Auction Larraq's Writing Contest (Contest submission posts only)

[Captain Larraq]

Post all entries here.
Only post entries here.

Good luck.

 

[Thraxis]

The young boy peered through the thorn covered bush, his skin pricked by the jagged bush, his clothes torn he was given the chance to see an aught but rare sight. A merchant had come to the village, to sell from his lackluster emporium, filled with torn velvet and broken goods. Though lackluster it may have been, the boy was still Awestruck by the goods that he saw.

The townspeople were less than happy, plenty a merchant stopped by to sell their wares, though outside the crumbling palisade everything was a mystery to the young child. The boy gazed in amazement. Though struck by this sight he noticed a glare, a flash of light started to rumble around him as he watched as all around him a flame burnt bright and hot, his clothes dissipating into ash as quickly retreated from the bush, ignoring the pricks and stings of thorns that laced around him.

Not again, no please not again. The boy thought to himself as tears rolled from his cheeks, only to be snuffed into steam as quickly as they fell from his eyes. He looked around, quickly the fires consumed all around him, his skin being left untouched as a raging inferno started to be born.

As he quickly escaped from the bush he saw over the bush, its body quickly dissipating as he saw the townspeople start to muster and gather around moving towards him. Phials and buckets of water splashing about as they moved with a pounce in their steps in hopes to quash the fire before it spread. As they got closer the cursing and screaming of his name become more audible.

Closer and closer, the raging inferno becoming quiet beneath the raging footsteps of the people, the poor boy falling to his knees in horror. A hurricane of flames bursting from the bush to engulf the boy, his tears dissipating before they could leave his eyes as he felt cold water splash against his flames, its raging power dissipating quickly as he was assaulted by waves of water crashing against his skin.

By the time they arrived, the merchant had already started to move out, rushing away in a hurry, with his goods in tow. Though from the corner of his eye he saw something, the bush completely vanished he had a clear sight of the town hall. It was unnatural, almost calling his attention as he noticed in great detail a small ring laying on the ground, almost echoing a call. A small Garnet surrounded by cheap bronze laid hidden in the grass.

Though this was brought to a sudden halt as a man blocked his sight, his vision snapped back to reality as he looked to the people towering above him, their eyes hungry for vengeance, an aura of terror surrounding the pack as they closed in. An all too familiar sight for the small child. He stiffened up, he knew the order. First came the spits mixed with curses and hate, after a few seconds it became common. He grew use to it like a child standing in the rain. Then came the flurry, a pummeling of fists and hate pounding along his skin. The beating continued with an almost monotonous manner, as he slowly fell into unconsciousness. He almost felt a calling towards the ring before finally slumbering away.

His eyes peeled open, his body crumpled into a ball as he looked himself over, bruises had adorned his flesh, whilst spit had mixed with blood as he slowly clamored to his feet, his arms reeling in pain as he wrapped his gut. He could feel the broken bones as slowly he moved towards the town square, the sun had long since dissipated over the horizon and the moon now took its place. Soon he got to the square, his body collapsing from pain as he looked to the ring with broken eyes, a smile creeping onto his face as he slowly pulled his arm towards the ring, his fingers swollen as he grabbed it carefully, forcing it onto his small pinkie with a satisfied grin.

A few seconds later he felt himself awash with a euphoric feeling, the bones in his body starting to mend as he slowly dragged himself along the ground, his eyes widening with relief and confusion as he stared at the ring. As he looked at it he almost saw a smile in the Garnet as he slowly stood up, walking to the beach to slumber near the beating waves. He took a quick look around, his cave had been pushed over, his hay stolen away as he saw the scraps of food they left to mock his life. He slowly opened the cage with a heavy tug as he crawled inside, sand rubbing against his skin as he forced himself to lay on the bars as the cage bashed with a heavy thud as the door crashed down. His hand rushed to his food, now littered with sand as he began to force the food down his throat, the silent light of the moon all he had to comfort him.

Slowly he drifted into slumber before a voice rattled through his mind, I will sate your flame. The voice said with scathing vitriol lacing its words.

---


It had been a month since his last burst of flame, though the people kept their distance form the boy, simply refusing to treat him as their equal. Though he was content with this new found life, no more beatings, no more demeaning slander directed towards his person. He walked the edges of town, his fingers rushing against the aged palisade that separated him from the rest of the world. Though soon this changed, a noise caught his attention, the rumbling of voices echoing through the town getting closer and closer.

His body froze up, an all to familiar feeling rushing over him as he fell to the ground, tears filling his eyes in a few seconds he had already fallen into that same state. He could feel the anger and anger had swollen inside them. He was nothing more then a toy to them, something to be battered and bashed around. Their assault steadily grew more and more violent, his body flushed with pain as he sulked and moaned. It was the longest he had ever gone through seconds felt like minutes and minutes like hours as he crumpled up. Even the sweet release of unconsciousness becoming foreign to him as the pain grew worse and worse.

The beating was short but anything from sweet, slowly he felt it, the scythe resting on his neck as a voice rang from his ring, Your flame shall be sated. It said with its vile tongue as a quick gout of flames rushed from his chest, the garnet cracking through the middle as a final wash of euphoria ran along his body, his bones mending and scars healing up as he slowly regained the capacity to move forward.

He slowly dawdled back, the gout's of flame serving as a warning to the people who saw it as he walked back to the village, taking his time as he slowly walked towards them. The looks of displeasure running through them as they started to talk between them, the vile vitriol already spreading like a plague.

It only took a few seconds for one of the younger men to strut towards him, the sneer and laughter of women goading his movement as he stared down on the child, a sneer rolling over his face. He reeled his arm back, his fist clenched tightly clenched he snapped forward, a great deal of speed slamming an inch from his body before becoming consumed in a raging inferno, his entire arm coated as it slithered up his body. His sneer turned into a scream as his mouth widened and let loose a terrified scream. The fire taking shape into a snake before revering back, pouncing down the boys throat and burning him alive. Quickly his voice silenced as he fell to his knees, his entire arm and face becoming indistinguishable from a solid clump of ash.

The people looked in horror, a quick attempt to disperse from the town square only to be surrounded by a ring of flames that danced and bounced around, each flame having engraved on it the face of one of the townsfolk, spitting at their respective person, pushing them further and further away from the raging hurricane of flames.

Around them their lives had fallen apart, their cottages were catching ablaze as they screamed in horror as their attention slowly drew towards the catalyst of flames. The young boy stood alone. His eyes burning white hot as he slowly approached each and every one of them. His voice was monotoned with no emotion, completely devoid of life as he spoke his words, "Why do you... survive the flames." each one took it as a question, pleading for their life, saying such dribble as the group mentality.

Though for each word spoken the flame only grew hotter. No person survived the horrors. They were all an individual to him, they were no group, and as such were treated with their own special service. Slowly the numbers started to dwindle, their carcasses always dissipating into steam before moving onto he next one, each death filling the small child with zeal, his voice gaining emotion and purpose as each one was struck down in a bright blazed hell fire.

Once the last person was snuffed he walked away, his clothes catching ablaze as he heard far behind him the waning fire slowly dissipating into nothingness, leaving the village a pale shadow of death and ash.

 

[Rusty]

The scent of blood was thick in the air.

I don't mean the sweet copper of human blood either, but the sharp ammonia tang of a real person. If I got my crest fluffed over every drop of human blood spilled in the neighborhoods rich enough to afford live meat, I'd never make it as a Hunter of Justice.

If this had been downtown, Farrrn blood would have been common enough. Gutter trash was always finding one reason or another to fight. Someone sired with the wrong mate, questioned the wrong fighter's skill with claw or tooth, stole human blood from the wrong gutter lord, that sort of thing. The lowest common denominator lives a short and violent life. I almost envy them; it's a miserable existence, but a pure one.

Some of these rich bastards though, they'll go their whole lives without ever feeling the life force of their prey gush out on their claws. That's no way for an apex predator to live. And that's why the scent of freshly spilled blood was so unusual in this part of town.

I followed my nose towards the source, a dark alley in between two popular restaurants. The low wailing of the humans waiting to be slaughtered for the main course could be heard over the sounds of laughter and conversion of the diners. The sweet musk of fear made my mouth water. I didn't like the idea of domesticated prey, but damned if it didn't smell good.

There were other more pertinent odors to worry about, however. I ignored my appetite and focused, sifting through the myriad scents that wafted on the warm night air. There was the ammonia again, along with the sharp, cloying smell of sulfur and combustion. There was something else, carbon maybe? A hint of a mercury compound I didn't recognize. The strange combination set my crest on edge. I unsheathed my claws and padded around the corner, as silent as a shadow.

I was glad I hadn't eaten. The tableau before me would have turned the stomachs of a feral.

The source of the blood was a juvenile, too young to have properly developed a gender. The budding crest suggested it would have been a male the next cycle, but it would never have the chance. It was lying on its back, its soft brown fur matted with blood. A small hole in the center of its chest, right over the heart, was the source of the blood. There was so much, too much for a beam. I couldn't think of what else might have made such a neat, precise hole though. A single claw might, but those with the skill to stab so precisely were rare. It would take one hell of a hunter to pull it off, and those who could wouldn't likely bother with a whelp like this one. Its claws were long and sharp, befitting a future hunter, but it couldn't be old enough to have turned raw talent and physical aptitude into enough of a threat to rate such a harsh punishment.

I nudged the body onto its side with my foot and immediately wretched. The hole on the front had been neat, but it was paired with a ragged hollow that looked like something a tooth worm might take out of a filt, one of the great beasts of the equatorial plains.

I sighed and retracted my claws. Whatever had killed the whelp, it was long gone. I reached for my radio and called it in.

______________________________________

"Any news?"

The white coated human shook his bald, crestless head.

"Whatever killed our friend here," he said, gesturing to the corpse on the table, "he wasn't close enough to leave much we could use."

"You say it was a male?" I asked.

"He, she, it, they," the human said, shrugging.

I glowered at our forensic examiner. I hate having to use humans for jobs like this. Despite centuries of breeding for docile and stupid, they still had the best brains in the galaxy. If their own history is to be believed, they were once fearsome fighters too, before they gave up war and brought space travel to the people of the stars. It galls me to think we still speak their language all these years later, and that they can still be so maddeningly imprecise with it.

"Be precise, slave, or I'll find a better use for that tongue of yours. Lunch, perhaps."

The human's hands began to shake.

"Y-yes, master. Of course."

I nodded approvingly. Fear was the appropriate response. This slave used the proper deodorants to keep his chemical responses from triggering undue hunger in his betters, but it was written all over his body, an open book for a true predator.

"What can you tell me of the weapon?"

The human pointed to a screen on the wall. It bore a decent simulation of the body of the deceased and the alleyway.

"The deceased was standing when it was hit. The projectile entered the body at an angle. Assuming it followed a straight trajectory, it was launched from above. It entered the chest plate, penetrated the heart, and exited the back. Judging by the damage, I'd say it was roughly cylindrical. It must have yawed upon impact."

I frowned.

"Yawed?"

"It tumbled. That explains why the exit wound is so much larger than the entry wound."

The simulation picked up where the human left off. If it was accurate, the force of the impact had been enough to pick the whelp up of its feet and hurl it backwards.

"If my calculations are correct, master, the projectile was made of lead. It was a little less than 1.2 centimeters wide, and weighed something like 17 grams. Furthermore, it was traveling at tremendous speed, easily several hundred meters per second."

My crest fluttered. I didn't doubt the human's figures, but such a projectile would require a truly formidable weapon. The Farrrn use projectiles occasionally, but only in space. The hollow bones of our fingers are exquisitely evolved to house upwards of twenty centimeters of razor sharp claw. When retracted, they're delicate and clumsy compared to most other sentient species, or even humans. If the slave was right about the size and speed of the projectile, the recoil would be enormous, enough to shatter the bones in my fingers.

"Do you know of any projectile weapons that could handle a projectile like that?" I asked.

The human nodded.

"Superficially, yes. A number of species still use projectile weapons. Heathens one and all, of course," he added hastily. He was still shaking, still scared. Damn, I could smell the sweet scent of his terror even through the chemical musk of his deodorant. There was something he didn't want to tell me.

"The Hael, for instance, use coil guns that shoot a similarly sized projectile," he continued.

"The Hael projectiles are tungsten," I growled. "And their discharge doesn't smell of chemical propellant. What aren't you telling me, slave?"

"Th-there is one species that used a weapon like that," he stammered, flinching away from me. "But they haven't in centuries."

"Don't make me cut it out of you slave," I snarled.

The medical examiner gulped nervously, and surprisingly, relaxed. It was almost as if he expected me to kill him, and made peace with the fact. I had seen it before among prey. They were a strange species, humans. If I thought someone was going to kill me, I'd go down fighting. I know our breeding program has gotten rid of anything resembling courage, but even wild ones would accept their end with dignity if they had no other options. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

"The only species ever recorded to use a weapon that matches the exact specifications of the projectile is the human race."

