tangible, the truth became obvious in the recollection.

“But what happened exactly?”

“The entire facility is abandoned, everyone dead except her. An accident did take place I think, but what happened to the miners…” Erebus shook his head, suddenly overcome with the dread Eden felt upon entering a barred room only to find the bodies piled by the door, eager for an escape they would never achieve. And in that moment, he knew why Eden thought of the Dxun jungles, and the horrors she’d once witnessed there. “Someone drugged them, at least the ones I saw. And all to make sure no one made it out of that facility alive. But I think they’re after her .”

“They’re after Eden?” Vash confirmed.

Erebus nodded. “You said it yourself. Not only does the Exchange have a bounty out on all Jedi, but they put a pretty steep price on her head, specifically. It’s no coincidence, trust me.”

“You don’t have evidence of this,” Vash said, a smirk overcoming her face. “But you believe it?”

Erebus sensed that Vash’s disbelief did not stem from doubt, but instead a shared feeling of absolution.

“I do,” he said, finally shifting in his seat. “Wait - where are we?”

With the moments before his blackout finally clear in his memory, Erebus almost expected to find himself still slumped on the floor of the Dantooine archives. Instead, he found himself sitting on a dilapidated cot in the old medbay against a crumbling wall looking at a tree-trunk growing through the center of the room. The young blba’s branches breached the cracked ceiling as they reached for the open sky.

“The archives were… compromised.” Vash’s eyes darted around the room, her voice growing quiet. 

Erebus sat up, blinking as he soaked in his new surroundings, following her gaze while also looking for the source of her worry. He’d frequented this room often as a child, plagued with stomach aches and anxieties in the wake of leaving his mother and his grandparents, eager for the confines of the medbay or his own dormitory bed whenever Eden wasn’t around to calm him and ground him to the present. Now, the medbay was open to the sky. Only the left half of the room was at all recognizable in comparison to its collapsed right half. Erebus squinted. Holding a hand up to the non-existent ceiling, he could tell it was dusk now, the sky ablaze in orange, and Mical was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s --?”

“He’s buying us time,” Vash said. “As soon as you’re well enough to move, we need to go. ”

“Why? What happened?”

“We met with some of Mical’s contacts, but they’re not the ones we need to worry about,” Vash looked over her shoulder, as if expecting someone to materialize there. “We haven’t seen the last of the Golden Company, it seems.”

“ Those bastards ,” Erebus hissed. “What are they doing here?”

“What they were doing on Nespis, I suppose. Hunting Jedi and Jedi artifacts.”

“It’s a wonder they hadn’t scoured the place before,” Erebus said, finding himself less than surprised but confused nonetheless. “Dantooine has been a mess for years. Why wait to raid the place?”

“The same reason you failed to return, I assume?” Vash said, uttering a hollow laugh. “The place may have been in ruins, but the Jedi remained for some time. At least, until Katarr.”

“And now with Vrook in hiding…” Erebus started, but Vash nodded before he could elaborate. “What better timing, no?”

Erebus huffed a hollow laugh and swung his legs over the side of the medbay cot, feeling stronger than he had in months, but also more vulnerable than he had in years. Pushing the feelings from his mind, he stood. Vash watched on, her hands poised as if ready to steady him if he needed it.

“What’s curious too, I think, is that there is a bounty on Jedi at all,” Erebus continued. “Most sources say the Jedi are gone, all killed at Katarr. Now you and I both know that isn’t true, but doesn’t that mean someone in the Exchange might be privy to where at least one outlier might be located? Why put a bounty out on a people the galaxy believes to be extinct?”

Vash frowned, the space between her eyebrows knotting as she tried to read Erebus’ expression, likely full of snark and remnant nausea no doubt.

“Are you fit to travel?” she asked instead, ignoring his pet theory.

Erebus rolled his eyes and nodded. He still needed sleep, at least a week’s worth, but he wasn’t about to let a commercial mercenary company get the best of him just yet. 

“Where are we headed next? Just… away from here?” Erebus asked just as a feeling gripped him, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he let out an almost involuntary whisper. “Do you feel that?”

Part of Erebus was still with Eden’s echo, sensing her dread out in the far reaches of space as well as the memory he still had of her lingering here on Dantooine, but at the back of his mind he sensed that he and Vash were no longer alone. 

Erebus froze, his green eyes honing in on Vash’s brown, suddenly feeling like a child again as their gazes locked. Instead of faltering as he would have as a Padawan, Erebus acted, his free hand reaching for his lightsaber and igniting it instantly, only to find that Vash had done the same. Vash nodded and fell into formation at his back.

“Any ideas?” Erebus whispered over his shoulder, unable to keep the smirk from his face. Despite the adrenaline beginning to course through him as the air around them prickled with nearing energy, he was still surprised that any of this was happening, that he and Vash were fighting side-by-side for an unknown though common goal, and that somewhere on the other end of a nebulous tether that flowed through the Force was his sister, after all these years of being gone to him. 

Vash shot Erebus a glance, communicating with a flicker of an eyebrow that whatever she was about to say was a lie.

“We might be able to get out of here,” she said, her eyes briefly glancing at the far end of the room. Erebus felt them there too, trickling in through the caved-in ceiling, snaking down the branches of the blba tree without so much as disturbing a budding leaf. 

“Stay quiet, we just need to --”

“Not so fast. ”

Static filled the air as a series of silhouettes materialized in the space around them before transforming into full-bodied people, armor and all. A row of blaster-rifles pointed at them from all directions, inching closer, ignoring their ignited sabers and the electric thrum they added to the otherwise silent room. 

“Stupid move, really,” Erebus said, nonchalantly. “Blade trumps blaster in close quarters. Everyone knows that.”

With a flourish, Erebus cut upward and the blaster before him split in two. Just as the man standing in front of him faltered, the woman beside him fired and sent a flurry of laser fire his way only for Vash to parry them with ease, directing each blast at the wall behind their assailants to cast debris down on their heads. As every other blaster pointed at Vash in response, Erebus urged his connection with the Force forward, sending tendrils outward until he could feel his energy lick the metallic tang of each rifle. Smiling, he took hold and pulled.

Every weapon in the room clattered to the floor, hidden pieces flying out from covert pockets as even errant buttons and buckles came loose to join the fray. Erebus grinned as he watched the wide eyes of each mercenary observed in horror as every one of their tools disintegrated in a flurry of violet-white sparks before their eyes, but just as he savored their expressions Erebus grew cold. He had never once been able to do that - dissolve matter in an instant, absolve anything from existence entirely. He felt Vash’s eyes on him, also wide and wondering, and part of Erebus knew that whatever terror gripped her as she watched on was also taking hold inside of him at the realization. 

This is new.

“We don’t have it, whatever you’re looking for,” Erebus croaked, the surprise still weighing on his voice.

“So that means you know where it is,” another voice said.

Most of the group cowered back, but one armored merc stepped closer, the visor of her helmet glinting in the light of Erebus’ blade.

“‘Fraid not.” Erebus said, extending his free hand again, sending every merc body in their vicinity up against the wall. “Now, if you’ll excuse us--”

“Stop right there,” another merc said with effort, pulling themselves from the wall as they made their way towards Erebus. A gloved hand reached out and snatched his - white, like the Echani’s back on Nespis had been. And just as it had happened then, his Force powers dampened on contact. Before he could wonder what happened to the identical quintuplets or whatever they’d been back on the Nespis the merc holding his wrist froze.

“Or what?” Erebus asked, unsure whether he should slash straight through this merc’s torso and be done with it but finding himself unable to act because none of what was happening made sense. The white-gloved hand was still clamped around Erebus’ wrist, but the merc’s voice only gurgled beneath their helmet, revealing nothing.

Erebus turned to Vash only to find her eyes wide.

“ Aiden ,” she said, her memory lapsing in the moment as she stared at the person before him. Erebus looked back to find blood pouring from beneath the helmet’s lip, the merc’s gurgling mouth growing louder as Erebus watched on in horror. Erebus pulled back, yanking his hand from the gloved wrist with a shudder. The glove came free as the hand within withered to nothing. 

“That’s not me,” Erebus said, his voice a hallowed whisper, “I--”

I didn’t do that.

Death filled the room, and in a way Erebus had only ever felt twice before. The first time was Malachor V, feeling the reeling loss from Eden’s perspective as if it were his own, in a single wrenching moment that left him gasping for air on the floor of his apartment even though he was lightyears away. The second time he’d felt it was in Nihilus’ presence, everlasting. 

But before he could reconcile what was happening to the merc before him, the other mercs collapsed, each of their helmets filling with blood and overflowing once they hit the ground.

“You’re welcome,” another new voice joined the din, but just as Erebus located the source of the sound a red saber rushed to meet his ready one, the two blades clashing in an instant. Erebus faltered, still wondering how in the world anyone could move so quickly even with the aid of the Force, and how he and Master Vash had failed to sense their presence completely. Before he could reconcile his surprise with a matched disbelief, Erebus’ assailant pressed closer, the red blade compelling Erebus’ own violet saber closer to his face. And in the warring red and violet light, Erebus recognized her.

“ You.”  

Visas. 

The veiled Miraluka materialized, now dominating the space with her billowing cloak and her thick voice, her red saber alight with a fury Erebus knew all too well.

Erebus pushed back, both with his saber and with the Force, sending the veiled woman back only an inch. She smiled, her full lips glistening in the light of the sabers locked between them.

“Master is looking for you,” Visas said, her voice barely a whisper above the hum of their blades. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Erebus hardly had a chance to catch his breath before Visas pushed, both in body and in the Force. His boots skidded along the rough floor, clouds of dust billowing in the wake of his heels as the hum of his lightsaber filled his ears. 

He was about to pounce when Visas relented, though not in surrender. She relinquished her blade and shrugged as if bored. “Master is looking for you, yes, but now you have been found.”

Erebus paused. He looked from Visas to his saber, feeling the full weight of his lack of sleep threatening his head to implode at the notion of any further thought. He retracted his blade, its violet light shrinking to nothing as it plunged the room into an uncomfortable silence.

“I’m not here to fight you,” she said, her voice warm as butter. “Only to deliver a message.”

“W-wait, what?” Erebus sputtered eventually. “What message would that be?”

Visas only smiled, though the extent of her expression was swallowed by the shadow of her veil.

Visas stilled, crossing her arms as if that were reason enough. Master Vash remained frozen on the other end of the ruined medbay, her eyes wide, a hand hovering over the hilt of her now-sheathed saber.

Erebus felt the Force ebb around them, slow and deliberate, like a lava flow. Visas knew exactly where Vash stood, her Force Sight sensing beyond even that of an average humanoid. She watched and waited. Though her veil did not stir, Erebus knew Nihilus’ protege was surveying the room, studying its every crevice while she patiently stood, motionless.

“Master desires an audience with you,” Visas said again, her voice still soft, now filling the quiet with ease. “He is still situated where the Nespis moon once orbited, but he is headed for the Japrael system.”

Where the Nespis moon once orbited. Erebus willed himself not to glance at Vash, knowing her face grew pale at the news. 

“What does he require of me?” Erebus’ old cadence came easily to him, relief flooding his veins enough to drown out the exhaustion, for now. 

“He does not wish for you to pursue the Wound in the Force, which is why I am here. He feared that was your intention on Tatooine, and then on the Nespis moon. But seeing as you are here, he will understand that you are only finishing out your original mission . As it turns out, that mission has become his focus as well.”

“I see,” Erebus mused, the tension finally leaving his muscles as he turned Visas’ words over in his mind. So Nihilus doesn’t want me dead, at least not yet . “The Japrael System you said, correct? Does that mean Nihilus intends to resume operations on the Dxun moon?”

Part of the reason Erebus had been an obvious initiate of Nihilus’ was his connection to his sister. In studying the Force Wound created by the Mass Shadow Generator, Erebus had been assigned to scout out the places where its pull was greatest. Onderon’s moon had always been heavy with it. It was where the ghost of Freedon Nadd had tempted Exar Kun and Ulic Qel Droma to the dark side decades earlier, but it had also been the site of massive bloodshed during the Mandalorian Wars, one of the bloodiest campaigns known in recent history. Even now Erebus knew the moon’s jungles still haunted Eden’s memory. In fact it was what he had seen her find in a vision that led him there years later: the discovery of a pyramidal crystal much like the one she’d found on Tatooine, a crystal discovered with an army of matching onyx pyramids mirroring it in miniature. She’d sent it to Revan for further research, but there was no record of what happened to the objects after that. Despite the planet’s link to Exar Kun, it was the link to Revan that made Erebus look at Vash again, the memory of what they’d discovered in the ruined archives coming into focus once more. The Jedi nodded solemnly. Her vision...

“Master has secured a meeting with one General Vaklu. I believe he wishes for you to meet with him in person, as an emissary on his behalf.”

Of course. Onderon had a long and storied history with the Sith, and undoubtedly whatever key Erebus had been missing the last time he’d tried to locate the jungle’s secret temple was with the Onderonian government itself. With the civil war, this was an opportune moment to feign an alliance with one of the planet’s warring factions, so long as they got the information they needed. And if Nihilus didn’t want to consume the planet of its life before they got what they wanted, his best bet at getting the job done was to send someone else in first.

“What makes Nihilus think it will work this time?” Erebus pressed on. “And why did he send you?”

Erebus looked Visas up and down, sensing the pride radiating off of her as she stood there, relaying all of this. And in that moment, Erebus realized that he had never heard Visas speak until now.

“He believes the war to be at a tipping point, granting us just enough leverage to gain a foothold where previously there was none. While you secure our position, I will pursue the Wound in the Force and follow her,” Visas said. “I am to monitor her moments and report back as required.”

“But why you ?” he countered almost too quickly.

“You are too close to this, Darth Erebus,” Visas answered, a hush reverence verberating in her sultry voice as she uttered his title. “If we have need of her beyond that, I am sure Master will include you. Eventually, but not yet.”

“I see,” Erebus muttered, though he was unsure if that were true. “So I am to meet with him now?”

“Not exactly, but sooner rather than later,” Visas said, approaching him. She procured a small data cylinder from within her robes, its glow a pale scarlet against her palm as she extended it toward him. “These are to be the Ravager’s exact coordinates in a standard week’s time. Meet him there as soon as you are able for further instruction. You may bring your Jedi slave if you wish, though Master may have other plans for her.”

Visas now physically acknowledged Lonna Vash, turning her veiled head toward her, the glittering gold in her hood’s embroidery catching the light from the exposed ceiling above. Vash didn’t move. 

“Understood,” Erebus said as he took the cylinder, careful not to touch Visas. The woman relinquished the data conduit as if dropping something too hot before stepping back again, this time linking her hands behind her back as she did so, nodding. 

“Until we meet again, Darth Erebus.”

Visas bowed her head and within the blink of an eye, she was gone. 

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility

Eden

The door out of the dormitories opened, offering quiet reprieve on the other side. But as soon as Eden crossed the threshold, the door shut behind her with a clunking thud, sparks flying in every which direction as the passage sealed shut with a crunch of metal. Her breath caught, stopping somewhere in her throat as she spun around, her mind suddenly back in the jungles of Dxun, jumping as another trap set off in the trees behind her. The muted sounds of muffled screams rustled from the underbrush, puncturing the thrumming of the constant rains as if it were happening again, in real time. 

“Hey, can you read me?” Atton’s staticky voice asked, accessing the comm she’d pilfered from the command desk earlier. Eden faltered, struggling to bring herself out of the past and back to the present, though hearing this new voice helped anchor her to the now. “Haven’t heard from you in a while now...”

It’s just a broken door, it’s just a broken door, she repeated in her mind like a mantra, willing herself to forget the massacre she’d found in the dormitories. She closed her eyes, catching her breath with several awkward gulps of air before she was able to speak again. 

“Yeah, I can read you loud and clear,” Eden said with effort, trying her best to sound normal.  

“Good, just-- just ring me if you need anything, okay?” Atton offered. Eden froze, unsure of how to read his hospitality. If anything, it was pure survival instinct. The more distance she put between them, the more Eden questioned her decision to set the man free, despite whatever he’d done to deserve it. If the man had any sense, he would only trust Eden as far as she trusted him. And her faith only went as far as it meant getting off this station.

In the silence Eden failed to fill after Atton’s request, he obliged with another awkward sign off. “Over and out.”

Ugh.

Part of Eden wished she’d eaten that ration bar from earlier, as well as consumed the rest of the water flask she’d surrendered to Atton. She wanted to think she had offered both out of pity, but she knew it wasn’t. She’d always been like this. With her brother, with recruits at the Jedi Academy, her troops on the front lines… she’d always given whatever of herself she could to those around her, even if she didn’t necessarily want to. Was it because it was the right thing to do? Or because she was so afraid that people only liked her for the way the Force made them feel around her? Inexplicably drawn into her orbit whether she willed it or not?

“Hey, there might be some supplies nearby. Maybe check that canister on your left?” Atton’s voice sounded again, pulling Eden out of her reverie as well as scaring her half to death.

Eden laughed darkly, looking up to the high ceilings of the otherwise dim hallway, looking for it . Soon her eyes fell on a slightly exposed corner, likely housing a not-so-hidden security cam just beyond view.

“I don’t appreciate you keeping an eye on me like that, you know,” Eden said squaring off with the cam, her voice sounding more playful than she felt. It was sickening, how personable she was being. But it was better than making enemies when she knew she couldn’t afford that right now. Eden wasn’t sure what was worse, Kreia’s prying or Atton’s. She also wasn’t sure there was much of a difference so far.

“I was making sure whatever got to the miners didn’t get you too,” Atton said, not denying his spying despite the twinge of concern coloring his words. Cute. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d also like to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Eden could agree with that. Sighing and looking to her left, Eden saw the canister Atton mentioned. There was an entire pile of plasteel canisters pushed up against the wall, though only one of them was in any state to be opened. The hallway ahead had partially collapsed, part of the storage pile in front of her falling victim to the deluge. While Eden ignored the possible reasons behind whatever created this mess, she wrangled the closest canister open, revealing its contents. Eden still didn’t remember much, but the genuine smile that spread across her face at the bounty felt like the first one in a long, long time. 

“What, what is it?” Atton asked, his voice cutting out at odd intervals.

“Looks like there’s a mining laser in here, and a uniform,” Eden answered, pulling the ugly blue thing out in front of her, feeling warm at the thought of it draped over her exposed limbs.

“ Damn it,” Atton hissed.

Eden paused, unsure if she should be confused or offended. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, good . Uh, good to hear it. No sense in you running around half-naked. It's... it's distracting. I mean, for the droids."

Eden turned and looked at the camera she knew Atton was watching her through and narrowed her eyes at it. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

At least Kreia didn’t have eyes to oggle her, and for that Eden was oddly grateful. 

“Can we keep the chatter to business only, please?” she said. Eden began to step into what she quickly realized was a slightly-too-small uniform. The bodice’s zipper only reached half-way up her torso, to which she muttered “ You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Kidding who? What’s this talk about kidding business? Kidding only ? Okay, you got it.” Atton replied, and Eden could hear the snarky smile in his voice as he said it. Oh, so this is how it’s going to be?

“No more outfit comments,” Eden ordered, abandoning the uniform’s upper half and tying the sleeves around her waist so she was at least somewhat modest. And far less cold. At least she had pants now. “Deal?”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Atton said, lapsing to cut the comm off before Eden heard him laughing on the other end of it. 

“I’m glad one of us is having fun,” she murmured, cracking her neck and stretching her arms after she fixed the shockstick and the mining laser to the uniform’s sewn-in utility belt. As much as she was growing to despise the current reality she found herself in, Eden had a feeling it was about to get a whole lot worse. 

“So, now that the dormitory’s cleared--” she began, pausing as she attempted and failed to once again mentally purge the horrors she’d witnessed there. Eden swallowed hard, hoping it would dissolve with time, like everything else.

“Where to next?” she said, already dreading the answer.

3951 BBY, Coruscant
Carth

In the months since he’d last seen her, Carth Onasi had not stopped thinking about Nevarra Draal. 

His comm would chime, and an inner part of him fueled by wishful thinking would inspire an inane hope - if only for a single, fleeting moment - that it would be her . That her disappearance would be explained away, that she would announce her imminent return, that he would hear her voice again when every day spent in her absence he started to forget it more and more.

He’d known it would happen. He had expected her to leave - encouraged her, even.

It wasn’t the leaving part that bothered him, but the radio silence that followed. For days, weeks, months on end. Nothing.

She had left before and failed to comm or send a message, but he always knew she’d be back. Nevarra would always return with a chagrined smile before falling into his arms, telling him how much she’d missed his scent and how much she craved his companionship in light of whatever new thing it was she had discovered about herself, still reconciling the old with the new. After every foray into her memory, Nevarra would ask that they make more memories. New ones. Together . Because those were the ones that mattered most.

He didn’t think she’d been lying, but there was something different about the way she left this time.

Nevarra had taken the Hawk to follow another lead, another memory, and the only other thing she’d taken with her - not clothes, not provisions, not even the damned holo-mystery she had been nose-deep in weeks prior - was her mask. Revan’s mask. Recovered from the Star Forge, the only thing that survived the wreckage. 

And despite his worried mind, in those moments when he momentarily thought she would call, her face would flash in his mind’s eye in perfect detail. The swath of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the slant of her sharp cheekbones, the deep dark of her brown eyes, the small space between her front teeth, the soft black curtain of her hair falling over her right eye, perpetually hindering her vision if she let it. At least he had this part of her, buried somewhere deep, unearthed whenever he thought he might see her once more. Or never again.

And now, today, when Mission called - he could have sworn it was her.

Only he didn’t think of Nevarra when the comm chimed. He thought of Revan .

“Carth?” Mission’s sing-songish voice called to him before her image appeared, distorted at first before settling into place on the holopad by his desk. Carth rubbed his temples, still tempering the fear that he might never see Nevarra again while anticipating the notion that he might see her previous self instead, “Can you read me?”

“Yeah, yeah, Mission I can hear you.”

“Oh, good,” she laughed, uncomfortable as she did her best to lighten the mood despite the hollowness in her voice, “Reception’s bad down here, but--”

As Mission’s image became clearer, Carth could tell she was still discerning her surroundings, her eyes squinting into the distance as Carth’s adjoining holo-self likely materialized in front of her - wherever she was - or failed to, considering her previous statement.

“You wouldn’t even recognize the place,” Mission said, the sudden seriousness in her tone bringing Carth back fully to the present, “It’s strange.”

Without having to ask and without Mission having to explain, Carth knew she was referring to the old Jedi Temple. He’d been annoyed with the place and its people the last he’d been there, stuck with an amnesiac Jedi and a tempestuous Mission, only calmed if Zaalbar was by her side, stoic as always. 

“Tell me the situation,” Carth said, his voice curt. Keeping the memories at bay was taking more energy than he’d like. Images of those weeks spent on Dantooine floated to the surface of his mind, muddying his words, just as another memory of a young Captain Malak swam the surface along with it, as Carth had known the man back then, before his Sith title. The Jedi Knight had been so pragmatic, so charming - even after all these years, it was difficult to reconcile that enigmatic idealist with the monster that would later destroy Dantooine and half of the Republic.

“Funny you should use that word,” Mission answered, her expression growing tense through a false smile, “Because we have quite the situation at hand, it seems.”

Zaalbar growled, annoyed, off screen. 

“What is it now?” Carth asked, unease mounting in his chest as he kept his own news quiet, at least for the moment. 

“Well, remember how the Administrator mentioned that she was allied with a Jedi? One with access to valuable items that would be bad if left in the wrong hands? Well… he’s missing,” Mission said. The young woman squared her shoulders, pursing her lips to prevent herself from playing the situation off as no big deal with another friendly but hollow laugh. 

“Continue,” Carth urged after a moment, sensing that Mission was waiting for a reaction from him but receiving none.

“Oh, right, well… we think that he might have been taken captive. By a terrorist group, or organization, thing. And they’ve taken control of the old Jedi Archive, by the looks of things...”

If Carth had a headache before, now it was a full-blown migraine.

“If this is some petty attempt to garner Republic aid when we’re already scrambling, I--”

Carth had been none too happy to be more or less blackmailed by a backwater planet asking for military resources when recovery from the Jedi Civil War was still draining Coruscant's coffers. Dantooine had a worthy claim, sure, and he’d been just as outraged by the oversight once Mission had explained it to him the previous day, the stern Khoonda Administrator looking over the Twi'lek’s shoulder the entire time as her assistant continually buttted in with added barbs and remarks. But he also couldn’t betray his work with Bastila, something that was still secret as long as the Jedi were being hunted. Acting as if he, or the Republic, didn’t care about such things was in their best interest. But he couldn’t say that, could he? 

“No, no, Asra thought the same thing. Plus I have reason to believe that this terrorist organization now has the support of whoever attempted the takeover at the Jedi Temple on Nespis.”

“Oh?” Carth perked up at this, though he was dreading an explanation.

Mission bit her lip and nodded before side-stepping out of view, her holo-double disappearing before another form took her place. A young man replaced her, humanoid and blond-haired. 

“Mical,” Carth said as the young man nodded.

“Admiral Onasi,” Mical breathed, “Pleasure to meet you, sir. I understand that you assigned me to work under Rell on retrieving the Jedi Exile. While I appreciate the assignment, I hope you understand the obligation I held to Zayne Carrick and your friend Bastila’s cause that kept me back from joining the rescue crew aboard the Harbinger . it’s unfortunate that we must meet formally under these circumstances, but I’m afraid that isn’t the first time I’ve said that in the last standard day.”

Carth furrowed a brow, hoping his inquisition came across via holo. Mical shifted his weight from foot to foot before getting the hint and continuing.

“You might not be pleased to hear that I was brought to Dantooine by… rather unusual means.”

“Define unusual,” Carth sighed, rubbing his temples again. 

“Unusual as in Sith,” Mical said curtly. Now Carth truly had a headache.

“Explain,” he urged almost too quickly, his headache blossoming into a full-on migraine the moment he opened his eyes again. His gaze was marred by double-vision at first, a miniature Mical swimming in duplicate about Carth’s field of view for a moment before both holo-forms collided into one as Mical found the right words.

Not Revan, not Revan. No, not her .

“I think he said his name was Erebus,” Mical said. “He just so happens to be the Jedi Exile’s brother."

Carth knew he had been holding his breath, but the wealth of air that escaped his lungs upon hearing Mical’s explanation was larger than expected. Not Revan.

“You have news of General Valen, though?” Carth finally managed, at least thankful that one trail of breadcrumbs was leading somewhere.

“Not yet,” Mical continued, “But there’s more. Oddly enough I feel that it is tied to the work I had already been doing for Lucien Draay, and eventually Bastila. Some of the Jedi objects on Draay’s list are being targeted by the Golden Company. You know of them, yes?”

“Unfortunately,” Carth answered, rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger hard enough to start seeing stars. He paused, blinked, and waited until the kaleidoscope copies of Mical slid and focused into a single holo-version of a man again before continuing. “We’d heard reports that they were far more active than usual in the last week but had no intel as to why. You’re telling me they’re suddenly hunting Jedi artifacts now?”

“Affirmative,” Mical confirmed. “But they don’t seem aligned with the Sith I met. In fact he went so far as to help me escape the planet so long as it meant that the mercenary group didn’t acquire whatever it was I was after.”

“And what was that?”

Mical swallowed, looking away for a moment before answering. “The lightsaber of Exar Kun.”

Carth had heard of the famed fallen Jedi, as had everyone else in the galaxy. It had been some time since he heard the name, but Kun had been compared to Revan at the beginning of the Jedi Civil War from what he remembered, and the connection did nothing to put Carth at ease.

“I take it that the lightsaber is no longer in your possession?” Carth said, reading the man’s body language, sensing his discomfort even from this distance.

“Correct, though I intend to rectify that. And if it makes you or anyone else feel any better, I also left Jedi Master Lonna Vash in the presence of the artifact.”

“Vash?” Carth echoed a little too quickly, perking up now. “Another Jedi?”

He’d heard the woman’s name before in passing, and while he had no idea who she was or what she looked like, some part of him bristled at the mention of her.

“Yes, survived Katarr,” Mical answered, almost as impressed with the feat himself in the retelling. “I don’t trust the Exile’s brother, but I trust Vash. Not just with the artifact but in general. I think following this Erebus is our best bet at following up on the Sith threat, especially if he claims his Sith master is responsible for what happened at Katarr.”

“And you believe that?” Carth countered, tempering a hope that this lead could be worth following despite how dangerous it would be.

“I do,” Mical said, nodding gravely. “I also don’t think it’s a coincidence. It’s strange, isn’t it? Revan disappears shortly after seeking out General Valen who was exiled for following her orders. We finally track Valen down only for her to vanish, too. And yet despite these setbacks, we run into a Sith that just so happens to be General Valen’s brother.”

“And not only that, but our interests are aligned,” Carth laughed darkly, knowing that the coincidences did not end there, trying not to think of something Bastila had said about the Force and coincidences that he wasn’t ready to repeat just yet.

“Our intel first believed that it was the Exchange that placed the bounty on Jedi, General Valen in particular, to draw out whatever Jedi remained so the Sith could hunt them to extinction. But if what you say is true about Nespis, then that means someone else is looking for lost Jedi.”

“And whoever that is has just gotten on Erebus’ Sith master’s bad side,” Mical finished. Carth nodded.

“This doesn’t look good,” he muttered, “But it might just grant us the distraction we need to prepare ourselves.”

Prepare . Something about the word as it passed his lips made Carth pause.

The galaxy wasn’t prepared for what we found in the Unknown Regions, Nevarra had said about the Star Forge years after the incident on Rakata Prime, the memories rushing back to her in waves but the details unfortunately lost in the foam. They weren’t meant to be prepared at all.

“That’s it,” Carth said, his voice barely a whisper, “The Exchange bounty, the rift between the Golden Company and the Sith… this was all part of the plan. And so was Revan. I’m not sure how it all adds up exactly, but while we look into this further we can at least make sure that Republic Space is prepared for… well, I wish I knew what. Anything, I guess.”

“What does this have to do with Revan?” Carth heard Mission say, her head poking into the holo-feed. 

“Everything, I’m afraid,” Mical sighed, grim realization crossing his face as he looked Carth in the eye. 

Carth sighed.

“Some things just never change, do they?”

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility

Atton

“You stare at everyone like that or just me?”