My eyes widened in anger and surprise. No wonder he was reluctant to reveal his findings.

"That's preposterous," I said. "Humans disarmed centuries ago."

"I know," the slave said grimly. "If they hadn't..."

"Have care, slave. You are not irreplaceable."

His shoulders slumped in defeat, but there was iron in his voice and fire in his eyes.

"Master, you and I both know I'm not leaving this room alive," he said quietly. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not spend my last moments cowering."

I suppressed the desire to take his head off his shoulders. After all, he still had useful information, and he was right. I was willing to put up with his insolence if it meant catching the killer. It would also make it easier to take his life.

I nodded and motioned for him to continue.

"As I was saying, if humanity hadn't disarmed, it's unlikely that we would have been subjugated by the Farrrn. Our race has an extraordinarily violent past. For all your talent at infighting, you never mastered mechanized warfare, not to the extent we did."

He wasn't wrong. Lacking the biological weapons of more civilized species, humans devised all sorts of clever machines devoted to killing one another. Projectile weapons were only the beginning. If their histories were to believed, their oceans were patrolled by massive ships that could punch through the hulls of even our most majestic spacecraft. Massive tracked behemoths dominated the land, seventy tonnes of armor and firepower that would scatter a phalanx like chaff on the wind. Their pacification may have saved them from annihilation at their own hands, but if they had turned their considerable intelligence towards conquering the stars, they, not the Farrrn, would be masters of the galaxy. Not even the most brilliant of our claw dancers would stand a chance if they couldn't get close.

An involuntary shiver of fear fluttered down my crest.

"It's a scary thought, isn't it?" he asked, smiling.

"Quite," I responded dryly. "So what sort of weapon did our killer use?"

"Hard to say," the slave replied. "You said you smelled propellant. Were you able to determine the chemical content?"

I focused on the memory.

"Some sort of nitrate, a carbon compound, and sulfur. Some mercury too, but only a trace."

"I thought as much. The mixture you described is likely gunpowder. It's one of the earliest and easiest explosive mixtures we developed. 85 percent potassium nitrate, ten percent charcoal, five percent sulfur. It was eventually phased out by nitrocellulose, which burned more energetically and with less smoke. The mercury was likely mercury fulminate, a touch sensitive explosive used to ignite the mix."

He went to the monitor on the wall and began furiously scribbling on the pad.

"The earliest firearms to use percussion caps, that is, a tiny brass cup with a bead of mercury fulminate, were single shot pistols and rifles like so."

The screen showed a simple cylinder with one closed end and one open. The closed end had a spherical ball of lead seated in front of a charge of the propellant, gunpowder. A tiny nipple connected to the firing chamber via a small hole housed the percussion cap. A mechanical hammer struck the cap, sending a spark down the chamber and igniting the main charge.

"They were loud, unreliable, and slow firing compared to the bow, which was basically a bent stick with a sturdy string tied to the ends and held under tension. It fired a long wooden shaft fitted with a sharp metal barb on one end and feathers on the other for stabilization. Took a great deal of skill to use, too. Any old idiot could use a gun, though, and for all their faults, they were powerful. The advent of the percussion cap made them much more reliable, and other improvements led to greater accuracy and increased rate of fire. Our killer probably used something like this:"

The screen now showed something vaguely similar to the Hael hand projectile weapons. There was a curved grip at one end, a rotating cylinder that contained six separate firing chambers. When the hammer was drawn back, a mechanism I couldn't begin to understand rotated the cylinder and brought a fresh firing chamber behind a long metal tube labeled "barrel."

"This is only a rough sketch," the human said. "There were literally dozens of these 'revolvers' made over the years, and many fired a projectile that matches what our killer used. Later models ditched the cylinder for spring loaded magazines, but the they all used nitrocellulose and self contained cartridges."

I nodded like I knew what he was going on about. How a slave knew so much about ancient weaponry was a mystery, but it wasn't my problem. I'd write it up in my report and let the trainers handle it.

I walked over to the slave and put my hand on his shoulder. I'm told such gestures are comforting to them, though for the life of me I couldn't fathom how letting anyone within easy range of the veins and arteries in my throat.

"You've done well, slave. Your assistance will not be forgotten."

He looked me in the eye. There wasn't a trace of fear.

"Tell my mate I- "

My claws flashed out and severed his brain stem in one clean jab. He twitched for a moment, then fell over, dead before he hit the ground. I padded over to the intercom.

"Kitchen crew required in the morgue. Lunch is on me."

______________________________________

The chief hunter looked over my report from across his desk, his crest fluttering with agitation. His midnight dark fur was just beginning to turn silver around his eyes. If it wasn't for his blunted and yellowed fangs, you'd never know he was well into his second century of life. A Farrrn doesn't make it to his age without being a formidable hunter, a fact I would do well to remember. That he was a hidebound old fool was irrelevant.

"I don't doubt the accuracy of your findings, Hunter Sep," he said. "It's the conclusions you draw from them that trouble me."

Sometimes I miss the days where those no longer able to chew their meat were left in the woodlands to die.

"My conclusions are the logical path, Chief Hunter," I said, struggling to keep my frustration hidden. I knew this would be an uphill battle, but this was ridiculous. The Chief Hunter and I had been arguing for the better part of an hour. "I don't understand. What troubles you so?"

"Yes, the murder weapon could have been a human antique. If it is, then we have a real problem. But there's no way a human could be our killer. It's just not possible. No human could have possibly gotten the drop on a Farrrn, however inexperienced they may be."

"Respectfully sir, I disagree. Have you ever encountered a feral human?"

The Chief Hunter sighed. He must have known where I was going. He just didn't want to admit he could be wrong.

"No, I have not," he said.

"I have, sir. I was a marine on the Sacred Claw."

He cocked his head, curious. Military records are sealed; even he couldn't access them without special permission. Even so, everyone knew of the Sacred Claw incident. It was a dark spot on an otherwise proud history of conquest and victory. We had come across what looked like an abandoned relic, a human ship from their expansionist days. It had been armed and armored by a crew descended from wild stock. They massed less than half our size with a quarter of our firepower, and still managed to fight their way into boarding range. Only a single shuttle of theirs successfully penetrated our defenses, less than forty of their marines and a handful of crew, armed with primitive blades and armor hewn from hull metal. They killed ninety marines before they fell.

"Feral humans are as far removed from domesticated stock as we are from Coln." Coln are wild creatures, thought to be a distant evolutionary cousin to the Farrrn. Dim witted and slow, they survive by scavenging kills of true hunters. Some keep them as pets. "If one is loose in the city with a projectile weapon and the skill to use it, we need to act now. This goes beyond problem, especially if it is stalking the wealthy districts."

The Chief Hunter growled and ran his hand across his crest, smoothing it back.

"Fine," he said, annoyed with me end with the situation. "I still think you're wrong, but if you're determined to make a fool of yourself, I won't stop you. You have a week to hunt your prey. If you turn up empty handed, be prepared to submit your resignation. I'll not have some barely sexed whelp tell me how to do my job unless he's right."

I bared my fangs and growled. I was one of his most experienced hunters. Such an insult would be fatal in the old days. As it was, it might still be, but not if I couldn't catch the killer.

"If I'm right," I said, "I'll have your job and your head."

He smiled and tensed. For a moment, I thought he was going to come over the desk.

"Get out of my sight, young fool," he said after a pair of heartbeats. "You have a week."

______________________________________

I was still furious when I arrived at the home of the deceased, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. A weaker species might want to be notified of the murder of their offspring by someone calm and composed, but we Farrrn are made of tougher stuff. Our justice comes at the end of a claw.

The whelp's family took the news well enough, with all the snarling and vows of vengeance one might expect, but something was off. If it were my offspring, I would, well, I'd chalk it up to natural selection and call it a day, but that's me. If I were a little less heartless, I'd think I'd be a little more eager to help catch the killer, if for no other reason than to save face.

This clan though, they made the right noises, but it was clear they weren't telling me everything, and they wanted me gone.

I tried to dredge up some hints from the case files about the clan, but nothing popped out. They were offworlders, if you can believe it. Made their fortune arranging a steady stream of human meat to places where the consumption of "sentient" beings is frowned upon. Why anyone would get their dander up over a human is beyond me, but there you go.

"Patriarch Jarl, if you could come with me for a moment," I said as politely as I could manage, pointing towards the corridor. "I have a few questions for you."

He looked towards his mate nervously. She nodded ever so slightly. I shook my head. I've nothing against females or neuters in general, but for the hunt's sake, if you're going to call yourself a patriarch, act like it.

He got up and followed me out of the room. His movements were twitchy, nervous, maybe even fearful. His crest was practically bouncing up and down. He looked like a whelp caught in the slave pens. Whatever he might have learned offworld, masking his emotions wasn't on the curriculum.

"What was your whelp doing on the night of its murder?" I asked, not bothering to maintain the facade. "Surely you don't expect me to believe it was studying with friends."

"I beg your pardon?" the patriarch replied, indignant.

"Whelp. Murdered. What was it doing? Try to keep up."

"How dare-"

"Look," I said, exasperated. "I know you offworlders have some funny notions about law and order, but this is Farrrn. If you don't want to cooperate, I can cut you open right here and no one will bat an eye. I am a Hunter, and I have prey."

The patriarch flinched away, crest standing almost straight up. He reeked of terror, the acrid scent flooding the air around us. He was, I realized, on the verge of panic.

"P-please, I don't know anything. My child was off with its friends, he said they were studying."

I looked at him in disgust, debating whether or not to cut the weakling down and spare the gene pool further pollution.

"Names."

"Names?" he repeated, voice quivering.

I rolled my eyes.

"I need the names of all your whelp's associates. Friends, acquaintances, enemies. Anyone who might have held a grudge.”

The sound of liquid hitting the floor and the smell of excrement made me gag. This pathetic coward actually wet himself in fear. He was hiding something, something he knew would not bode well for his family. I longed for nothing more than to slit him open. Maybe an augury would reveal something useful. Science might have proven the old ways useless, but as cravenly as this lot was, seeing their patriarch’s entrails woven into a seer’s mat might actually make them more cooperative.

“Names, now,” I growled, my crest flaring. “This is your last chance.”

The patriarch slumped to the ground in the pool of his own excrement, having finally fainted from terror. I kicked him once for good measure, my claws gouging chunks from his hide.

I would have kicked him again, but his mate entered, bearing a data chip. She glanced contemptuously at the patriarch, then deliberately spat on him. If he had been awake, he would have been honorbound to kill her and all her offspring. I decided to let her disrespect pass without mention. She wasn’t wrong.

“Our welp was very secretive,” she said without preamble. “More so than I thought healthy, but this gutless scavenger thought it should have its privacy. I don’t know who its associates were, but I took the liberty of copying the data from its console onto this chip. Maybe you’ll find something, maybe you won’t. I leave vengeance in your hands, Hunter. Don’t make me regret it.”

I bared my fangs in a smile. At least someone around here could hear the call of the hunt.

“Very well. Thank you for your cooperation.”

______________________________________________________________________________

For the tenth time in as many minutes, I was reminded why I had sworn to never sire any whelps.

It wasn’t the insufferable brat’s pathetic attempt at security that annoyed me so, nor was it the poor quality of the spelling or grammar in its personal correspondence. No, it was the music.

Music, for those of your fortunate enough not to have encountered it, is a series of rhythmic noises arranged in such a way as to invoke an emotional response. It’s one of those things we inherited from the humans that whelps never seemed to tire of. It made them feel edgy and rebellious, for some unknown reason. Some even tried making their own. The capacity to enjoy it seemed to vanish at the end of adolescence, but that didn’t stop this particular whelp from amassing several thousand “songs”, despite its age.

The names of the songs and the musical groups were suitably aggressive for a young Farrrn; Avenged Sevenfold, Killswitch Engage and the like, but that was the beginning and the end of the value of the stuff. High pitched squealing over screaming and shouting with what sounded like a malfunctioning percussive drive keeping time, how does anyone enjoy this rot?

Further proof that humans are better off as prey, if you ask me.

The hell of it was, I had to go through each and every song. The chances of finding a clue in the noise were small, but a good hunter must be thorough. I vowed vengeance once again on the killer, this time for my own sake.

Finally, I found a lead. A personal message with a friend, whose name was omitted, gave the coordinates to what was optimistically called “Hunting Grounds.” I recognized the location. It was an old abandoned warehouse district, unused for decades. It had been built back when humans were also used as a source of labor, rather than just as food and specialized positions. Back before the fight had been bred out of them.

I could see the appeal of a place like that. From the sound of it, the whelp and its friends had managed to acquire some wild stock, and were using the district to hunt them down. We always knew that there were humans who had splintered off from their civilization rather than disarm, and pockets of them still existed today. Isolated savages, really. After the Sacred Claw incident, using them for sport was strictly forbidden. There was always a chance they could still communicate across interstellar distances, and we didn’t want the remnants realizing that they stood a fighting chance.

Still, rumors of the wealthy capturing wild stock for sport popped up from time to time. No one could prove anything, but we took such rumors seriously. No wonder the patriarch had been terrified. If this information panned out, it could mean the end of his clan. He and everyone in his household would be taken out into the wilderness, declawed and defanged, and left to fend for themselves. His mate might be spared for giving us the information, but it was unlikely.

Farrrn justice is not known for its leniency.

I bared my fangs in approval. For her to take such a risk for vengeance, she had to follow the old ways. It would be a shame to see her cast out with the rest of her clan, but she knew the risks. Such integrity was rare in this day and age.

Oh well. The law was the law. I sent my report up and prepared to go hunting.

______________________________________________________________________________

Once again, I was treated to the sharp ammonia scent of Farrrn blood, this time commingled with the blood of prey.

This had not been a hunt, this had been a battle.

No less than twenty Farrrn had died here on this killing floor. At least twice that number of humans lay dead. Those were just the intact bodies.

It was impossible to get an accurate count. Limbs, human and Farrrn alike, were spread across the old warehouse with seeming abandon. Bits of offal were liberally scattered across the ground, the walls, and even the ceiling, somehow. The scent of gunpowder was so thick, I nearly choked on it.

Everyone had died fighting. The quiet dignity of the forensic specialist was nowhere to be found. One human had no visible wounds, but a mouthful of Farrrn flesh. Our blood is toxic to them, but it clearly didn’t care. It died with a smile on its face.

Images of the slaughter on the Sacred Claw sprang to mind.

The intact Farrrn were mostly whelps, though a couple of adults could be found. The humans ranged in age from young childhood to their bizarrely wrinkled and shrivelled elders. A human child, less than a decade old, had died driving a sharpened steel spike into a whelp’s chest, and had its throat torn out in reply.

The source of the gunpowder became clear after a moment. I found a half dozen of the projectile launchers, what the forensic specialist had called revolvers. They all appeared to be empty. Curiously, most of the Farrrn bodies that had been pierced by the lead balls were had multiple holes in them. Rather than using their projectiles efficiently, the humans had fired multiple shots into each target. Were they going for a sure kill, or did they simply not know how to use them properly? I had no way of knowing.

This was huge. The implications of this battle would be far reaching, and not just for my career.

Farrrn society had long favored the wealthy, a trait owing back to our days as hunters in the wild. Those that could hunt well were afforded a great deal of respect. Today, those that could amass wealth were afforded that same respect. At least a dozen, and probably twice that number of respected clans would be exiled as a result of this slaughter.

It was time to send my report to the other Hunters of Justice. This would require every hunter in the city.

We Farrrn are not much for bureaucracy, so it didn’t take long to get the report sent up to higher. If it did, I might have been completely out of luck when I felt a white hot claw of pain lance its way through my flank. I looked down to see a streak of amber blood oozing from a long, shallow wound.

Only then did the scent of gunpowder and the deafening echoes of the explosion register to my senses.

“ALIEN SCUM!” came a high, shrilled voice from the shadows. The figure stepped out. It was human, female judging by the wide hips and protruding mammaries that were noticeable even with the layers of ragged cloth that covered its frame. In its hand was one of the revolvers, this one pointed at me.

I turned and faced the creature, my fangs bared, claws extended.

“Not so fast, lizard boy,” it shrieked, its voice raking at my ears.

I froze. I had no idea what a lizard was, or how it made the connection between me and a human male child, but it was at least thirty feet away. I would never close the distance in time to kill it before it turned the revolver on me.

It stepped closer. I could smell the fear and adrenaline pouring off it like steam from a freshly killed carcass, but there was no trembling in its movement. This one was made of tougher stuff than the typical domesticated humans.

“I’ve been following your ass all day, and you didn’t even noticed?” It laughed, and I had to keep from cringing. Farrrn and high pitched noises do not get along. Had this one been prey stock, it would have surely had its vocal cords removed.

“There are millions of humans in this city,” I replied calmly. “Hiding among them would not have been difficult, though I’m at a loss for why they would shelter a feral such as yourself.”

Again, the laughter, and it took a few more steps towards me. It was now only twenty feet away. Any closer, and I might stand a fighting chance.

“HA! You think you’ve got them under your thumb, eh?” It smiled, and not the meek, timid smile of a human. There was something predatory about this one. “I hate to break it to you lizard boy, but most of your livestock are just waiting for an excuse to rise up. You might have made them fat and scared, but they’re tired of waiting to be eaten. It sure would be a shame if someone told them they could fight back.”

“It would,” I agreed. “We’d have far more meat than we could possibly eat all at once. So much would be spoiled.”

It took another step, eyes flashing with anger.

“Keep laughing, lizard boy. Once I kill your ass, I’m going to show them what happened here. You’ll never be able to stop the uprising.”

The revolver rose, pointed directly at my head. I could see just how crude the metalwork was from here. That didn’t make it any less deadly. It used its thumb to pull back the curved striking mechanism. The cylinder rotated, and it pulled the trigger.

I expected a brief flash of pain, followed by death. Instead, there was a loud click, and then nothing. The human stared at the revolver in confusion.

This was my chance.

I sprang forward, my exquisitely evolved legs propelling me across the empty ground in the span of a heartbeat. It tried to swing the revolver at my head, but I ducked just in time, taking a glancing blow to my crest instead. I sank my claws into the human’s belly, the blow angled upwards, under the rib cage. It blinked, pain and confusion written across its face as it realized I had punctured its heart.

By all rights, it should have been dead instantly, but it had time to look me in the eye and spit on me before the light faded, and it slumped to the ground. I retracted my claws, lest I be dragged down with it.

For a human, it had fought well and died bravely. I almost pitied the poor creature. Almost.

Instead, I turned towards the muted thumping of the percussion drives that signalled the arrival of the other hunters.

The chief hunter was the first to arrive, likely because he wasn’t out hunting down criminals. He swaggered towards me, surprisingly lithe despite his age. For the second time in as many minutes, my claws lashed out.

His head hit the ground a split second before the rest of his body.
The other hunters flared their crests approvingly. Word of my challenge had spread, apparently. I plucked the chief hunter’s insignia from his chest and pinned it on, ignoring the sting as it punctured the skin.

“Come, hunters,” I called. “We have work to do.”

 

[Taeli Raaf]

He wasn’t a frequent visitor to the Kath’s Head, but the man would occasionally pop in from time to time. He didn’t look like the dingy patrons that were currently sitting in secluded corners, or the man passed out drunk in his food. Another man, a hood up, was nursing a drink at the bar. He was tall and very thin, along with old if one were to judge by his magnificent silver beard and hair. Long robes were his choice of wardrobe, sweeping along as he strode forward in his buckled boots to the bartender. Light blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon glasses, his nose long and crooked. While he wasn’t a normal patron of the bar, everyone would know the man on sight. He was Alson Lorsa after all.

“Evening, Ijar,” Lorsa greeted the bartender cheerfully. “Business going strong I see.”

“It would be if that good-for-nothing upstairs would finally settle her tab,” the pub owner grumbled. He was just as tall and thin as Lorsa, his long beard grey instead of silver. The same blue eyes shined from behind full spectacles. “I want her out of my pub, Alson, and the sooner the better. She drank almost every bottle of Tarisian Ale I’ve got in the place.”

“My apologies for scheduling the interview here and later than intended,” Alson apologized. His younger brother was always the blunter of the Lorsa siblings. “I just returned from Fleamont’s and Euphemia’s service.”

“How are the Oros holding up?” Ijar asked gravely.

“Brys is taking it rather hard,” Lorsa sighed with a shake of his head. “He blames himself for not placing enough wards around the manor, but there was nothing that was going to stop The Dark Lord from getting inside.”

“What did Brys Oro expect? Hard to imagine that karkers could take Fleamon in a duel,” Ijar said. “He took on seven Sith by himself on Teta last year. He and Euphemia will be missed.”

“They’re taking some small comfort that Lilsi is due with the baby at the end of the month,” Lorsa continued. “However, their deaths are great blow to our cause. I fear we are at the beginning of the end of the war, my dear brother.”

“Then explain to me why you’re interviewing for that useless excuse of a subject tonight?” Ijar asked, coming from around the bar to lead his brother upstairs. It was the belief of both siblings that Divination was not exactly a subject worth keeping at The Academy.

“While I agree, and I have been debating to go through with a final cut, I was intrigued by this candidate,” Lorsa stated. “She’s a descendant of Casandra Trel, so I’m hopeful she might have inherited the gift her ancestor had. I won’t imagine it will take a significant amount of time.”

“She’s a fraud, but each to their own,” Ijar said, guiding his venerable brother to a door at the end of the upstairs hallway. “Make sure she settles her tab before she leaves, and good riddance.”

Lorsa chuckled again as his brother left to go tend his bar again. Pushing open the door, Lorsa was immediately assaulted by a strong aroma of Tarisian Ale and perfumed smoke. Sitting in one of the two small chairs in the room was a very thin woman with brown frizzy hair. Draped in large green shawls, her glasses magnifying her eyes to immense size, she appeared to be a giant insect peering into a crystal ball. Tarisian Ale bottles littered the floor around her, an untouched plate of food sat on a rickety table.

“Good evening, Professor Lorsa,” she greeted quietly without turning to face him. “The Inner Eye graced me with a vision of your arrival.”

“Indeed,” Lorsa replied neutrally. He could see his reflection in the crystal ball quite clearly, and he supposed it helped the Inner Eye that this was a scheduled meeting. He sighed internally as it seemed his brother and his own instincts were right yet again. However, he would give her the benefit of the doubt, however faint that might be, as who was he to say what Sybill Trel had gleaned. Sweeping over to the other chair, he settled himself into it.

“So what makes you qualified to teach at The Academy, Miss Trel?” he asked.

“The Inner Eye runs within my family, stemming from my great-great-grandmother,” Sybill replied. “It gifts me with visions and prophecies that would be invaluable, and I could show students how to coax out their latent abilities ... if they have the Gift.

“Perhaps,” Lorsa chuckled, sipping his tea. “You are direct descendent of Cassandra Trel, correct?”

“That is so,” Sybill answered, a hint of pride in her response. “Her gift may have passed over many generations of our family, but It chose me.”

“That is excellent to hear, you wouldn’t mind peering into your crystal and telling me what you see then?” Lorsa asked politely.

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Lorsa,” Sybill whispered, trying to make her voice more mystical. She shifted in her chair, than began to gaze into the depths of the cloudy orb. Lorsa patiently waited and wondered if there was a better way to ascertain the future. Ten minutes elapsed and Lorsa felt that his time was slowly being wasted. Sybill had yet to say a prediction or even utter a word, just staring blankly ahead of her.

With a sudden and theatrical jerk of her head and loud gasp, she intoned, “I have seen a dark and troubled future, one that you strive to prevent. It has cost much, the task incredibly challenging, but you shall prevail in the end.”

“Wonderful,” Lorsa said, a small hint of sarcasm in his voice that Sybill either didn’t notice or chose not to hear. "Well Sybill, I shall consider everything you have said with great thought, and I shall inform you if the post is yours,” Lorsa said, standing up. He was quite confident he would be eliminating the subject of Divination from The Academy curriculum once he returned to the castle. It was sad to see that Cassandra’s gift had not come to Sybill Trel, as much as the woman believed it had. Sybill didn’t say anything, but continued to stare into the distance. Lorsa was half convinced she had fallen asleep with her eyes open considering how much alcohol she had apparently drank. Striding over to the door, he was turning the knob when she spoke. Her tone had changed, it was extremely harsh and forceful.

“A new hope approaches, one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord… born to those who defied him three times, born as this month ends. The Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…”

Lorsa whipped around to face her. On the other side of the door, he could hear something that sounded like a scuffle. Sybill gave a great rattling breath and continued.

“They must beware the empty and dark ones for they will destroy everything they touch … ancient powers will awaken, beginning a war time has forgotten … the hero and the Dark Lord will be at the forefront of the first battle…”

Lorsa could stare as Sybill snapped her head back and suddenly was back to normal. “Sorry about that, must have dozed off. I’ve been feeling under the weather today,” Sybill said, shaking her head to get rid of the funny feeling. “You were saying, headmaster?”

Lorsa had to think quickly as he knew he had just heard a true prophecy, one that gave him some measure of hope that The Dark Lord could be defeated finally. He was loathe to allow Ton access to Sybill as keeping this quiet as long as possible would be necessary.

“Um, yes Sybill, we just might have a position open for you,” Lorsa decided. “How does the North Tower sound for your classroom?”

“Oh thank you, headmaster!” Sybill exclaimed, growing teary eyed. “I shall begin packing my belongings!"

“No need for delay,” Lorsa assured her, not wanting her exposed at any time if he could help it. “Make yourself at home as soon as you can, The Academy may be your home for as long as you wish. I’ll have some acolytes help with you getting situated.”

“I shall move in tonight then,” Sybill declared, getting unsteadily to her feet.

“Excellent, I shall see you at The Academy, dear Sybill,” the headmaster said, sweeping out of the room to see what the commotion outside was. Ijar had a former student pinned to the wall, his wand pointing at the interloper’s throat.