Atton hadn’t realized he’d been ogling until Eden called him out on it, her stern expression slicing through the haze that was his delirium the moment her sharp words registered in his still jelly-like brain. Atton blinked. He had some time to gather his wits while the woman had braved the dormitories looking for a way out, but now that she was back Atton was nervous again, already unused to others’ company after just a few days’ starvation. Trying to muster up some civility, he resigned with a shrug.

“You’re the first live person I’ve seen in two days, or maybe three, I really can’t remember,” he said, still finding his eyes wandering as he spoke despite his better judgement. Eden managed to find an unused mining uniform, but as Atton’s luck would have it only the bottom portion seemed to fit. It did a decent enough job of covering her up, and it’s not like the Peragus-issued undergarments were anything less than matronly, so Atton chalked up his preoccupation with Eden’s figure to being deliriously nutrient deficient. It was still difficult not to stare, not just because of her garb but because there was something off about her, yet somehow familiar. 

Her dark hair was done up in some elaborate fashion - beads, braids, and a glint of gold - but her visage failed to match. She was definitely human, probably from somewhere in the Serroco sector by the looks of her, though the green eyes were a bit unusual. A harrowed scar ran along her left cheekbone, cutting through a swath of freckles that otherwise covered most of her face. But it was the scowl Eden wore that stood in such contrast with the rest of her that unsettled him. 

Normally he’d play it cool, have some pickup line nocked and ready in situations like these if only to make it seem like he wasn’t people-reading and only interested in a tumble or two, but now he came up empty.

“So uh, how long have you been a Jedi?” Atton nearly cringed hearing the words as they exited his mouth.

“Almost as long as I haven’t been one,” Eden replied, rolling her eyes and turning her attention to the console beside them. She absently clicked at the refresh button, eager for something to happen that might save her from the dreadful conversation Atton was about to drag her into.

Atton knew why he was being this way. It was partially the hunger, the exhaustion, and likely the trauma slowly seeping in from managing to be the only survivor of what was likely a domino effect he perpetuated at the behest of the Exchange. But more than that, Atton feared the silence and the uncertainty it held, so despite how bad he knew it was making him look, he had no intention of shutting up any time soon. 

“Must be tough,” he continued with a belabored sigh.

His gaze flickered over the woman’s profile, sensing some familiarity but finding it awkward to look her in the eye. So instead, he found himself staring at how the damp upper fabric of her outdated undergarments clung to her--

Without even looking, Eden cut in “No tougher than enduring your false sympathy when your targets are clearly locked on my chest.” 

“Oh,” Atton’s face grew hot. “Right, sorry. Hey, I wasn’t trying to--”

Before he could grow too bashful, he smiled, realizing something.

“Ah, so you admit it now,” he said, the smirk spreading unwittingly across his face. “You are a Jedi. Once upon a time, or whatever.”

Now it was Eden’s turn to turn red. She turned to face him, her eyes going wide for a moment at the realization before narrowing her gaze as she honed in on him, crossing her arms over her chest as she did so.

“You didn’t want to admit it before,” Atton continued, stating the obvious. “Why?”

“The Jedi and I have a complicated history. I’d rather not get into it.”

The woman didn’t budge. Eden remained poised, her expression emphasized only by an eyebrow darting up to support her right to remain silent. But Atton had his suspicions.

“You didn’t fight in the Civil War, no,” he started, rounding on her now as it all began to make some sense, if his brain running on near-feral hunger could be trusted. Her name was familiar, but not in his recent memory. He’d heard of General Valen in passing, but not in at least ten years. “No, you fought in the Mandalorian Wars. You saw the worst of it. And the Jedi didn’t like you for that, did they?”

He’d seen plenty of them in his time working under Revan. Jedi Generals that had prided themselves on their Mandalorian victories but floundered under Darth Revan’s command, wondering if they were cut out for her new reign or if they’d had been better off turning themselves into the Council for reckoning.  

“What’d they get you for? Treason?” It was an easy guess -- rumor had it that any Jedi that followed Revan was later marked a traitor.

Eden remained motionless, her expression growing stonier by the second. 

“Come on, I fought in both wars. I’m just curious. If you can’t already tell, I’m not fond of the Jedi so it’s not exactly like I’m on their side,” Atton tried to laugh despite knowing he’d already gone too far. “Okay, what if I go first? I served in the Republic Navy, dropping bombs and pretending that the only people they killed or injured were the other guys. Now you -- what did you do during the war?”

Despite the unease bubbling inside him, Atton still preferred this to the silence. Even if he was being insufferable about it.

At this, Eden truly paused. She huffed a hollow laugh and looked away. Her light eyes dimmed, her gaze stilling as she retreated into memory. Shaking her head, Eden’s eyes returned to Atton’s, sizing him up before answering. Atton wasn’t sure whether her death glare alarmed or aroused him. Maybe both. 

“You really wanna know what I did during the war?” she said advancing on him, flashing a false grin that didn’t meet her eyes, her expression vacant save for her ironic smirk. She stopped a mere inch from his face, her eyes unblinking. “I ended it.”

“Ended? You mean… oh.” Atton paused, her words sinking in. “Oh.”

Atton trailed off as Eden stalked back to the console to further await a reply as well as avoid him entirely. Atton hadn’t been there at the end of the war, but he’d heard of what happened. Everyone had. No one in the galaxy had gone without hearing the horror stories that emerged from Malachor V. Rumor of Revan’s death machine had reached all corners of the galaxy, only cementing her claim to the Sith mantle soon after. Atton knew it had all been according to Revan’s plan, but knowing that the woman beside him had been responsible for its success was something else entirely. 

“No wonder the Jedi--” Atton paused, unsure of what he was about to say. But he did not get to finish, thankful that the console buzzing saved him from likely getting throttled, judging by the look Eden shot at him as he began to respond.  

“Ah, looks like that bugger actually came through,” Atton smiled as he read the binary message on the console over her shoulder, careful to keep his distance.

“I have a thing for droids,” Eden muttered, typing in a few commands back in binary as quickly as if it were her first language. “I got that spunky little utility droid to grant us access to this entire level, and according to this handy map here, that should include the cafeteria and the storage area. See what you can get in the way of supplies. Food especially, but also weapons. And clothes, if you can remember that, hotshot.”

“Uh yeah, sure captain, but where are you going?”

Eden paused, her expression blank for the first time since he’d met her, and she pointed at the viewing deck. Atton turned, expecting to see the same view as always. But instead of a field of asteroids, the swath of space that usually took up the entire window was blotted out by a docked Republic cruiser. 

“Wh-?”

“It docked while you were yapping, and staring,” Eden said, trying to stifle a true smirk, “If this utility unit can be trusted, the ship in the docking bay has an unlocked nav chart, and according to you, we need a drift chart specific to Peragus II to avoid that asteroid belt.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I’m going to access the fuel line to that ghost ship, hotwire their navigational chart and bring it back here so we can get off this rock.”

“Ghost ship?” Atton echoed, truly confused now, “Who said it was a ghost ship? I don’t know how long you’ve been gone sister, but that’s a Republic ship -- we’re saved!”

Eden only blinked at him in response. Atton could tell there was bad news coming, knowing that as little as Eden liked him right now, he could already trust her to tell the brutal truth. 

“Last I remember, I was on that Republic cruiser,” Eden said, her expression dissolving of animosity and betraying nothing else. “I fell unconscious, but we were attacked, and I was brought here by the freighter in the docking bay downstairs. Peragus must have been the closest place for us to land, and judging by the records in the maintenance bay that freighter was in pretty rough shape when I was brought on board. It’s fixed now but the navicomputer is locked, and it could be our ticket out of here but--”

“Hold up, hold up, who’s this we you keep mentioning?”

Eden shook her head, frustration painting her features as she ignored Atton’s question and continued. 

“According to the readout, the ship is void of any life signs,” Eden continued, this time grabbing Atton by the elbow and physically dragging him to the center console to see for himself. Atton willed himself to look at the screen instead of the blush of red that colored Eden’s freckled cheekbones, glinting blue-green in the reflection of the monitor. “I can only hope that anyone left alive on that ship made use of the escape pods. But since then, it must have just… I dunno, been spinning in orbit?”

“Wait, wait, wait.”

Atton gave the console with his full attention now. He was still hunger-blind and his ability to read now was a testament to that, but after a few moments of fight-or-flight focus he was able to see just how dire their situation truly was.

“This isn’t any usual docking situation,” he said, trying to keep the dread from his voice. “You’re right, this readout says the ship is void of life. But you need to request access to the fuel line here, there’s a code only a select few planets and rigging outfits have, and it changes on the regular. And even with that code you need to signal the command center to grant access. That’s us. If we didn’t grant this ship access to the fuel line, then that means--”

“There’s someone else on this mining facility,” Eden said, but Atton shook his head.

“Yes, and--” he paused, swallowing, “That also means there’s someone on that ship. Someone we can’t see. Or at least someone the infrared can’t pick up.”

Eden’s eyes widened, looking from Atton to the ship outside and back again. She was about to respond when a door opened on the other side of the promenade, interrupting whatever it was she was about to say. 

“Grave Admonition: Master, we need to get off this station, promptly.”

A silver HK droid sidled up towards them as Eden shook her head, seemingly unsurprised but annoyed nonetheless.

“I told you to wait for me at the hangar entrance,” Eden groaned, approaching the protocol droid. Atton stood and stared, dumbfounded.

“Hey, hey, excuse me but when were you going to tell me that you enabled an HK droid?” Atton huffed, catching up with Eden and the droid in the center of the room, his gaze volleying between the two of them.

“It’s fine, it was already active when I found it in the maintenance wing. Apparently, I own this hunk of junk.”

“If you have a thing for droids -- your words -- why can’t you tell if you own one?” Atton said, squaring up the HK model as it stood motionless before him, awaiting Eden’s sole command. “Where the hell did it come from?”

“Tatooine, I think, I can’t remember.  My memory's still a bit… hazy.” 

Tatooine?! Just where in the galaxy did this woman come from?

Eden nursed her temples as she closed her eyes before looking the HK in the face again, not that it needed eye-to-eye contact to register whatever it was she was about to say. “Do you have stealth detecting capabilities? I could use your help on that ship.”

Eden pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the Republic Cruiser idling outside. If the HK could balk, Atton imagined it would have.

“Surprised Statement: Master, that is the very ship we were attacked on. My prime directive is to get you to safety. Boarding that ship would be contrary to my programming.”

“While I hate to admit that the droid has a point,” Atton said, leaning close to Eden and whispering as best he could while retaining eye contact with the HK, “If you hardly remember where this thing came from, do you really think it’s a good idea to trust it?”

Eden sighed again, but this time Atton could sense the exhaustion coming off of her as she began to pace in response, directing her next statement at Atton in a half-whisper.

“I was hoping it might shed some light on what happened on board, but hasn’t been exactly forthcoming.”

“Yeah, like that isn’t suspicious,” Atton said, his eyes still fixed on the HK. Something about it was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He’d seen HK models before, but usually by the side of bigshots at Pazaak tables. “Well, you heard the woman’s question - are you equipped with stealth detectors or what?”

Atton was confident he could accomplish that himself, his intuition rarely failing him when it came to covert ops.

“Confident Affirmation: I am quite capable at detecting stealth-cloaked anomalies, Master,” the HK drawled as it cocked its head in Eden’s direction. “Additionally, this blaster should assist in our quandary.”

The HK produced a small blaster pistol from its chest compartment, locking and loading it with a rapid series of clicks to emphasize its previous declaration.

“Where the hell did that come from?!” Eden demanded, stepping towards the HK with an outstretched hand. Atton watched on, eyes wide as he did the opposite and stepped back. His gaze never left the HK, but suddenly his memory was clear -- the medbay, the nightmares. Atton blinked and the memory was gone as quickly as it came.

“If you fire that thing, it could blow us all to hell,” Eden warned, a worried calm taking over her voice as if talking down a feral beast.

“I don’t think--” Atton started, another memory taking place of the other just as quickly as he lost it -- the man in the mining tunnels, the one with the short hair and the blue eyes, the one who had picked up the drop-off Atton had arranged from the Exchange. “Shit.”

“What?” Eden urged, turning her attention to Atton now, her green eyes wide. “What?!”

Eden reached for him, demanding an answer. Atton jolted with electricity, jumping at Eden’s touch just as Eden pulled away at the same moment, her eyes darting to her hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m still not used to this--” she started, a look of horror crossing her face before one of confusion took its place. She held out her hands in mid-air, turning them palm over wrist as if it might show her something she hadn’t seen before.

“Annoyed Reminder: Master, the longer we remain on this station, the longer we sjkghwkej…”

Eden turned to look at the droid just as Atton did. With a gurgle and a snap, its torso cavity caved in, followed by its head and its legs before the entire droid burst into electrical flames -- hot one instant and cold the next, imploding just as the blaster pistol once held in its hand flew through the air and into the hands of a cloaked old woman on the other end of the promenade.

“Wait, wh--” Eden began, unable to form words. “Kreia?”

“We need to leave,” the woman said, walking unhurriedly towards them despite her command.

Eden started jogging in the woman’s direction before pausing in front of the droid’s remains, looking to and from the woman as she approached. 

“That droid is the reason you do not recall what happened on the Harbinger,” the woman continued, “I’ve not yet gleaned from where it originated, but I fear it is not the last we’ll see of its kind.”

Atton stood stock still, still processing the sight of the droid imploding while his brain reconciled the addition of another person in whatever the hell was going on right now. 

“Ah, the smuggler,” the woman said, turning to meet him. Smuggler? Her hood was drawn over half her face, revealing only a pouty mouth, a sagging neck, and a pair of silver braids. “I expected you would be of some use to us.”

“Yeah, and I’m also good at drinking and shooting things, your majesty,” Atton shot back a little too quickly, his skin erupting in goosebumps beneath his shirt as the word smuggler echoed in his brain. 

“Then you had better take this,” the woman extended the blaster in Atton’s direction, indicating that he take it. “Eden and I can handle ourselves by other means.”

“Other means, huh,” Atton looked from the old woman to Eden as he took the blaster rifle slowly. “Another Jedi? What, did you guys start breeding when I wasn’t looking?”

“I fear we are still ill-prepared, but we will have to make do,” Kreia continued, ignoring Atton as she turned towards the hulking shadow of the Republic cruiser. “That is our only way off this station, and we are running out of time.”

“Out of time?” Atton echoed. “What do you know that we don’t?”

“As I have already told Eden, I was attacked before I was brought aboard the Harbinger only for the same assailant to attack the Republic cruiser as well.” Kreia answered, “I have a feeling that threat has not left, despite what the readouts tell you.”

Readouts, Atton huffed as he struggled not to share his thoughts out loud. How does she know?

But he did know how Kreia knew. He just didn’t like it. 

“Let’s get a move on then, shall we?” Eden sighed. “I’d like for this particular chapter of my life to be over sooner rather than later.”

With that, Atton could agree.

3951 BBY, Dantooine
Mical

It took everything in Mical not to let his eyes wander, to let his mind roam. He hadn’t recognized it at first but the provisional government calling itself Khoonda had taken up residence in the old Matale estate. Mical had once run an errand for the property’s former owner, sowing a field full of grain for the aging Ahlan Matale while his son was away, as padawans were oft requested to do for the Jedi Academy’s surrounding neighbors. It was an act of kindness, a lesson, but also the small tithe the Academy paid for being there. Sending children off to do the work for you seemed to be a running Jedi theme…

“The last we knew of Master Vrook, he had taken up residence near the sole entrance to the kyber cave,” Administrator Adare was explaining as Mical honed in his focus, quieting his many questions. “But the place is abandoned, there is no sign of him nor his camp.”

“Yet the local scavenger encampment seems to be encroaching on that spot more and more every week,” Dillan groaned. “There’s little evidence otherwise, but I find it hard to believe it’s not a coincidence.”

“If the scavengers had any sense, they would have pillaged that entire cave by now,” Mical offered sagely. “Jedi bounty or not, kyber crystal has always been worth it’s weight in credits, and the market on kyber is far more stable than Jedi relics ever were or will be. I doubt they know the cave’s there, otherwise they would have redirected their efforts to draining that resource. It’s possible someone else took advantage of their position, making it look as if they might be responsible for the Jedi Master’s disappearance so they would lead us off track.”

“We already know that the Golden Company has moved in on this planet, a group with clear motive on collecting the bounty on Jedi and Jedi artifacts,” Zayne added. “I admit, it’s strange they only found the planet to be worth pillaging now, but maybe it’s because they have an in. Maybe they were brought here by whoever already has Master Vrook, and brokered a deal of sorts.”

“That sounds plausible,” Administrator Adare agreed, her grey eyes widening until they looked ghost-white in the holo-light. “Perhaps the resistance reached out to this mercenary group, asking for aid in exchange for the Jedi’s life. If he’s even still on this planet.”

“Our first step should be figuring out where exactly this resistance cell is hiding. We won’t know for sure until we find them, right?” Mission asked, looking between all of them huddled around the lone tree planted in the center of Administer Adare’s office. Amid marveling at what odd circumstances brought each present individual here, Mical wondered if the tree had been present the last he’d visited the estate, and it bothered him that he did not remember. “Even if they don’t have Vrook, you want to eliminate this group, no?”

“Eliminate… is a harsh word,” Adare said carefully. “But you are not wrong. If the government stands any chance on its own, then we need to remove any opposition. I’ve had quite a few citizens express disappointment in our leadership, namely for our lack of resources and for the increased scavenger presence. And now, mercenaries! Dantooinians feel unsafe, and I hate to admit that they are. We cannot protect them without the proper equipment, without adequate funds, without--”

“Without weapons,” Asra butted in. Adare granted the Togruta a pointed stare, annoyance playing across her features before she acknowledged the woman’s statement with a curt nod. 

“As much as I would not want to resort to violence, I fear we may at least need to protect our place of power and the surrounding estates if we can manage it. It’s only a matter of time before this resistance operation makes their move, or begins to spread more propaganda until the entirety of Dantooine decides not to recognize us as a governing power and claim it by force. Especially if our goal is to be formally inducted back into the Republic as a proper world and not a Jedi-relegated one.”

“Admiral Onasi did promise to send back up--” Mission said, but Dillan interrupted her before she could continue.

“Even if they do come, we don’t have much time,” Dillan sighed, retreating to Administrator Adare’s desk to hold up a data pad. “We just received this message. Only an hour ago.”

She held it out for the nearest person to grab, who happened to be Zaalbar. He grunted, worried, and passed it along. Mical had already read the words before the pad fell into his hands: You have ten days.

“Cryptic,” he muttered, “Ten days for what?”

The Administrator shrugged. “I’m afraid we do not know. My only guess is that they know what we have kept secret, what we showed you earlier. If they gain access to our stores, then they have leverage. Maybe that just proves the Golden Company theory right.”

“True,” Mical said. “If they have access to the more valuable artifacts, then maybe they can barter that as well?”

“Exactly. I fear they plan on attacking our headquarters, which seems like the most obvious place to strike but...” Adare said, her gaze somewhere in the middle-distance as she nodded at nothing but her own thoughts. “Ten days… even if that’s not the case, we should make ourselves ready.”

At this, Dillan’s general disdain dissolved into pure resolve as she nodded and returned to Adare’s desk, typing at her computer console furiously without missing a beat, no doubt issuing orders as their discussion continued. “We can use all the help we can get,” she said amid her typing, directing guilt-laced stares at everyone in the room. 

“This sounds… silly, now that I’m asking,” Adare asked in a whisper as she approached Mical’s side while the others spoke, Mission asking how prepared the Khoonda militia was and Asra inquiring as to the strength of the cannons situated outside the estate. “But do you think the Sith in our midst will pose a threat to us? Is there anything we can do about him?”

“I don’t believe so,” Mical sighed, his better judgment contradicting the words that escaped his mouth even as he uttered them. “Master Vash seems to trust him, if not for her own veiled reasons. And as much as there is to fault the Jedi for, I am willing to honor her acuity. For now.”

“So long as we don’t lose sight of things,” Adare said, nodding. “A Sith may have been responsible for destroying this planet, but he was a Jedi once and I will not forget that.”

“We could just take him out,” Zayne offered with a shrug as he neared their smaller conversation, clearly having eavesdropped. “Isn’t he passed out with exhaustion on his ship right now? Perfect time to off a Sith, no?”

Mical shook his head after turning the idea over in his mind, the same thought having occurred to him several times since he met the man back on Nespis. “True, but he could lead us to others like him. We only have a Jedi and a half on our side and I’m no fan of our odds, I don’t care how deep of a sleep he’s in... Plus, it sounds like his allegiance is tenuous at the moment. If the Jedi had no idea the Sith still existed, then it may be a smarter move to follow him and see where he takes us.”

Zayne conceded to this idea with a half-smile. He was about to comment on Mical’s half Jedi remark before thinking better of it, no doubt realizing that Mical had similarly never advanced beyond the rank of padawan.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Zayne muttered in his direction before facing Adare and speaking louder. “If the Sith poses any problem, Master Vash and I can handle it, I think. We’ll be on our guard.”

Mical nodded in agreement, wondering how he might fare against a man like Erebus. A chill ran through him as he was reminded of the man rummaging through his mind back on Nespis, bile rising at the back of his throat, overpowering any idea of camaraderie Mical might have felt afterward rifling through the Sith’s research. 

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Administer Adare confided. “As Dillan said, we could use all the help we can get, and our list of allies is thin.”

----

Mical had only spent his earliest years on Dantooine. His first memories inhabited this place, or at least what it had been. Looking out at the landscape now he noted there were far fewer trees. As for which estates remained intact, it was difficult to tell for certain what remained with all the crests and valleys hiding their grounds. He had half a mind to wander around and see for himself, but it was the budding blba grove to the west that caught his eye. Buried in its thicket was a ship he would very much like to study, were it not for its sole inhabitant.

The sun hung low over the horizon by the time he reached the grove. The sky burned a bright rose gold as he crested the final hill, spying Master Vash sitting idly at the extended loading ramp to Erebus’ vessel. She looked up as he approached, unsurprised but confused nonetheless.

“Any updates?” was all she asked even though a thousand questions clouded her features as she eagerly read his. Mical shook his head.

“Just some errant theories but nothing more,” Mical relented, letting out a breath as he wiped the sweat from his fringe. He ran his hand across his scalp, threading his fingers through the damp strands of his hair as an idea formed, only half-realized by the time he spoke again. “Is he awake? Will he speak with me?”

Master Vash blanched for a moment, growing more surprised by the second, before shaking her head and shrugging.

“I don’t see why not,” she said quietly, “He awoke about a half hour ago. He’s just resting now.”

So he’s fine, Mical thought, judging Vash to be the kind of person to divulge that sort of information upfront. He was almost disappointed but knew he should be relieved if only for the reason he was here now. But before Mical could brush past Vash and see for himself, the Jedi reached up and stopped him with a hand at his elbow, another question forming on her face before she could utter it into existence.

“You want something from him,” she said instead, her brown eyes volleying between his, reading every line of his face in the silence that followed.

“Part of the reason why I agreed to help Master Draay wasn’t just because I thought Sith artifacts should be locked away,” Mical admitted after a beat. “They should be studied, understood. We only have Kun’s saber because he relented in the end, but what of the others? If you’re headed to Korriban then I want in. I want to study the tombs there, not as a Jedi but as a scholar.”

“I’m just going on what I saw, but if my visions told me anything they confirmed that Korriban will be… dangerous, if anything.”

A shadow of uncertainly crossed Vash’s features, darker than any expression Mical had seen the woman betray outwardly thus far. 

“Frankly, I’m not sure if even I should accompany Erebus there,” she continued, her jaw tight. “But I will cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“Then I want information, access to anything he knows. Before tracking down the saber, there were other artifacts I hunted but none I could find. They were either reclaimed or destroyed, but I want proof.”

“Proof?” a voice said from the loading ramp. Both Mical and Vash turned to find Erebus standing there, looking awful. His gaunt face looked even more skeletal in the growing darkness, his sickly green eyes still limned with sleep. “I can get you halfway there, maybe.”

“You’ll agree to my terms?” Mical said almost too quickly, letting his eagerness get the better of him. He wasn’t sure he trusted anything that came out of the Sith’s twisted mouth but something about the sorry look of the man made Mical trust him, even if only a little.

“Depends on your terms,” Erebus smirked before sending himself into a coughing fit. Mical and Vash exchanged glances before turning to the Sith again as he regained his composure. “I know you examined my notes already, and sure I’ll let you copy some of my homework, but don’t be offended if I don’t betray all of my Sith secrets.”

“You’re oddly agreeable,” Vash muttered, a hint of a smirk crossing her face though Mical could still sense the bitterness in her words.

“I’m keeping my options open,” Erebus said, shrugging.

Despite the goosebumps rising along his arms at Erebus’ words, Mical nodded and extended a hand. “Do we have an accord?”

Erebus only smiled wider, his expression growing almost wicked.

“Agreed,” the Sith said, taking his hand. It was cold to the touch, but firm. Erebus’ eyes never left Mical’s as they shook on it.

“Agreed,” Mical echoed through gritted teeth, still painfully polite despite the pit of uncertainty taking root in his gut. Regret weighed heavy in Mical’s bones, but it was too late to turn back now, and it was impossible to admit, even silently to himself, that he did not want to see this through.

Even if it was the death of him.

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility

Atton

The engine thrummed beneath them with a hollow rumbling that set Atton on edge.

“This place is quiet,” Kreia muttered. “For now.”

She moved her head about as if she were looking, though without eyes Atton wasn’t sure exactly what the woman was sensing. The hair on the back of Atton’s neck stood on end.

“This smells like bait to me,” Atton said, his hand reaching for the pilfered blaster now affixed to his hip. “Like a trap.”

Kreia sighed. 

“I’m afraid he’s right,” the old woman agreed. “Be on your guard.”

Eden looked between the two of them, wide-eyed, before nodding at each of them in turn. Approaching the fork in the hall ahead, Eden paused, looking from side to side before closing her eyes. With an arm outstretched, she beckoned that they both come closer before stopping. 

"Follow my lead," she whispered, "I remember enough of this place to find the bridge."

Atton nodded though Kreia remained motionless. From what the two had said, Kreia had been on this ship along with Eden, though the way the old woman had been brought aboard was questionable. If Kreia knew something Eden didn't, Atton wanted to believe that the woman would have voiced as much. But from her silence he could tell there was more the old Jedi wasn't letting on. 

"Stay close," Eden instructed as she finally moved beyond the fork in the hallway. Taking the left-most corridor, Eden led them towards what Atton recalled had been the head of the ship from the looks of the thing when it had docked. A few of the hallway’s lights were out, others flickering uncertainly as they moved along, emphasizing their movements in the shadows cast along the walls. Atton's peripheral vision wanted to read the shadows as threats, tracking every one of them along the hallway with the staccato rhythm of the flickering lights. A flash then darkness, a shadow then light, over and over again... until he saw it - a ripple. First, Atton thought it was exhaustion finally catching up with him. But when it happened again, and a third time--

Atton's left hand shot up, reaching for Eden and silently telling her to pause. The woman obliged, offering him a questioning glance as Kreia also stopped in her tracks, looking mildly annoyed before looking around herself.

"We're not alone," Atton mouthed. Eden nodded and tightened the ill-fitting mining outfit at her waist, her right hand lingering over the shockstick hanging from a belt loop as she took another step.

Eden breathed in, her inhale occupying all sound in the hall, just before she unhooked the shockstick, activated it, and thrust it into the seemingly empty space to her right. The air rippled and collapsed, before transforming before their eyes into a shape clad in black and grey. Without breaking eye contact with Eden, Atton unfurled his blaster and fired -- hitting another invisible figure on Eden's left. The air there rippled too before dissolving, a form fluttering out from nothingness as it crumpled to the floor. 

"There will be more of them up ahead," Kreia warned, her eyes keen on Atton. He couldn't see her eyes, but he could feel her glaring nonetheless. Sith, he thought, willing the word out of his mind the moment he thought it.

“Wait,” Eden whispered, her eyes pausing on a malfunctioning door up ahead. “That was the comm center. Maybe there’s some record of what happened here.”

Eden stalked down the hall, hitting a panel beside the door that set the lighting to rights again. She glanced about the hallway before disappearing into the room beyond, leaving Atton alone with Kreia.

“We’ll just… wait out here…”

Kreia said nothing. Atton turned to face the hall behind them, crossing his arms as his eyes fell on the fallen bodies. Dark-clad and nondescript, they lay motionless, familiar yet indistinguishable in their singularity. Atton had a uniform not unlike theirs once, but Atton had since decided that brown suited him better than black ever did.

Before Atton could get too uncomfortable in Kreia’s stony silence beside him, Eden emerged from the briefing room, shaking her head. 

“Let’s go,” Eden urged them toward the right-side hallway. “The dormitories are this way.”

“Find anything?” Atton whispered, unsure of the new unfettered agitation that lit up Eden’s already frustrated features. Eden remained silent. Atton swallowed.

“I want to make a pass by my quarters first, see if I left anything behind. But other than that, there was nothing about what happened here, so we only have Kreia’s word to go on for now.” At that, Eden glanced back at the woman. Kreia nodded sagely in acknowledgement. “We’ll have to loop through the med bay on our way to the bridge though, so maybe we can check the logs there, too.”

Atton nodded, knowing Eden couldn’t see him respond as they crept down the hallway. 

“You said you were on this ship, right?” Atton asked again as he tailed Eden closely, watching as the flickering light reflected off the gold beads threaded into her hair. “Did you find out why?”

Eden’s brow furrowed and she winced, the scar across her cheek flashing white as the skin stretched taught over her freckles.

“Sort of,” she admitted. Instead of elaborating further, Eden redirected her attention to the end of the hall and rolled her shoulders, easing her head to one side as one of her vertebrae audibly cracked with a satisfying pop.

“And what was that?”

“I was supposed to meet with Admiral Carth Onasi,” Eden answered after a moment, sounding just as perplexed as Atton felt at hearing the name.

“The head of the Republic Navy?!” Atton hissed. 

“Someone doesn’t want me to meet with him, apparently, because weird things started happening on this ship long before we encountered Kreia.”

“You recall what happened now?” Kreia finally interjected, her voice gravelly-soft as they tip-toed towards the door up ahead. Eden shook her head.

“A little, but that much was reiterated in the comm center,” she said. “Someone had been aboard tampering with the ship’s communications and with the fuel supply. It’s why the Harbinger needed to delay it’s rendezvous at Telos and redirect here, to Peragus.”

“I see,” Kreia mused. “And it wasn’t long after I was brought aboard that the crew started going missing.”

At this, Eden nodded as well, but this time Atton saw a muscle twitch as her jaw tensed. Eden held up a closed fist as they neared the end of the hall, silently commanding that they stop. Both Atton and Kreia obliged. Ground ops, most likely, Atton thought, instantly thinking of the war again. Atton rarely fought on the front lines and he’d always considered himself lucky to have served from the comfort of his own cockpit more often than not. Watching Eden revert to old habits now set him ill at ease, and judging by the look on Eden’s face she felt very much the same.

There are more behind that door, Atton mouthed at her, instantly sensing at least a few stealth generators just beyond the sheet of metal that separated them from the crew quarters. Atton raised three fingers at her in silence, and then four after a moment’s deliberation.  Eden narrowed her eyes as she searched Atton’s face, questioning, before nodding, placing a gentle hand at his elbow in silent affirmation. Atton tensed and felt his face grow warm.

Eden looked from Atton to Kreia and back again, before enabling her shockstick and opening the door. As soon as the doors opened with a near-silent whoosh, Eden was on two blurry half-decloaked attackers, leaving the other two to Atton and Kreia. Atton opened fire, aiming a head-shot at his nearest opponent before firing at Eden’s second already-maimed assailant, sending them both to the ground in an instant. 

Before Atton knew it, the hall was quiet again. No one remained but them. Kreia nudged the body of her opponent with her boot before kneeling down to slide the vibrosword from their grip. Atton didn’t have a chance to wonder how an old woman, Jedi or not, managed to incapacitate an armed opponent with nothing but her hands. But the look of her testing the vibrosword’s weight in her hands was enough to give him pause. 

“This is crew quarters,” Atton said, spying the disarray in the shadows of a nearby room with a busted open door. Sparks flew out at the hall from the broken junction, spraying in their general direction but dissipating in the air before they could cause any meaningful damage. “They had you sleeping in a bunk?”

“Sort of, I think I had an unused lieutenant’s quarters. This should only take a minute,” Eden answered in a quick whisper before disappearing down the hall. This time, Atton and Kreia hung back, waiting for her at the junction instead of following her to the end. This time Atton ignored the bodies and instead wondered if a version of himself from a few days ago would believe that he would be doing this within a week’s time, escaping an empty mining facility and sneaking aboard a Republic ship, avoiding Sith Assassins that were not unlike an older version of himself…

“It was here, all laid out,” Eden’s voice carried down the hall, “I laid his body here…. And then--”

Atton looked at Kreia to find the woman’s hooded figure already looking at him. Though he couldn’t read her expression, he could feel her unsaid query the air. Is Eden talking to herself?

Atton and Kreia reached an unspoken agreement to meet Eden at her quarters. They rushed down the hall after her only to slow as they neared the room’s entrance, afraid of what they might find. Atton took the first tentative step forward and exhaled. The room beyond was disheveled but nothing more, to Atton’s relief. Someone had rummaged through this place, but Atton was still surprised to find the room void of life, save for Eden herself. She was pacing now, moving things at random across the room as if it might mean something. 

“Body? What body?” Atton found himself asking, echoing Eden’s choice of words from a moment ago. Despite the lack of visual evidence, Atton’s eyes scanned the remainder of the room in search of a corpse or at least blood in the absence of one.

“Here,” Eden said, her voice a rasp whisper as she laid her hands across a now-empty desk, a series of tools falling in a cascade to the floor at her feet just as Atton and Kreia entered the room proper. “The HK was here… I was rebuilding it.” 

Atton sighed again. Before any conclusions could be made, Eden swept across the room towards the porthole, pausing there for a moment to bite her lip.

“And there was a woman, Republic I think. She was… no, wait--”

Eden stopped herself short and then darted to the far end of the room. Atton followed her trajectory to see a nondescript travel pack lying on the floor just before Eden reached it, tearing it apart. 

“No, no, it can’t be gone,” she whispered as she upended the pack’s contents. Atton could only make out a few items: light-colored linens, or clothes maybe, a dark robe, a few ration packs, and a pile of credit chits that clinked as they scattered to the ground around Eden. Atton looked at Kreia, who nodded in return and took a step towards Eden.

“You will remember with time,” Kreia said, placing a hand on Eden’s shoulder. Eden spun around and paused beneath Kreia’s grip, still bent over the rucksack to look Kreia in the eye… or the vacuous shadow of her lowered hood. “All you need to remember now is where to find the bridge. I fear we don’t have much time.”

Eden rose to her feet, Kreia’s hand still on her shoulder. She glanced at the old woman’s hand as if she had never seen a humanoid limb before. Kreia’s fingers tightened their grip and Eden redirected her gaze to the woman’s face again.

“I can sense them,” Kreia whispered. “More enemies await us beyond these halls, including the one responsible for all of this.”

As Kreia’s words sunk into the silence, Atton’s skin grew cold. Where there were Sith Assassins, a Master was never far behind. While he’d been recruited by Revan, it was Darth Malak he had worked under the most, the man’s metallic grin still a vision that occasionally haunted his thoughts. That man was dead now, and Revan was gone. So who was on their tail now?

“And your control will come with time, and rest,” Kreia continued, her voice still hushed. Eden tensed at Kreia’s words at first, but after a few measured breaths Atton saw her shoulders finally relax. Eden nodded, resigned.

“I had something here, something important,” Eden explained after a moment, still breathless. “It has to be the reason I was supposed to meet with Admiral Onasi. But if it’s gone, then--”

“It is likely in the hands of our enemy,” Kreia finished for her. “And the only way you may get it back is to face them. Come.”

Eden glanced at Atton, a wave of embarrassment passing over her features as her cheeks grew momentarily red. Atton looked away, equally uncomfortable at having witnessed a moment he knew was none of his business. He could hear Eden rummage through the remains of her room before both she and Kreia were at his side again by the open door. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Eden muttered, squaring her shoulders as she exited the room. She didn’t offer it a second glance and sped down the corridor as if she couldn’t reach the end fast enough. Atton was about to agree as they neared the upcoming junction, wondering if they might at least check the other rooms for supplies, when all of the lights gave out. 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Atton groaned under his breath.

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” Eden hissed. She activated her shockstick, illuminating her corner of the room only a fraction. All they could see were each other’s outlines, though Kreia’s pilfered vibrosword glowed brightest in the dim glow. 

I don’t sense anyone, Atton thought just as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He froze. But we’re not alone.

Eden spun around ahead of him, facing the empty hallway and its darkness, her eyes searching its depths for an answer. Atton mirrored her and turned around as well. The hall was still cloaked in shadow when he looked, but with a blink the light at the end of the hallway flickered on and off and on again before stilling, illuminating a single figure at the end of it. 

Atton did not know the dead could walk but facing them on the other end of the corridor was a motionless corpse. It would be one thing if it were lying down, only it was standing firmly on two legs, staring at them with one glittering eye from the depths of a hollow eye socket, its other eye a white mass of glistening nothingness. Scarred grey flesh canvassed its skin, exposed from the waist up above antiquated billowing trousers and heavy-set boots. Atton’s arm flew to his holster, engaging his blaster within an instant only for Kreia to place a papery hand on his, stilling him instantly.

Kreia said nothing and a wave of cold flushed over Atton as he looked into the void of her lowered hood.

Stop.

Atton gulped an awkward mouthful of air as he turned from Kreia to the end of the hall again, quickly counting the bodies that littered the floor to find that none were missing. They hadn’t heard the door open. He must have already been here, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The corpse took a measured step forward, and in an instant Atton felt a wave of heat followed by the smell of rot. 

Atton’s hand still hovered over his blaster, unsure if it would be much good even if he could fire it, just as Kreia took a step forward and readied her stolen vibrosword. The blade whistled as it cut through the air before stilling, aimed at their undead opponent.

“This battle is mine alone. I am not defenseless.”

Atton could have sworn the old woman directed the last bit at him. Kreia flashed the vibrosword again before she dissolved into the shadow that separated them from the figure at the other end of the corridor. Time stood still. Atton counted the seconds as he did power couplings, but Kreia still did not emerge at the end of the corridor when she should have, judging by her footfalls...

Go quickly, you fools, Atton heard in his ear, as if whispered. Shuddering, Atton finally tore his eyes away from the walking corpse and turned towards the door at his back. His gaze met Eden’s, her bright eyes as wide as his felt, and with a look they communicated their collective desire to get the hell out of here. Without breaking eye contact, Eden’s palm hit the panel beside the door. As soon as it opened, she slipped through, grabbing Atton by the wrist and wrestling him across the threshold before slamming it shut again.

Even once Atton was cleared of the door, Eden shoved him aside. While jamming her shockstick into the wall panel on the other side to effectively break the command mechanism, she thrust her hand out into the open air. Atton’s brow furrowed, confused, before a flurry of storage canisters soared across the room and landed in a thunderous wave against the now-broken door.

“Nothing wrong with some added security,” Eden breathed, looking surprised at her own feat. “C’mon, let’s not give them a chance to catch up.”

“I’m with you there,” Atton agreed quickly. “So, to the bridge?”

Eden nodded.

“To the bridge.”

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility

Atton

“You’re handy with that thing, you know that?” Atton said as he eyed Eden’s pilfered shock stick after it granted them access to yet another jammed causeway. Eden snorted at his attempt to break the silence.

“I try,” she said. Eden raised her eyebrows as she afforded Atton a glance, the first one in a while. Since they left Kreia behind, Eden had avoided Atton’s line of sight entirely, as if acknowledging anything other than the hallway in front of her would allow their pursuers to catch up with them.

They made it through the bridge without uttering a single word to one another, and Eden had only muttered a few cryptic things while scanning the logs in the medbay. Atton didn’t mind the silence for the moment. He had watched on in abject horror as the security feed at the medical terminal showed the walking corpse they’d left Kreia with escape from a kolto tank and proceed to kill everyone in the vicinity. Something about the man, or the man the Sith had once been, seemed oddly familiar to Atton once he saw the withered, scarred flesh up-close. If Atton had been yapping enough, he was afraid he might betray something from his past to Eden without realizing, so keeping things quiet was ideal.

“I’m serious,” Atton continued, unable to keep the awe from his voice. As much as the quiet had been a comfort, Eden’s unease was beginning to eat away at him now, if only because he was growing anxious the longer it took them to leave this damn ship. “That’s a shock stick, probably the most pathetic weapon this side of the Outer Rim and yet you’ve managed to maim six stealth-cloaked assassins with it so far.”

The muscle in Eden’s jaw tensed again, pulsating like a tendril beneath her skin at Atton’s words.

“I didn’t just stun them,” she said after a beat, her voice low. “I…”

Eden looked as if she wanted to swallow her words instead of say them.

“They’re dead.”

Atton didn’t say anything. Part of him knew they left no survivors in their wake so far, but up until now he hadn’t questioned how. Of course it didn’t make sense on the surface, but it did the more he thought about it. Through the Force, Eden could probably amplify the electrical charge of the measly conductor at the end of her sorry excuse for a weapon. That and… Atton hated to admit it, but he hadn’t thought at all about the lives they’d ended since the moment they stepped foot on this ship. They weren’t lives to him, just obstacles.

“Still,” he continued. “It’s gotten us this far.”

“Yeah, well let’s hope it’s worth it.”

Eden tore her gaze away from Atton as she busied herself with a nearby security panel, something akin to shame passing over her face. She pressed sequences into the panel with a fury Atton was too scared to question until the door beyond opened only half an inch. Instead of trying anything else, Eden jammed her shock stick between the begrudging doors and forced them open with a thorough shove and a wave of electricity.

Atton tried not to look slack-jawed at the display, if only because the contents beyond the doors was more worthy of his awe at the moment.

“Holy hell,” he breathed.

“Huh?” Eden breathed, winded, before taking a gander herself. “Holy hell is right.”

Beyond the second-to-last malfunctioning door in the hall was a cache Atton wanted to own in full as soon as he laid his eyes on it. Thankfully undamaged, the room was full to the brim with the latest tactical equipment, rifles, blasters, melee weapons… Atton was hardly conscious in the span of time it took for him to cross the room and begin rummaging, placing weapons on his belt, in his pockets, anywhere he had room.

Eden took a more measured approach, slowly advancing into the room as her eyes did most of the exploring before her hands did. Atton felt her gaze scan the space in its entirety before settling on the far wall, taking a few blaster pistols and a few holsters along the way.

Despite the weapons other than the shock stick now hanging from her belt, Eden was particularly drawn to the collection of collapsible quarterstaves on display. Atton paused, watching as her right hand hovered reverently over the longest of the bunch. Eden’s fingers closed over its hilt before she plucked it gingerly from its velvet cushion to test its weight in her palm. She tossed and caught it a few times before closing her fist tight over the grip, her knuckles growing white as she flipped a switch, elongating the staff instantly until it was about as long as she was tall.

Eden’s eyes glazed over as she fell into formation, an entranced smile overcoming her as she stood facing an imaginary opponent on the other end of the room as she swung and parried at nothing and no one. Atton didn’t realize he was staring like an idiot until Eden paused halfway through a formation, turning around to face him and pausing the instant she caught him ogling.

“What?” she croaked, the spell broken. Atton scratched the back of his neck before busying himself with the supply crate at his side again, aghast with the amount of battery packs and health stims loaded inside.

“Hey, does that bag you grabbed have pockets?” Atton changed the subject. “You might want to stock up.”

Thankfully, Eden took the bait and retracted the staff as she approached. Atton swallowed and hoped whatever stupid expression just took over his face had dissolved by the time she neared. Eden whistled, looking at everything and anything but Atton again, and began filling her newly acquired bag.

Thank the Maker.

“We should get out of here sooner rather than later,” Eden said as she stuffed a few more health stims into her already overflowing pockets. “I have a feeling we’re beginning to overstay our welcome. Plus, we’re rounding on the fuel line again so we should be only a few minutes from the Peragus hangar bay by now.”

“Best news I’ve heard all day,” Atton sighed, keeping another smile from his face though for a completely different reason this time. “Lead the way.”

“Gladly.”

There was only one other door in the corridor they could have exited from so it wasn’t a wonder where to go next. Instead of the usual hallways they had come across so far, the last door opened up to a skeletal causeway that spanned the entire engine core. Eden pressed forward as if it were a hallway like any other, but Atton couldn’t help but look down.

“Hey, can we… can we just scale it back a tick?” Atton asked, not sure if his request came across effectively as Eden continued forward without fault. “I just…”

Atton had never known himself to be afraid of heights but the sight of the engine’s reactor at the center of the cruiser’s engine several stories below with nothing to separate them but air and an un-railed metal causeway put his heart unexpectedly somewhere in his throat.

Atton’s eyes bore into the glowing orange of the engine running beneath them, its ever-present humming now a deafening roar in his ears.

“We’re almost there,” Eden coaxed, “We just need to…”

He counted Eden’s footfalls as they neared but he didn’t look at her until the sound unexpectedly stopped.

Just as Eden approached him, she collapsed in a quiet heap, her eyes wide and staring as she cradled her left hand, mouth agape in a silent scream.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Atton sputtered as panic surged through him, any fears of falling into the engine core evaporating in an instant. “Are you alright?”

Eden paled. Atton rushed to her side, reaching for her hand as if another set of eyes might fix whatever plagued her. As soon as Atton’s thumb brushed against her clammy palm, Eden snatched her hand back and whimpered. It wasn’t a pitiful sound that escaped her throat but a harrowed one, like an apex predator caught in a hunter’s trap, thrashing against painful restraints that kept it hurt and hindered. Atton’s eyes scanned the length of her arm but found nothing wrong.

“Damn it, hold on,” Atton groaned, wrestling against the sinewy weight of her as he wedged his arm under Eden’s shoulder and lifted her up. “Can you walk?”

Eden winced but nodded as she leaned into Atton as he held her steady. He could feel her fighting beneath him for control, to stand on her own two feet, but even then she was barely limping with effort.

“I’ll drag you if I have to,” Atton said through gritted teeth, not betting he could make it out of here alone. “It’s only a little farther, don’t give up on me now.”

Atton’s earlier fear dissolved and made room for a new one to take its place, one that whispered a survivor, through and through insidiously in his ear. He glanced at Eden as he hauled her along. Her senses were thankfully returning, or so her blinking eyes told him. She at least wasn’t losing consciousness, and despite Atton doing most of the work Eden’s legs began making strides alongside his belabored ones as they limped in unison down the hall.

“What just happened to you?” Atton heard himself ask after a few tense moments, not realizing he’d spoken aloud as he tried to read the woman’s expression, the color thankfully returning to her face.

“My hand…” she struggled, as if her tongue were too swollen to speak. Eden stilled, her breath steadying as her gaze finally settled. She exhaled deeply, before admitting “My hand felt like it was dipped in molten carbonite.”

“Your hand is fine, I didn’t see any injuries. Maybe you hit a nerve,” Atton said, scrambling for logical ideas, “Or tore a ligament--”

“It’s Kreia,” Eden interrupted hoarsely, “I think she was wounded. Badly.”

“Huh?” Atton’s gaze flashed to Eden’s hand again, finding it still intact. “How do you know that?”

They were nearing the access panel that would hopefully grant them passage out of here, and he hoped Eden would be cognizant enough by the time they got there to sprint if she had to as they made their dashing escape.

“I think… I think I felt what she felt, through the Force.”

Eden winced as the words passed her lips, and somehow Atton knew the pain came from her admission and not whatever physical phantom pain had dogged her a few meters back. Atton didn’t even know where to begin parsing out Jedi drama from what little he actually knew of their inner workings but a voice still repeated in his ear, a memory that refused to die, reminding him... It is your connection to the Force you must thank, for it is the reason you yet live.

“Look -- if she’s in pain, then that pain’s buying us time we can’t afford to waste.” Atton leaned Eden up against the access panel as they approached it. “Especially if Sleeps-With-Vibroblades gets tired of playing with her and decides to use us for target practice next.”

To their immediate relief, enough of Eden’s strength had returned to keep her from collapsing completely without aid as Atton let go of her and hastily typed in a hackneyed security sequence, gaining them access to the other end of the fuel pipeline.

“Sleeps-With-Vibroblades, that’s real cute,” Eden grimaced, bracing herself between the access panel and the wall to stand upright on her own again. “And point taken.”

 “I can’t even pretend to imagine whatever it is you’re going through,” Atton said, doing what he could to block access to the way they came by way of sabotage, overloading several of the access panels throughout the ship. “But at least you’re bouncing back it seems.”

“We’ll see about that,” Eden laughed darkly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “This isn’t exactly my best work.”

Atton furrowed a brow at her before damaging the very console he was using with a bad code and a round of blaster fire just in case, urging Eden onward. The fuel line terminated in what looked like a bank vault, a large round seal of silvian iron barring access back to the station in a magnetic closure haloed in orange light.

“Huh,” Eden whispered as Atton slammed his hand on the manual override panel, revealing a lever beneath. “My first saber hilt was made of this stuff.”

Eden extended a reverent hand just as the door demagnetized and swung open. Atton was about to rue the fact that neither Eden nor Kreia had a lightsaber when his eyes fell on what lay before them beyond the open door. His desire that the opposite were true grew tenfold.

In the empty Peragus-side of the fuel line stood ten assassins, each in a state of decloaking as the vault opened.

“Shit.”

Atton was about to ready his blaster again but before he could line up a single shot, each of the figures before them fell in an electric heap.

“Now you,” Eden was already cooing as the bodies fell around them. “You I like.”

The wave of assailants fell around them to reveal a single beat-up utility droid, its multifunction arm extended and brimming with electricity as it perked up at the sight of Eden.

“Haven’t you learned your lesson about trusting strange droids?” Atton groaned, trying to ignore the body count as Eden made a point of doing just that. Eden tsked as if this was an ordinary conversation held under normal circumstances, as if they weren’t running for their lives and surrounded by dead bodies.

“This little guy is our ticket onto the ship in the docking bay actually,” Eden said, rubbing the droid’s metal intelligence receptor. “He’s the one that made our escape even possible, remember?”

“Ah yes, the lone droid you managed to contact from the main computer,” Atton said.

“Don’t go overdoing it, we need backup.” Atton realized Eden was talking to the droid now, who whistled a belabored series of bleeps in response. “I appreciate you taking out that entire…” Eden looked at the body count with her peripheral vision, paling before she uttered, “legion... but I really need you to focus on getting us out of here. Understood?”

The droid stood at attention, its mechanical arm still extended. As if noticing it was still activated, the droid whirred as it retracted the arm and reenacted its previous maneuver as if no misstep had taken place. Atton rolled his eyes.

“When you said you had a thing with droids, I thought you were bragging. Now I realize it’s just kind of… weird.”

“I knew we couldn’t trust the HK back there, and while I’m glad Kreia did what she did there was more information I wanted to get out of it first. But that’s a story for another time.” Eden stood again, rubbing her hands on her pant legs as if she hadn’t just collapsed in utter agony minutes ago. “Can you lead us to the ship?”

She directed the last part at the utility droid, which perked up even more if that were possible and began zooming down the hall, begging that they follow.

“Here goes nothing,” Atton muttered. He glanced at the closed fuel line hatch as they left it behind, growing smaller and smaller into the expanding distance, hoping that whatever he and Eden had done to bar the way was enough to buy them time.

He doubted it.

3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands

Mical

The Dantooine grasslands had always been quiet come nightfall, the silence only pin pricked with the occasional whistling of wind through grass. But now all was unearthly quiet and eerily so.

Ahead of him were Asra and Darek while Zayne trailed behind, his lightsaber unlit but at the ready. 

“Beware of kath hounds,” Mical warned the group as they edged onward into the dark. “They’re most active at dawn and dusk.”

The sun set not long ago, and while this side of the planet was already swathed in darkest night, it would be some time before the hounds roaming these hills would find rest. All was still for the moment, but Mical feared it would not be for long.

“Noted,” Asra whispered from a few paces ahead of him.

Darek’s silhouette nodded in acknowledgement as he led the way. Though limned in silver light, the tall grasses were thick enough to hide the depths of the landscape’s sprawling fields, blanketing most of Mical’s field of view in shadow. But Mical didn’t need light to see. Not keen on advertising why, he fell into step behind Darek’s lead, guided by a scope positioned over his right eye as he led them towards a spot Dillan had spoken of earlier.

“I don’t see why the Republic wouldn’t step in to help here, leverage or no,” Mical muttered as he felt Zayne near him from behind. The semi-Jedi sighed and nodded in agreement. 

“And now it’s our problem,” Zayne said. “Lucky us.”

“It’s like this everywhere,” Asra huffed in an annoyed whisper. “Most of the Outer Rim, really.”

“It’s not right,” Mical said, shaking his head.

“Why d’you work for ‘em, then?” Asra pressed. “The Republic?”

“I didn’t think I had a choice,” Mical said. “In fact, they offered it as my only option.”

“They?” Asra echoed.

“The Jedi,” Mical answered, waiting for the confusion to settle in, but Asra only laughed.

“Oh, so you’re another one, huh?”

Mical couldn't help but chuckle if not for the absurdity of it all - being here again yet placing his trust in a Sith no less to get him out of it.

“Well, sort of, not really,” Mical began. “I had no one to train me, so I was shipped off. You could say the Jedi Civil War truly started during the Mandalorian Wars, what with so many of them either staying put and doing nothing or leaving for the front lines. I was left without a Master, so they sent me to the corps.”

“Wait, really?” Asra truly paused now, stopping to turn and face Mical with a look of utter confusion. “They can turn away Jedi?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “They do it all the time.”

“I’m not really a Jedi myself,” Zayne chimed in. “But that’s a different story. And at least I got to build my lightsaber before being unceremoniously outed.”

At this, Zayne nudged Mical playfully in the shoulder. Mical tried his best not to smile, wondering all the while what his first saber might have looked like if given the chance. He’d imagined it a few times when he was younger but had sworn off of what if’s after the war. All he knew was that it wouldn’t have looked like Zayne’s, a butter-yellow blade erupting from a worm-like hilt cast in silver. It’s a wonder Zayne’s parents were bankers from Phaedra and not worm riders from the Dune Seas of Tatooine. 

“Y’learn something new every day,” Asra sighed. “I thought the Jedi just--”

Asra didn’t finish. Mical almost dismissed her trailing sentence for disinterest before he realized she was no longer following Darek’s lead and was instead frozen, looking at the ground. 

“What is it?” Mical asked, stopping in his tracks and holding out an arm so Zayne quietly did the same. Darek paused ahead of them. Without a word, the man retrieved a glowrod from his belt and extended it, shedding a pale light on what had taken hold of Asra’s attention.

At the tip of Asra’s boot, almost hidden in the grass, was a blood-covered finger. Only the tip extended out of the thicket, as if pointing at them all, silently beckoning their attention. Asra swallowed, her gulp loud in the silence that followed, and parted the grass to reveal the rest of the body. 

“A scavenger from the looks of it,” Mical uttered, his throat thick with bile once he took in the full sight. “Still fresh, judging by the lack of… smell.”

“I take it you were in the med corps?” Asra asked, furrowing her brow as she knelt beside the body to get a better look. With one arm still outstretched to reveal the corpse, she prodded what appeared to be a Sullust with the nose of her blaster. The body barely moved. Clad in spelunking gear and accompanied by several emptied satchels at its side, this was a scavenger alright. 

“Unfortunately,” Mical said. And this isn’t even the worst of it.

Mical only knew the scavenger had been Sullust because of the jowl folds near its neck, otherwise the person’s face had been beaten to such a bloodied pulp that all other features were indiscernible. Blood soaked the soil beneath the body but wasn’t splattered on the grass. 

“They were moved,” Mical said, moving closer despite not wanting to. “They were beaten elsewhere, and then hidden here, and left to bleed out.”

“Why here?” Asra asked in a shallow breath. “It’s hardly out of the way.”

The path they’d carved through the valley had been well-trodden, true. So that meant this was-- 

“An unintentional murder,” Mical concluded. “This Sullust wasn’t meant to die, at least not yet. Not here. Something or someone must have been coming, so the killer haphazardly hid the body and ran.”

“The bags are empty,” Darek said, shining the slim glowrod over the outturned satchels. “Could have been another scavenger, possibly. Jealous of this one’s find.”

“It’s possible, especially since the main stores have been completely cut off since the Jedi Temple collapse, according to Dillan,” Mical said, turning the idea over in his mind. “Maybe this sorry scavenger was the first to break the seal. We don’t know much about their group, do we?”

“And neither does Administrator Adare,” Zayne added. “I didn’t realize you were a proper detective in addition to being a medical officer, a scout, and an historian.”

Mical blushed as he stood, shrugging. “It comes with the medical gig,” he said. “Determining cause of death is quite common when you join the corps in the middle of a war.”

Zayne’s expression soured at that, fast realizing that his humor wasn’t about to lighten the fact that they were standing beside a body beaten to death.

“There’s either in-fighting among the scavengers or they’re getting closer to something they shouldn’t be,” Mical suspected, trying to gauge the time of death judging by how caked the blood was on the Sullust’s fingers. “In which case that might lead us straight to this resistance force that Dillan and Adare are complaining about.”

“But don’t we already know that the Golden Company has moved in on the old Jedi Temple? If they’ve set up a stronghold there, it’s only a matter of time until they bring in the equipment they need to dig deeper and get to the really valuable stuff,” Zayne said. “If a scavenger was stupid enough to continue spelunking against their better judgment—”

“Wait,” Mical cut Zayne off, a glint of white glistening out of the battered red of the Sullust’s face. Gritting his teeth, Mical inhaled and held his breath as he approached with a gloved hand. With a tug, he tore the bit of white free from the beaten meaty flesh of the Sullust’s mashed face.

“Is that… paper?!” Asra gasped, leaning into Mical to get a better look before growing disgusted at the blood and bit of residual tissue on the folded corners. “Hard to believe that stuff still exists.”

“It is actually,” Mical said, a bubbling anger growing in him as he realized just where this exact sheet of paper came from. Paper was still used by some, Erebus’ notes and diagrams instantly coming to mind as he examined the piece in his hands now, but Mical knew this particular piece to be from the hidden Jedi stores overseen by Master Zhar Lestin. There were two sets of writing on the ancient page: one printed in primeval deep blue scrawl reading there is no ignorance, there is knowledge; the other was written hastily in red. Zayne and Darek leaned in now too, their eyes wide as they watched Mical unfold the bit of parchment.

“This is sacred text,” Zayne seethed as the realization sunk in. He leaned closer to Mical, his shoulder jutting into his side as he nearly wrenched the paper from Mical’s grip, but Mical held it firm. Mical shot the half-Jedi a pointed look before undoing the last crease, revealing the newly written message in full.

“This is your first and last warning,” he muttered, gooseflesh rising along his arms as he read the scrawled crimson aurabesh. “The villagers are next. The Sandrals first.”

Mical instantly recalled the face of Nurik Sandral, another local farmer from his childhood here. He’d smiled warmly, his dark eyes crinkling with mingled joy and relief when Mical and a fellow Padawan had returned his farm dog after the pup had run off to play in the fields around the Academy while the family was still training it to herd cattle. Though he doubted Nurik survived Malak’s attack, the man did have children, and a son Mical particularly recalled for his interest in archaeology, one that very much mirrored his own if not inspiring it in the first place. There was no way of knowing whether Casus was the surviving Sandral on Dantooine without visiting the farmstead himself, but whoever it was now had a target on their back.

“They didn’t say things were this bad,” Asra shuddered. “This is a whole new level of wrong, and more than just another problem they’ve got on their hands if that’s the case. Even if not everyone in these parts respects the Khoonda Initiative, they’ll still be held responsible for stuff like this happening on their turf.”

“You sure we can’t chalk this up to a literal Sith taking up temporary residence on these grounds?” Zayne asked, though his question was more-so aimed at Mical than anyone else. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Positive,” Mical said almost too quickly. No one had questioned Vash, the actual-certified Jedi that outwardly trusted Erebus more than anyone or at least gave the man the benefit of the doubt, even if nostalgia played an unwitting part in it alongside her mysterious Force visions. But it wasn’t Master Vash that assured Mical’s opinion. It was the way Erebus had handled himself back on Nespis - quick to lie but not quick to kill. At every turn, Erebus chose to incapacitate or stall their pursuers. While that didn’t solidify the Sith’s trustworthiness, it did confirm one thing for Mical.