“Snooping eh? Hoping to get some information for your master eh?” Ijar growled, jabbing his wand painfully into the side of the younger man’s neck.

“I didn’t hear anything,” the dark haired young man protested. “I was hoping to learn how I could interview for a job at The Academy.”

“Bullpoodoo if I ever heard it,” Ijar roared.

“Ijar, let Sevrus go,” Lorsa calmly said.

“Alson, this scum heard something…” Ijar protested. He hadn’t caught the young man fast enough for him to avoid hearing anything the crazy fraud might have said.

“Let him go,” Lorsa repeated. With a grunt, Ijar gruffly pushed Forlir onto the ground in front of the headmaster. Lorsa took the time to examine Forlir, sighing internally. He had hoped that he might be able to throw off the influences of Mulcibe and Aery, that he would never go dark and would follow Lilsi. His hoped had been dashed it seemed. “What did you hear, Sevrus?”

“Only a few mumbled words,” Forlir replied, avoiding Lorsa’s eye. As accomplished as he was at protecting his mind from mind probes, he was not confident in his skills against the aged professor.

“I see,” Lorsa said, knowing Forlir was dodging. Stroking his beard, he was sure the young man in front of him had heard some of Sybill’s prophecy, but not the entirety.

“Ijar, I believe you can remove Sevrus from your establishment,” he finally said.

“With pleasure,” the pub owner replied with a cruel glee, grabbing Forlir by his collar.

“Sevrus … if you ever want a job at The Academy, please send a message with a time and place for us to meet,” Lorsa called serenely as Forlir was dragged down the stairs by his brother.

“What was that about?” Sybill asked as she dragged a carpet bag out of her room.

“Oh, nothing. Just a former student looking for tips on interviewing,” Lorsa said airly. “Shall we make our way up to The Academy?”

“Lead the way, headmaster,” Sybill said. She and Lorsa were coming off the stairs when they saw Ijar throwing Forlir out into the rain.

“Sybill if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside a moment, I need a moment with my brother,” Lorsa chuckled. The new Divination professor nodded and went through the door. Silence reigned between the two brothers for a few moments, the sound of rain on the roof and the man in the corner’s snores the only sounds in the pub.

“I hate prophecies,” Ijar grumbled, breaking the silence. “I really do.”

“This is the first sign of hope for our cause we’ve had in a long time,” Lorsa sighed. “But I understand, prophecies limit whoever they are about.”

“Forlir heard the first part, but I was able to stop him from learning more,” Ijar said, going behind the bar and pouring himself and Lorsa a drink each.

“I thank you, Ijar,” Lorsa said, accepting the glass and draining the firewhiskey within in one shot. “He will most likely be reporting to The Dark Lord what he heard in any moment, triggering the next part of the prophecy.”

“The Dark Lord marking him as his equal,” Ijar said, nursing his glass in his hands. “Who do you think it pertains to?”

“Sadly, only two soon to be born babies match the description,” Lorsa sighed heavily.

“The Oros and the Mirtinears,” Ijar answered. “What about the Erisons? Cassie is expecting this month.”

“Within a week or two, her child would not fit the prophecy,” Lorsa replied. “Lilsi and Alice are due near the very end of this month.”

“We will need to protect them,” Ijar concluded.

“It is a thought, but now I must be off. Sybill is waiting outside,” Lorsa said, starting to move away from the bar.

“One more thing, brother,” Ijar said, stopping Lorsa in his tracks. “Trel never paid for the Tarisian Ale she drank tonight, so someone needs to settle that tab.”
Lorsa sighed as his brother started to smile.

Unknown Location

“What do you have for me, Sevrus?” a high cold voice asked from a tall backed chair. The voice seemed to echo around the Vilas marble room. A green and blue fire crackled in a grand fireplace, giving the grand chamber an eerie feeling from the reflections. Large windows were on one wall, showing the rain and wind outside. The rumble of thunder could be heard as a fork of lightning danced across the sky.

“Information, my lord,” Forlir said. He was on one knee, his head bowed, facing the Force User that sat in the chair. “Information pertaining to yourself.”

“And how do you come by such rare information, my friend?” the voice asked, a curious tone hidden within it.

“I was in the Kath’s Head pub when Lorsa arrived and proceeded upstairs,” Forlir explained. “I followed him and while listening at the door, I heard someone giving a prophecy about you my lord.”

“And what is this prophecy?”

“A child that is to be born at the end of this month to parents who have defied you three times will…” Forlir said, finding he couldn’t continue less his master’s anger became directed at him.

“Go on, my friend,” the voice said with a dry chuckle. “They are not your words, you need not fear my wrath.”

“The child would be your undoing, my lord,” Forlir rushed out.

“I see,” the voice said. The crackling of the flames was the only sound in the room for several minutes. Forlir stayed where he was, wary of moving as he was not sure if his master was finished with him yet. His neck and knee were starting to hurt though. “The answer is simple then,” the voice finally said, breaking the silence. “We simply kill the child when they are born.”

“That was my thinking as well, my lord,” Forlir said. Deep inside him though, he was a touch disgusted by the idea and nervous. Lilsi was due this month, or so his sources said.

“Then we shall be patient and when the month ends, whoever this child is shall feel Lord The Dark Lord’s wrath,” the voice said, cold laughter issuing forth that sent a chill down Forlir’s spine. Perhaps this had been a mistake after all. “You may go for now, Sevrus. I shall not forget that you brought this important matter to my attention.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Forlir said, retreating and exiting the room, leaving The Dark Lord with his thoughts.

Coruscant – Galactic City
A man with unruly Vilas hair and hazel eyes was observing the crowd surrounding the monument to Lord Nelson. Dressed in a white buttoned-up shirt with a red and gold tie and Vilas slacks, he looked like a younger executive for a company, right down to the long coat and umbrella lying next to him. Squinting up at the sky, he scowled as the clouds above threatened rain and his contact still wasn’t here yet.

“Where is that mutt?” the man muttered to himself.

“There you are, Oro!” a voice exclaimed. A man with shaggy hair and neatly trimmed goatee swaggered up the steps to where Oro was sitting. An easy smile was across his handsome face, eyes bright with mischief. He was garbed in a blazer and vest with gray slacks, expensive loafers clicking against the cobblestones. An umbrella was tucked under his arm, a dog’s head carved into the handle.

“You’re late, as usual, Vilas,” Oro grumbled. “Noon at Trafalgar Square, steps to the monument.”

“I had a late morning,” Vilas admitted with a shrug. “Surely you can understand I was appropriately distracted?”

“Who was it this time?” Oro sighed. It would seem the legend would continue of the reprobate and scoundrel. Vilas started to smirk as he sat down next to his friend.

“Mari Macdon,” Vilas stated proudly.

“You were finally able to get with Macdon?” Oro scoffed. “You’ve been after her since third year, and she shot you down every time.”

“I solemnly swear on my honor as a Knight that I, Sirius Vilas, was with Mari Macdon last night and this morning,” Sirius intoned grandly, raising a hand.

“You’ll excuse me that I wait until I hear from Lils whether or not Mari was with you,” Oro chuckled.

“Fair enough, Brys,” Sirius laughed. “So why did you want to meet here, and don’t tell me it was to take in the Coruscanti culture?”

“According to Dung, there’s supposed to be a trade between the Siths and one of their criminal informants happening here,” Brys explained, casually scanning the crowd. “Apparently, they’re getting some information on a target The Dark Lord is seeking.”

“You don’t think they learned about the prophecy already, do you?” Sirius asked.

“It’s been over two weeks since Trel gave it,” Brys said. “It could very well be about the prophecy or it could be about someone else entirely. Either way, we need to get the same information and inform the Republic and the Order.”

“Showtime then, that’s Eva’n Rosr by that food cart,” Sirius said, gesturing with his head. The two Knights watched as Rosr ordered some food, sampling it for a moment. Rosr appeared to ask for something as the street vendor reached under the cart, but when he stood up again, he handed Rosr a small slip of parchment with several napkins. The Sith glanced over the parchment in his hand for a moment before handing back some of the napkins, a glint of gold hidden within them now.

“Of course it was a street vendor,” Brys muttered as Rosr departed and the vendor started to pack up. “Shall we?”

“Most indubitably, Oro,” Sirius grinned. They started to make their way through the crowd, stepping around a group of Hapan tourists and making a beeline for the vendor.

“Sorry, chaps, closin’ up for the day,” the man said.

“Shame, I heard some guy you sold some fish and chips to say it was some of the best he had,” Brys sighed. “Can’t stay open for another minute or two, my friend and I were hoping to try them.”

“No,” the man said a bit gruffly as he finished closing up his cart. “Come back tomorrow if you want to try ‘em.”

“That’s no way to speak to potential customers is it?” Sirius chuckled. “We might get offended.”

“I don’t care if you get offended or not,” the man snapped as he started to roll his cart away.

“Well good day to you then,” Brys snapped, pretending to be disgruntled. The vendor ignored him and started to walk down a nearby alley to supposedly avoid walking through the crowd.

“If he’s working for Force Users, how the hell did he not recognize either of us?” Sirius grumbled as they followed discreetly behind the man.

“Might not get the news,” Brys muttered back. “Ego hurting, Vilas?”

“A smidge,” Sirius chuckled quietly as the vendor turned a corner down an even darker alley. Fully expecting an ambush, Brys and Sirius pulled their wands as they entered the second alley. They suddenly heard running feet splashing through puddles and the two Knights gave chase. They found the cart sitting unattended a little ways down and just noticed the vendor disappearing down another alley.

“Cut off his escape, I’ll run him down,” Sirius said. The pair raced after their quarry, turning the corner in time for the man to send a shower of stones at them. Both Knights threw up barriers before Vilas used his superior telekinesis skills to slam the perp to the ground. Brys placed a stasis field around the criminal before he could get to his feet.

“Well, well, well, a Force User huh?” Sirius chuckled. “No wonder he ran Brys, guess our reputations are still intact.”

“Guess so,” Brys said. He squatted down to look the street vendor in the eye. “Now are we going to have to do this the easy way or the hard way? Either is fine with us, but my wife is currently at her mother’s and will be expecting me to meet her back home for dinner and I would rather not disappoint her.”

“Go rot in hell, Oro!” the man said, spitting onto the pavement. “You’ll get nothing from me!”

“The hard way then, Sirius?” Brys sighed as he stood up and Sirius came over with a small flask.

“Now this contains Lark Serum, I would hate to use this on you since I’d have to fully interrogate you and then arrest you for any crimes you confessed to, but I will if you don’t tell us what you just gave Eva’n Rosr,” Sirius said.

“Go ahead! Do your worst!” the man said, but his eyes were telling a different story.

“Alright then, your choice,” Sirius said, forcing the man’s mouth open and pouring the truth serum down his throat. The man shuddered for a moment, his eyes going out of focus.

“Can you hear us?” Brys asked.

“Yes,” the man said, his voice dull and emotionless.

“Tell us your name.”

“Ricard Bryson.”

“Who was the man you just met with?”

“Eva’n Rosr, he’s a Sith working for the Dark Lord.”

“What was on the slip of parchment he paid you for?”

“A list of mothers expecting their children in the coming month,” Richard said, and both Knights looked at each other in dread. They knew about the prophecy.

“Did he say why he needed it?” Sirius asked.

“He didn’t say, he just paid and left.”

“Damn it, Lilsi is going to be on that list,” Brys muttered.

“So is Alic, and you four all fit the bit about defying The Dark Lord three times,” Sirius muttered back.

Turning back to the bound Force User, Brys asked, “How did you acquire such a list?”

“I paid off one of the junior Healers in the maternity ward at Cilghal’s,” Richard said.

“Probably some kid desperate for some gold to pay off the additional schooling or they realized being a Healer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Brys groaned.

“At least we can warn everyone,” Sirius said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Get on home, I’ll continue interrogating this scum and drag him back to the Ministry.”

Coruscant – Corellian Sector

“So dear. When can we expect to meet our second grandchild?” an older woman with gray streaks in her otherwise red hair and bright green eyes asked. She was currently rocking a very pudgy boy wrapped up in blue blankets in her arms.

“I’m due in a few days,” a younger woman said. Her long red hair and bright green eyes made her appear like a younger version of her mother.

“Another freak to add to the family,” another woman sniffed, her Vilas hair framing her face and giving her a rather stern and unhappy look.

“Portina!” her mother scolded. “Enough of all this freak business, you should be happy for Lilsi.”

“I should be going anyways,” Lilsi said, struggling to her feet. Her baby bump made it incredibly difficult and that annoyed her as it meant she couldn’t help her husband and friends.

“Let me help you, Lilsi,” her mother said.

“I’m fine, Mum,” Lilsi sighed as she finally got up. Another thing annoying her was the constant need for people around her to try and help her when she was perfectly capable on her own. She loved her family and friends, but it was getting very irritating. Alic and Cassie had also both complained about the same exact things to Lilsi when they had met up for tea yesterday.

“I know a thing or two about pregnancy, dear,” her mother said with a smile at her daughter’s stubbornness.

“As you remind me every time I visit,” Lilsi said with a joking smile. “Mum, Brys wanted to invite you and Dad over for dinner tomorrow night, you’re invited too Tuney.”

“Like Durgon or I would want to,” Portina sniffed and she stormed out of the room.

“I would hope she would eventually come around and let go of her jealousy,” Lilsi sighed. “Durgon seems to have made her worse.”

“Your father and I will try and talk them around,” her mother said. “Not that I’m optimistic, Durgon seems more concerned about stomping out anything unnatural and getting promoted at work.”

“Will you be joining us tomorrow night at least?” Lilsi asked. “Sirius, Kuyat and Mari are coming as well.”

“Your father and I shall be there,” her mother smiled warmly.

“Thank you, Mum,” Lilsi said, struggling to hug her mother. “Stupid, ruddy, baby bump,” she grumbled as her mother started laughing.

“When your baby is born, I expect you’ll be thinking otherwise,” her mother chuckled. Hours later, she finally got back to the small apartment she and her husband shared in their service to the Jedi. Close to the temple, it was part of an area reserved solely for higher ranking Knights in the Order.

“Brys!” she yelled, announcing she was home.

“In the den,” he answered. Moving out of the kitchen and down the hall, she turned the corner into the den and saw Brys sitting on the loveseat across from Lorsa.

“Alson, always a pleasure to have you,” Lilsi said graciously.

“Your hospitality is always welcome, but I cannot stay long,” Lorsa said. “Tell her Brys.”

“Tell me what?” Lilsi asked, looking at her husband in confusion.

“Sirius and I intercepted one of the Sith's informants today,” Brys started to explain. He seemed nervous as he ran his hand through his hair, making it more messed up, as he did during their school years. “Lils . . . they had a list of expectant Force Users for this month. The Dark Lord knows you and Alic are due at the end of this month.”

“So he narrowed it down to us,” Lilsi concluded. Part of her could feel the terror setting in, but the vast majority of her was angry and wanted to hurt the bastard.

“Indeed, I was just discussing with Brys that once your son is born, we will need to protect the three of you,” Lorsa said.

“Thank you, Alson,” Lilsi said, nodding.

“Alson and I are agreed that a Fallanassi illusion will protect us best,” Brys said. “I was thinking of asking Sirius to be the one who maintains the illusion when that time comes.”

“I agree, he would rather die than betray us,” Lilsi said.

“Then I shall take me leave,” Lorsa said, getting to his feet and sweeping towards the front door. “I have another stop to make.”

“Give Xor and Alic our best,” Lilsi called after the headmaster. The front door closed with a chuckle.

The sound of the clock ticking filled the room for a moment.

“It’s getting worse out there, isn’t it?” Lilsi whispered as she went over and hugged her husband.

“Yes, three more attacks on Coruscanti in the past week and Luke Thoma was killed last night,” Brys said, holding his wife close. “Apparently, he refused to join the Sith and he went down bravely, took two Sith out before he was killed.”

“He had a wife and son, right?” Lilsi asked quietly.

“They were estranged, but yes,” Brys said.

“How did The Dark Lord find out about the prophecy?” Lilsi asked, stepping away from her husband to sit in one of the armchairs.

“No one can say for certain, but I’m almost positive he only knows the first bit,” Brys said, starting to pace. “He wouldn’t be so keen to seek out his vanquisher if he knew the whole thing, I think. Lils, do you know anyone in your Tower who might turn traitor?”

“No, we’re sworn to secrecy, remember?” Lilsi said, a teasing smile on her face. “That oath is rather restrictive.”

“Lilsi, I’m not kidding here, I think someone in the Tower of Mysteries is leaking scraps of information to The Dark Lord,” Brys said, turning to face his wife. To him, she never looked more gorgeous than she did right at that moment.

“Then you’ll have to do what you do best, Brys Oro,” Lilsi said.

“Juyo and terrible jokes?” Brys chuckled.

“Those … and fighting the people who make our lives hell,” Lilsi answered.

“Oh that, yes I suppose doing my job would be required,” Brys chuckled. “I forgot to mention, Cassie was just checked into Cilghal’s.”

“What?! You didn’t think to tell me?!” Lilsi yelled. She tried to leap to her feet like she normally would, but she couldn’t get up.

“Just told you,” Brys said with grin that quickly disappeared as a light Force Push flew at him.

“Stand still,” Lilsi growled as she staggered to her feet and sent another Force Push at her husband.

“Mari was only recently promoted to a Knight,” Brys said, ducking underneath his wife’s next attack. “And blasting me will only delay visiting Aaro and Cassie.”

“Fine, but watch your back, Oro,” his wife huffed. They both started laughing as they hugged each other.

Cilghal’s
As the Oros arrived, the Force Usering hospital seemed to be bustling with activity. More than they expected. In the entrance lobby, makeshift beds had been set up and it appeared victims of some terrible accident were being carted in.

“Excuse me? But what happened?” Brys asked a passing Healer.

“Siths,” the Healer said. “Attacked a protest against their methods, now if you’ll excuse me.”

“One other question, where would we find the maternity ward?” Brys asked, while thinking it was a good thing for the Sith he was technically on vacation from the Jedi Order. Mandated by the Grandmaster until his wife had given birth to their child.

“First floor,” the Healer said and she bustled away to tend to a victim with severe spell burns on their body.

“Creature-Induced Injuries? Really?” Brys said as he read what the first floor catered to. He was pleasantly surprised by the humor that he never expected to find here. Lilsi couldn’t help herself and just started giggling madly.

“I suppose it makes sense in a way,” she said, continuing to giggle. “You boys do injure us.”

“I can respect the sense of humor in it,” Brys chuckled.

Walking up the stairs to the first floor was a challenge as more Healers were running up and down them, arms filled with rolls of fabric and potions. One of two healers nearly collided, but everything seemed to be a coordinated dance as they went about their jobs, albeit in a rushed state. Reaching the first floor, Brys and Lilsi pushed open the door to the Dilys Derwent Maternity Ward. It was much quieter in there as the Healers on duty weren’t part of the chaos outside.

“Can I help you?” the junior Healer at the desk asked them.

“We’re here to see Aaro and Cassie Erison,” Lilsi said.

“Ah, our new parents. Yes let’s see here … Room Twelve,” the junior Healer said, checking the resident list. “Just down the hall, at the very end.”

“Thank you,” Brys said. The Oros walked to the end of the hall, and upon reaching Room Twelve, Brys knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a voice called and Brys opened the door.

“Brys! Lilsi! Such a pleasure to see you!” Aaro yelled exuberantly.

Aaro was the same age as Brys and Lilsi, but he looked every bit the adventurer he was. Muscle rippled under tan skin, bright green eyes shined with an inner light that hinted at power. He kept his raven-colored hair short and wore a slim goatee of the same color. He was always very jovial, except when dealing with Sith, and never seemed to run out of energy.

Acting as a perfect match to her husband, Cassie Erison was much quieter and reserved. She was paler and had blonde hair, and was considered beautiful by many members of the Order. Brys didn’t see it, but then he only had eyes for one girl, but he did know she had the grace and build of a dancer and was blessed with an unending patience and a drive to learn everything she could. Her blue eyes always had the same inner light as her husbands, but there always something else behind them that Brys could never pinpoint.

The two had appeared out of the blue three years ago, having been living abroad and heard about the troubles that were plaguing the Core Worlds. Wanting to help, they had joined the Order and had quickly become one of the teams the Grandmaster could rely on to get missions done that hindered The Dark Lord. They were absolute terrors in a fight and it was reported that The Dark Lord had offered an Inner Circle spot to anyone who could kill them.

“It’s good to see you two,” Cassie quietly said. She was cradling a small bundle of pink blankets close to her breast. She seemed exhausted, but blissful.

“You could have told us you were expecting today,” Lilsi pouted.

“Came as a surprise, couldn’t help the timing,” Cassie answered, a tired smile on her lips.

“So what’s her name?” Brys asked the two new parents.

“Abygail Lumina,” Aaro replied proudly. “Our little bundle of light, as it were.”

“She’s got her mother’s eyes and my energy apparently, she really knew how to cry loudly,” Aaro chuckled.

“Now Aaro, you might put the wrong idea in Brys’s head that all babies cry, I expect their little boy will be quiet like Lilsi,” Cassie scolded good-naturedly.

“How do you know we’re having a boy?” Lilsi asked with smile.

“Just a guess,” Cassie said with a sly look.

“Nothing is a guess with you two,” Brys said.

Aaro and Cassie started laughing, which woke little Abygail and she started crying.

“Whoops, we were too loud,” Aaro chuckled over the crying as Cassie rocked their daughter gently.

“It’s just a possible future,” Cassie said offhandedly. “It’s never fixed, so I could be wrong and you’ll have a daughter that little Abygail can play with.”

“I highly doubt your daughter is going to be into girly stuff when she’s older all things considered,” Brys said.

“I agree with Brys, you two would be perfectly happy raising a tomboy,” Lilsi said.

“Oh, I would still teach her proper lady things, such as dresses and make-up and such,” Cassie said with a twirl of her hand.

“And how to fight in said dress,” Aaro chimed in.

“Well what’s the point of not knowing that? It is a very useful skill for any woman,” Cassie said with grin.

“Fair enough,” Aaro said, causing Lilsi and Brys to start laughing.

“Well we just wanted to see how you two were doing, we should be getting back to Godric’s Hollow,” Lilsi said.

“Ah, yes, must prepare for your imminent arrival,” Cassie joked. “Have a good night you two.”

“You two as well,” Brys said and the two Oros left.

Oro’s Apartment

The next night, Brys and Lilsi were entertaining her parents and their friends over dinner.

“Excellent nosh, Lilsi,” her mother said, raising her half-filled glass of wine.

“Hear! Hear!” Sirius said and was joined by Kuyat and Peter. Mari giggled and raised her wine glass as well.

“Oh, well thank you,” Lilsi said with a gracious smile. “I did learn from the best.”

“Did you hear that Xor and Alic had their baby today?” Kuyat asked as those around the table lowered their glasses. “A boy named Nevil.”

“Brys and I went to visit them just before dinner,” Lilsi said. “Alice named Brys and I the child’s godparents in case anything happens to them.”

“Augusta was also named a guardian if we can’t be there,” Brys chimed in. “Doubt it will come to that though, I think our child and Nevil will be great friends.”

“And we can always look after them if you four need a night out,” Irma said with grandmotherly smile.

“I think a salute to Irma Kalarn is called for!” Brys said and everyone toasted Lilsi’s mother. “Now I think Mathew and I should take care of the dishes since the girls worked so hard on the meal.”

“Agreed,” Lilsi’s dad chuckled. The two men got up and started gathering everyone’s plate, balancing them precariously in Brys’s case. As Brys and Mathew started washing the dishes, Sirius, Kuyat and Peter disappeared into the den with their wine glasses and another bottle.

“Typical, we have a nice dinner together and those three want to reminisce about old pranks,” Mari sighed.

“We were well involved with some of those pranks, Mari,” Lilsi giggled. She had not been drinking any wine that night, but had opted to go with water. Her best friend, on the other hand, was now on her fourth glass of wine.

“I know, but just once I wish they could include us in that reminiscing,” Mari sighed again.

“So Brys told me something rather interesting yesterday,” Lilsi started and Mari squeaked a little as she looked at her friend guiltily. Even after graduating from The Academy, Mari Macdon had not lost the innocent girl look. From her wavy shoulder-length brown hair to her wide hazel eyes, she merely looked like an older version of the girl Lilsi had met first year. She always seemed to dress on the conservative side, and was rather bookish, if not slightly clumsy when she got flustered.

“Now Lilsi, be reasonable,” Mari squeaked out, a blush rushing up her neck and to her face.

“I knew you never got over your crush on Sirius,” Lilsi crowed happily and Mari buried her face into her arms, groaning. “You slept with him two nights ago, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I must hear all about this,” Irma said, hiccupping slightly.

“Yes! Fine! I slept with Sirius! Happy?!” Mari cried, her face now bright red. “He was so debonair and suave. He took me to dinner at my favorite restaurant, on a walk through Galactic City. I couldn’t resist!”

“That doesn’t sound like Sirius’s usual dates,” Lilsi said.

“He admitted as he walked me to my flat that he had grown fond of me during our last year at The Academy, but he never acted on it because he had a reputation he was trying to maintain,” Mari rushed out. “When he said that … I … well …. I couldn’t resist snogging him and one thing led to another.”

“So is it official?” Irma asked, leaning in.

“I really couldn’t say,” Mari admitted, her gaze wandering towards the hall where raucous laughter could be heard.

“Do you two want to see the nursery?” Lilsi asked, changing the subject to spare Mari anymore embarrassment. “Brys and I finished it up earlier today.”