“If it makes any of you feel better, my trust doesn’t extend further than what I perceive to be his own selfish interests,” Mical said. Now both Asra and Darek were watching intently, listening to his response with mingled doubt and curiosity. “Right now, we all have the same goal: to find Master Vrook. And so far as that is concerned, I have no doubt that the Sith will assist us in finding him. Beyond that is when I suspect we should be worried.”

Mical worried, yes, but part of him was also curious just what the Sith was capable of. And while he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he was eager to find out.

3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility

Eden

For unfortunately the umpteenth time today, Eden wiped blood away from her lip, knowing it still wouldn’t be the last time she did so. It didn’t help that it wasn’t even her own blood.

“That the last of them?” she hollered toward the cockpit as the last assassin standing in the cargo freighter’s common room collapsed among their comrades. Eden shoved the body aside, putting out of her mind the weight of them and the stench of death to follow, at least thankful that all their present pursuers were polite enough to wear masks rendering them each anonymous and easy to forget.

“It better be,” Atton yelled back at her, his voice floating like an angry specter in her direction. “If it’s not, I’m blowing this hunk of junk to pieces, mark my words!”

Eden followed the smuggler’s ire, eventually finding him hunched over the pilot’s controls with a black eye and a split lip, angrily typing in launch codes his bloodied fingers couldn’t punch in fast enough.

“Where we headed?” Eden asked, suddenly remembering she had the Force at her disposal. Amid the mass of dead bodies and the pit of dread growing steadily in her chest, Eden felt a presence step onto the retracting loading ramp. “Wait--”

“Telos IV,” Atton muttered, rolling his eyes and groaning as soon as he registered Eden’s words. “What now, another one?!”

Atton groaned again as if a league of Sith Assassins were just another afternoon inconvenience, like a flurry of spam crowding your inbox or a persistent telemarketer chiming your apartment comm just a little too early in the morning.

“I’ll handle this, just get us the hell out of here.”

Eden stalked back to the loading ramp, wondering if she should shovel the remaining bodies out of the still-closing incline before she had to resort to the airlock once they were free of this ghost-outfit. It might help her sleep, eventually, if she could get the image of the miners out of her mind…

Eden readied her quarterstaff, elongating and readying it in the time it took her to approach the cargo freighter’s garage. She turned the final corner toward the exit, staff at the ready, but there was no assassin awaiting her there -- just a harrowed-looking Kreia gripping an empty sleeve with a white withered hand.

“Kreia!” Eden gasped as the old woman rushed past her, limping towards the cockpit. “Your hand, what happened?”

Kreia turned mid-stride and winced, her lip curling beneath her lowered hood.

“There is no time, we must leave,” the woman uttered in a rushed breath. Eden followed on Kreia’s heels until they arrived at Atton’s back again. The man was muttering to himself and shaking his head, but even as Atton acknowledged their presence he did nothing to voice it, the frustration on his face only growing more pronounced as the ship moseyed out of the docking bay and flew uncertainly into the asteroid field ahead.

“If they hit us, we’re dead. But if they keep missing us, we’re dead! That’s great odds,” Atton moaned as his fingers continued making delicate but deliberate calculations with lightning speed.

“Never mind the odds, you can get us out of here, right? What about hyperspace?” Eden asked, leaning against the co-pilot’s chair as she glanced at the peripheral monitors, watching the Harbinger detach from the fuel line and pursue with all blasters firing. A few asteroids jostled ahead of them, some smaller ones combusting uncomfortably close as the ship sped past.

T3-M4 reiterated Eden’s sentiment, asking if Atton could use the asteroid belt’s map to jump beyond the fray and slingshot the ship into hyperspace, but Atton’s eyes only flashed with absolute rage.

“Somebody shut that trash compactor up!” Atton hissed. “I need to concentrate.”

“I take it that’s a no,” Eden muttered at T3 who bleeped morosely in response.

“What of the asteroids?” Kreia asked. “They can be destroyed by us as well as them, can they not?”

Atton sighed, his shoulders slumping as he shook his head, considering Kreia’s question just as much as it clearly bothered him to do so.

“That’ll take out the whole field, the colony, and maybe us. We may not even be able to jump to hyperspace in time.”

But Kreia was unwavering. She steadied herself against the cockpit wall and nodded, resigning her fate to whatever Atton decided.

“Then we die here. Choose now.”

Kreia’s words fell heavy into the silence that followed. T3 nudged his head in Eden’s direction, a silent blip clear in his expectant eyes, aglow with worry.

“There has to be another way,” Eden said, her eyes still locked on T3’s intelligence module. “Can we keep evading them until we clear the field?”

Atton cocked his head and grimaced, weighing the possibility of Eden’s request even as he tried it, keying in sequence after sequence whilst maneuvering the manual controls all the while. Eden white-knuckled the co-pilot’s chair as they swerved every which way, evading both blaster fire and asteroid debris. It only took moments before the Harbinger began deploying its heavy artillery, blasting several asteroids at once, growing closer with each strike.

“Shields are down to sixty-two percent,” Atton said, still typing furiously as Eden finally took the co-pilot’s chair.

“Rerouting emergency power to the shields,” she said as she took command of the computer, her eyes scanning the readouts as their chances of surviving grew lower and lower.

Atton shook his head again and laughed, a dark look lacing his hungry eyes.

“Looks like they already hit life support, it’s-”

“Offline,” Eden finished for him, sighing as she keyed in another command only for the co-pilot’s screen to scream at her in flashing red letters that there was only roughly four minutes' worth of oxygen left on the ship. If an asteroid didn’t do them in, they’d be gasping for air until one finally blew them to bits.

Eden swallowed hard, her saliva almost a stopper in her throat as she tried to digest the idea forming in her mind just as she was about to speak it into existence.

“We don’t have any choice,” she said, her voice gravelly, a ghost of something it once was on a day nine years ago when she uttered something similar to an Iridonian engineer, waiting expectantly for her order. “Do it.”

Atton’s eyes flashed wide in her direction, unsure, but he paused once he caught her steely gaze. Eden held her ground and nodded. Atton maintained eye contact, as if hoping Eden might change her mind, but after a beat he let out a harrowed sigh and shook his head, relenting.

“Whatever you say, captain.”

As you say, General, the Iridonian had said to her on the bridge of the ship Revan had gifted her all those years ago. He was so sure, so confident, Eden felt the pride radiate from him as he made it so. No pride radiated from Atton now, but the memory hurt now just as it had then, or shortly after, like a splinter in Eden’s mind. Only this time, the dread of death did not follow, it preceded the blow, and the decimation of Peragus wiped her slate clean.

Atton input the command for the chase cannons to fire, punching the execute button on completion and turning around as if he might be able to see the damage through the metal walls that separated them from the disaster that was no doubt to come.

Eden instructed the stern-facing cams to display on the cockpit’s dashboard, presenting for them all in full color the utter destruction of the asteroid belt that surrounded the Peragus station behind them. Atton had only been given a second to act, but within that moment he was able to pin-point an already pirouetting mid-size asteroid. When the torpedo struck, the debris didn’t just obstruct the advancing Harbinger, but set off a chain reaction of explosions that made it virtually impossible for the Republic cruiser to follow. Just as the explosions neared the open fissure of the Peragus gas giant, Atton slammed the controls. The explosions, the Harbinger, and the soon-to-be-destroyed station all swirled into a distant white-blue blur as they finally jumped to hyperspace.

“Well now that we just destroyed a planet,” Atton gasped, letting out a massive breath as he relinquished his command of the keyboard now set to autopilot. “Maybe one of you can tell me what the hell is going on?!”

Neither Kreia nor Eden rushed to speak. Atton turned in his seat and looked furiously between the two of them, fuming as he awaited an answer. “Between assassin droids, a man that looks like he sleeps with vibroblades, and being target practice for a Republic warship, I was better off in my cell.”

“That Republic warship was the Harbinger, bound for Telos,” Kreia directed at Atton, though Eden recalled already relaying this bit of memory to him earlier, not that the reiteration would ease him any, “And many roads lead to Telos – as does ours.”

“Not like we have much of a choice, the Peragus astrogation charts being what they are, but – wait a minute, how did you—?”

“The navigation history of this ship is locked, last I checked,” Kreia said. “I assume the Peragus staff had no luck otherwise, so that is where we must go since it was where the Harbinger was bound before our unfortunate encounter on Peragus.”

“Unfortunate is one way of putting it,” Atton scoffed as he turned back to the controls again.

“An unfortunate coincidence that at least made sure we saved your sorry ass,” Eden said. Atton’s eyebrows shot up as he turned around to better register Eden’s barb, as if to verify she’d even said it, both shocked and guilty at the admission before returning his attention to the controls.

“True,” Kreia resigned in unison, “Though as one trained in the Force, you know that genuine coincidences are rare.”

There are no coincidences, there is only the Force Alek’s memory repeated in Eden’s mind as she watched the old woman. Kreia’s eyes remained veiled, but Eden felt her gaze bore into Atton’s back at the controls, now pointedly turned away from them as if in protest despite their part in saving his life.

“One coincidence I cannot yet reconcile, however, is how we made it to Pe–” Kreia began, piecing their journey together before T3 butted in with a series of bleeps that drowned the woman out. “Be silent! We’re having a conversation here.”

“He says he repaired the ship once we first escaped the Harbinger and got us to Peragus,” Eden translated, piecing together the droids’ remaining string of binary as it spoke despite Kreia’s rude protests.

“Repaired this ship, my eye,” Atton grumbled. “Next thing you know it’s going to claim credit for saving our skins from that Sith Lord.”

Kreia snapped her head back in Atton’s direction, a smirk crossing her face. “And how would a smuggler like you know a Sith from a shyrack?”

“I fought in both wars,” Atton countered. “Overdramatic, weird get-up? Revan and Malak set quite the precedent; I can only assume that a walking corpse would be the next best thing at inspiring fear among the masses.”

“That Sith attacked you out there? In space?” Eden directed at Kreia now, feeling about as stupid as she sounded once she heard the words cross her lips. She grimaced, swallowing what she was about to say next and planning her next words this time before she spoke. “I know it sounds obvious, but from what I remember, when the Harbinger came across this ship, the other they found in stalemate was empty. There were no life signs on board.”

Eden wasn’t sure what response she anticipated, but Kreia’s pointed stare answered it all.

“Oh.”

She’d only heard stories. Revan was known more for her cunning than for her predilection for the Dark Side despite her claim to the Sith mantle, but Eden remembered what they’d said about fallen Jedi like Exar Kun and Ulic Qel Droma, and the things those men were capable of. The image of the man from the Harbinger’s barracks, half-dead yet walking still, somehow made more sense now – his garb, his gait. He was either rekindling whatever lost empire Kun had promised decades ago or he had been a part of it once.

“That man we saw back on the Harbinger,” Eden began, her throat already dry as the realization settled into her bones as she accepted the truth of it. “He’s the reason we had to escape? To Peragus, I mean.”

“Do you recall any more of it now?” Kreia asked, curiosity lacing her voice more than concern. Eden shook her head.

“A little. I remember the luxury power going out, and making my way to the medbay.” What she did remember more of now was Tatooine and the moments before she fled, her records laid bare for the entire galaxy, a league of mercenaries already counting the credits they’d claim for the price on her head as they stalked her shop. But more than that, at the very forefront of her memory was Aiden, all grown up and cloaked in night-colored cloth, his eyes an inhuman green, luminous as a poisonous plant when they set with rage at the sight of her. “Why are the Sith after us?”

“The better question is why the Sith are after you,” Kreia corrected. Eden winced, willing the image of her brother away. “You are the last of the Jedi. Once you are dead, then they have won.”

“But I’m not a Jedi, I was exiled,” Eden snapped, wishing to say more but finding her tongue suddenly too dry to obey her. I left. I warned them but they didn’t listen, and I chose to leave.

“Exiled or not - the Sith believe you to be a Jedi Knight, and that’s all that matters.”

“Technicalities aside, I know I’m not the last Jedi,” Eden sighed, frustration mounting in her bones alongside a palpable exhaustion that was beginning to weigh heavy. She gestured vaguely at Kreia though no intelligible words passed her lips. Before Eden could feel bashful for half-accusing Kreia of being a Jedi or otherwise, or finishing her original thought, her eyes fell on the woman’s injured arm, limp and lifeless. “Shit, we can talk about this later, you need to rest.”

Without another word, Eden rushed to Kreia’s side and urged her down the hall, Atton’s sigh of relief following them as they came upon the bodies piled in the common area. Bile rose in Eden’s throat just as Kreia extended her good hand, sending the pile towards the loading ramp and out of sight.

“You can’t be so injured if you can muster that,” Eden muttered as she ushered Kreia along to the first dormitory they came upon, already hoping there were others, not eager to share a bunk with anyone just yet. Kreia smirked, a ghost of a laugh coloring her deep voice as she entered the room and sat on the nearest bed.

“I’m surprising even myself now, it seems,” Kreia said. She adjusted her robes, smoothing the brown fabric over her lap, eliminating the creases with her remaining hand.

“You may not be the very last Jedi,” Kreia continued the conversation from the cockpit, her voice finally betraying whatever agony her missing hand was causing her. “But the Jedi Civil War nearly destroyed them. By war’s end, barely a hundred Jedi remained. Many fell in battle… and many more were seduced by Revan’s teachings.”

“But what about the Jedi on Dantooine? And Coruscant?”

Kreia sighed, as if gathering strength before answering.

“The Jedi Academy on Dantooine is nothing more than a crater that echoes with the ghosts of dead Jedi. And the Jedi Temple on Coruscant lies empty. The waters in the Room of a Thousand Fountains have fallen still, in reverence to the fallen Jedi… and those now lost.”

Kreia let out a harrowed sigh but remained upright, steadying herself as she gathered her thoughts.

“Many Jedi blamed the teachings of other Jedi Masters for Revan’s fall… and the civil war that followed.”

“If there are any survivors left, then we need to warn them,” Eden breathed, thinking of Atris and Kavar, despite the change in their demeanors the last they spoke. Like the parent Eden hardly remembered, her father least of all, they still felt like blood to her and the idea of them being hunted down made a forgotten part of her hurt more than she expected.

“Perhaps, but they are Jedi no longer. If the Sith have not already slain them, then they will not help you, nor can you help them.”

Eden stilled. Then they are Jedi no longer. She wanted to question Kreia, ask her to elaborate, but part of her already knew. If things had grown this bad, then any dissolution of the Jedi meant that the Code was already thrown to the wind. So long as the Jedi did not preserve and protect the Republic, they were only Jedi in memory.

“Then how do we stop these Sith?”

“That… is not an easy question to answer. This threat is greater than you know, and I believe it is not a battle that can be fought.” The old woman gripped her stump of a wrist, wreathed in the hollow of her sleeve, “but I have just as complicated of a past as you, which is why I sought you out myself. I believed the Sith would come as soon as you returned to Republic Space…”

“Your hand—” Eden began, her eyes stilling as the memory seared itself back into being, a flash of unbearable heat followed by impossible cold shuddering over her own wrist at the recollection. “When you lost it, I felt it too.”

“That does not surprise me – any more than you hearing my thoughts when we were apart aboard Peragus. The pain, however, was unexpected. If I could, I would have shielded you from it.”

Eden had felt the pull of the Force when those died around her, the echoes of her platoon’s deaths on Dxun still a wound in her mind if not in the Force itself since she’d been dead to it. At least until now. But sensing a stranger’s thoughts, a stranger’s pain – that was something she had never heard of before, let alone something she wanted to grapple with.

“If I felt the loss of your hand, what would have happened if you had died?”

“I do not know,” Kreia resigned, her voice tired, “I fear that the consequences would have been more… extreme.”

“Could it have been lethal?” Eden asked, wondering if the pins and needles she felt in her hand were conjured of her own imagination or some inkling of what Kreia felt now.

“Possibly, yes,” Kreia whispered. “And I fear it might work both ways. I would not wish to test it, nor should you.”

“I can agree to that.”

Kreia nodded and sighed, leaning into the bunk she sat on until she was laying down in full. Her hood still covered most of her face, but from this angle Eden spied the sliver of white that encompassed Kreia’s blind eyes, both answering her inner suspicions while also raising more questions.

“I have more questions,” Eden said, wondering just how much of her inner thoughts Kreia could surmise sans conversation, “But I’ll let you rest.”

Kreia almost laughed, chuckling at first but coughing instead before she shook her head. “Yes, I think that’s wise.”

Eden watched as Kreia surrendered to exhaustion, wishing to do the same, but knowing that the tumult inside her head would keep her awake as long as it would keep her. Eden backed out of the room, mind ablaze. But despite all of the questions that roamed her brain, the one she kept circling back to was about her brother, and where he factored into the Sith hunting her now.

3951 BBY, Dantooine Outback

Erebus

Agreed the almost-Jedi had said, looking Erebus dead in the face, his blue eyes almost black as his pupils dilated at the sight of him, both cautious of what he was getting himself into as well as eager to do whatever necessary to meet his goals.

Erebus had sensed it in Mical back on Nespis: the drive, the ambition. But unlike Erebus’, it was tempered by even-mannered civility and sharpened by the edges of realistic expectation.

Erebus did not anticipate waking to the memory of the man’s face, as if having dreamt of Mical, or least of all thought of him. The remainder of his slumber was a pleasant blur, consisting otherwise of agreeably empty thought highlighted only with deepest rest. A dreamless sleep. And still, he awoke to the memory of Mical’s face, agreeing to something Erebus knew he too would one day come to regret…

“Feeling any better?” a voice asked from beyond the closed door, echoing in his cargo bay.

“Barely…”

Erebus sat up in his cot, willing the energy to rush into his bones only to find himself cringing with the movement, his ribs surely bruised. 

“Well, at least you’re not lying.” Vash was in his peripheral vision now, looking worried. The woman stepped into the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him struggle. Erebus would laugh were it not for the sharp pain that threatened to plague his sides if he did.

“I do that quite a lot, actually,” Erebus groaned as he got to his feet. Now that he was standing, his body actually felt better for it, as if operating on a delay. Once his vision cleared, blacking out at the edges for just a moment before overcompensating and growing hyper-focused on the room around him, his limbs felt lighter, his head unclouded. 

“Hm,” was all Vash managed. Aside from her sour mood, Erebus felt better than he had in days. 

Despite the lack of view, there was something eternally comforting about his bunk. Tucked at the back of the ship, it was the closest thing Erebus had to a home in the last six years. Other than the occasional few-month stint he’d spend researching in his corner of the Trayus Academy, Erebus spent most of his time exploring the utmost edges of the Outer Rim, occasionally toeing the line into Unknown Regions territory. And all the while this ship was his anchor, this room his sanctuary. 

“I did my best to heal your wounds, but you probably know that the damage is worse than that,” Vash muttered. “What I want to know is if it’s worth it?”

The Dark Side of the Force. None of what Erebus had managed through his connection to the Force was particularly dark in nature, but the way he fueled it was. Not only that, but he’d been running on no sleep and several injuries all compounded on each other until his body could no longer handle it without collapse. That is, unless he were to take a page from Nihilus’ book. 

“It was for the moment,” Erebus relented. “Though I’m sure you know of far worse fates.”

Vash’s mouth thinned to a line as she watched him get up and cross the room. The more he shifted the better he felt, the movement lubricating his joints enough to ease the stiffness though not completely dull the pain. Another day should do it. He’d been in worse spots before, but never with a talented Force wielder by his side to channel the Force into his healing. There were a couple of acolytes back at the Trayus Academy assigned to Erebus that would travel with him on occasion - Mellric and Uruba, one Twi’lek and one Mirialan - but neither had particularly strong connections to the Force and were instead tasked to mind Erebus’ pilfered artifacts and run tests at his request. Uruba had healed him twice, and she was quite good at it, but just as good as any non-sensitive medic might be. He wondered if either of his acolytes cared that he was gone, if only because it meant they were bored without an assignment to keep them busy. 

“I’ve been open-minded so far,” Vash sighed eventually after giving Erebus the space to stretch and work the sleep from his eyes. “But now I need some questions answered, if we’re to continue traveling together.”

Erebus read every line in her face, watching as Vash’s mouth pressed into an even thinner line if it were possible, her lips nearly white with the effort. Erebus inhaled, readying himself for a conversation he knew he didn’t want to have, and exhaled as he released his discomfort and launched into a characteristically sardonic reply.

“Where should I begin?” he smiled, but Vash’s expression remained unchanged. “I can tell you my favorite color, or perhaps my favorite bit of Sith history if you’re feeling rusty.”

Vash didn’t even sigh in response. She waited a beat, blinked, and spoke as if Erebus hadn’t said anything at all.

“Something tells me I should play along with this slave masquerade your friend has now created for us, though I relish to think at where she got that idea,” Vash said in a single displeased breath. “But aside from that, I’d like to know what she meant by sending you the Japrael System, not just to meet with your eponymous Sith Master, who as you can imagine I’m just dying to meet, but what plans you’re to be resuming there?”

“That?” Now Erebus truly wanted to laugh. “That’s why you’re upset? That this has suddenly gotten political?”

Vash didn’t say anything, but her seething silence gave Erebus the answer he expected.

“It’s not as devious as you might think,” he said. “We have no interest in the fate of Onderon itself, just what’s hidden on its moon. It’s been overrun by Mandalorian clans so we can’t survey the area without stirring something. But as you likely know, the temple there belongs to a certain Freedon Nadd, the very Sith responsible for turning Exar Kun to the Dark Side. So you can see why it’s imperative that you play along with this unfortunate charade, no? We might find some real connection between Kun and Revan, or wherever it is you think this bread trail of yours is leading.”

He made it sound as if it were one-sided, but Erebus couldn’t deny how curious he was about the pyramids and how they factored into both Exar Kun’s and Revan’s histories, however mysterious.

“Hm,” Vash hummed, her eyes narrowing. “Does this have anything to do with your sister as well?”

“My--?” Erebus sputtered.

“Well?” Vash pressed.

Erebus swallowed. “It’s just a theory, but given what I saw from my link with Eden during the war, I have a feeling this is all connected somehow. My sister, Revan, Exar Kun… but how did you know?”

Vash’s expression eased, her mouth relaxing as she sighed.

“Intuition, mostly. I see a lot of your sister in your work, or at least I see you’ve revisited the places she’s been,” Vash admitted, letting out a loosed breath. She walked beyond the doorway and into the cargo space now, her eyes scanning Erebus’ many notes and diagrams lining the walls. “But I thought you said she never turned to the Dark Side?”

“No, never,” Erebus said, his voice a husk, almost a whisper. “But she’s everywhere on the Outer Rim. When I didn’t sense her through the Force anymore, I think part of me just wanted to seek her out. Even if only as a ghost. But it’s odd, no? That everywhere a Dark Jedi tread, Eden had been there as well?”

Erebus expected Vash to perk up with shared curiosity, but she didn’t.

“So you weren’t hunting her?” Vash countered. He leaned into the doorframe, as if physically taken aback as he was mentally by her response. He was, of course, were it not for the brief moment he spent on Anchorhead mentally calculating whether capturing and bringing Eden in to Nihilus for further study was an option worth weighing.

“No, of course not.” Erebus said before huffing a hollow laugh.” “Is that what this is really about?”

But that won’t stop Sion from hunting her, Erebus thought, thinking back to what Visas said, at least comforted by her assertion that Nihilus was not after Eden. At least not yet. 

“I’m sorry,” Vash said, “It’s just… she’s been on my mind a lot these last nine years. I worry that we did the wrong thing. That letting her go, exiling her… that it only put a target on her back. Away from us. To deflect blame, maybe, to avoid the introspection we so desperately needed. But mostly… blame. Yes, blame. There just… is no better word for it.”

Well, you’re not wrong. 

Erebus didn’t say it, but he might as well have, judging by the look of guilt that crossed Vash’s face. 

“I want to blame you,” she said, her voice harrowed suddenly, stricken with emotion that she quickly swallowed before continuing, “But I blame us more.”

“Us?” Erebus echoed. “The Jedi Council, you mean?”

A flash of recognition crossed Vash’s face before she nodded fervently, willing her emotion to nothing as a look of calm took its place. 

“Our Council had a lot to answer for. For Revan’s betrayal, for what our Jedi protege committed during the war that preceded it, but also… for our inaction. For letting the Mandalorians do what they did, and to the point to which we let it escalate.”

“So that’s why you’re trusting me,” Erebus said, “You think this is your penance, your payment for what happened back then?”

Vash didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to.

Erebus wanted to refute her, to laugh at her and call her folly. But he couldn’t. Maybe she was right. And maybe this was his punishment for abandoning faith in his sister long before that. 

“Okay, I’ll bite, and I’ll be honest this time,” he said, his voice low. He knew little of what political nonsense brewed on Onderon now, but he was willing to loose what he did know if it meant getting closer to what Nihilus was after, to what Eden had found on that moon years ago. “What is it you want to know about my business in the Japrael System?”

“It’s not about what I want to know, exactly but who we may encounter there,” Vash said, but now it was Erebus’ turn to interrupt.  

“Wait, wait, wait. You know someone on Onderon, someone that could blow our cover. That’s what this is about,” he near whispered, the realization sending a wave of goosebumps down his arms as he spoke the revelation into existence. “And not just anyone, but someone also close to Eden.”

Vash could only look at Erebus with a steely stare, hoping that he would be kind enough to play along just as much as she was, so long as it meant seeing this Force vision through to the end, wherever that led them.  

“It’s Kavar, isn’t it?”

Eden’s would-be Master had chosen a seat on the Council over becoming her tutor, and Erebus never forgot the red-hot ire Eden felt in the wake of his choice. Some in the Order had whispered that it was his dismissal that led Eden to follow Revan to war. From what Erebus knew, the rumor was not far from the truth. 

“It will complicate things,” Vash said evenly, verifying Erebus’ suspicion as a world of worry began to brew behind her eyes. “If we are to make it through this, it will have to be done carefully.” 

“That goes without saying,” Erebus breathed, exasperated.

Vash sighed and turned to face him again, in full. Her dark eyes looked him up and down, but carefully now and without disdain, a knot forming between her brows before she spoke.

“What does it feel like?” Vash asked, her voice soft, almost faraway. “The Dark Side of the Force?”

Erebus didn’t know what to say. It was many things, as the Force was by nature, always. But where the Light flourished in peace and balance, the Dark Side fed off of emotion: fear, anger… and each time Erebus drew from it, it was --

“Cold,” he said eventually. Even when his anger ran hot, it was numbing, like touching ice for far too long. “It’s always cold.”

Vash’s eyes honed in on his own as she nodded, once, twice slowly and then a third time, definitively, as if affirming the thought for herself more than she was outwardly acknowledging that she understood what he said. “Why does it take so much out of you?”

“The Dark Side isn’t all the Jedi warn it to be,” Erebus said, a laugh forming at the base of his throat but refusing to erupt despite the irony of the situation. Vash was watching him with rapt attention, and Erebus wondered if anyone who never delved into the Dark Side could truly know what it was like without experiencing it for themselves. If his words would do it any justice. “It feeds off emotion, yes, but not just negative emotions, but baser ones. The stronger the better, which is why anger and fear are so prevalent, but it’s more than that. It’s like wading through a pool. The Light is more like a pond or a basin, easier to float in and become one with, to find balance. But the Dark Side is more like an ocean, you tap into it by diving fathoms deep. And you can either stay down there and adapt to the pressure, or eventually come up for air.”

Erebus opened his mouth, about to launch into another description, but instead he paused and pursed his lips. It wasn’t his best work and he was willing to chalk it up to exhaustion, but despite his less than stellar explanation Vash nodded, a look of knowing overcoming her features as she soaked in what Erebus said.

“When your sister came to the Council for judgment,” she began, swallowing a breath before continuing, still searching for the right words in the pause, “She felt… empty, but not as if she were lacking. It was as if… she existed over a chasm, or an abyss, unfathomably deep and full of pain, and not entirely her own. I described it as a blackhole earlier, but it was more than that. She was like a wound, but with a gravitational pull.”

Like Nihilus, Erebus thought.

“But you’re right, she didn’t feel…” Vash sighed, “She didn’t feel Dark herself, but as if she might be pulled in at any moment, like swimming at the mouth of a whirlpool on the edge of a storm.”

“I’m surprised you remember so much,” Erebus said, missing his sister even as he recalled the exact feeling Vash described, recalling the sensation itself the last time he felt her through the Force the day before.

“There isn’t a day I don’t think about it,” Vash admitted. “Not just out of guilt, but because that feeling, that feeling…” Vash shook her head, her eyes far off in memory, “It’s so visceral, and so… haunting. I cannot forget it.”

Erebus said nothing, knowing there was more truth to what Vash had said earlier about seeing Eden in his work. Perhaps the reason he’d been so easy to break wasn’t just because Atris had so battered his resolve, but because he was so desperate to reunite with his twin that he was willing to align himself with the next best thing – Nihilus, death personified and negated all in one.

“We find Vrook first,” Vash said eventually, after soaking in the silence that followed between them. “Then we can worry about the rest.”The rest? Erebus wasn’t surprised that other Jedi remained but he had to wonder who else had survived the massacre at Katarr. If fate would have it, he would soon find out.

“Will your employer want an update on that, too?” Vash asked, her voice pointed and sharp.

“Likely,” Erebus said. “But if I take out the Golden Company, here and now, that should quell any disquiet he has about my being here.”

“Curious that your friend failed to mention that,” Vash added. “Especially after she killed the remaining mercenaries in that room with us.”

“As much as I’m not fond of her, I am glad of her for that at least,” Erebus huffed with relief at the thought in hindsight. “But you’re right. If the Golden Company are after any remaining Jedi or Jedi artifacts, I’m surprised she didn’t ask us further questions. My Master was on Nespis, and as you guessed is likely the reason it no longer exists, but still… to think that would be the end of it is short-sighted.”

Vash nodded in agreement, though her eyes were shining, her lips pursed again. Erebus cocked his head, wondering, before the realization dawned on him. Oh.

“Your… Master,” Vash asked, her voice choked before she regained her composure. She straightened herself, pushing her shoulders back as she shook off her emotion again. “You uttered his name, back there in the old medbay.”

Shit. He had, to Visas. Not that it mattered if Vash knew, but part of him had made an internal point to keep these two spheres of his life – past and present – forever separate. Somehow, betraying to Vash the name of the entity behind the deaths of so many Jedi was something he did not want to be held responsible for. But the dam had broken, and he was the one who threw the first stone.