“Of course, dear,” Irma said, getting unsteadily to her feet. “Might have had one too many glasses of wine.”

“Me too,” Mari giggled, getting up and having to clutch the table for the moment as her head spun.

“We’ll be upstairs, Brys,” Lilsi said as she helped the two inebriated woman towards the hall.

“Alright, Mathew and I will probably join the others in the den soon, almost done with the dishes,” Brys replied.

Going upstairs was a bit of a challenge as her mother and best friend couldn’t seem to walk straight and kept tripping on the stairs.

“This is the last time I let you two drink elven wine,” Lilsi grumbled as she opened the door to the nursery.

“Sorrrrry, Lils,” Mari said with a hiccup.

The nursery was decorated in simple, but bright colors. A small crib was tucked next to a twin-size bed in case one of the Oros wanted to sleep in the same room as their child. A stuffed nexu was plopped on the crib currently.

“Brys is convinced our child will be a Nexu when they go to The Academy,” Lilsi said, explaining the lion. “We didn’t put too many other decorations in because we wanted to wait and buy the right things.”

“A smart plan, Lilsi,” her mother said approvingly.

The three women sat down on the bed as Lilsi explained her plans for if the baby was a boy or girl. More laughter came from downstairs along with shouts of encouragement.

“Wonder the lads are getting themselves into,” Mari giggled.

“I don’t know but. . .” Lilsi started to say and stopped all of sudden.

“Lilsi?” Irma asked, looking at her daughter concernedly.

“My water broke,” she whispered. “The baby is coming!”

“Go tell Brys immediately!” Irma yelled and Mari took off down the stairs as Lilsi doubled over from the compressions.

“Brys! Brys!” Mari yelled, bursting into the den. She was met by the sight of Sirius and Kuyat shirtless, holding pazaak cards while Peter was down to his underpants. Brys and Matthew must have just started playing as they were still fully clothed.

“I really didn’t need to see that,” Mari groaned as Peter squeaked and hid behind the loveseat.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Sirius joked.

“What did you need that is so urgent? Brys asked, cutting off his best friend from saying anything else.

“You need to go get Healer Everett, the baby is coming!” Mari yelled.

The room was silent a moment before it exploded into action. Sirius and Kuyat quickly started to put their shirts back on, Peter was fumbling around for his pants. Brys dove over the pazaak game to reach the holo-terminal tucked into the corner.

“Mari, Sirius, Kuyat, send messages to Cassie, Aaro, Lorsa, anyone you can think of!” Brys shouted as he got ahold of the family Healer and took off out of the apartment to go get them.

He disappeared in a Force-assisted sprint as the three sprinted out of the den to send messages to all the family friends and the Order. It didn’t take long for the den and kitchen to start filling up with the various friends the Oros had as well as every member of the Order that was available. Mari had run upstairs with Cassie so they could be there and help Lilsi. The screeching of a speeder coming to a halt outside announced Brys’s return.

“Make way! Make way!” Brys yelled as he pulled Healer Everett through the crowded den and upstairs.

“Brys, calm down,” Everett said as they reached the second story landing.

“My wife is in labor! How can I calm down?!” Brys yelled, his eyes wide.

“Put your faith in me,” the Healer said, placing a hand on Brys’s shoulder. “She and the baby will be fine, you have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to that Everett,” Brys said.

“So I’ve been told by expectant fathers lately,” the Healer chuckled as he disappeared into the nursery and closed the door.

Time started to move slowly for Brys. He wouldn’t allow anyone to move him from the hallway, so eventually he ended up surrounded by Sirius, Kuyat, Peter, Aaro and the family’s other friends in the tiny hallway on the second floor. No sound came from the nursery because of the sound dampening fields that Everett and those who had been helping Lilsi when he left to retrieve the Healer had placed on the door and walls.

“What’s taking so long?” Brys muttered. He had been staring at the door for almost an hour.

“These things take time, my friend,” Aaro said. “Cassie was in labor with Abygail for two hours I think.”

“Can’t they rush the process with the Force?” Brys grumbled.

“No, it could have disastrous consequences,” Aaro said.

Brys huffed and continued to stare at the door.

“Don’t worry, Aaro. Oro is just worried is all,” Sirius said. “His logic is currently turned off or else he would know all that.”

“Why I ought to. . .” Brys started to say before the handle to the nursery door began to turn and everyone quieted down.

“It’s a boy, Brys,” the head Healer said, coming out of the nursery. “Your wife is ready to see you.”

Brys got shakily to his feet and followed the head healer into the room while Sirius, Kuyat and Peter followed him. Stepping into the baby’s room, Brys saw his beautiful wife holding a small bundle of blue blankets, cooing softly to it. She looked up, green eyes meeting hazel, and she lit up.

“Come here, Brys,” she said, the smile on her face shining brightly. Brys forced himself to move and sit on the edge of the bed.

“He looks like you,” Lilsi whispered, passing the bundle of blankets gently to her husband.

Brys smiled down at his son, the boy had inherited Lilsi’s green eyes. Tiny hands grasped towards Brys.

“What should we name him?” Brys whispered, placing a finger in his son’s palm and tiny fingers closed around it.

“Thrack,” Lilsi said. “Thrack Brys Oro.”

 

[Rianna Organa]