“That name,” she continued. “Was it… chosen?”

“Chosen?” Erebus balked.

Vash nodded.

“Exar Kun and Ulic Qel Droma never changed their monikers. Revan never told us her true name, but was called Revan when she was found. I was first introduced to Darth Malak as Squint, and though his given name was Alek he later began calling himself Captain Malak during the Mandalorian Wars. And as for you—”

“Ah, I see…” Erebus breathed, understanding the truth of Vash’s question now, a discomfort rising within him at the thought. Do you really want to get into this right now? “I believe it was attributed to him in the aftermath.”

“Aftermath?” Vash asked, her face scrunching up at the word. Erebus smiled a sour smile.

“Of Malachor.”

“Malachor,” Vash echoed, her face growing a shade paler though her expression betrayed nothing otherwise. “He was a survivor of Malachor V?”

Erebus only nodded. Vash’s eyes went wide but said nothing else. That meant Nihilus had either been a Mandalorian, a Jedi, or a Republic soldier, but he would relish in letting Vash try to figure that one out for herself, divulging nothing further.

“It’s possible his original name was forgotten, but it would be ironic if it were not chosen, no?” Erebus was trying to be funny, trying to cut the tension in the room with anything he had, but he came up empty. Vash did not laugh.

Nihilus. It was almost a joke. Not that it made the truth of what Nihilus was any less terrifying. If anything, it was absolute truth in advertising. But Sion? Erebus had never heard that name before, and what words he knew in other languages he was familiar with did not align with anything about the man – he was likely born with that name and too stubborn to part with it. As for their Master? Rumor had it she’d created it as a title to be passed down to her true successor. So far, no one else had been up to the task.

“And Erebus… where does that name come from?”

At this Erebus laughed, his voice hollow and his memory aching. He looked down, almost bashful, before looking up at Vash again through the waved fringe of his long hair, feeling very much the child again in her presence.

“Aiden was my grandfather’s name, and while I remember being fond of the man once I never liked the idea of borrowing his name as well. Because that’s what it felt like… borrowing,” he said, wondering if he’d ever truly felt like his own person until he left that back alley on Coruscant caked in his own blood, beaten and broken but seeing more clearly than he’d ever had before. “Erebus was also borrowed I guess, though I don’t remember where from. An old myth maybe, my research never dredged up anything concrete. But the name always stuck. So even if I’d heard it before, even if it was borrowed… it was still chosen.”

Chosen. Aiden had never been chosen for anything. Never the first choice. At least not as a Jedi. His appointment as Atris’ apprentice had not been ideal, at least not for her, and while Nihilus was more hunger than man at least he had chosen Erebus to work for him, even if he had killed his original Sith Master to accomplish it, denying him of the honor of inheriting his Darth title other than by appointment only. It was something, and up until now it had been more than enough.

“Very well then,” Vash said after a long moment, realizing Erebus would not reveal more. A wealth of emotion welled in her eyes – something akin to disappointment – though nothing crossed her features, which were still as stone. Vash blinked and her curiosity was willed away, slate clean, “I should… work on my acting skills. If we’re to get away with this charade of yours.”

“It’s not my charade, I didn’t come up with it,” Erebus countered, though this time he didn’t have the heart to be snarkier about it. “But you’re right. We both need to work on our story if this has any chance of working.”

You may bring your Jedi slave if you wish, Visas’ voice echoed in his mind. Though Master may have other plans for her.

Not if Erebus had anything to say about it. Not if Erebus didn’t have other plans of his own.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Telos

Brianna

“You’re getting better,” Orenna said through what Brianna could almost call a smile.

“But not quite,” Brianna finished for her sister, bowing her head as she caught her breath, willing the sweat gracing her brow to evaporate. Orenna’s skin was bright and pristine, blemishless and only dewy enough to betray the fact that she was living. Brianna, on the other hand, could still feel the heat reddening her face. She wondered if her human mother was quick to do the same.

The two sisters stood opposite one another in the training hall, alone save for their reflections in the mirrors that lined the walls. Brianna had done as Atris had asked and requested that Orenna assist her with blocking, pleasantly surprised to find her sister agreeable to the proposal. It had been their little ritual this last week, and to Brianna’s surprise she found herself looking forward to their sessions despite how much she’d beat herself up afterwards.

“An improvement from yesterday, to be sure,” Orenna replied, bowing in turn. “I think that’s enough for this afternoon.”

Brianna turned to leave but turned on her heel again instead, a question forming on her face before the words made it past her lips. Orenna cocked her head, as well as an eyebrow, judgment crossing her features while she waited for her sister to speak.

“No assignments for me today, sister?” Brianna asked after an awkward gulp of air. Orenna shook her head. 

“Not today,” she said. “You did well. I mean it.”

Brianna nodded though she almost didn’t believe her, containing her emotion and tucking it away, feeling the warmth of her pride somewhere deep in her chest as she bowed at Orenna again and finally left the room. She counted her footfalls as they echoed through the academy’s empty halls, finding it oddly comforting to be alone again. It was easier being alone.

Walking the halls without having any sisters to trail behind calmed her, especially since she didn’t have any specific orders to follow. For now, she would head to her room and meditate on what she had learned today, practicing once her body had rested enough to train until she tired once more. It was the only way should keep herself busy since returning from Nespis, anxious about what had happened there while trying to ignore the itch her journey had inspired to see more of the galaxy and less of Telos, or at least this very specific corner of it. 

The remainder of her sisters tended to the inventory they’d recovered from what remained of Nespis, the news having reached them only yesterday. Atris seemed unperturbed though it was in her nature to mask all emotion if not quell it entirely. Brianna could have sworn that Arianna’s eyebrow had twitched, disappointment threatening to overcome her features at the thought of having failed their Mistress, but Atris had assured them that what they managed to recover was more than satisfactory. For now.

But if her other sisters were in storage, why was there a draft coming from the docking bay?

A chill ran through Brianna as she passed the center of the academy, pausing once she reached the facility’s command center. She stilled, believing the space to be empty, but even as she stood there and saw nothing -- she felt it. A presence. Just as she had on the mountainside. 

Brianna’s stride broke into a run as she dashed past the command consoles and towards the docking bay door, a massive mechanism that she now realized was left open. A shiver ran through her, chilling her to bones though not from cold.

The Academy has been compromised, her mind echoed, panic rising in her throat. She fell into stance, knowing she could not leave the entrance unmanned now despite her inner desire to run for her sisters’ aid. Brianna stalked with measured steps toward the winds wailing just a few meters beyond, Atris’ vessel the only thing marring her otherwise unobstructed view of the snowy mountainside. No one was there, save for the Last Handmaiden.

Brianna toed the open edge of the docking bay’s threshold, glancing up into the mechanism to see if it had been tampered with. The door jamb was spotless. If anyone had broken in, they had either extracted the passcode or made use of an expert-grade security tunneler. Brianna yearned for a weapon but instead resorted to relying on her fists, white-knuckled at her sides as she counted her steps beyond the door and into the hangar bay.

The hair on the back of Brianna’s neck stood on end. There it was again, that presence. Something both unknown yet familiar, the same sensation that plagued her on the mountainside, before she’d left for Tatooine, when she and her sisters had found… what exactly?

“I apologize if I caused any alarm,” a voice echoed through the space. Fists still held at the ready, Brianna spun around until she made out the barest silhouette against the horizon, a woman clad in white hardly visible against the falling snow beyond the hangar entrance. “I was just… waiting for something.”

“Mistress?” Brianna tried to keep the disbelief from her voice as she approached Atris’ form at the edge of the airdock. “What are you doing out here?”

She tried to wrestle with too many thoughts at once -- had the mountainside memory been something out of a dream? And why did Atris not sound like herself? Brianna had always found comfort in Atris’ presence, ever since the woman had brought her and her sisters here in the wake of their father’s death. But now Atris read cold, like the mountain, and while something about her was familiar, it was not the feeling Brianna often gleaned from her caretaker. 

“You are stronger than you realize, Brianna. In truth, you are the strongest of your sisters,” Atris said instead, ignoring Brianna’s query. Mistress’ voice was airy but laced with an undercurrent of something darker. Unsure if she was in trouble, Brianna’s mind flashing back to the grey robes tucked behind her cot and what they meant, she froze over the threshold. Before she could utter anything in disbelief, Atris continued, her tone even, calculated and sure. “But you are also the most vulnerable, which is why they will always dub you the last of the handmaidens.”

With this, Atris turned, a serene smile spiriting over her lips though the expression did not meet her eyes. Atris nodded, beckoning that Brianna join her. Brianna unstuck herself from the open docking bay door and approached her Mistress’ side. Atris turned, gesturing her hand forward as if pointing at something, but all Brianna could make out was falling snow.

“Remember that mission I told you about?” Atris said, her voice faraway as her eyes remained somewhere in the distance. Brianna tried to follow her gaze but found nothing, the Telos countryside so swathed in heavy snowfall that anything beyond a few meters was impenetrable to the naked eye. Eventually, Brianna nodded.

“She is coming,” Atris replied, her voice a whisper. “Here, to Telos. I feel it.”

Brianna looked to Atris, studying her Mistress’ features as if they might be different this time. But Atris was as she always had been, even down to the very strands of her ivory hair pulled taut into the intricate braided knot at the back of her head. 

“The Exile?”

“Yes, the Exile.”

Atris was not mocking her, instead savoring the sound of the word on her tongue as she echoed it back, glancing at Brianna now. Her silver eyes bore into Brianna’s blue -- limned with regret, disappointment? -- before looking away again, more hollow than Brianna had ever seen them. 

“I will need your assistance again,” Atris said. “If you are up to the task.”

“Of course, Mistress! Always,” Brianna answered, almost too quickly. She squared her shoulders and retained her eye contact with Atris, even if the woman was already looking off in the distance again. “I am ready.”

“Good,” Atris replied. She turned to her again, her eyes crinkled, though there was still something off about the woman. The presence Brianna felt when she entered the room was still there, lingering like a ghost -- something familiar but different, not the usual sense she got from Atris, something unknown and buried, deep within her memory. A feeling forgotten, but not entirely. Brianna could not discern what it was though she nodded just the same, trying not to fidget beneath her Mistress’ gaze. “Good.”

3951 BBY, Hyperspace

Eden

It was strange being on a ship like this - small, cozy, meant for shipping cargo instead of armies. Her room on the Harbinger had been devoid of any home-like comforts, and while this hunk of junk lacked any finesse, something about the ship’s exposed parts grounded her, settling her nerves. Eden ran her hand along the vessel’s unfinished walls, almost tasting its metal tang in her mind, as she made her way back to the cockpit, comforted by its imperfections.

The ship was modest, boasting only two dormitories and a cramped common area that also shared square footage with the ship’s lone refresher. Something about it seemed familiar, lived-in, though Eden knew she had never been on a ship like this. It was as if she had seen it in a dream.

“How’s she doing?” Atton’s voice crept from the cockpit, sensing Eden’s presence as she approached. Eden almost laughed darkly, a shadow of it creeping into her voice as she answered, wondering if her footfalls were really that heavy as she daydreamt.

“Surprisingly well for someone who just lost a hand,” Eden said as she entered the cockpit proper, watching her own left hand as she flexed it in and out of a fist.

“What about you, though?”

Eden paused, lifting her gaze from her hand to Atton, surprised to find him watching her with interest – not a hint of malice in his eyes for what she just ordered him to do before hightailing it into hyperspace. Instead, he looked almost concerned.

“Me?”

“Yeah, didn’t you, I dunno, feel Kreia lose her hand or something?”

At this, Atton turned, mumbling the words towards the end of his sentence to muffle the fact that he’d been paying attention. Something at the back of Eden’s mind felt like smiling, if not out of curiosity, but instead she found herself looking at her hand again, her mouth slacking into a furrowed frown.

“I did,” Eden said. “I think it’s fine for now, but still… strange.”

“More Jedi nonsense, I take it,” Atton breathed, a little too casual for someone having just caused the largest explosion this side of the Outer Rim since the Mandalorian Wars. Either that or the man was more exhausted than she realized.

“So, what’s the deal with this ship?” Eden said, slapping a hand on the wall, indicating the very vessel that now hopefully shepherded them away from further disaster. “Find out anything interesting?”

“Not really,” Atton huffed, “though I did see that it’s called the Ebon Hawk if that means anything to you.”

Ebon Hawk, Eden echoed silently in her mind, her eyes soaking in the sight of the cockpit and its weathered controls. Something about this ship felt familiar, and the oddness of the name only solidified her unknown intuition. The feeling of wandering a dream or a forgotten memory did not fade with the knowledge but instead grew tenfold, and Eden wasn’t sure whether the ship’s odd familiarity was a comfort any more than it was a newfound worry.

“Of course the only space-worthy ship on that sorry ball of magma would be twenty years old, and rigged to boot.” Atton mumbled through Eden’s silence, still fussing with the ship’s controls. “This thing is a true relic, you know that?”

“What makes you say that?” Eden asked, thankful for Atton’s affinity for hearing himself talk as she sidled up alongside the navigational chart. It glowed white-green, enticing her towards its sprawling celestial map. The display was outdated, she had to give Atton that, but nearly everything she’d met on Tatooine in the last few years would have been considered ancient by industry standards. “Rigged, I mean, not old. Old is obvious.”

Atton glanced at Eden over his shoulder, his eyebrows shooting up and disappearing into his hair, as he allowed himself a moment of surprise. Eden smirked. She’d only known the guy for about a day and already she had developed a hobby of catching him off-guard.

“The commands, mostly,” he said eventually, turning back to the console, “Most ships have standard commands depending on the make, but this one seems to have been coded in a specific key. It’s not impossible to decipher but it’s annoying, to say the least.”

“Coded?”

“Input commands are less obvious than they would be in a ship right off the assembly line. Like if you have certain phrases set to autofill on your comm, that sort of thing. Pressing button A doesn’t necessarily perform function A. Anyone with half a brain can figure out a ship’s controls with a manual, but this baby wouldn’t line up with a manual if you tried. It’s common in drug-running, mostly. A defense tactic, or deterrent is maybe the better word. Instead of an alarm system, it's meant to dissuade anyone from flying it at all by making it complicated and annoying. That, and it’s meant to reroute system logs so it’s harder for anyone snooping around to access the ship’s navigational history. Hey, while you’re over there, do you mind-?”

“On it,” Eden confirmed, already keying in a sequence. But the map before her only jolted, as if glitching momentarily. She tried again. “Hm, nothing.”

“Nothing?” Atton affirmed, turning full in his chair this time. “Have you tried-?”

Eden typed in another sequence and looked at Atton again, shrugging more emphatically.

“Like I said, nothing.”

Atton slumped in his chair, looking at the screen from his vantage point, baffled. “Weird.”

Turning around again, Atton began typing furiously away at the pilot’s console, muttering to himself as he made quick calculations and tested other sequencing commands, inputting codes and apparently coming up empty judging by the unintelligible grumbling that escaped his mouth in response.

“I thought you said it wasn’t weird for drug-running vessels to do that?”

“It isn’t, it’s just… the system would have given you an error code, or rerouted you to a different command or something. The fact that nothing happened is weird. It means this ship was more than just customized, it was likely rewired from the ground-up. We’ll have to try some back-end codes if we have any chance of unlocking the nav chart, but we can worry about that later. Or not at all, since I plan on taking the next transport off Telos as soon as we land. If that’s even an option.”

“You and me both,” Eden said, still playing with the galaxy map, marveling at the expanse of it all. It had been a while since she’d traveled, and longer since she considered how big the galaxy even was. “Any idea where you’d want to disappear?”

“Disappear?” Atton tensed at that, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he adjusted his ribbed jacket. Eden expected Atton would want to leave as many lightyears between him and whatever had landed him on Peragus as he could manage, but maybe there was more to the story.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said after a few beats, trying to act cavalier. “I have a few places in mind, though sharing them with you kind of defeats the purpose of vanishing without a trace.”

Atton glanced back at Eden, his eyes wide before he snapped his attention back to the console computer again, muttering, “No offense, or anything.”

Eden laughed lightly, the feeling almost alien given everything that had happened of late. Quickly quieting, she bit her lip and allowed herself a breath before picking up the conversation again, oddly at ease.

“None taken,” she said, “No witness, no crime, right?”

“Something like that,” Atton laughed, though a clear sense of uncertainty laced his voice. “Though I’d argue all three of us are just as guilty of blowing up the entire economy of this sector. I flew the ship, sure, but it was only to save all our skins.”

“I appreciate that,” Eden said, “Though I’d counter and say that Kreia’s assailant is to blame more than the three of us.”

“Hah, right. Try telling that to the Republic officers that eventually arrest us at the ends of the universe for the impending fuel crisis of the century.” At this Atton truly laughed, the weight of what had just happened finally sinking in. “Shit.”

“Well, it’s not the first time I was responsible for something that would affect the entire galaxy for decades to come,” Eden sighed, her finger lingering over the green dot the chart labeled as Dxun - moon, quickly changing the subject before Atton could question whether she was being earnest or not. “So, what do you think this ship was used for before we hijacked it?”

“Drug-running, I’m guessing, but I doubt Kreia had anything to do with that. Though I am curious…”

“Curious about what?”

“How someone like her would acquire a ship like this?”

“I don’t think it’s that weird,” Eden shrugged as she finally abandoned the navigational chart and sunk into the co-pilot’s chair. “An old woman looking for any means of solo transport with little money? You see the way she dresses; I doubt she has a fortune at her disposal. I’m sure a spice runner with a price on their head would part with as few credits as they could if it meant an easy way to dispose of their crime-history-addled ship.”

Atton made a face at this, considering her logic, but did not tear his eyes away from the pilot’s console as he continued to type away.

“So if we don’t get arrested for what happened on Peragus, we’ll likely get jailed for posing as whatever drug runners once owned this ship. Wonderful.” Atton huffed a hollow laugh. “I guess the only thing I’m left wondering is whether Sleeps-With-Vibroblades was on her tail before or after this ship’s acquisition. Speaking of which… what happened?”

Atton only gestured to her vaguely, his eyes still glued to the pilot’s screen. Eden paused, looking down at herself, confused, and back up at Atton again.

“To what?”

Atton tsked.

“Don’t give me that. There were plenty of times back on Peragus where a lightsaber would have been helpful. So - where’s yours?”

Eden narrowed her eyes, shaking her head in utter confusion as she wondered how Atton went from how Kreia came into possession of this ship to lightsabers. The fact that Atton couldn’t see her facial journey to better understand her bafflement didn’t help, either.

“Let’s leave my lightsaber out of this,” Eden sighed. Not only was her old saber the last thing she wanted to dredge up from her memory, but the bodies Kreia let out of the airlock were evidence enough that Eden didn’t need one to cause further injury. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh? I thought a Jedi was supposed to be married to their lightsaber. Guess I heard wrong,” he quipped, acting coy.

Eden rolled her eyes.

“So, were you a single-hilt or one of those double-bladed Jedi?”

Now Eden knew that Atton wasn’t just preoccupying himself with the ship’s unique code language for the sake of deciphering it. He was also using it as an excuse to avoid her gaze while he asked the usual questions other spacers did upon suspecting her affiliation with the Order. Typical.

“Double,” she answered dishonestly after a beat, watching Atton side-long for his reaction.

“Hm,” he said, unexcitingly, “I hear the twin blades are harder to master, but they can make enemies stampede over each other running for cover.”

Eden crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes now as she watched Atton do his best to appear nonchalant, truly annoyed with him now.

“You know quite a bit about Jedi for being so averse to them,” Eden accused, but Atton only snorted in response.

“I fought in the war, remember? It was hard not to notice,” Atton said, “I saw a lot of Jedi use double-bladed sabers first-hand, gave them more slaughter per swing.”

Eden winced, unhappy to have the memory revived in her mind’s eye at the mention of it.

“You didn’t go red, did you?”

Eden wanted to roll her eyes again, but instead she paused, a wicked smile taking over her face.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, doing her best to sound sincere. “Redder than a laigrek’s eye.”

Atton jolted out of whatever he was doing to avoid her gaze and actually jumped in his seat, but Eden couldn’t hold her serious expression long enough to relish in the longer con she’d planned the moment the words passed her lips.

“Maker, you’re pathetic,” she laughed, “What color saber do you think I had? I’m curious if you can guess correctly, Mr. ‘I Drink and I Know Things’”

Atton smiled unsurely, trying to appear in on the joke even though Eden had managed to startle him.

“Lemme see,” he said, affording her an honest glance after gathering his wits. Atton looked her up and down, assessing what he could of her upper half that was visible to him from the pilot’s chair with an expression of mock intrigue, an idle hand stroking his non-existent beard in thought. “I’d say green, but that might just be because your eyes are green, so I’m gonna nix that guess and say… blue.”

“Got a good look at my eyes, huh, flyboy?” Eden asked, but Atton ignored her, his face turning ever-so-slightly pink.

“No - yellow.”

Eden only raised her eyebrows in response, crossing her arms even tighter over her chest.

“Purple, violet? I dunno, those colors are the same, right?” Atton asked, shaking his head. “Are there… more colors? Sith are easy to guess, but Jedi--”

It was cerulean, she thought with an internal laugh, realizing the inanity of it. Neither blue nor green, but pale and somewhere in between. Single hilt but dual wielded. She’d studied the double-blade under Kavar but quickly changed once he chose the Council over continuing to tutor her. It helped that Revan dual-wielded as well but that was a coincidence she wasn’t about to unpack within the confines of her still-tenuous memory. Both her long and her short sword were the same shade of pale seafoam, wanting to emulate Kavar’s blue saber, truest blue as the Guardian he was, but also green in honor of her brother and her then-Master, Atris, the only Master willing to teach her then, even if it was as an Historian, a role that wholly did not suit her.

“Wouldn’t you know? I thought you fought alongside the Jedi.” Eden was calling him out now, but Atton only laughed, trying to buy himself time while he thought of another witty comeback, ultimately failing.

“Well, whatever color it was, sure would be nice to have it now. Might make those Sith think twice before coming after us.”

Eden shook her head, even if she understood where a spacer like Atton was coming from.

“A lightsaber wouldn’t make a difference, trust me,” Eden relented, “Sure it’s better than a blaster, but it would only put more of a target on our backs.”

Atton paused, really considering Eden now as he soaked in her words, perhaps surprised by her response.

“Fine, forget I said anything.” Atton turned away from her after a moment, shaking his head. “Better get comfortable, though. It’s about a day’s ride to Telos. We’re not out of this just yet.”

Eden nodded, turning the co-pilot’s seat all the way around to view the hallway behind her. Her eyes traced the piping on the walls as they led into the dark, where the passage turned slightly before opening up to the security room, wondering what Kreia was doing now in the dormitory she had claimed.

“No, we’re not,” Eden affirmed, her eyes still fixed on the shadow of the hall, but her mind far away, stuck somewhere between the past and present. She wondered what had become of her twin saber and if either one remained. One, she’d left at Alek’s feet. The other she’d staked into the hideous statue at the center of the Coruscant Council chamber. Part of her wondered, but another part of her longed to forget. “Not by a long shot.”

3951 BBY, Coruscant

Carth

“What I don’t understand is why no one seems to be taking this threat seriously,” Carth nearly seethed, trying to at least appear level-headed via comm despite the urgency in his voice. “We have evidence that the Sith have struck twice. I just got the reports back from Nespis – there’s nothing left!”

“What evidence? And what Sith, Admiral?” was all Commander Needa could say, the old man’s face unwavering. “The last known Sith was slain at the Star Forge per your report, Onasi. Or has your wife had another change of heart?”

“Commander Needa, that’s enough,” Supreme Chancellor Irulan cut in. Her voice was calm but it sliced through Needa’s sneer like a knife. The Chancellor’s beaded headdress ruffled slightly, either that or the static passed over her face just as she readjusted her usual veneer of utter poise. “Admiral Onasi, you know we don’t have the manpower to continue investigating an event out in the Rim when the conflict on Onderon is worsening by the day, and soured exponentially now that we hear the Peragus fuel depot has been destroyed. I know you want to find out what’s at the bottom of this, and all I can promise now is that we will eventually, but at the moment our focus should be on finding an alternate fuel source and tracking down what happened to the Harbinger.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carth croaked. As hot as his blood ran at the thought of Needa accusing Nevarra of going rogue, it was the memory of Morgana that had him truly riled up – a planet decimated with no one to answer for it? It was despicable.

“I’m afraid to say that Commander Needa is correct on one thing, though,” Chancellor Irulan interjected again, “And that is the lack of evidence surrounding the attacks at Nespis and Katarr. I admit, the incidents bear an uncanny similarity, but unfortunately much like the tragedy at Katarr, there just isn’t anything left of Nespis to point us in the right direction.”

“And who do you think has that sort of power?” Carth asked, his voice steady now, sure. “I believe it’s a mistake to let it fall by the wayside. If we do, then the next time they strike, it’ll be too late.”

“I agree with Admiral Onasi,” General Uful chimed in, his dark eyes glistening as he nodded sagely via comm, “I fear we may be setting ourselves up for a future disaster. We need to be prepared.”

Despite sitting in a virtual meeting, as he often did, Carth felt General Uful’s camaraderie in full, hoping the man saw his subtle nod in an earnest gesture of thank you.

“Find the Harbinger first, Admiral Onasi,” Supreme Chancellor Irulan ordered, “And bolster our forces in Onderon’s orbit by week’s end.”

Carth wanted to protest – he’d promised the Khoonda Initiative reinforcements, and he’d hoped to drop in on Telos should the Jedi Exile still appear there per their original plan. All he could do was nod.

“I will make it so, Supreme Chancellor.”

Carth nodded – holding General Uful’s gaze a moment longer than the others in a silent plea for future assistance should he need it – and logged off, gritting his teeth until everyone else had said their goodbyes, a heavy breath lodged in his throat. He wanted to throw his comm across the room, hungry to hear the ricochet of metal-on-metal, but he kept the comm firm in his grip. White-knuckled, he turned the contraption over in his hands, wondering what Morgana felt when the surface of Telos had been bombed and whether it had triggered a memory for Nevarra when Malak ordered the decimation of Dantooine. Without exploring the thought further, his chest aching, Carth placed the comm on his desk with a practiced calm and opened his console. Within two clicks and he was already at his destination – the Republic scout scanner.

“XS Stock Light freighter spotted circling the Moddell Subsector,” a garbled voice announced. “Clearance code checks out.”

Carth sighed, opening another window on his console. It was the only thing that kept him sane these days if only for the routine of it. It drove him mad to resort to it, but he had to know. With the disappearance of the Harbinger and the Ebon Hawk in its possession, Carth was about to lose his Maker-forsaken mind. He breathed in, feeling the weight of his own disappointment before he even began typing what was to be a letter to Mission, because he hadn’t the heart to tell her face-to-face.

No dice on the Republic backup, kid, he started, backspacing before rewriting what he’d already typed verbatim several times before muttering a crude word in Huttese and continuing. I’m working on it though, don’t worry. Might just take a while.

“D5-Mantis requesting clearance to Corellia”, another Republic officer reported in the background. “No code though. Orders not to pursue further until landing.”

Carth sighed, eyes fixed on the blinking cursor tormenting him from his screen. He couldn’t send a message; Mission would be furious. And mostly because she’d likely read it in three days’ time, max. That girl never checked her messages. She’d ignored time-sensitive notes from him before claiming she didn’t realize that the bright blinking exclamation point accompanying his messages was a sign of urgency and not a simple indication of not bad news! Carth cursed under his breath again and deleted the entire drafted note, slamming his fist on the keyboard as another distorted message filled the empty din of the room.

“Dynamic-class freighter approaching Citadel Station”, the voice said. “Clearance code is a-go, but orders are to apprehend the freighter immediately after docking. Something about the Peragus incident.”

Dynamic-class freighter. Carth scrambled across his desk to grab the scanner, his fingers fumbling over the controls as he locked onto the frequency and hailed it with a shaking breath.

“This is Admiral Onasi requesting Alpha-Two clearance regarding all activity of said freighter,” he ordered. Static answered him for a beat before an uncertain voice responded.

“Authorization?” it asked tentatively.

“Onasi-Seven-One-Green-Alpha,” he uttered in a single rushed breath.

Carth held his breath. There was still a chance this was any old freighter, but Carth wasn’t about to chalk anything up to coincidence. Not yet.

“Confirmed, Admiral. Will report as soon as we have intel, sir,” the responding voice affirmed, confusion lacing the recruit’s voice, no doubt surprised to hear someone of Carth’s rank chime in on a routine call, let alone the head of the Republic Navy.

“Much appreciated,” Carth sighed, “Over.”

“Over.”

Carth set down the scanner, his heart racing.

In a perfect world, Carth might allow himself to rest easy now, or at least allow himself to catch his breath. The Exile was still missing in action, but if he had any luck the Ebon Hawk would at least turn up again sooner rather than later. If finding the Exile had done anything to soothe Carth’s nerves, it was bringing him closer to the ship Nevarra had disappeared on. Whether he wanted to find Nevarra on the Hawk was another question he wasn’t willing to face yet, and the uncertainty of it killed him.

As much as Nevarra’s sudden disappearance dogged him, Carth’s feelings about her return – or more rather, the potential state of her return – scared him more. 

3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Telos

Atton

Atton never expected there to be a day he’d be excited to see the sorry sight of Telos. It’s patchwork landscape greeted him through the viewscreen of the pilot’s computer before he caught a glimpse of it through the front of the cockpit and it was already feeling more like a haven compared to the pathetic excuse of a vacation it was to him merely a week ago.

Upon the first sight of green after a day’s view of the white-blue of hyperspace, Atton almost considered rushing out of the cockpit to tell Eden. But he stopped himself. Part of him felt he owed it to her – the woman had not only thought to feed him back on Peragus but had waltzed into the cockpit, unannounced, to give him a dinner rasher and a half, plus a brimming glass of water from the refresher once she found the ship was fully stocked with at least a month’s worth of food. She hadn’t asked for an update or anything in return. In fact, the woman had barely looked at him as she shoved the food in his direction, already helping herself to a heaping serving of veg-loaf as she both entered and exited the room without so much as a half-uttered word.

Like a civilized person, now properly fed and rested, Atton waited until they were about ready to land until he made any ceremonious announcements. He came upon Kreia first, awkwardly, after having hoped he’d run into Eden and let the woman tell the witch the news in typical grapevine fashion. Instead, he’d run into the old woman just as she was entering the common area.