[SIZE=12pt]Darkness wears a false face[/SIZE]​

​

[SIZE=12pt]Chapter 1[/SIZE]​

​

[SIZE=12pt]The darkness was often a welcome friend showing its brilliance with a carpet of stars to light the way. Tonight there were no stars a sand storm had come in, and it filled everything. Tatooine was living up to its reputation.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]She shrugged her shoulders and began making her way down the street. She could just make out the sign for The Very Last Place; she often wondered why these were out of the way, god forsaken places chosen. She entered the cantina slowly she looked toward the bar keep who nodded her toward the back room. She pushed the door to the office open, Rekha Kaarde looked up, a swollen lip tried to smile. It’s not as bad as it looks. Shaking her head, Rianna pushed back her hood, right, it never is She looked over her old friend, black eye, cracked collar bone, busted lip Rekha smiled, Rianna laughed and shook her head, and missing teeth Rekha reached up and touched her lip, Yeah, nothing that isn’t replaceable[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha moved slowly she had been beaten up by professionals, they left very little untouched. She pulled the small data disk from the draw, here’s what you guys wanted[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rianna reached out with a gloved hand, Thanks she put the disk inside her robe. Rekha came and sat next to her. How are you?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rianna exhaled and rested against Rekha's shoulder. There are good days, and then there are bad. Rianna missed her old friend, missed her companionship, as well as her no nonsense attitude. I have to get back with this information she looked to Rekha, Want me to fix you up a bit before I go?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha snuggled into the chair, thought you would never ask Rianna removed her gloves and began concentrating on Rekha’ s wounds. Rekha looked at the eyes of her friend, they weren’t as clear as they once were, her face was a bit more gaunt then usual as well. She glanced down at her hands, they were thin, and the bones shown through, she wondered if Rianna was ok, but then dismissed it she knew Rianna would tell her if something was wrong.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rianna stood up, that should help ease the pain and speed your healing she smiled, you should come to Yavin, or we should plan a trip to Endor Rekha nodded in agreement, Just as soon as there is time.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rianna slipped her gloves back on, yes time, I need to go. Rianna pulled her hood back up, and made her way out the door, it was a hasty departure she nodded to the barkeep as she left, back out into the sand and darkness. Rekha watched her depart with a strange feeling inside she really should make time to go and visit with her, in a few weeks maybe.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Slowly Rianna made her way to the docking bay, her pilot stood waiting for her. Mistress, did all go well Rianna nodded. We need to head home She began up the gangplank and stumbled, the pilot kneeled to help her, Mistress are you alright? Rianna drew within to gather her strength, what’s your name? He helped her to stand, Benjamin. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Benjamin[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt] she repeated, a terran name, ancient language, it means something like the right arm, or the right hand. She looked at his face, Benjamin, I need you to be my right arm now. He nodded and helped her into the ship.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rianna took out the disk and contacted the Council, I am transmitting the information that Captain Kaarde was able to get for us, and then I am heading for the temple at Yavin. It would take time for the message to reach the council. Rianna felt the need for rest.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The ship landed without incident, Rianna was hurting more and she could not seem to control it. Master Valera met her, Welcome home Rianna Rianna bowed, Thank you Master Valera dismissed the pilot and helped Rianna to the infirmary; she could feel the pain that Rianna was trying desperately to fight. It is bad whispered Valera, Rianna nodded yes. The healers made her as comfortable as possible. Valera knew this would happen, Rianna had known this would happen but neither thought it would be this quickly. She thought what to do, first she contacted the Council and updated them on her condition, then she called Mistress Ilea, Ilea you need to contact Captain Kaarde, and Captain Rafe Antilles, and inform them. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Valera paused she thought exactly what should I tell them, tell them Rianna is sick, and they need to come immediately. Truth was Rianna was very sick at first they thought she had Star Syndrome a disease that wasted the body away attacking the genetics. But this had a variation it seems to plant a tickler in the pain center that increased the pain levels felt by the infected three fold. The nerve center would shut down after a while numb to the pain. The disease would retreat and flare again, each flare up destroyed more of the body until the body could take no more and failed completely. It was a very intelligent disease. Valera was not sure how to cure it the temple was working all hours to find a cure.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Ilea paused she could see Valera was thinking she had to ask, What of Arianna? Rianna's sister was a common fixture around the temple, her duties kept her from visiting as often as she would have liked. Valera knew she should contact her, however she was on Bastian completing a mission, and while this could not wait, she had no choice, we’ll have to wait until she returns to tell her a mistake Valera knew.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Days later the Council arrived their long black robes gave an ominous feeling to all within the Temple. Shortly afterward Rekha and Rafe arrived at the Temple. Rekha walked into the reception area of the temple, shaking her head admonishing herself for not realizing something was wrong with Rianna. She heard a noise behind her, well look what the cat has dragged in. Rafe gave her a crooked smile, so tell me again what is the name of that backwater planet you come from again? They embraced, Rafe stepped back concern written on his face, what do you know about her? Rekha looked at the floor and shrugged, not much, I just saw her just a few days ago and it never occurred to me that she was deathly sick. I just her voice trailed off and she looked off into nowhere. Rafe placed a knowing hand on her shoulder, She only tells what she wants us to know, the rest she hides, always has. Rekha nodded in agreement sighing heavily, I know.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Mistress Valera entered, the room fell silent the moment had come. You should come and see her now. Rekha could never figure out what was going on behind the mask of Valera, she showed no emotion, let on nothing. Rekha never wanted to play sabacc with her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]As they made their way to the infirmary Rafe noticed the presence of the Council the lingering about waiting whispering, Mistress why is the Council here? Emotionless she responded, it is the custom. He stopped, his heart began racing he knew a bit about customs enough anyhow to feel that panic in his chest. It was obvious that Rekha had no idea as she continued to walk down the corridor. He closed his eyes, composed himself and began to exhale slowly. Rekha stopped and looked back, Come on slow poke, or you’ll get lost. Lost yes, soon he would be lost, but how soon. He quickened his pace.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha entered the infirmary quietly not wishing to disturb anyone who might be there. She looked down the row of empty beds and found Rianna. She was pale, drawn, her breathing sounded all wrong. She sat on the edge of the bed, I finally made it to Yavin Rianna opened her eyes, softly the words about time were heard there was no half smile. Rekha held her hand skeletal white worse than just a few days ago, you have to get better, this waving her hand around, this sucks [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rianna looked at her, Rekha my friend, there is no getting better, there is only the end to face. It is my time. Rekha began to grind her teeth she wasn’t ready to accept that so easily and how could Rianna accept this! Why wasn’t she doing more! Rekha searched for the words she had to say to her, while fighting her own need to make a scene. You have always been my friend, when others wouldn’t. I would gladly trade places with you now. Rianna tapped the back of Rekha’ s hand, I am always with you, no matter what, Rianna paused and wet her lips, look to the stars, and I’ll be there.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Master Valera came into view, Captain Kaarde, we need to give Captain Antilles some time with her Rekha nodded she swallowed hard she looked at her friend, uncertain of the next time she saw her she would be alive. I love you always Rianna’s eyes began to fill, and I you always it was a faint whisper.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha left the room and was met by a padawan, Captain there is a room here for contemplation Rekha followed absently trying to hide the tears which slid down her face. Contemplation, why didn’t they just say mourning, or crying. Jedi, confusing monks with glow sticks.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rafe entered, how long had it been, 9 months, no wait a year. A year? He knew their duties kept them at different ends of the Republic. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]His eyes were drawn to where she was immediately, her hair wasn't as shiny black and her skin not as supple she looked in a way he had never seen her, she looked deathly like it was hovering over her waiting to claim her. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]He walked over and just stood there looking at her. Don’t stare came the whisper. Can’t help it He gave her that lopsided grin that was reserved for her. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rianna wanted to nod, but couldn’t. He looked at her, and without thinking about what anyone else would think, he went and scooped her up, and sat in the chair next to her bed, looking at her face. Does this hurt? [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rianna tried to smile, No She looked at him, Question[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Fair, answer [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]he replied, this little banter that they did with one another. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Is she safe? [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Her dark eyes staring up into his[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Yes, with her playmate [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]was that the sound of relief?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Good, did you bring her? [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]She really wanted to see her[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]No, I didn’t expect this result. [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]How was he to know that THIS was going to happen. He was so angry right now.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Understandable [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]She thought I didn’t tell you, so you didn’t know. Feth. And I wouldn’t want her to see me like this. Take care of her Rafe, she won’t understand.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]She snuggled closer into Rafe's shoulder she wanted comfort even though every nerve fired and screamed in pain. He didn’t have anything to say, his heart was breaking, there was a huge lump in his throat. He hugged her trying not to hurt her further. She placed her left hand on his shoulder, he noticed her ring was gone, they must have removed it to treat her. He would get it later. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]He just sat there holding her, her breathing growing softer and softer, he thought she sounds like she’s going to sleep, when her hand slid down his chest as she grew silent. The silence filled the room. Rafe rested his cheek against the top of her head, he pulled her as close as possible her body limp the life gone from it. His world changed in a matter of moments and it would last the rest of his life. The light in his life was gone and from somewhere deep inside he began to cry the pain of loss ripping through him shattering his heart and depriving him of the very breath he needed. Rianna Organa, one of the last surviving Organa’s, a gentle soul who tried only to see the good in the galaxy was gone. The galaxy grew a bit darker for those who knew her. They would have to pry her from him.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]A padawan entered the solitude room, Captain Kaarde, I bear bad news, the padawans' eyes gave it all away without saying it, saying it out loud made it real, I'm afraid Mistress Rianna has passed Rekha had heard it, but didn’t want to hear it, she walked passed the padawan she wanted to see for herself, wait NO she didn’t. She turned confused, hurt, ready to scream she ran down the hallway searching for a way out, darting through an open door she came into the garden. Oh she knew this place she ran until she found it, the bench. Here she and Rianna had spent hours talking. Rekha fell to her knees, she didn’t want to cry for fear she would never stop, she looked up, couldn’t see the stars right now to find Rianna, but she would sit here and wait for her friend. She laid her head on the bench, and cried, whispering Rianna, over and over.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]She was awakened by a very distressed Padawan, Captain, Mistress Valera requires your assistance. Rekha had no idea how much time had passed, it was dark, and the stars filled the sky by the thousands, and for just a moment Rekha was comforted if only a little. Tell Mistress Valera to bite me. The padawan frowned, Captain, please. Rekha growled Very well, show me the way the way it turns out was back to the infirmary. Valera stood before the door, you must convince Captain Antilles to let her go, to give her to us. It’s not good for him, he has to let her go Rekha did not want to enter the infirmary, it was way too soon, and she knew what waited for her inside Rafe. She knew she had to do this not only because Valera had asked but for Rianna and Rafe’s sake as well, she knew the customs of Rianna's world and knew the custom of the Jedi, all had to be done quickly and they burned their dead as it it would remove them forever from sight. She walked through the door carefully softly, not wanting to break whatever silence there was. Rafe still sat in the chair next to her bed clutching her. Rafe, Rekha got close enough to brushed the hair from Rianna’s face, she was really gone, and she looked like she was sleeping thank the goddess. They have to take her, and prepare her for whatever ritual they want to perform. Rafe shook his head no, I know, it is just so hard to let go to not see her face again or hear her voice yelling at me. You remember that time on Mustafar Rekha could see his face was swollen, his eyes red. I remember seems a long time ago. . Rafe looked at Rekha, yes she certainly did understand what he was feeling she was feeling it to.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha, I will envy you something, you at least you got to see her recently. I’ve, well I haven’t seen her in person for a while..[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt] Perhaps it was guilt eating at him but with a heavy heart Rafe stood with Rianna in his arms, this would be the most difficult task he would ever perform, he began walking toward the door. Rafe, she knew and understood. She loved being a healer, and a Jedi. She helped us all at some point. Kept us going. Did what was best for us, and now we have to do what’s best for her, what she would want.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]T[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]he door opened Valera stood ready with a carrier, Rafe faltered for a moment then gently laid Rianna down, careful to fold her hands, and brush her hair away, padawans gathered to carry her away, Rafe bent down and softly kissed her forehead. Valera motioned the padawans to go, Captain Antilles, you and Captain Kaarde are welcome to stay as long as you need to. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rafe started to walk away, Master Valera, why is Arianna not here, and where is Rianna’s ring? [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Valera turned back to him, Arianna is on a mission and Rianna hasn’t worn a ring in 6 months or more. Perhaps it is in her room Rafe couldn’t figure out why Rianna wouldn’t be wearing the heart shaped ring he had given her two years ago, she never took it off, in all the time he had seen her, she never took it off. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The ring was a token he had given her, he loved her, and she had told him plainly that while she cared deeply, that her duties as a Jedi forbid her give him more than she already had shown. He had been angry and hurt at first, but in time he understood they had remained close, and many assumed they were lovers. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The ring was a symbol between them, and for her to not wear it well that he found strange, but perhaps her condition made it painful for her to wear, he couldn’t think straight right now. He already had more questions than he had answers.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The hours it took to prepare Rianna’s body were an eternity, it would be nearly morning before they would be ready. Rafe and Rekha did not speak, couldn’t they were each lost in their own memories, their own pain, each trying to find a way to deal with this, and function.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Finally they came, the Council, in black. They spoke with Rafe quietly, and explaining that Rianna had been sick for some time, that Valera had tried everything possible, with no success. They were just as grieved as they at the loss of Rianna. Rianna never aspired to be on the council, though she had been asked more than once. She had always preferred to be a healer, and Counselor remaining simple as a Jedi could be.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]They filed outside following the carrier upon which she laid, the long line of Masters, Knights, and padawans. They had pulled the hood of her robe over her face. Rafe thought that too was strange. Nothing was said, but you could feel a vibration in the air and in the blink of an eye, the fire was lit, and in the course of moments it was done. Rianna was gone. Just like that. Nothing remained except the ashes that would be swept away and given to Arianna.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha looked up to the stars then turned and walked slowly back to the temple.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Coruscant [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna waited patiently to give her report. It was a bust, they came home empty handed. They had turned their patient over to the hospital, while the crew put in time cleaning the ship, and maintenance. Arianna had to give her report, much as she dreaded it. There were a few personal messages waiting for her, but she didn’t have the time to look at it right now, if it was personal it could wait. It was probably Rianna’s weekly check in anyhow.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Colonels’ aide called her in.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Lieutenant Darklighter, your mission is a failure, do you have any explanation as to what happened?. [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]If he could have blamed her failure on a lack of focus he would have, but she should have been on task.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]No and Yes sir, the informant that we thought we could trust, had cultivated all this time, and gave us nothing leading us into a trap. [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Where she lost men. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]He just shook his head, Consider yourself suspended pending investigation of this incident. Go home One more chance he thought give her one more to really hang herself.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna nodded, Yes Sir.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Yes he looked at her closely, she didn’t know how could he know and she be so disconnected. Lieutenant dismissed..[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna thought about it over and over every inch of the mission. It didn’t make sense. She decided to do as he told her go home.. As she entered she called out, Play messages Ilea voice rang through her quarters, your sister is sick, come quickly, Rekha’ s voice was next broken, and trying hard for breath, it’s awful. And finally Rafe’s, she’s gone, end of messages. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Gone?!? Arianna sat there stunned. The dates on the messages were a couple weeks old. She had missed it all..She didn’t have her chance to say goodbye. She sat down where she stood, stunned unable to cry. Now what do I do? She got up still in shock, and went back to headquarters. She wanted to get far away, be busy, do, something. She really wanted to hit Valera and the entire Jedi Order right now. HOW DARE THEY NOT CALL HER!!! But it was too late, it was all too late, her sister, her only living relative in the entire galaxy was gone.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]She stood at the assignment Captains desk, I need something to do, anything, just send me. She hoped that the orders for her suspension hadn’t arrived yet. Arianna shook her head, Yes anything. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Assignments Desk had one thing, Ok, they are taking the patient you brought in to the Yavin temple. Arianna looked confused, Why?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The temple made a request for any patients with a particular disease be sent to them.[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt] Arianna rolled her eyes, Wonderful. The Clerk leaned closer, If they don’t send the poor soul there or death will find it here. The meds aren’t working and the medical staff is at a loss, and some, just don’t care about these kind of cases, and if the Jedi want them, I say let them have it, and give them half a chance. Arianna stared at the officer, Fine, I’ll take it, besides destiny it seems wants me on Yavin[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]No problem Lieutenant[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Space [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna watched all the gauges and dials as she had been instructed. They had placed the poor thing, thing they couldn’t tell whether it was male or female why was that? Anyhow it was in stasis. Why hadn’t they done an ident check on it, why did they keep referring to it as it, they didn’t even say whether it was male or female. It was like they were unable to, or that it was constantly being diverted, or just plain didn’t want to.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna stepped back. She wondered, the dark side could do that. What if this was their way of gaining access to the temple. She sat back down, What if I am making this all up to divert my own attention. She thought of Rianna, and how she had found her on the streets of Coruscant, stealing wallets. It felt like a lifetime ago. As she sat there, she realized it was a lifetime ago, 10, no 12 years. Only for her later to find out they were sisters shared parents. Rianna had smiled telling her the force worked in mysterious ways. Mysterious, ok. But ever since then so much had changed. This was not going to be easy, this was going to take time getting used to.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Yavin [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arrival was smooth, padawans met the ship, and removed the patient. Still something nagged at Arianna.