“I was just about to check on Eden,” Kreia muttered, just as displeased to see Atton as he was her. “I believe she is in the garage tinkering with that droid.”

Atton only shot his eyebrows up in response, noting the apprehension in Kreia’s voice as she made her exit. Kreia gleaned everything she needed to know from Atton’s expectant expression followed by his visible disappointment at seeing her, knowing his head was full of numbers otherwise. She mumbled a half-hearted something about seeing where Telos would lead them and disappeared into her dormitory, abandoning her similar quest to find Eden. Atton sighed.

As soon as he exited the main hold, he heard it.

“…Still examining the survivors of the damaged freighter – looks like it goes by the name of the Ebon Hawk…” a recorded female voice echoed throughout the lofty space, “Only one survivor, placed in the kolto tank for recovery. The carbon scoring on the vessel suggests it was in a battle, but no indication of who fired on it…”

Eden sat on the floor of the garage, her eyes glazed over as she watched a holofeed emitting from T3’s projector. A jolt of grey-blue set the shadows in the immediate area on edge as static flickered through the image, like lightning striking outside a window in a dark room.

“What’s this?” Atton asked.

“Logs from Peragus,” Eden answered, her voice monotone, eyes unblinking.

“…couldn’t get much from the navicomputer. I’m surprised that ship was able to make it inside the Peragus asteroid field without the drift charts.”

T3 bleeped at this, his head nodding up and down proudly to which Atton grumbled, “What is this garbage? I think this droid is just getting off on itself.”

An inane anger ate at him from the inside, momentarily pausing his internal coupling count just as Eden tsked and leaned forward, typing in a command so that T3 played a different log instead.

”…finished my examination of the droids from the Ebon Hawk freighter. The T3 unit looked like it had shut itself down. The protocol droid, however, made up for it. It talked my ear off for most of the hour, asking questions about the facility, the personnel, and so on.”

Atton’s annoyance dissipated as he recognized the man who’d fed him back in security, his goggles propped on his head in the holofeed just as they had been back in the detention center before Atton had blacked out and awoken to a half-naked Eden.

“Finding any patterns?” Eden hissed, brows furrowed. She played another clip before Atton could answer.

“Something’s wrong. Ever since we picked up that Sith firefight in the region, crewmen haven’t been reporting for their shifts, and I can’t reach people on the comm.” The woman who spoke this time was clearly a Republic officer, her badge glinting white in the static of the feed.

“This is from the Harbinger?” he asked unsurely, crossing his arms now.

Eden only nodded.

“The strange thing is, I keep feeling like someone’s watching us, here in the ship, but I can’t see anyone. I don’t like this.”

A shiver ran through Atton. He couldn’t help but eye Eden, her eyes fixed on the feed from her vantage point on the floor.

“Checking the survivor from the Sith vessel – I’m not sure whether he’s alive or dead, or what’s even keeping him together. His flesh is cracked and scarred, and I’m registering several thousand fractures in his skeleton, as if each bone was splintered repeatedly over time… and then put back together. Judging from the scar tissue, I believe these wounds took place before his death. If so, he must have been in constant pain, since many of them show signs of having healed over before reinjury. I have no idea what’s keeping him together. “

“Sleeps-With-Vibroblades,” Atton muttered, to which Eden nodded. Atton’s senses about the Sith had been correct, no surprise, but part of him was bothered by the fact that he’d never heard of someone like this before. Atton wondered if he’d crossed paths with someone like the undead man during his time on Korriban or if he’d blocked it from his memory. It didn’t seem likely, especially considering Sleeps-With-Vibroblades was the thing of nightmares. He wasn't something easy to forget.

The text EMERGENCY BROADCAST flashed within the garage space before the feed continued, as if Atton weren’t already on edge.

“This is the medical officer,” the same woman began again, though this time she was doubled over, hand aching over what was clearly an open wound. Atton tensed despite knowing everything he saw was in the past tense, “The soldiers sent to medical bay have just… died. I don’t know where the subject went – I think he’s gone to find more of the crew. With him are Sith… they just appeared right out of thin air, like they were wearing stealth generators, but… I think they were always on board. When we stopped to pick up that freighter, they must have come aboard the Harbinger. I have no idea how many are on the ship, there could be only a few, or as many as a hundred. And with communications cut off, we can’t call for help. I think that… thing… in the tank… was a Sith Lord… alive this whole time, waiting for something to wake him up.”

Eden stopped the recording and Atton did not know what to say to fill the silence that followed. He swallowed, the awkward sound of it filling the garage, but Eden barely blinked at him before she eventually spoke.

“It all comes down to me,” Eden said, her voice a husk. “The Sith on the Harbinger, the HK on Peragus, and then the Sith following us again out of Peragus… They’re after me. For the price on my head or whatever the case may be, but everyone on that Republic Cruiser? And Peragus? They’re all dead because of me.”

Atton could only stare, a vague memory of what he imagined was Eden suspended in kolto back on Peragus rushing into his mind, unaware to the world around her and how Atton unfortunately factored into it. A kaleidoscope of his half-memory folded over his image of Eden now, harrowed and angry on the floor of the Hawk’s garage.

“I don’t expect you to stay,” she said as she rose to her feet, her eyes steely and her expression stone. “But I intend to see this through. I’ll take you as far as I can before you’re clear of this.”

“Clear of what?” Atton said, not expecting his voice to come out in a whisper. But it did. Eden only squared with him, nearing until their faces were mere inches apart. She did not blink and Atton was afraid to.

“Whatever comes down on us once we reach Telos,” she said huskily. “I have a… feeling.”

She almost laughed, a maddened look overcoming her face before she quelled it with a purposeful cough and a shake of the head. “Just… just trust me on this.”

“Sure,” Atton agreed though he was unsure of what exactly he was agreeing to, yet he knew without a doubt that he would believe almost anything that exited Eden’s mouth. “Sure, yeah.”

Eden nodded, finally blinking until her olive eyes were nearly watering. Atton felt hot, remembering how she’d called him out for noting her eye color earlier, yet it didn’t stop him from admiring the orange corona lining her pupils just before her irises burst in a half-molten bloom of a comforting mossy green, nonetheless.

“Good,” she said. “Good."

Eden moved passed him, her hand briefly touching his arm as she went. Atton shuddered.

“We’re almost there, by the way,” Atton finally said just as Eden’s silhouette disappeared from the garage. “To Telos. But… you already knew that didn’t you?” he muttered, the second part to himself, feeling the fool all the while knowing Eden could no longer hear him. Or could she?

Despite how used to the view he was getting, at least of Eden, Atton knew he needed to be rid of these Jedi.

Sooner rather than later.

3951 BBY, Matale Estate, Dantooine

Mission

Mission often fell asleep to the calming sounds of a rumbling engine beneath her and the thunderous tones of Zaalbar’s snoring beside her. Even though Zaalbar now slept in a cot about the same distance as his bunk was from hers on their old ship, something about the otherwise silent Matale farmstead unsettled her. After her untired eyes adjusted to the gloom in the guest wing of the Khoonda-reclaimed building, Mission snuck out of the room she and Zaalbar were assigned to wander the corridors.

It was almost dawn. A cool creeping glow lined the dark of the horizon outside, barely competing with the dimmed lights lining the hallway. Both spaces were oddly similar: enveloped in shadow but haloed by soft light. Mission wrapped her arms around herself, watching the blue of her knuckles fade to white as her hands clasped each opposite arm, grounding her to the waking moment. Despite her lack of sleep all evening, this felt more like a dream than any of her time feigning rest. She briefly wondered if she was dreaming. At least since before fate brought them to Tatooine…

She paused at the end of the second-floor hall. A line of windows spread out before her, overlooking the front entrance to the estate. Just beyond the paved entry path now long overgrown were Dantooine’s notoriously endless grass meadows swathed in varying shades of green and beige, now all colored grey by the dawn-threatened darkness. She remembered her first thoughts upon landing here, how she’d never imagined a place could be so wet. Now Mission knew that the dampness she’d once equated to being sodden was only dew, and having since been to Manaan as well as many rain-heavy planets, Dantooine was arid in comparison. She’d seen so little of the galaxy then and it was hard to believe that Taris had been her entire world once, an existence in miniature that at the time felt so large and sprawling.

Eyes fixed on the swaying grass, Mission suddenly craved the feeling of the wind on her skin, part of her willing to reconfigure what morning dew felt like in her memory, and padded down the hall and to the front entrance, sharing a half-nod with the guards outside once she slipped into the open.

For a moment, the air was bitingly cold and utterly refreshing, filling her lungs with a burst of feeling unmistakably awake and alive. But before the sensation had enough time to seep in, several silhouettes materialized on the still-brightening horizon. Mission braced herself despite knowing full well who approached.

“How’d the first pass go?” she ventured into the half dark, walking towards the silhouettes until they were shadows no longer. The figure closest to her materialized into Zayne, messy brown hair and all, followed by a harrowed looking Asra and Darek, with the man named Mical taking up the rear.

“Interesting… ly,” Zayne answered, a light laugh lacing his voice, though Mission could tell from his expression alone that it was out of anxiety and not mirth. She looked from Zayne to the others, finding similar expressions set on each of their faces.

“What did you find?” she asked.

“Nothing good, kid,” Asra grunted, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing good.”

Darek shook his head and Mical avoided Mission’s gaze entirely. Most of the search party moved passed her and into the estate, except for Zayne.

“What?” Mission asked, growing uneasy under Zayne’s unsure gaze. He was watching her, as if searching for something to say but coming up empty. He laughed again though this time the undercurrent of unease wasn’t so clear on his face.

“Weird, isn’t it?” he began, “I manage to meet both you and Carth during the wars, separately, only later to find you not only know each other but travelled with –”

He paused. Mission knew he meant to say Revan, stopping himself as if uttering her name might summon the version of her the galaxy still felt unsure about.

“And now this?” he laughed again, his voice hollow. “Lousy as far as reunions go.”

At this, Zayne looked at her dead on, his brow squinting under the rising sun now cresting behind her, its heat already spreading across her back.

“Shit way to learn we’re colleagues now, huh?” Mission rejoined, “I didn’t realize we were in the same line of work.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Zayne said. “Coincidences have an odd way of manifesting in my life so I can’t say I’m surprised, but still…”

Zayne shook his head before looking off into the distance, letting his sentence go unfinished.

“How bad is the situation out here?” Mission asked, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer. Judging by Zayne’s reaction, she didn’t, but she did not get to hear why because just as Zayne opened his mouth to elaborate, his comm chimed. Zayne paused, mouth opening and closing before saying nothing and fishing the comm from his pocket. His face went slack as soon as he looked at the screen.

“Give me a minute?” he asked before turning abruptly and answering. “Hey! Sorry I missed you.”

Mission bit her lip and turned away as well as if it might muffle the sound of Zayne’s conversation. She ambled forward into the tall grass, wading until the field’s tendrils reached neck-height. Hand outstretched, she felt the dew, trying to commit the feeling of it to memory without eavesdropping on Zayne’s conversation but finding it nearly impossible not to perceive every word.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while, but I get why you had to leave,” Zayne said softly behind her. Mission knew he meant his crew. They were the entire reason Zayne redirected them here in the first place. But as to who specifically he was talking to…

“I’m being careful, Jarael,” he continued, to which the comm hissed loud enough for Mission to hear That means nothing coming from you!

Mission stifled a snicker, but despite her laugh felt a strange sort of longing overcome her. She and Big Z had never once separated, save for that one time on Taris just before they left the planet for good, and if she was honest? She probably never would be again. At least not electively. Mission had crushes here and there, and Big Z had a family once, but neither one of them craved for anything outside of what they had in each other. And being away from her best friend, even if momentarily and not by plan, left her feeling empty at Zayne’s hurried apology.

“As careful as I can be! I promise.” he assured. The woman called Jarael’s voice didn’t test the strength of the comm’s speakers again, so Mission did not hear her utter another complaint from the distance she stood. Mission smiled, feeling the quiet embarrassment radiating off Zayne even as they stood facing away from one another. “It doesn’t look good out here, though, so it might be a while before we can regroup.”

At this, Mission shuddered. The calm quiet of the morning, and the soothing presence of Zayne at her back, an old friend long forgotten but not entirely, eclipsed what bad news just greeted her moments ago. And now it all came crashing back.

Zayne continued talking behind her, now in even quieter tones, but Mission was no longer listening. Instead, she was thinking back to the last time she’d been here, with Nevarra at her side. The woman had been just as new to this place as Mission was, at least in the moment. As much as Mission knew that was not true, not really, she knew that the truth did not discount whatever she’d experienced alongside Revan while she was Nevarra, traveling a galaxy Mission only thought she’d see with her brother but instead traipsed about with an amnesiac Sith Lord aboard the Ebon Hawk. She missed that ship. It was the whole reason she’d bought the one she had now – or did, before it blew up. If she was lucky, maybe the Hawk was still out there somewhere, for Carth’s sake as well as hers.

As Mission ruminated, her thoughts focused on the past even as she watched the tall grasses sway in real-time, Zayne wandered a ways, becoming a silhouette again as his voice grew softer, quieter, calming Jarael with his usual charm, trying to convince her that everything was going to be alright just as much as he was trying to convince himself. But just as Zayne retreated, someone else approached. Mission did not turn at first, though part of her knew she should, and it wasn’t until a voice greeted her that she finally did.

“I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced yet,” the voice said, “Though I understand if you wish that to remain the case.”

Mission didn’t expect to be so calm as she adjusted her footing, her eyes falling almost sleepily upon the notorious Sith in their midst. At least, that’s what the rumor claimed he was.

“You were on Tatooine,” she said calmly, cooler than she felt. The morning chill tore through her thin jacket, but she betrayed no inner disquiet to the man standing before her. “What was that all about?”

“I was looking for something,” he said evenly after half a moment’s contemplation, his green eyes glinting in the dawn light. Mission could see the resemblance – between him and General Valen – though their likeness stopped at their vaguely similar appearance. The twins shared the same dark hair, the same almond-shaped eyes tinted green, their keen gaze highlighted by their high cheekbones – but where General Valen’s chin ended in a soft peak, the man before her bore a jaw hewn from stone, the muscles flexing visibly even in the low light. He had fewer freckles than the General, and his hair was loose though about the same length, shorn at the collarbone but black all the way through, not dyed a haphazard blonde like his sister’s.

“You didn’t expect to find her there, did you?” Mission said, suddenly thinking of Griff. She’d found him unexpectedly at Anchorhead, too, half a galaxy away from where he promised he’d one day return for her. Part of Mission wished she also had the opportunity to brawl her brother in the back alley of the Czerka outpost and regretted not knowing the option was on the table. “Your sister?”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” the man said, smirking. His face almost softened but his jaw remained tense.

“Mission,” she said, extending a hand. The man looked at it before looking at her, his eyes diminishing into suspicious slits as he surveyed her, reading her intentions before carefully taking her hand and shaking her palm once with more vigor than Mission expected from a man as wiry as him. "The name's Mission, I mean. Not the word mission, the noun. People get confused by that sometimes."

“Erebus,” he said, cocking his head. No title, no preamble. Just Erebus.

Before he could ask his next question, Mission answered for him, as drunk on non-sleep as if she’d been sipping juma all night.

“I’ve met Sith before,” she said coolly, “Twice, actually.”

Erebus said nothing. His only response was his eyebrows darting upward, his forehead growing wrinkled with momentary interest and surprise.

“I wonder which one you’ll be more like,” she said before turning on her heel and heading back to her room, uninterested in the man’s response or what Zayne might have to say about the encounter.

Mission felt oddly at ease leaving Erebus there, and found that nothing bad happened when her back was turned as she walked the entire length of the path back up to the Matale entrance. Somehow her unusual calm only ensured that Mission slept all the more soundly once she returned to her bunk. Despite Zaalbar’s eventual protests that it was already afternoon and they had work to do.

And when she slept, she dreamt of Revan and Nevarra aboard the Ebon Hawk – both the same person and separate people, all at once. It made sense, in the moment, and Mission would try to hold onto that memory, tenuous as it was, for as long as she could.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, Aboard the Ebon Hawk, Orbiting Telos

Eden

“Where did you say you came by this ship, Kreia?” Eden asked, trying to be casual when she made to leave Kreia’s quarters. She’d turned around just as she was about to leave, pausing just-so as if the thought had only occurred to her when it had actually been the entire reason Eden paid the woman a visit.

“I did not say,” Kreia said. “But it was leant to me by an old friend, if you must know. It is to remain with me for safekeeping.”

“So… which one is it? Did you borrow it or was it given to you?” Eden pressed, “I’m sorry, I just—”

“No matter,” Kreia chuckled, though no mirth laced her voice. Kreia adjusted herself on the bed so that her legs now touched the floor, making up for her lack of a hand as if she’d always been built that way. “And both are true. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was hoping that you might know where I could find some proper clothes. If any existed.”

“Ah,” Kreia said after a moment, easing into an awkward smile. Eden wasn’t sure if Kreia could tell what she wore through the Force or if the woman had just realized the weight of her question since dress didn’t often mean anything to a person without physical sight. “I had not accounted for what little attire is medically necessary for being suspended in kolto. Nor do I imagine whatever you found on Peragus to be satisfactory.”

“No,” Eden sighed. “Not only is it inappropriate but it’s also incriminating.”

Kreia cocked her head before mouthing another Ah, though this one was silent. “Something that would no doubt link us to Peragus, I take it?”

“Unfortunately,” Eden said, biting her lip. “So, any luck I might find something else to wear around here?”

Kreia considered Eden’s question a moment before standing slowly and crossing the room. Eden hadn’t realized, but opposite the bunk stood a wall of closets, each compartment set into the panels. Kreia pressed her good hand to the corner of one such panel until its door softly popped from its frame, revealing a small collection of linens. After some rummaging, Kreia produced a dark brown and black pile from the shelf before shoving it in Eden’s direction.

“These might be your size, if perhaps slightly too long in the leg.”

Eden was about to ask Kreia how in the world she might know such a thing but instead she uttered, “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“The sonic shower is just beside the medbay,” Kreia continued, walking back to her designated bunk before taking a seat again. “You might want to wash up as well if you wish to make a convincing impression.”

Eden nodded, unsure but somehow confident that Kreia knew that she had, and navigated to the center of the ship. She’d spent the better half of their trip wandering the halls, peacefully alone, studying its every nook without prodding too much. Eden wondered how many other hidden compartments this vessel held when she passed the brightly lit medbay and came upon the shower’s entrance just beside it, similarly set into the panels as the closet in Kreia’s dormitory had been.

Eden moved to press the panel to reveal the door, shifting the bundle of linens in her arms so it was held between one hand and her chin, when she smelled it – You always smell like cotton, Eden had once whispered into the crook of Alek’s neck before playfully kissing him there. It’s cute.

It’s not on purpose, I can’t help it, Alek had retorted, laughing as he pushed her away playfully before pulling Eden back in close. The Coruscant Academy has a deal with a local dry cleaner in the city, some ancient business owing the Jedi a debt or so the story goes. All our robes are cleaned there.

Mm, I like it, she had hummed as she eased closer, pressing a kiss to his mouth before continuing. It always makes me think of you.

Eden nearly dropped the clothes just as the door opened, catching them mid-fall as soon as she caught sight of the sonic shower. Eden let out a low whistle, almost blissfully forgetting her reverie as she set her sights on by far the most – and only – lavish part of this ship. Tucked beside the well-kept but outdated medbay was the most modern shower Eden had ever laid eyes on. The room was split into two large parts: a sprawling shower and a deep bath. The shower area was surrounded by jets, the likes of which Eden suspected mimicked waterfalls, and the tub sported similar jets though more likely of the variety that were meant to soothe sore muscles and entice the many lovers of whoever bathed there.

“Yeah,” she whispered to no one, “This was definitely the ship of a drug lord, alright.”

Set into the far wall was a holoscreen and a panel that allowed the user to access the comm, adjust the water pressure and even alter the color of the recessed lights that lined the bottom of the tub, but all Eden could focus on was the smell of the linens she’d just acquired from Kreia’s old friend.

Eden paused, closing her eyes as she breathed in the scent again, letting it send her back in time and truly place the memory. It reminded her of Alek still, but also of Coruscant in general the more she ruminated. Both to her surprise and to her relief. Upon further inspection it reminded her a bit of the locker rooms in the training area there, how fresh and crisp the towels would smell after an afternoon’s practice in anticipation of sweaty patrons awaiting a reprieve, or how Aiden’s room smelt so bright when she’d visit, clean and sharp as always. Everything on Dantooine had smelled of grass, and Eden preferred it then and still did if she considered it – it reminded her of Serroco, but sweeter – but the plush smell of warm cotton eased an inner part of her she wasn’t aware needed soothing.

Eden shook her head, ridding her mind of the memory, before shrugging off the mining uniform and its uncomfortable fit before sidling into the shower proper. Eyeing the pile of clothes as she entered, almost all thought exited her brain as soon as the water pressure struck. Like a tidal wave, the water softened her completely, and Eden could swear she felt her eyes nearly roll back in their sockets as the waves eased her muscles into softened dough.

No such thing had existed on Tatooine. Most residents resorted to dry sand baths unless they had enough money for a decent moisture rig, which were few and far between. In fact, a moisture rig had been responsible for bringing Eden to Tatooine in the first place. Has it really been almost two years? The last decent shower she’d had was taken hastily on Nal Hutta, eager to get off-world once a bar patron recognized her from the Dxun campaign, but she was also itching to move the moisture converter she’d salvaged from a downed cargo ship knowing that Nal Hutta was far too damp a place to make use of it. She’d gone to Tatooine in hopes of turning a profit before making her next move, only when she did, Eden had not predicted that she would end up buying the old droid seller’s shop out from under him with the money she’d made…

Eden shook her head, eyes still closed to the running water. No. As relieved as she was to recall anything from before the spotty nothingness that preceded Peragus, Eden didn’t want to be bogged down by recollection now. She needed to relax. Counting her breaths and adjusting her posture, Eden pushed Tatooine from her mind… only for the Sith from earlier to take its place.

Was he someone she had met and forgotten? Was this walking corpse somehow a missing part of her past? Too much was still hazy, and part of her was afraid to learn of the man’s true origins. When she’d kissed Alek all those years ago, relishing in his soothing scent, he’d still had hair. Thick, black and a little coarse when she’d run her fingers through it. The last she’d seen of him his head was completely shorn, gleaming blue tattoos streaking his skull in his hair’s place. The man they saw on the Harbinger had no such tattoos, but Eden had shuddered when she first spied the man’s bald head, a small, scared part of her expecting – or almost hoping – that it was Alek, back from the dead and eager for a rematch.

But Alek was dead now. And so was the man that he became.

3951 BBY, Aboard the Harbinger, Hyperspace

Darth Sion

It was a warning at best. At worst -- a joke.

Sion clutched the severed hand of his old master, withering in the wake of his bristling rage and both wishing it would rot faster but somehow remain preserved and intact forever for him to keep as a talisman. A reminder of yet another failure.

She was so close. So close.

The white-hot rage that seared through him when he had sliced off her hand -- Traya then, but Kreia now -- thrummed through him still, but the thrill was fast fading. Her fingers had begun to curl the moment he willed the Harbinger into hyperspace, and now they were beckoning that he follow her, wherever she roamed now, taunting him to finish the fight. 

No. Not yet.

Sion seethed but stayed the course. He could order his remaining assassins to follow his old master, but he instead ordered that they return to Malachor, to the Trayus Academy. Gnawing his teeth at the name alone, he knew this was the better course of action. The smarter one. She would smirk at that if she knew. 

“We’re set to arrive in three days’ time,” an acolyte whispered in his direction as Sion sat there in the center of the death-addled bridge of the Harbinger. “Shall I prepare anything specific for your arrival?”

Sion’s gaze remained fixed on Kreia’s hand, the skin curling away from the gore innards of her flayed flesh and exposed bone. He turned it over, as if examining a rock or a fossil, fascinated with its inner workings as if it might betray some secret of the galaxy. Though in this case, perhaps it did.

Energy ebbed and flowed from Kreia’s fast-decaying fingers, wrinkling like skin held beneath water too long, curling ever inward as if in challenge. Find me if you dare. Finish the job. 

“Bring me straight to the archives,” Sion said, his voice a husk of itself, faraway, as his mind focused on Kreia’s pitted palm, “I wish to do some research.”

“Very well, m’lord.”

Sion winced but smiled, pleased with the utterance of the title but unsure if he deserved it if all he had to show for it was a severed hand and not a head. 

If he could wait long enough until they arrived back at Malachor, he could have had the hand preserved, as if in amber. Forever displayed as a trophy or a bitter reminder, whatever his conscience demanded of the day. But before his acolyte could even leave his presence, their back still facing him as they approached the door, Kreia’s hand shriveled, as if disgusted with itself, and atrophied -- the skin peeling away in flakes before dissolving completely into dust in the palm of Sion’s hand. He closed his fingers, grasping what he could of the debris like trying to catch smoke, but most of the motes were gone by the time his fist closed. When he reopened his hand only a few fragments remained. 

If he could not destroy Kreia, if he could not rid his mind of her words, he could at least rid the galaxy of her new protege. He felt her presence here, even in the woman’s absence. The Exile Traya had referred to her, years ago. She was just an idea then, a bedtime story, a lesson to spur him on and an obsession that would lead to Nihilus’ undoing, seeking out her wounds in the Force and feeding on the entropy left in her wake in order to sustain himself until there was nothing left. 

Sion felt it now, the festering tear in the fabric of the universe surrounding this ship, haunting it like a ghost. He was partially responsible for the death here, yes, but this ship had been cursed before he stepped foot on it. He’d known it then, masquerading as a veritable lifeless corpse instead of the waking one he was in truth. And he felt it there in the Harbinger’s dormitory, his gaze meeting the Jedi’s for a moment before she fled -- chased by death, surrounded by it, and bringing it wherever she went. He would not follow her, not yet. 

First, he would retrace the Exile’s steps. He would chase the Exile’s ghost to the ends of the universe and back again. 

And when he returned, he would break her.

3951 BBY, Matale Estate, Dantooine

Mission

“No one can confirm the body?” Erebus asked, arms crossed. Mission still sensed Zayne eyeing daggers in the man’s direction, but Erebus seemed too used to it to care. If anything, he might have been relishing in it a bit too much.

“Not so far, no,” Administrator Adare sighed. “At least not without arousing suspicion. No one has reported him missing as of yet, but the scavengers have kept to themselves so far, so I feel the theory that this unfortunate man was one of them is likely the correct one.”

“And what is your assessment, doctor?” Erebus asked again, this time at Mical. “Cause of death, motive?”

“It’s obvious, no?” Mical said, tilting his head this way and that at the exposed wounds of the man laid out before them. “Blunt force trauma to the head, or the face if we want to be specific. Why they were so brutal is the real mystery. These mercenaries shouldn’t have any personal stake in this, so my guess is that they’ve truly teamed up with this resistance force. They would take this personally, and they want Khoonda gone. They want to prove that the Khoonda Initiative cannot protect their own, so this is how they’ll achieve it.”

Mission positioned herself strategically so all she could see was the white cloth draped over the remainder of the cadaver’s body and nothing else. Still groggy with sleep, Big Z would nudge her every so often with a gentle hand, his expression serious and stern. It wasn’t that Mission didn’t take this seriously. If anything, it scared the hell out of her, and she wished she could return to the safety of sleep. It was one thing when they were dealing with rogue mercenaries, but she wasn’t emotionally ready to deal with actual murder and the threat of more carnage to come.

“Hm,” Erebus nodded after a moment’s consideration, “It can’t be a coincidence that Master Vrook is missing and these mercenaries are after Jedi and Jedi artifacts. I think this underground rebellion likely has Master Vrook in their custody, though how they managed that is a true feat… but what other leverage could they have? They ask the Golden Company to take out Khoonda or at least weaken it to the point that their ragtag gang stands a chance at leading a true coup, and in exchange they hand over a seasoned Jedi. It’s the only way that relationship makes sense.”

“I’m afraid I agree,” Mical muttered. Mission found herself siding with Mical on this one as Zayne let out an annoyed huff and hissed I said that yesterday! Regardless of who said it first, Erebus did have a point. As much as the man made everyone in the room uneasy, there was an odd logic to everything he’d said thus far, despite the derisive tone that undercut everything that escaped his mouth.

“What do we do about the Sandrals then?” Adare asked, her grey gaze steely as she squared on Mission and Zaalbar. “We have just enough manpower to protect this facility, but not enough to send out to an estate as large as the Sandral Farmstead.”

From what Mission remembered, the Sandral’s estate was as sprawling as the Matale’s. With an area so large, manning the main entrance was hardly enough of a buffer should anyone decide to breach the place.

“You could ask them to stay here,” Mission offered, “There are plenty of unused rooms upstairs. Why not ask them to lay low here until this blows over? We’d have more luck keeping them safe where there’s already protection.”

Adare only smiled faintly in response, her face betraying her disappointment enough to fill in the silence. Before Mission could question further, the woman’s assistant piped up.

“The Sandrals aren’t big fans of the Initiative, and they have a lot of pull around here,” Dillan said from the other side of the room, head in her hands as she scanned the day’s data pads’ worth of logs and requests. The woman looked up after a moment to meet Mission’s questing gaze, a lock of black hair falling into her face before she unceremoniously blew it out of the way. “They haven’t outright opposed or denounced us yet, but they’ve sent their youngest to voice their complaints. On many occasions.”

“At least they’re willing to talk,” Zayne said. “It would be far more difficult to warn them of anything if they refused speaking to you at all.”

“True,” Adare said, “But the fact that they’ve been so vocally disapproving doesn’t give me confidence that they would accept our help even if we were doing them a favor by warning them. If anything, it would only further prove their suspicions about our leadership.”

“If that’s the case, then they would have a point,” Erebus said bluntly. “If you can’t protect your own, then what can you offer?”

“We’re trying to foster community, genius,” Dillan snapped. “But it’s difficult to please everyone when each farmstead has their own agenda, based on a reality that no longer exists in this corner of the galaxy, and they’re not willing to budge.”

“Compromise is the goal, and some have agreed to our collective terms,” Adare explained further, and with more patience than her counterpart – though judging by the look she gave Dillan the woman at least agreed with what her assistant relayed with less grace than she could afford. “With how much damage was done to Dantooine, there is only so much we can do to help foster regrowth without aid. That is where cooperation comes in. As well as Republic help.”

Adare’s gaze hadn’t shifted from Mission’s, and with her final words the Administrator’s stare hardened. Mission only sighed.

“Look, I’m just the messenger,” Mission said, raising her hands in hypothetical surrender. “But I stand by my suggestion. Whether the Sandrals trust you or not, we know that they’re being targeted. If we don’t do something about it, no one will.”

“She’s right,” Zayne said, inching closer to Mission and Zaalbar, the latter grunting in agreement. “Politics aside, an entire family may be dead by tomorrow. Whether it hurts your cause in the long run or not, your priority should still be the safety of your people. It’s already dangerous that someone was murdered so brutally right under your nose. What happens when the rest of them find out about it?”

“Nothing nearly as bad if another family pays the price, first,” Dillan groaned, completing Zayne’s unspoken thought. “They’re right, Administrator. We have to say something. We can’t afford not to.”

Adare nodded, soaking in Zayne’s words and Dillan’s affirmation of them before finally saying, “Indeed. But how we go about doing so is crucial. Our goals aside, I would not rest if we tried to warn the Sandrals and have them turn us away only to find them dead by morning. How can we warn them without making it about Khoonda?”

“I’ll go,” Mission said almost immediately, “Or… maybe someone else they know?”

“I met them when I was a child,” Erebus said, “I’d helped the family on several occasions.”

“As did I, coincidentally,” Mical added, turning away from the body now. “Perhaps if we’re accompanied by others, our warning may be taken with some credulity.”

The barb in Mical’s statement wasn’t lost in his addendum, but to undercut it he immediately nodded in Mission and Zaalbar’s direction.

“You were both here once, correct?” Mical asked. “Did you ever cross paths with the Sandrals?”

Mission nodded and Zaalbar answered in the affirmative with a low growl.

“The Sandrals and the Matales, actually,” Mission began, “It wasn’t exactly the best of times, what with the family feud and all.”

“Feud?” Mical echoed, taking a step closer as if he’d misheard her. “I remember them being rival farmsteads but not much beyond that.”

“Well, that might have been the case when you were a kid, but things escalated by the time I met them when I came here with Nevarra.”

“Nevarra?” It was Erebus’ turn to echo her now. “Nevarra Draal?”

“Y-yes?” Mission wasn’t sure how to answer, nor if she should elaborate. Erebus nodded, considering the implications, but said nothing further.

“What happened?” Mical pressed, shooting a furrowed glance the Sith’s way before returning his attention to Mission.

“We found Casus Sandral’s body in the canyon,” Mission started, reimagining the scene in her mind’s eye as she spoke – it was otherwise idyllic were it not for the corpse in the valley, picked over and abandoned, not much unlike the body that laid before them now. Mission shuddered but continued, “His father thought it was Ahlan Matale’s doing. We went to investigate only to further discover that Nurik Sandral had kidnapped Shen Matale in retaliation for what had happened to Casus, only for his daughter to fall in love with the guy while he was holed up in their house. We sorted it out eventually, but I’m not sure they’d be exactly happy to see us.”

“Casus, dead?” Mical asked, descending slowly into a chair as his eyes remained on Mission. Zaalbar reached for him with a steadying grip.

“You had helped them through a difficult time,” Adare said. “Perhaps you’re exactly who they need to see in order to believe our warnings.”

Mission looked from Mical and Zaalbar to Erebus across the room, who was already looking at her – his eyes sharp and livid green. His expression wasn’t malicious but it wasn’t friendly either. It was calculating, wondering something he did not want to utter out loud. At least not yet.

“It’s worth a shot,” Mission said, finally pushing herself off the wall she had been leaning against. “We’ve already talked ourselves in circles and it’ll be dark soon. I say we bring Asra or Darek as well if they’re up for it, we could use a good sharpshooter or two.”

Darek stood at attention, about to accept, when a hand steadied and stilled him.

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Orex said. It was the first time the man had spoken up since the ride back from the ruins of Nespis. Orex and Glitch had remained on Zayne’s small shuttle while the rest of them scoped out the area, choosing to linger behind even when they’d made contact with Khoonda and played nice. Now, Orex’s white eye was glinting silver in the fluorescent light of the old Matale med bay, and he did not look happy.

“I know you don’t,” Darek said, shooting both Orex and Asra a glance. Asra had been on edge since they returned to headquarters, but the otherwise silent Glitch remained motionless, her expression barred entirely by the fringe of her dark hair. “But I think these people deserve whatever help they can get.”

Orex looked as if he was about to protest, but instead retracted his arm and crossed both over his chest.

“So be it,” he said, “For now.”

The room fell silent. Mission’s eyes scanned the space, almost dizzy at the realization of just how complicated things had gotten and so quickly, a myriad of strangers with an oddly common goal in a place they’d only just arrived in and didn’t seem to be leaving any time soon. It wasn’t long ago that it was just her and Big Z as usual, making supply runs here and there but otherwise enjoying their life as independent contractors exploring every corner of Republic Space. Now that they were roped into something again, Mission wasn’t sure when things might return to normal. If ever.

“For now is all we ask,” Adare said after a while, echoing Orex’s words, a wan smile gracing her tired face in somber appreciation. “Thank you.”

3951 BBY, Telos, Citadel Station
Atton

It was too good to be true.

Atton should have known something was off when the landing bay accepted their clearance codes without a hitch, when he was immediately directed to Deck Module 126 before the comm went silent. As if Citadel Station been waiting for them to dock. As if they were walking into the easiest trap the TSF ever set. Atton was smarter than that. Or at least he liked to think so.

But Atton truly should have known something was wrong when Eden barely acknowledged their descent, assuring him that whatever was going on wasn’t over yet. He wanted to trust her, but he also hoped she was wrong about this.

Atton still descended the ramp of the Ebon Hawk with the confidence of a mynock in thrall, ecstatic when he found that the door to the check-in center was open at the other end of the landing module, nothing barring their way. Both Kreia and Eden were silent, exchanging glances. Atton was left only with the excited camaraderie of the astromech who tittered joyfully at his side. It was then that Atton knew things would go south, and fast.

Maybe if they walked quickly enough, casually enough, the TSF would simply let them pass. Atton made a beeline for the door as calmly as his limbs would allow without giving away his inner anxieties, hoping Eden and Kreia would match pace and follow, but both women paused barely a meter from the foot of the loading ramp as silhouettes appeared in the door ahead.

“Attention,” an unnervingly calm voice emanated throughout the space via loudspeaker, “This is Citadel Station Bay Control, Deck Module 126. Please remain where you are. Lieutenant Dol Grenn will arrive shortly to meet you. That is all.”

Both Atton and T3 skittered to an unwilling halt just as they were about to cross the threshold. Within a moment, the silhouettes became people – a TSF officer followed by three heavily armed guards, blasters at the ready. Atton froze.

The officer at the forefront paused just before Atton, looking him up and down with a cocked brow before spying the women beyond. Either in dismissal of Atton or in guessing Eden to be the unvoiced appointed leader – and guessing correctly – the officer waited for her to approach before speaking.

“I’m Lieutenant Dol Grenn, Telos Security Force,” the man announced with practiced poise. His slicked back hair glimmered in the fluorescent light of the landing module, glinting in the shine of his officers’ helmets as they flanked him. Atton wanted to roll his eyes but knew it would be best if he did nothing. “I’m under orders to take you into custody in regard to the destruction of the Peragus Mining Facility.”

Atton, immediately betraying himself and his promise of exuding a cool exterior, flashed a glance back at Eden in silent plea.

We didn’t have anything to do with that, he wanted to her say. Eden caught his gaze and for a moment Atton thought she might say the very lie that echoed in his mind as he watched her, but instead she said, “Destruction? I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Better, Atton thought, though he still wondered if it would be enough.

“We were just docked at Peragus for repairs. Are you saying the station is no longer there?” Eden continued, doing her best to appear both shocked and cordial at once.

Eden wasn’t the best actress, but she wasn’t half bad either. Atton turned back to witness Lieutenant Grenn as his military-grade posture slumped ever-so-slightly, caught between giving away further potential evidence and wanting to take Eden at her word.

“Be that as it may, the circumstances of your arrival are suspect at best,” Grenn said eventually. “But yes, the station has since been destroyed, as I am sorry to report. Due to the nature of the investigation, I have no specific timetable to offer you regarding the inquest. In the meantime, your ship and any droids will have to be given over for safekeeping.”

T3 bleeped a string of binary too crude for even Atton to understand, though it didn’t go over the Lieutenant’s head.

“Yes that includes you, so you will be detained,” Grenn said. Atton could almost sense the incredulous smile threatening to form on the man’s lined face as he tried to appear professional even in the presence of an over-excited droid. “In addition, we will need to take your personal arms and armor until the completion of the inquiry.”

“I understand,” Eden offered immediately, likely to keep the peace, but Atton’s dumb brain fired anyway and started yapping without thinking where it might get them.

“Hold on, is there any way to get our gear back?”

The worst part was how utterly desperate he sounded, yearning to hug his cache of weapons and med stims from the Harbinger like they were family heirlooms. Thankfully, Grenn watched on empathetically.

“If you are cleared on any involvement, your personal effects will be returned to you promptly,” Grenn said, and Atton sighed. “You will be held briefly in the TSF station until living arrangements can be arranged –“

“Wait, living arrangements?” Atton interjected, “How long is this going to take?!”

“--At which point you will be placed under house arrest.”

“Arrest?!” Atton echoed hopelessly. Thankfully for them all, Lieutenant Grenn directed his next query at Eden alone.

“Do you understand?”

Eden nodded, tucking a strand of black-to-blonde hair behind her ear. “I’ll cooperate. For now.”

For now. Her words were amiable, but Atton felt the threat beneath her demeanor and was thankful for it. Lieutenant Grenn swallowed unsurely, shifting his weight from foot to foot while remaining at attention, eying Eden with a flash of fear in his eyes before his previous professionalism took over again.

“Good,” Lieutenant Grenn sighed eventually, finally affording Atton an exasperated glance. “My men will now relieve you of any arms and armor, if you’ll please follow me.”

Tell me I’m not going to jail again, Atton thought on repeat as they left Atton with nothing but his jacket again. Another group of officers had arrived behind the first bunch with crates, presumably to begin unceremoniously unloading the Ebon Hawk and everything Atton had grown attached to in the last standard day. Tell me I’m not going to jail again.

And then, along with Eden and Kreia, Atton was dragged straight back to jail.

Damn it.

3951 BBY, Telos, Citadel Station, TSF Station Headquarters
Eden

“I can’t believe I’m in jail again,” Atton groaned into the silence. Kreia tsked, breaking her meditative stasis though nothing in her body language betrayed annoyance otherwise.

“So you’ve been saying for the last hour,” the old woman snapped despite remaining completely still. Her hooded face nodded almost imperceptively in Atton’s direction. “And where has it gotten you? Or us for that matter?”

“I did everything right,” Atton was saying as if Kreia had not interrupted him. “Our clearance codes checked out. They even let us land! We were in the clear… frack I was this close.”

If Kreia could roll her eyes, Eden imagined she would have. Judging by how the woman sighed heavily and readjusted herself on the floor of her force cage it was hard not to imagine Kreia doing something similar whether she had use of her eyes or not.

“You should rest,” the woman said eventually, her voice growing softer, concern coloring her words as she directed this order at Eden. “You’ve barely slept since you were suspended in kolto on Peragus, and we’ve a long journey ahead of us I’m afraid.”

“Not yet,” Eden said, arms crossed. “Not until this is sorted out.”

Not until I’m alone again.

Kreia did not respond verbally, instead nodding in recognition of Eden’s words but not offering her opinion on them.

Eden had almost drifted into sleep back on the Ebon Hawk, her thoughts of Alek quickly making way for visions of Sion and a dream turned waking nightmare in which she found the corpse of the Republic Officer, Rell, who’d helped her back on the Harbinger, and the unblinking faces of Peragus’ dead all watching on in silent judgment as Eden faltered over a flimsy testimony of why it wasn’t her fault this time. In the end, the dead banished her just as the Jedi Council of old had, and when she woke, Eden sputtered, nearly inhaling water from the shower, jets still running, with the image of a door seared into her mind.

It was thin, triangular, and black – and wholly unlike anything Eden had ever seen before. Or at least as far as she remembered. She did not know where this door was, only that it was set in stone and… not meant to be opened yet. As much as it hurt to recall, she was remembering more in general now, Rell’s hopeful face still fresh in her memory since waking on the Hawk, and it took everything in her not to think of what had actually happened to that woman as the TSF interrogated them each in turn before dumping them here to stew together in the derelict holding cell. But she wasn’t sure this door fit anywhere in her recent or distant memory. At least not yet.

Kreia was no longer looking in Eden’s direction, but Eden could feel the woman’s gaze on her. Whether it was out of suspicion or pity Eden was not sure.

“I’ll sleep once we’re out of this,” Eden assured, wondering just how much of her thoughts Kreia could read and just how necessary talking even was. “I’m sure you feel the same.”

“You might as well meditate, calm your mind,” Kreia said, though she bowed her head slightly in understanding. “But no matter. I can refresh your technique later if you need it of me.”

In truth, Eden’s mind was alight with overstimulation, so unused to the Force for so long it was nearly impossible to tune it out now. She could count her every heartbeat without first locating her pulse, as well as the heartbeats of both Kreia and Atton in the room across from her - through the energy of the force cages and all: Kreia’s heart beat so slowly it was no longer a wonder the Peragus medical team might have mistaken her for dead once, whereas Atton’s heart beat as fast as an ash-rabbit, almost to the point where Eden was tempted to tell the man she suspected he might have a heart murmur. And she sensed all that through the noise that was the force cages that bound each of them in place, as well as the mechanism that kept the door to the detention area closed, her senses reaching even into the beyond, her mind privy to the small talk the officers stationed near front desk were busying themselves with and internally groaning at every word.

“I can’t believe this,” Atton was still complaining. “If they find anything –“

“Quiet,” Kreia warned. “Don’t be a fool.”

Atton sneered but heeded Kreia’s words. Eden was about to finally retort when she felt a presence approach their door, pausing just before keying in the panel’s sequence wrong once but then correctly the second time.

“Wait, someone’s coming,” was all Eden managed to say, the minute details of her discovery escaping her vocabular capabilities as her mouth failed to process the multitude of data her mind was handling all the while. Something was off, but her mind was too busy to hone in on why just yet, her senses a blur.

“Wait, what?” Atton said, his head snapping towards the slow-opening door. “Who is it?”

“Like you would know them?” Eden replied, though judging by the look on Atton’s face it may have been a possibility. Atton might have been about to reveal the true likelihood of any chance meeting, had his face not scrunched up at the sight of Eden through the force cage instead.

“Wait, when did you change?” Atton asked.

“What?”

“Those clothes…” Atton sputtered dumbly, his face growing pink as he tried to regain composure as well as full control of his mouth. Eden wanted to laugh but was still too on-edge and too focused on the presence on the other side of the door to allow her own inner mirth a moment’s enjoyment. “You weren’t wearing those before”

“No, I wasn’t, smart ass. I took a shower.”

Atton didn’t seem offended, only confused, cocking his head like a dog questioning a new owner’s garbled commands.

“There’s a shower?”

“Maker, have mercy,” Kreia drawled, her voice a ragged imitation of itself as she finally stood from her meditative position, placing a hand on her hip as she looked expectantly towards the door that was now opening on the far end of the room.

“Who are you and state your business, I am growing tired of this,” Kreia demanded of their visitor. Clad in an ill-fitting TSF uniform, the officer that entered was not one they’d seen before. Instead of saying anything at first, the man entered the room almost unsurely, as if he’d gotten the wrong room. His eyes scanned each force cage with a careful consideration before landing on Eden, his eyes going wide, telling her no, this is exactly where he meant to go. And she was exactly who he meant to find.

“So, this is the last of the Jedi,” their visitor purred slowly, his voice as oily as his hair. The man before them was about Atton’s height but wiry, his skin taut over his muscles as if it were a size too small for his frame. Bulging eyes looked out at Eden from across the room, sizing her up like an animal at auction. “I must admit, I am a little disappointed.”

“Let me out of this cage and we’ll see how disappointed you are,” Eden muttered, taking a step forward until the skin of her nose felt the tingling proximity of the force cage a mere centimeter from her face. “You’re no TSF agent, are you?”

The man paused in the center of the room, relaxing in a way that told Eden he was acting: his limbs almost too loose to be casual as he cast a lazy hand over his holstered blaster, his back arching too far as he squared his shoulders so cartoonishly that she thought he might have thrown his spine out of alignment.

Eden bit back a snicker, not wanting to give this creep any ammunition, instead willing her face to remain as placid as possible as she awaited his next words.

“The Exchange has a bounty on Jedi, you know. You’re worth quite a bit of money.”

“The Exchange, huh?” Atton piped up, his voice rife with annoyance. “I’m pretty sure some two-bit pistol jockey like yourself isn’t one of them.”

Atton huffed a laugh as the man spun around to face him, his eyes alit with an unspoken fury.

“I’m more than skilled enough for The Exchange!” the man spat. “They’ll see, and you’ll soon see as well, just what havoc I am capable of causing, if it means I may bring them their so-coveted prize, unlike the rest of them. None of them thought to follow the Peragus rumors enough to await the arrival of a suspicious ship on the eve of the news that the station was destroyed, too busy counting their coffers to make use of their blasters. None of them followed you here. None of them spotted you as you were escorted to this station. Only I did, I did that.”

Oh boy. It took a special kind of merc to hunt a Jedi, but this man was a whole other brand of deranged. Eden tried to get a reading on the man – sense his intentions, his motives, if anything other than money and recognition as his clumsy admission would attest – were it not for Atton, who only laughed harder in response before his face settled into something sinister, a seriousness overcoming his features Eden would not have readily guessed their jailbroken pilot was capable of.

“You bounty hunters couldn’t even win a fair fight,” Atton doubled down, an insidious sneer overcoming his otherwise handsome face as his gaze honed in on the man before them, eyes shining with an understatedly unhinged menace as he slowly uttered his every word with a vitriol Eden didn’t expect, and neither did the stranger. “You’re the cheapest, most worthless mercenary scums in the galaxy. I’d hire a Mandalorian over your filth in a second.”

Eden looked to Kreia, who was similarly frozen in surprise and mild amusement. Kreia crossed her arms, ready to watch the rest of this unfold, just as Eden’s eyes returned to Atton’s face, surprised that she would describe him as handsome only now that she saw how terrifying his face could look in comparison. Atton’s eyes were still fixed on the stranger in the center of the room, an energy radiating from him that she wasn’t sure was the result of residual frustration at having been jailed again or something else.

“No Mandalorian could match my skills,” the man sputtered, spinning about the room now to make hurried eye contact with both Eden and Kreia as if he were now on trial. “No Mandalorian could have been clever enough to infiltrate this station, taken the identity of one of the guards, then…”

“Then what? Overloaded our cage fields and made it look like an accident? You probably don’t even have the guts to fight me. Heh, pathetic.” Atton spat into his force cage, the moisture sizzling instantly on impact. The stranger took a surprised step back before masking his show of fear with a nervous laugh.

“Don’t think overloading your cages had not occurred to me,” he sneered, turning to Eden again. “You’re wanted alive, but I doubt anyone will care as long as I bring them your corpse…”

“Hey, leave her alone,” Atton barked. In the moment it took for the stranger to turn back around, Atton’s gaze met Eden’s – and when their eyes met, Atton’s mask fell, revealing the laid-back-but-annoyed-nonetheless pilot she thought she’d met, silently pleading trust me. When the stranger’s eyes fell on Atton again, his fury returned in full as if it’d never left. Eden froze, unsure if she were impressed or terrified. Or maybe both.

“You have goaded me once, and you shall not do so twice,” the man uttered -- Who talks like that? Atton hissed, as if for Kreia and Eden’s ears only even though the man could certainly hear him -- “But I shall dispose of you eventually. “ The stranger bristled before steeling himself, his eyes like ice as he stared, wide-eyed, while he enacted the force cages to release.

 “An old woman, a fool, and a broken Jedi are no match for my skills,” the man sneered, looking sidelong at Eden as he said it.

Broken Jedi. Eden couldn’t help but think of the Harbinger and of Peragus, both gone but addled with death, and because of her. She wanted to both retch and reach for the stranger, to somehow make him understand what it felt like to be a true herald of death as he so claimed to be, but before Eden could even consider it, Atton delivered an upper hook that sent the man careening across the holding cell, landing in an unconscious heap right where the door was now opening again.

“The security cameras ha- what?!” Lieutenant Grenn’s voice wailed as he sidestepped the flying body. “What’s going on here?”

Lieutenant Grenn, accompanied by the same officers from earlier, skidded to a halt before the already-open door, looking from the man on the ground to their previously temporary detainees now free of their restraints and looking awfully suspicious.

“Man down! Quick, call a medic!” one of the other officers yelled, pointing their blaster stupidly at the body on the floor and not either of the three prisoners now standing unrestrained.

“All right, Jedi – I want you to back up slowly, hands in front of you, and into the force cage. Cooperate and we won’t have to gun you down.” This time it was Grenn who gave the order in what Eden could only assume was an attempt to save the face of the Telos Security Force. Eden didn’t move. Neither did Atton or Kreia. All three exchanged calm glances, silently agreeing to do nothing in response to the blaster rifle aimed at each of them.

“Come on, Lieutenant! They’ve already knocked out… eh… who is that? Is that Batu Rem?” the other officer said, toeing the body with the tip of her boot.

“Batu Rem is on leave, he shouldn’t even be on the station,” Grenn sighed, already relinquishing his weapon to its holster again. “This man isn’t him.”

“I’m glad someone noticed that only after he tried to kill me,” Eden said into an uneasy smile. Grenn only looked at her, harrowed, saying nothing.

Like an embarrassed schoolchild regretting an unfortunate excuse for having arrived late to class, yet again, Grenn waved his hand behind his back as if Eden and the others might not see, giving them all an even look as his officers similarly relieved their weapons and returned to a half-assed air of normalcy. Ignoring the body in the room, naturally.

“Officer, get Lieutenant Yima a report of this incident. She’ll look into this,” Grenn eventually said, keeping his gaze even with Eden’s. “We’ve assessed your testimonies and have so far determined that there is no need to have you detained here further. That being said, we have arranged for an apartment in Residential Module 082. You’ll stay there under house arrest until our investigation of the Peragus matter is complete.”

Grenn spoke as if reading from a script, and Eden figured the man likely was. There was some duplicitousness in his tone, but the way in which he held himself told her there was truth to what he said also. Were it not for the Force telling her too much and all at once, Eden might have trusted the man for the moment, but so far could only tell that the Lieutenant had a firm hold on controlling his heartbeat to the point that his forehead began to sweat with the effort. A lie could outweigh whatever truth he held, and while Eden was just as withholding, she needed to know they’d get out of this. And soon.

Eden narrowed her eyes in response, nodding only once to acknowledge the Lieutenant’s news. Grenn attempted what she thought was meant to be a polite smile.

“So… this is just, what? Business as usual?!” Atton demanded, though Grenn didn’t afford the man any recognition that he had even spoken. Atton grunted, throwing his arms up in the air as the Lieutenant directed the remainder of his message at Eden again.

“You’ll be under TSF protection. I’ll personally clear any visitors to your quarters, should there be any, and we’ll investigate the incident to the best of our ability.”

“The best of your ability?” Eden echoed, crossing her arms. She looked pointedly at the body on the floor before returning her attention to Grenn and his fake business smile. “That’s not very inspiring.”

Grenn’s false grin only intensified in place of a response.

“Just take us to our quarters.”

Grenn bowed, needlessly so, before turning on his heel and exiting the room. Each of them followed, stepping over the man who was not Batu Rem as if he were merely a doorjamb. Eden watched as they passed the officers at the front desk whose conversation she’d half-overheard earlier, their gossip already lost in the chaos of what just happened.

Eden hadn’t gotten a good look of Citadel Station yet aside from the drab causeway that led from the bustling landing bay to the stark face of TSF station, a beige-gray cube in a sea of similar beige-gray cubes in what she assumed was the administrative district. Atton hadn’t bothered saying a word to her until neon signs started popping up, promising that enough crowd cover would mask whatever it was he was about to say.

“You weren’t kidding,” Atton said at Eden sidelong, not looking at her but leaning towards her, all the better for Eden to hear, “About this being over? Any chances of your meeting with Admiral Onasi trumping all these charges of ours?”

“I think that’s the only reason these idiots overlooked what just happened back there,” Eden answered through the corner of her mouth, “As incompetent as they seem to be, I don’t think they’d ease up on us with something as tame as house arrest otherwise. I’m hoping it’s all part of a cover to ensure that I meet with Admiral Onasi at all.”

“I hope you’re right,” Atton said, his shoulder brushing against hers. Eden flushed but willed her expression to reveal nothing, feeling her cheeks pale just as soon as they felt too hot for her liking, “As much as I’d like to get off this rock, you’re not safe here.”

“Safe?” Eden echoed, not so much confused with the concept as much as she was baffled by Atton’s concern.

“That imbecile back there mentioned the Exchange. They’re a big deal here. If that moron could spot you from whatever wanted ad your mug is on through a force cage, then your bounty is as good as cashed in.”

Atton grabbed Eden by the elbow, forcing her to pause even as the remainder of the TSF escort party and Kreia along with them walked on ahead. Eden yanked her arm back, looking Atton in the eye only to find herself frozen again, his hand still held firm on her arm. There was a grim determination in Atton’s grey eyes – grey, or perhaps a washed-out brown– that Eden had not expected to find looking back at her.

“Trust me,” he said aloud this time, though Eden instantly recalled the look he’d shot her back in the TSF holding cell, his expression transforming for an instant, only long enough to let Eden in on his plan. It had been handsome then and it was again now, despite the sharpness a few days’ hunger likely added to it.

“Sure, yeah,” she said, mind spinning, knowing that their exchange now mirrored almost exactly their final words together aboard the Ebon Hawk as well. Her memory was here, there, and nowhere, threatening to swallow her whole.

“Everything alright here?” a TSF officer butted in as they held up the rear of the group, urging them onward. Flustered, Eden spun around to meet the officer in the face – a blonde woman, not unlike one of the miners she’d found in the Peragus dormitory, her hands still clutching a holopad in a vice grip that Eden wasn’t sure was due to sheer willpower prior to death or something that had happened since her rigor mortis had set in – and faltered.

A heaviness overcame her, muting everything. The Force slowed, and her mind along with it, her memory again like a fly trapped in amber.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, just fine,” Atton spoke for them both, grabbing Eden’s elbow again though this time far gentler, yet his urgency was still clear. “Are you okay?”

Eden wanted to ask Atton the same thing, thinking of the look that overcame him as he taunted her would-be assassin no less than a half hour ago.

“I will be,” Eden said after a breath, craving sleep yet dreading it all the same.

I’ll have to be.

Chapter Text

3951 BBY, The Sojourn, Hyperspace

Carth

“And you’re sure it’s the Jedi Exile?” Carth asked again as another wrinkle formed on Lieutenant Dol Grenn’s brow. 

“I am certain, Admiral,” Grenn replied, formal as ever. The man’s holo-figure wavered as he bowed, rather too-ceremoniously for how crass Carth was being with him at the moment, all impatient authority in the face of Grenn’s put-upon decorum. “It is indeed General Eden Valen.”

“And she agreed to stay put?” Carth pressed, unsure if he would believe Grenn’s answer no matter what it was.

“For the time being,” Grenn replied. “She still believes she is under investigation for the destruction of the Peragus mining facility…”

At this, Grenn cocked his wrinkled brow, though Carth knew full-well that he alone was responsible for whatever hook he was letting the Jedi General off of.

“So long as the story sticks,” Carth sighed. He was sure General Valen wasn’t responsible for whatever happened at the station, at least not in a way that mattered. Then again, he’d judged Jedi - former or otherwise - incorrectly before. “I need her there when I arrive. The Sojourn should be arriving within a few standard days.”

“As you wish, Admiral.”

“Trust me, I want to find those responsible just as much as you do, Lieutenant. The station depends on it,” Carth assured, the fate of Telos not lost on him. “But I think resuming my prearranged meeting with the Exile gives us a better chance at discovering what really happened out there.”

“About that, Admiral…” Grenn began, coughing purposefully to give him time to collect himself and gauge Carth’s reaction before continuing. Lieutenant Grenn wasn’t a subtle man, and if Carth still wasn’t on edge he might have straight up laughed at the display. But instead he paused, dread building in his chest. “The Exile mentioned something we found odd. Improbable , but odd.”

“Go on,” Carth said, his voice a husk of itself as the dread solidified in his throat, almost barring him from speech. 

“The Exile mentioned that the vessel she arrived on had indeed been under fire, though she didn’t specify where said firefight occurred.”

“Did she at least mention who fired? ” Carth cut in before Grenn could finish uttering where. Grenn faltered, presumably offended, for a half-second before resuming his usual air of self-importance, looking his version of holo-Carth in the eye. 

“She did, and that’s what concerns me,” Grenn said. He waited a beat, unblinking, before declaring, “She claimed the Ebon Hawk had come under attack by a Sith vessel, both before and while leaving Peragus. That is, once she admitted that she had been on the station at all.”

“Any info on this Sith vessel?” Carth ventured, the dread now creeping into his throat. 

“None at the moment sir, though we are having a hard time proving such a thing even still exists. The Exile alleged that the Harbinger had boarded the Sith vessel and recovered a body, but seeing as the Republic Cruiser is still missing, the entire story is suspect.”

Agent Amara. Carth could only nod, swallowing at the realization. When aboard the Harbinger, Agent Rell Amara had relayed to Carth that the remains of the Ebon Hawk were found adrift in space, suspended mid-battle just off-course enough from the Hydian Way to go unnoticed, locked in what appeared to be stalemate with an otherwise empty Sith vessel. Rell was supposed to send him a report of what was found, only that report never came. To know that the Ebon Hawk survived was hardly a victory when the Harbinger was still missing, and so was his Nevarra. 

“Interesting,” was all Carth could manage. He swallowed any uncertainty and shook his head, meeting holo-Grenn’s gaze again. “I know this all sounds a bit more than suspect to you, Lieutenant, but trust me when I say that there is some truth to what she says. Which is why I would like to question the Jedi Exile myself.”

This seemed to put Lieutenant Grenn at ease, the man’s shoulders finally untensing as he nodded in understanding. 

“I see, sir,” he muttered. “So what should I tell the woman? I can’t keep her hostage for long.”

“Tell her…” Carth faltered, wishing he could relay the message himself, wishing he had been on the Harbinger in the first place, as if what had happened on the Endar Spire might have repeated itself, Carth acting as Eden Valen’s last refuge just as he had once been Nevarra’s. Just as he had once been Revan’s.

His chest ached at the thought of her, wondering if she had been part of that stalemate battle or if she had vanished long before that. Perhaps meeting with General Valen would let him know, finally…

“Tell her that she’s free to roam the station, but that she’ll still be needed for questioning, to set the record straight.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Grenn nodded. “Anything else?”

“Just run some more diagnostics on the ship for me, will you?” Carth asked, unable to keep the pleading desperation from his voice. “I want a full report by morning.”

“The ship?” Grenn echoed. The man’s expression oscillated between confusion and alarm before resuming his professional neutrality. Carth paused, leaning closer to his holofeed, wondering if the connection was faulty or if he had, indeed, seen Lieutenant Grenn hesitate. 

“The Ebon Hawk,” Carth affirmed. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Grenn blinked before glancing down, presumably at a datapad, before looking back at Carth and nodding fervently.

“Yes, yes we can do that,” he said. “A-Affirmative, Admiral.”

Now it was Carth’s turn to furrow his brow. 

“Give me the report as soon as you can.” Carth held Grenn’s gaze, waiting to see if the man blinked before finally signing off. He didn’t. “Over and out.”

Carth let out a sigh as his makeshift office aboard the Sojourn succumbed to the holo-less darkness, feeling worse than he had before.

I have a bad feeling about this.

3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Sandral Estate

Erebus

When Erebus awoke, he thought of Sion.

The vision of the man was clear in his head – tall, brooding, and seething at him from the end of a Republic cruiser hallway that Erebus had never seen.

Eden.

Eden had been the one thinking of Sion, and Erebus felt her fear through the Force, the thought slicing through the galaxy that spanned the space between them to wake Erebus with a gasping breath.

I wonder which one you’ll be more like, Mission had said to him later, and in a way that Erebus wondered if the girl could read minds. He doubted she had met Sion of all Sith - though he knew Eden now had. His blood boiled upon rousing, an unusual rage thrumming in his veins as Eden’s borrowed fear ebbed away and eased into something more tangible, something he could use in the day ahead. It had almost ignited when Mission uttered her statement. The idea that he was at all like the Revanchist made him want to laugh and wretch all at once. But if the girl did not mean Revan, then who?

And he was still wondering, even hours later.

It had been sunny when Erebus left his ship and approached the young Twi’lek on the lawn of what was once the Matale Estate, her eyes squinting against the sun as she held her ground before him. Now it was hardly noon, but the sky was already darkening. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon just as the advance party left the Khoonda Headquarters. A foreboding molten black sliver of sky limned the landscape, a deepening darkness falling over the valley as they quietly approached the Sandral Estate, their every step more shadowed than the last.

“This does not bode well,” Erebus uttered as he held up the rear of the group, spying Darek’s crown of horns above the tall grass up ahead. The Jedi, Zayne, rolled his eyes and snapped his head back as if to clarify that Erebus had indeed said what he said.

“It’s the weather, rain happens,” Zayne huffed. “Are you suggesting this is some kind of warning? I doubt mercenaries can affect the climate whenever the mood strikes.”

“Perhaps not,” Mical chimed in. Upon hearing their conversation, the man held back a few strides, matching pace with Zayne so they walked side-by-side. “But you trained on Taris, Zayne. Dantooine may be a terrestrial world, but it only rains during the spring season. It’s almost winter and winters here are bitter cold and known to be bone dry, so it is unusual.”

Mical made eye contact with Erebus, his blue eyes glinting silver in the growing darkness. Erebus could only nod in appreciation - if he could call it that. They needed to keep the peace if Khoonda stood a chance at recovering what they lost, and if Erebus had any chance of eliminating the Golden Company here and now. He doubted it, but Nihilus’ orders echoed in his mind nonetheless, spurring him onward despite his need for at least another day’s rest.

“Are you alright?” Mical asked, falling back another step so he walked beside Erebus while Zayne shook his head, sprinting ahead a few paces to fall in step with Mission instead. Zayne shot them both a look before returning his attention to Erebus.

“I’m curious as to why you even care?” Erebus said. He didn’t snap, and as far as he could tell there was no disdain in his voice, but the man’s curiosity was earnest to the point that Erebus was, truly, curious . Mical avoided his gaze this time, shaking his head and shrugging before eventually answering.

“I’m not sure, honestly,” Mical offered. “Perhaps it’s out of an honest desire to see this mission through, whatever the cost. Or perhaps it’s because I hope to hold you to your end of our bargain.”

“I keep my promises,” Erebus said. “For the most part.”

He wasn’t lying. He’d remained loyal to the Jedi, to Atris, until he was forgotten, left as the sole attendant of the Coruscant archives without any promotion in rank to Chief Historian. He remained loyal to his Sith Master, at least until Nihilus consumed him one and whole. And other than in his mind, Erebus had remained a loyal servant to Nihilus as well. So long as it served him, too. For now.

“I’ll see about that,” Mical said with a thoughtful nod before rushing ahead again.

Erebus glanced back, finding the grasses they’d passed through already murky, almost impenetrable. Through the Force, Erebus sensed nothing, but ahead—

In a few moments, they came upon the Sandral Estate. It looked just as it did in Erebus’ memory. Though similar to the Matale Estate, this building was in surprisingly better condition. Its formidable walls rose into the sky as they came upon the structure, growing larger as they drew closer. But just like the sky above, the house was dark below, save for a light in the upper quarters.

“Wait,” Erebus hissed.

At first, only Mical paused.

“Wait!” he uttered again, his voice melting into the sighing wind as the storm picked up, a whistling riding through the grasses around them as Darek, Asra and Mission turned to look as well. Zayne kept his back to him, his silhouette defiant as he surveyed the house. “I think… We may be too late.”

Something in the way the house loomed on the horizon didn’t sit well with him. The energy surrounding the estate felt off, too, akilter in a way Erebus could not explain.

“I... unfortunately agree,” Zayne said, defeated, “Something’s not right.”

“How do you know?” Darek asked as the group closed in on Erebus’ position, huddling together now to discuss their next steps.

“The Force,” Zayne said, his face scrunching up as he mentally reached into the ether. Erebus sensed him, for a moment, probing into the Force and reading its energies. He never got used to how it felt to sense others manipulate the Force when he was still tapped into it – it was as if he were sensing the fabric of the universe but also was the fabric itself, painstakingly aware of every thread and where it led, feeling each pull and give but not always in a tug of war. The way Zayne penetrated the Force was like striking the key on a piano. Erebus sensed the vibration as if hearing and registering the sound, feeling the tremor of Zayne’s momentary manipulation as his echo faded into nonexistence. “There’s one person inside, maybe two, which isn’t odd but… I dunno, something feels off .”

Zayne’s brown eyes met Erebus’, wide and worried as he sought confirmation. Erebus could only nod. He felt the same but could not elaborate on the feeling. Energy emanated from the lit room, but as to whether those energies belonged to the Sandral household, only time would tell.

“Then we’ll be on our guard,” Mission ordered, again taking the lead of this operation like she had back at Khoonda headquarters. “We approach the estate as if none the wiser, got it? We can’t have them, or anyone, suspecting anything.”

Smart girl , Erebus thought. No wonder Revan took a shine to you. 

“ Mical and I will approach the house,” Mission continued, her eyes briefly meeting Erebus’ before uttering his name. “Erebus as well, if he wishes. But Asra? Darek? We could use a few good shots out here. Keep an eye on the perimeter of the house in case it is a trap. And Zayne? Stay plugged into the Force or whatever, let us know what you sense from out here.”

Mission tapped the comm tucked beneath the cone of her ear, its silver glinting as she touched it though it blended in with the headdress she normally wore otherwise. A clever disguise.

“Sure,” Zayne agreed, though his eyes were fixed unblinkingly on Erebus, no doubt wishing that he was the one to go inside instead. “Got it.”

“Aye,” Darek said, nodding with Asra in confirmative unison.  

“Okay so…” Mission turned to Mical and Erebus, her eyes expectant, almost nervous but not quite. “Let’s do this.”

The house loomed before them now, a wraith rising from the now-shadowed grasses of the Dantooine landscape, its lone lit window fixed on them like an ever-watchful eye. Erebus felt Mical’s eyes on him, too – darting, unsure. He fought the urge to return Mical’s gaze, sensing the other man’s determined anxiety fluttering through the Force like a bird’s wings at dawn. Erebus inhaled and focused on his sister’s vision of Sion until his fingers began to bristle with electricity again. If this was a trap, Erebus would be ready.

Mission slowed as she approached the main entrance, her eyes scanning its surface for an entry holopad when a bulbous machine reared its elongated head from the doorjamb, sending her a few surprised steps back.

“Sta--ate your bus-business,” a droid that very much resembled a monstrous orb garbled in their direction. The bulb opened itself to reveal a smaller, inner bulb, its dark camera glossy as an eye, and looked at each of their faces in rapid fire as a beast quickly surveying its prey.

“The name’s Mission Vao, I was here, maybe… I dunno, five years ago?” Mission didn’t miss a beat, instantly falling into a charming sense of comfortable calm, her uncertainty coming off as endearing rather than suspicious. "I just wanted to speak with—"

Before Mission could finish her sentence, the bulb droid retracted into the frame as the door’s panels separated. Mission looked back at both Erebus and Mical before shrugging as she turned again to the opening door, its panels jilting on its inlaid track, very much in need of oil. Erebus’ brow furrowed farther, just as he got a glimpse – and a whiff – of what was inside.

Just over the threshold was a foyer like the Matale’s: a crisp, bright room flanked by two transplanted trees, poised before the doors that led to the rest of the house. Only unlike the Matale estate that was now usually teeming with unhappy citizens and solicitors, this foyer was full of the sight and scent of blood.

“Don’t mind the mess!” an unexpectedly jovial voice called out from behind one of the trees that stood sentinel before them. Now Erebus allowed himself to truly give into confusion and share a bewildered glance with Mical, whose right eyebrow shot up so high it disappeared into his hair. Not breaking character, Mission took a step forward with a hand gingerly held not-too-suspiciously over her holster as she put on a friendly smile and ventured into the unknown.

“Rahasia?” Mission hesitated. “Rahasia Sandral?”

“Never thought I’d see you ‘round these parts again,” a woman’s laugh filled the space, offsetting the sense of dread Erebus felt otherwise. Something isn’t right. “I thought you’d be off exploring the galaxy and all that.”

“Well, I was … for a spell,” Mission replied into a chuckle. Erebus felt the unease from her but he sensed the girl’s relief, too. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is all this-?”

“All this blood doing here?” Rahasia laughed, finishing Mission’s thought for her before she could stutter it into existence. “Why don’t you come closer and take a look.”

Were it not for the woman’s tone of voice, Erebus would have mistaken it for a threat. But she sounded embarrassed, if anything, begrudgingly welcoming an old acquaintance. With Mission leading the way, Erebus and Mical trailed behind until the river of blood led to its source at the base of the tree – a kath hound.

The creature had already been skinned and two of its haunches hung from the branches of the closest tree, still draining of blood. Now that they were properly inside the room, Erebus saw that several of the tree's limbs were strewn with kill, including the tree on the other end of the hall, all in varying stages of preservation.

“As you can see, quite a bit has changed around here,” Rahasia said, finishing her last cut before wiping her bloody hands on the apron wrapped around her waist. The woman stood and revealed herself in full as the three of them approached, her dark eyes immediately darting to Erebus and Mical, determining if their faces were as familiar as Mission’s. Before the woman could come to any conclusions, her eyes softened at the sight of Mission, and she held out her arms as Mission stepped closer.

“You probably hate hearing this, but Maker you’ve grown,” Rahasia said into a smile.

“I was only thirteen when I last saw you,” Mission said, accepting the woman’s hug with a disquiet even Erebus could feel, careful to avoid the blood. “Of course I’ve grown.”

“Sorry it’s just…” Rahasia released Mission and looked her up and down, “We don’t get many visitors here. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a new face, let alone a welcome one. And no I’m not counting those scavengers and mercenaries.”

“Things are that bad out here, huh?” Mission asked, shooting Mical and Erebus a glance.

Even the wealthy need to hunt for food, Erebus thought, considering what Khoonda was offering when this was still the norm for even the most privileged of families. 

“Have been for quite a while,” Rahasia sighed, “In fact things haven’t been good since you and your friends were here.”

“So I heard,” Mission said. “And unfortunately I don’t come bearing any good news.”

At this, Rahasia finally stiffened, leaving the remainder of the blood on her arms as if making a statement. Her eyes darted away from Mission again to survey Erebus and Mical, her eyes pausing on Erebus the second time.

“You,” she began, rounding on him. “You helped Da, once, didn’t you?”

Da, Erebus froze before realizing she’d meant Nurik Sandral.

“I did, yes,” Erebus said, “My sister and I helped your father with the droid that manned the crop irrigation.”

My sister and I, Erebus wanted to laugh. More like my sister helped while I just watched.

“Jedi, right?” Rahasia pressed. 

“I was training then, yes,” Erebus said, feeling the judgment of both Mission and Mical on him as he spoke, though what he said was not a lie. “I still remember the land well.”

“Hm,” was all Rahasia offered, unconvinced. But just as she was about to say something else, Mical butted in.

“I trained here as a child myself as well.” Mical said, “I once helped find your farm dog, I’m not sure if your father ever told you. Nurik called him scoundrel though I doubt that was truly the pup’s name.”

“Scoundrel, yes ,” Rahasia laughed, growing comfortable again now as the fond memory overtook her. “God I miss that dog. His name was Godric though we ended up calling him all sorts of things.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your brother, Casus,” Mical continued, taking a step forward as Rahasia’s expression dropped. “I looked up to him when I was younger and I only just learned of his passing earlier today.”

Rahasia held a hand to her heart as she closed her eyes, the gratitude clear on her face in light of… what was that, regret? Fear? Erebus tensed, reaching out with the Force though feeling nothing despite knowing that something was wrong.

Wait.

“Thank you,” Rahasia near-whispered before sniffling and resuming her smile from earlier, though decidedly less at ease than when she’d first spied Mission. “So tell me, what is this bad news you’ve come to dish out?”

When Erebus had first surveyed the house, he’d sensed energies from the lit room on the second floor. But now he sensed…

“Well,” Mission began, taking a deep breath before admitting it. “We think you and your family are in great danger.”

“Oh?” Rahasia said, almost nonplussed. “And who told you that?”

A nudge. Erebus could only explain as such. It was as if a ghost had pushed him gently, or a stranger tapped him with impatient cordiality on the shoulder, urging that he be quiet. Mission twitched just-so, telling him that her comm chattered but perhaps said nothing of value. They’re jamming our signal, Erebus thought. They knew we were coming. 

Erebus felt the nudge again, this time harder. It wasn’t physical but mental, a consciousness knocking against his own, and it wasn’t until he’d fully registered Mission’s actions that the pieces fell into place. 

Get out of there, it said. It’s a trap. 

Erebus stilled. Zayne.

“It’s a bit hard to explain,” Mical said, either oblivious or playing dumb a little too well, “You see, we found a body--”

But before Mical could finish his sentence, Erebus froze as several other, very alive, bodies materialized out of the nether. Not again.

“I thought you might have,” Rahasia said, her smile edging into something sinister. “They said you’d come.”

The bodies coalesced into full-fleshed people, all armored and ready, two of which held gloved hands out towards Mical and Erebus’ wrists. Just like Nespis. Only once clutched in their grip, Erebus actually felt nothing. 

Nothing. 

Not even the Force.

3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Apartment C3

Eden

Eden Valen had not dreamt since Malachor. Nor had she gone by the name Eden.

Now, neither of those things remained true. 

She’d forgotten what it was like - to leave the world of the waking to instead roam a realm of half-memories, half-fears, and all-parts nonsense. She had a lightsaber in this new dream, but it was not her own. Instead it was something ancient and heavy, its color indiscernible but not unusual under the spell of sleep. The lightsaber hummed, as if singing, every time she swung. And when the shaft retreated, it whispered goodbye. 

Eden dreamt of the triangular door again before waking. Its image seared itself into her mind’s eye, transposing its double on Eden’s rousing vision like a sunspot that refused to relinquish its imprint. Its unnatural shape stayed with her even as she moved about the room after abandoning sleep, its apex appearing like a specter above the blunt frames of the TSF appointed quarters, begging her not to forget.

She tried to focus on the facets of the room, still jarred by how different things were from the Outer Rim. Eden had to remind herself that all of this was new more or less, if not borrowed from somewhere else in the galaxy. Citadel Station was a baby compared to its mother planet below, still reeling from her wounds in the Jedi Civil War. Eden felt the echoes of destruction like ghosts roaming beneath her, tectonic plates threatening to shift, though far away - both an ache and an echo, just as the Force felt creeping back into her senses. She tried to focus on the intricacies of the room, reacquaint herself with trivial things like alarm clocks and knick-knacks, things she failed to bring to Tatooine where every surface in her shop and attached apartment was barren or otherwise coated with sand or machine oil. But all she could think of was that damn door. 

The door dream was realer this time, though not quite like a memory. More akin to a lucid dream than anything - real in the moment but utterly illusory upon remembering while awake. Only unlike a lucid spell, Eden did not have any control over what happened in the dream. Like being trapped in a simulation. She could walk and move and look at things, but was still imprisoned by the algorithm's pre-programmed scenario. Even still, the rock walls ensconcing the door felt tangible this time, closer, its rough surface as barbed and rough as any real cave Eden had seen in her lifetime. But while it felt real, Eden could not place the door nor its origin anywhere in her memory. 

“Something troubles you,” Kreia asked when Eden entered the main common area, her eyes fixed on an indiscriminate middle distance. Eden paused as she exited her appointed bedroom, not expecting to see the old woman there but oddly pleased to see she was awake nonetheless.

“Have you ever had visions?” Eden came right out and asked, pacing for a moment before suddenly taking the seat across from Kreia, her eyes worriedly scanning the shadow of the woman’s lowered hood as she sat hunched forward and eager for a response.

“Force visions, I presume?”

Eden nodded.

“Ah ,” Kreia sighed, a bittersweet smile spiriting over her lips as an answer took form in her mind before speaking. “The Force grants us feeble views into possible futures. Even if you were to experience a true Force vision, it is imperative that you interpret it with caution. The future is always in flux, regardless of what the Force might tell you.”

“So they are not always true?”

“Not exactly,” Kreia continued, “It is merely a glimpse of a possible outcome, which does not make it any less true. But seeing a vision of the future through the Force does not make it any more concrete than another potential path.”

“So… Force visions hold truth, but only… one version of it?”

“Precisely,” Kreia affirmed, nodding her head. “Say the Force granted you a vision of a future event. This insight does not mean that the events foretold will necessarily come to pass, but they may, should a certain path be taken. What the Force does not tell you is which path leads there, and what other paths remain.”

“I think I understand,” Eden said, “Though, how do you know if something you see is a vision or not?”

Kreia cocked her head just-so, silently begging that Eden elaborate.

“I keep seeing a door, when I sleep,” Eden began, the words slow on her tongue, as if the words themselves were sticky, “My memory is still spotty in places but I remember most of what happened on the Harbinger now, and everything that came before, I just… I can’t place this door anywhere in my past that makes any sense.”

“What does this door look like?” Kreia asked, her voice guarded now. “Perhaps it is related to our mysterious link.”

Eden hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until she relaxed her shoulders, momentarily balmed by Kreia’s reminder. Maybe it isn’t my memory, she breathed. Maybe Kreia has seen this door, too.

“It’s triangular, black,” Eden began. “Set in stone.”

Kreia did not move, betraying nothing. Eden froze, unsure if she should feel relieved or if it was too early to tell. 

“I think it’s a set of double doors,” Eden continued, scrunching her eyes closed as she conjured up the image in exact detail again. “Each door is a narrow slice, creating a complete isosceles triangle when closed.”

“Have the doors ever opened, in this vision of yours?” Kreia asked. 

Eden shook her head. Kreia let out a ruminous hmm as she settled deeper into her seat, setting Eden more on edge just when she was beginning to feel as if she was getting somewhere. 

“Yet you know how the door operates?” Kreia questioned, already suspicious of Eden’s answer before she offered it. 

“Somehow, yes.” Eden relented, sighing again as she reconciled the strange feeling the door gave off. “And I don’t know how I know this either, but the door isn’t meant to be opened. Not yet , anyway.”

“Interesting,” Kreia murmured. Had Eden not known the woman, she might have suspected that she was being sarcastic. But the air of unknowing lingered between them, and through their bond Eden sensed Kreia logging this information for later, confirming her statement before she uttered it, “I have not seen such a door, I’m afraid. As to the thoughts you have surrounding said door, I would not put it from your mind that this image is not a vision - indeed it may be - but it may also be a manifestation of your current connection to the Force, a subconscious symbol masquerading as a recognizable image begging that you decipher it. That image being a door. If that is the case, then perhaps I may be of some help.”

“Help?”

“Before you reconfigure your relationship to the Force again, you must learn to calm your mind.” Kreia said, pausing and looking in Eden’s immediate direction before emphasizing, “Meditate.”

“Meditate?”

It wasn’t so much a question so much as it was a means of delay. Eden had never formally learned to center herself under any teacher, at least not until Atris. What Master Kavar teaches you is how to release your tension, through physical action and the precision of its performance, Atris had told her with the ghost of a laugh on her throat, back when Atris still smiled often and was known to joke when she was in a good mood. It may be meditative, but what he did not teach you is how to truly meditate. To center yourself and calm your mind.

“Is… that alright?” Kreia asked, her every word slow as she spoke, as if sensing Eden’s thoughts.

“I -” Eden paused, shaking the memory of Atris from her mind. “Yes, it’s fine. It’s just… it's been a while.”

Kreia stood from where she sat and walked to the center of the room before promptly sitting down on the floor, beckoning that Eden join.

“Come, let me show you my personal brand of meditation. I can assure you that it is a technique you have not likely learned before.”

Kreia had been hard to read from the moment Eden nearly mistook her dead on Peragus, but now Eden felt a true wave of compassion emanating from the woman. Whether Kreia had indeed read her thoughts or simply sensed her hesitation, Eden was thankful for the woman’s thoughtfulness and discretion. But above all, her willingness to help.

“Sounds good to me,” Eden said, easing into the idea of learning new tricks. It had been nearly a decade since she’d felt the Force, and even longer since she last meditated. While part of her was not eager to revisit either thing, the idea of doing so alongside a woman that did not ask her questions about her past or readily call herself a Jedi made Eden feel more at ease than she had in a very long time.

3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Dantooine

Lonna Vash

Were it not for the irony of it all, Lonna Vash might have allowed herself to snoop. But she was practiced, if anything, and polite above all else.

Erebus' ship was a relic, a thing she never once thought she would see. None of the Jedi Council wished to explore what it was that made Revan's miracle fleet the marvel that it was, though the fact that none of them were even the slightest bit curious irked her now. They'd made so many mistakes, but this was one smaller error in light of so many monolithic ones that she could at least rectify it in their absence. For the record.

But her old apprentice had trusted the vessel to her. Trusted that she would keep the thing on firm ground until he returned, having run off on some errand she was unsure would be fruitful yet. The visions hadn't been that detailed. When had they ever been? He'd been a boy then, younger than ten, when she trained him and called him her Padawan. Nothing had forced their separation other than Aiden's own interest in history, his passion still evident now in his research-masquerading-as-decoration, notes and diagrams lining the metal of his ship like wallpaper. And it was history, too, that brought their paths together once more. Lonna let out a low laugh, wondering what other jokes the Force still had in store for her.

Lonna moved about the ship like a specter, only allowing herself to touch its surfaces, making a mental note not to pry, even though she wanted to.

Perhaps later.

It would be nice to know where the vessel had come from. According to the reports post-Civil War, it was birthed from a station that Revan and Captain Malak had found out in the Unknown Regions. But how could such a place be? How could a machine churn out warship after warship without so much as an engineer to guide its mechanical hand? How could such a device just exist, sitting out there on the edges of space since time immemorial, waiting to be found?

Revan knew, but no one had thought to ask her why. And now Revan was gone again, the answers gone with her. So long as the war was over, the Council agreed, the past could remain in the past.

No, not the Council. Atris.

Lonna's eyes darted over Erebus' drawings, smiling at how evident it was that his handwriting had changed little despite how much everything else had transformed over the years, him included. Even as a boy, though Aiden then, he'd always been fond of pens rather than holopad styluses or keypads. Lonna could still recall the entrance letter he'd penned for Atris, then the Chief Historian at Coruscant, who'd complained about the small nature of his letters, asking if he'd rather type it instead. Lonna had laughed when Aiden said, with a straight face, no.

The spirit of a smile stayed her face as her eyes fell on the diagrams near Erebus' desk: pyramids of varying sizes scattered among his notes like emblems, breadcrumbs that lead to who knew where.

If the visions were right, they would soon find out. If the visions were right, then Lonna would be the one to make the connection.

Allowing her gaze to linger over the alien design of the ship's controls, the odd shapes of the doors and the strange layout of the cargo hold, bookmarking her curiosity for later, Lonna limped over to the container Mical had procured for her from the jaws of Nespis VIII, its fate already sealed when she had set foot on it but the loss of which she still felt in full. With the notes from the dilapidated Dantooine Archives still saved in her holopad, Lonna opened the canister and revealed its contents. To anyone else, it was just a lightsaber. And an old one at that. But it wasn't just any lightsaber. It was a key to another mystery the Jedi Council had failed to investigate the origins of, borrowing its blueprint in design only without ever questioning why such a thing even existed. Just like the Star Forge.

Inside the container was the first known double-bladed lightsaber. Its hilt was rough but sturdy, and its inner mechanics little known. Later designs would be modeled after the log of the weapon in the archives, not the actual article itself, which would lead to unsuccessful replicas like the one Aiden had attempted as a child, scared of Kun but in awe of him also. Lonna picked it up in her hands, half expecting her body to surge with Dark Side energy, with a rush of cold as Erebus had attested earlier. But instead, she felt nothing. Only metal.

Shifting its weight from palm to palm, Lonna relished in its substance, heavier than she anticipated and by far heftier than any modern double-blades she knew. She'd held Master Kavar's blade once, when he was sworn into the Council, and the hilt had been deceptively lightweight then, informing how fluid Kavar could be with his movements. But this? Exar Kun's blade was a megalith in miniature, weighing almost as much as a star on the cusp of full supernova.

But that was just it, wasn't it? Unlike other double-blades that sought to correct the perceived flaw, this one was unwieldy and uneven, but on purpose. Kun only ever dueled with the main blade elongated, saving the secret second blade for the killing thrust. But there was more to it than that…

Setting the saber down, Lonna watched as the yellow-white light of Erebus' ship caught the metallic hilt in full, temporarily gilding it where it was otherwise silver. Lonna closed her eyes and upon seeing the device's inner workings in her mind's eye, began to slowly take the thing apart.

Without touching it, the hilt separated, each of its pieces suspended in midair. The thing was ancient, and stubbornly so, resisting Lonna's demands with every mental command. But it relented and revealed itself, relinquishing itself to the Force as Lonna guided it. It wasn't so unlike other lightsabers, save for the prototypical nature of its inner workings. The power cell was primeval, but it more or less resembled recent iterations. Its circuits looked fairly new, possibly even updated by Master Sunrider upon the weapon's rediscovery. But in the center of all its wirings, sitting almost demurely at the base of its energy channel, were the focusing and primary crystals. Where one was common – resembling clear quartz with a few white specks marring its otherwise diamond-like crystalline sheen – the other was a darker, rougher crystal unlike any Lonna had ever seen. She'd dissected Sith sabers before, their bleeding crystals visceral and vibrant, but this one was almost so black it was void of light.

Like a blackhole in miniature.

Lonna stilled, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

Like Malachor. Like Eden Valen and the Wound she left in her wake. Like Katarr and the ghost of the lost Jedi that Lonna mourned still.

Without another thought, she willed the saber back together, the pieces not only returning to their original position as a single unit but also placing itself within the safe confines of the box, the lid closing and shutting itself as if it needed to be alone and not because Lonna wished it to be.

Lonna fought to catch her breath, her eyes wide as she calmed herself, staring out at Erebus' many drawings and diagrams as if it might calm her or at least remind her of the task at hand.

She knew what this meant and what would have to come next, but that didn't mean she liked that the Force willed it to be so.

3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Apartment C3

Atton

"It's uh, it's your move," Atton urged politely, his voice bordering on annoyed though his confusion got the better of him.

"Oh, sorry," Eden muttered. "What did you just do again?"

It had been twelve hours since the TSF unceremoniously dropped them off here with no further news of what might become of their trial, and it was only a matter of time until the Exchange found out Atton had returned only to have failed the mission thrust upon him.

I'm counting on you, hotshot, Luxa had said into his ear, one of her long nails tracing his jaw as she pushed the weapons he was meant to smuggle onto the station into the side of his ribcage like a promise and a threat. If you do, more than half of your debt will be paid.

Atton wasn't eager to find out what would happen if he didn't.

"I placed this card down," Atton said after a beat. Shaking the fear from his mind to replace his thoughts with numbers again, he pointed to the newly-laid Pazaak card on the table before Eden. Its metallic edges glittered, reflecting the traffic from outside the window beside them. "And I end my turn."

"Right, right," Eden said, her eyes boring into the cards laid out like a battle map. She furrowed her brow as she chewed her lip, a look of utter concentration overcoming her as she placed her next card down in a way Atton hadn't seen yet. It had only been a few days and he'd already witnessed Eden's flavors of suspicious, agitated, exhausted, angry, aloof and resigned. This was a new one. "What?"

"Huh?"

"You're smiling, did I do something stupid?" Eden sighed. "I think I should have picked the other card in my hand on the last round…"

Atton hadn't realized he'd zoned out until Eden spoke. She looked up at him through the dark fringe of her hair, a few strands falling into her eyes as she tried to read his expression. Might as well have had drool on my face, Atton berated himself internally. It was almost as bad as his staring back on the Peragus promenade - well, maybe not quite as bad, but still embarrassing.