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha’ s ship was sitting there, she walked slowly toward the Temple. It wasn’t the same knowing she wasn’t here, that she wouldn’t be any longer. No one to nag at her, or fret over her. Arianna stopped. She was alone, again. She looked toward the archway of the temple and could see someone standing there in the shadow waiting, for a brief moment she hoped, but Rekha stepped into the light. She looked awful, Rianna’s death was clearly taking its toll on her. She walked over, and hugged her lightly. Hanging in there, kid? Rekha asked.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Best I can, Rekha[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]. They turned and walked, Rekha spoke in soft tones, I keep coming back for some unknown reason, like I just can’t let go yet. They were each lost in thought, Oh, Arianna, we haven’t touched her room. We figured it would be best to wait for you, being her sister and all.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]I appreciate that, I think[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]. Actually she didn’t the last thing she wanted to do was go through Rianna’s things. She wanted it to be all tied up in a bow, so that she didn’t have to deal with reality that she could continue to pretend, or divert before she realized it they stood in front of Rianna’s room. Arianna shook her head, I’m not ready to do this, and it will have to wait. Arianna shrugged, “ I need to be alone” and with that Arianna left, heading in a direction that even she did know what was.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha stood there, helpless. She had hoped for some clue to Rianna’s illness in her journal which would be in her room where she wasn’t allowed without Arianna.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]As if by request Valera appeared, Give her time[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna walked around the temple everywhere here she had spent time talking, and visiting with Rianna. She made her way to the garden, Rianna had loved the garden. Arianna sat down. Why did she feel so empty inside, why couldn’t she cry. How did this happen, yes how did this happen. Arianna went in search of Valera.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Infirmary was filled with healers overlooking the new patient. Valera was in the middle of giving instructions when Arianna opened the door. They would be putting it into regen, and adding their own powers of healing. Arianna walked over. Master Valera whispered something and greeted Arianna.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]We are sorry for your loss.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Thanks, I appreciate it, and everything that the temple did for Rianna, but how did this happen? One moment she’s fine and the next she’s gone.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]We believe she picked up a bio agent on one of her missions. Her system began to show indications of breakdown that we could not explain. Her abilities were greatly diminished, only minor healings was she able to perform.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Did you send anyone back to the planet?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]We dared not for fear of infecting another, the planet however has been put on the avoidance list[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]You really believe that she just happened to pick up a bio agent? [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Arianna stood in disbelief.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]I only know what my eyes and senses tell me Arianna.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna had to ask, it wasn’t morbid curiosity but she had to know, Did she suffer?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Only slightly, but it was over quickly.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Slightly, what was a Jedi’s definition of slightly. Arianna could only nod, starting to feel the emptiness inside, the loss. She wanted Rianna to be here, or on a mission, or something anything, anything but the reality. She started walking away thinking, I haven’t been alerted to no new bio agent, nor any additions to the avoidance list. Something isn’t right, and I want to find out what.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna stood once again in front of Rianna’s room, if there were answers, here is where to begin. She steadied herself, and entered. All her books were neatly stacked, pictures of everyone stood on her desk, the bed was made, and nothing seemed out of place. It was perfect. Perfect she thought, no way. Rianna was not a neatness freak. She heard a noise behind her, Rekha. You startled me.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Sorry [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]What was she supposed to say? She said sorry too many times lately.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Anything look strange to you? [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]She needed a second pair of eyes ones who knew her as good, or better than she.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]No, should it? [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]She glanced over at her well that wasn’t helpful she thought.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna did not answer, she knew Rekha was still blinded by Rianna’s death. I just want to be near her for a while, I still find it all so impossible. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha nodded, she reached out and ran her fingers over the blankets. I know As Rekha started to leave Arianna she turned, I’ll be leaving in the morning, I have a mission to fill. I’ll be back in a couple weeks. Rafe and I have agreed to meet here, perhaps you can as well. And if you find Rianna’s ring, Rafe would like to have it[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna nodded, I’ll see what I can do She watched as Rekha closed the door. She laid down on the bed and pulled the covers over her. It still smelled like Rianna. The blankets were soft and inviting. Arianna couldn’t shake that feeling of something is out of place. She decided to go back to Coruscant take care of a few things there and since she was on suspension she had time.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Two weeks later Yavin [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]. Most of the upper echelon officers of the Republic knew Rianna, had for years. They had been in many battles together, or accompanied Rianna on diplomatic missions, Rianna had been present at their marriages, or aided in the birth of their children. Rianna’s presence affected more than Jedi.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna had managed to get a flight directly back to Yavin. It seems the healers had taken on quite a few patients, Arianna rode a transport which brought in three more. They seemed have the same exact profile as the one she had brought in weeks earlier. The transport was met by a group of padawans ready to move the new patients in. They looked tired, they had to be putting in long hours. She saw that Rekha’ s ship, and Rafes were already there, and went in search of them.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]As she walked up she could see children outside playing, padawans were nearby training, with their Masters. She could see Rafe and Rekha talking together. As she neared she recognized one of the children, Hope she whispered. As if she had heard her, the small blonde child ran toward her, Auntie Arianna The tots soft cheek rested against hers Arianna could not help but hug her hard, Aunt you are squeezing too hard Arianna laughed, Im sorry[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Ok, come meet my friend[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt] She held out her little hand for Arianna to take. She led her to a dark haired little girl, This is Cassandra, I call her Cass Arianna kneeled, Cass[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Cass was shy, the opposite of Hope but still she managed a half smile.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna looked to Rafe and Rekha Gangs all here, I see they each looked around, knowing it was true, that hole where she would have stood... Rekha broke the silence, Im starved, let’s eat. Inside the great hall all were merry and busy the silence had been replaced, life had continued. Rekha’ s haggard look was fading, Rafe was just quiet, mostly nodding or grunting his answers during the meal.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Malastare[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]A lone hooded figure stood silently looks she..but she understood one thing that time was on her side, time to figure out what was happening. Plus she had one thing which would help her on a gold chain she had a heart shaped ring. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“It is time”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Across the Galaxy[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]It had been months since Rianna’s death Rafe Antilles had become more withdrawn, less friendly and a common sight at the local cantina at whatever planet he was on. Valera had been unable to recover Rianna’s ring, something Rianna had treasured one of the few gifts she had kept of their life. Rafe was left alone, even the child was far away from him, he could find no solace in her presence only pain and more sorrow. Rianna had told him she was special a gift but he could not see it, could not feel it, even when she put her small hand into his telling him it was alright. She would repeat over and over to him that Rianna was fine, nothing was wrong they she just seemed lost right now. Rafe had lost his temper with her could she not understand what death was, he could bear it no more and sent her to be with Arianna.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna Darklighter sat looking out the window at the passing clouds as the transport descended to land at Bespin. Arianna’s duties had changes slightly since Hope and Cassandra had come to live with her, she had become more of a military emissary rather than a commander of troops. She looked at Hope who sat across the way playing, her once blonde hair had turned dark, and now the shining black eyes reminded her of Rianna so much it was almost painful, and yet Arianna could not help but smile for as long as she had Hope with her, she felt she would always have Rianna with her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rianna’s death had been unexpected, and had left a gap in the lives of those closest to her. There was a slight jolt as the ship landed, Arianna stood up, Come along girls, time to smile big, and make nice.. The girls quickly gathered their things, the bright eyes looked to Arianna, Off we go.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna walked slow, she always thought it was dignitaries would walked slow for affect, gives everyone a chance to pull their clothes straight, put their hair in place, and rehearse their lines once more.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Administrator of Bespin came forward and greeted Arianna, "It is a pleasure to have you here Lieutenant, and a delight to see the children." Arianna smiled, and wondered why would he be happy to see the children, on most planets they kinda gave the kids a look of hmm this could be difficult...what will they break...get into..Arianna just continued to smile, "I'll want to look over your facility and discuss any ways the Republic can help you out."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Space near Dagobah[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Why am I sitting here Rekha thought. Why am I having such a hard time....how long has it been now...a month...or two...god it can't be three. Her brow furrowed as her green eyes scanned space before her, she flipped the communications switch, "This is the Midnight Star." that was all she had to say if her contact was out there, or near, they'd respond. This was the kind of meeting where they met at a mutually agreed place, landed, and exchanged what they needed to...in and out.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha exhaled, she had heard from Arianna she was on Bespin, and had the children with her. Rafe last they knew had gone back to Tatooine to haunt the house there until he could get it together. Their group was suffering, and she wasn't sure who was suffering the most. Rekha rubbed her chest that empty feeling worse than the loss of a lover.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha wiggled there was a sudden crackle and the stern voice of Hunter came across, "Midnight Star, this is Darkest Night" That was all that needed to be said, with that Rekha headed to the planet, the coordinates already set in the nav comp, and no one to have to get clearance from it was free and clear in...there was a clearing with just enough room for them to come in and complete their exchange.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]As Rekha turned the ship and settled down, she watched the skies for Hunter. She leaned back and as soon as it was clear, she lowered the gangplank and made her exit.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Hunter, no last name, because he liked it that way, carried himself with an air of self-confidence, the alpha male his way or the high way. Rekha could only grin, geez many woman would find that attractive, and it would be except his way usually meant women were not in positions of authority they were in positions of submission. She shook her head, and then smiled, "Hunter..nice of you to drop in" As they stood talking business the crew of Darkest Night unloaded the ship.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Hunter looked back, "Rekha always nice to see you..hey word of warning, I was out in the outer rim, and there's rumors out there of people disappearing..dying, some unknown disease, looks bad..." He looked around, "Hey...you've misplaced your Jedi" Hunter had met Rianna on two earlier exchanges...[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha looked down, "Yeah, she won't be making any more trips...and thanks for the heads up" but what he said peaked her curiosity was it the same disease Rianna had...she would have to make mention of it to Arianna, "Hey Hunter...where were you when you heard about that disease, want to make sure I stay far away.."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Hunter smiled, and leaned toward her, his dark blue eyes, stared into her green, "If I told you that Rekha, you might figure out what I am doing out there, and that lady goes against the code of do not ask, do not tell"[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha nodded, "you're right Hunter, sorry...my mistake.." She exhaled, dammit...smugglers...were the worst at times...worse than bounty hunters...[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Yavin[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Master Valera paced the halls they knew nothing more now than before, she knew that it was time to take an action that years ago she had sworn never to reveal, never to say.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]//Encrypted Message//[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]You must come to Yavin, the situation has changed dramatically.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]//end message//[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The hooded figure stared at the message. There was no way to disobey this directive from the Enclave leader on Yavin. She would need to go. She gathered her things knowing she would not be returning here. The force had hinted at such change, but she had not believed. Time is fluid and the action of a few could cause ripples to affect thousands, even millions.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Master Valera sent additional messages, she needed the help of Rekha Kaarde, and Arianna Darklighter’s intelligence gathering abilities. While the Jedi had resources there were times it was nice to have friends with resources.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]A week later everyone was gathered on Yavin except for Rafe. He had changed so much trying to deal with his loss the enclave was unsure how he could help.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Master Valera looked at the faces of the women before her, even the children who sat so quietly.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Hope continued to smile.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Valera took a deep breath, “There is no way to explain any of this and have it make sense. The disease is spreading. What you may not know is it is an engineered disease, and all facilities have been conducting research to find a cure. Rianna was close to finding out who created the disease.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Valera looked at Rekha, “What you were able to secure for us gave us many answers.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Then her gaze turned on Arianna, “The patient you brought to us at one point had to be in contact with the individual we call patient zero.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Valera a practiced Jedi of many years did not know how to tell them the next part. “We had two Jedi working on finding the source, the creators.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]A hooded figure entered the room as if they had heard their cue. Hope jumped off her chair, “Auntie Maeve!” She ran to the hooded figure, who kneeled, just in time to have Hope rush into her arms, and push the hood back.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Everyone stood up staring, Arianna fainted, Rekha’s jaw dropped, under the hood was a woman who looked just like Rianna. How was that possible???!!![/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Hope laughed and held onto her other Auntie. “My mommy is gone” she whispered. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“I know” she answered as she hugged her tight standing up, picking the child up.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Valera was assisting with Arianna, while Rekha stood in shock. Maeve stared at Rekha who could not take her eyes from her. “I’m not her” she needed to make that clear right off.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“So you’re not her? But you look just like her” [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Rekha stepped closer if this wasn’t her then, “Are you a clone?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve shook her head, “No, I’m not. I think we all need to sit and talk about what is happening”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Hope had put her head on Maeve’s shoulder, Rekha shook her head, “How does Hope know you?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve hugged her, “Rianna brought her to meet me”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha stepped back and sat down hard, “So you knew Rianna?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna was beginning to come around groggy disoriented she sat up, “I’m ok, I was hallucinating, I thought I saw “ Once again she saw Rianna….”Ri?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve looked at Arianna, “I wish, I’m Maeve.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Maeve” [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Arianna shifted, “Hope?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve stroked her back, “she’s sleeping. I think.. you should all listen, I will explain, and hopefully it will help”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The group tried to settle down, all eyes still staring at Maeve.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Rianna and I are twins, identical twins” Maeve looked at Arianna, “So we are sisters,.” She tried to smile, “It was decided long ago that we would train separately building our own paths. A memory block was even used to help with the separation. About 5 perhaps 6 cycles back Rianna and I traveled into the same circle, and had pretty much the same reaction you did. We grew close quickly, we were identical in many ways, each followed a healer’s path, each stayed with the Jedi Order. Stories for another time. About 1 cycle back she came across a disease she identified as engineered from the markers contained in its genetic makeup. She needed help, so..I began helping her. WE didn’t want to raise suspicion so Rianna was always the face, but there were times when we switched, as twins could. We started getting really close to finding out exactly where this came from when she found out she was infected.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve shifted still holding onto Hope. “Time was running out. So we began pushing further. She found something on Balmorra, that was taking her to Mustafar. She didn’t get a chance to tell me anything about it. So” Maeve looked over to Valera who never quite left the room, “I assume I’m here to go to Balmorra and Mustafar”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Valera nodded in agreement[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Well then. I know it’s not a lot but it should help some. Perhaps once we have figured this all out we can discuss it all further.” There was a hint of nervousness in her voice, she didn’t know what to think of these people who had been Rianna’s friends and family for so long. They had been grieving her death only to find out now that someone wore her face. But she knew each of them so well, how often Rianna had spoken of them but that was her relationship with them, she if she wanted would have to forge her own.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Captain Kaarde can you take me to Balmorra? [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]They needed to move ahead and get through the dynamics of relationships later.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha still sitting there her mind wondering if her eyes deceived her. Sure, why not.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Why not? Cause it was one way to get answers, and help her adjust to looking at the face of a dead woman. So what do I call you?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Such an innocent question usually. Master Organa was not going to work this time. Just call me Maeve. She smiled, Rekha visibly stepped back, Maeve it is, so I’m thinking we are ALL going to Balmorra, right Arianna.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Speechless, yes completely speechless, all she could do was nod. Ok. Balmorra.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]So this was her sister as well Arianna could not pull enough of her thoughts together to give Rekha a real verbal answer, instead she just shook her head. Why? Had Rianna kept this from her? They were related by blood, this made no sense that it would be a secret, even if they stood on the heads quoting Jedi Lore it was no reason to keep family a secret.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Midnight Star, the YT that Rekha flew kept them all together and separate something that they were all privately grateful for. There was enough confusion over identify.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna found herself at times staring at Maeve, she was looking for differences and so far there was not one, except well small things. Maeve tended to use her left hand more, Rianna was definitely right handed. The scars that Rianna bore on her arms were not present on Maeve, something that she had observed from the moment they boarded.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“What’s on Balmorra again?” she moved to find a seat to hear the explanation just one more time.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve could feel the emotions that twisted inside Arianna, she just did not know how to sooth them. What words could take away the sting?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Balmorra aside from the weapons they’ve been known to produce also stands as a hub for ships. Rianna had sent word that there were several deaths on Balmorra that looked remarkably like the nameless faceless souls we had been encountering.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Ari gave a small shrug, “she hadn’t mentioned it”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve knew Rianna had not confided to Arianna to keep her safe, it seemed a trait to keep secrets in order to protect. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Ari stared at some invisible spot on the floor, “What does this disease do again?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve grateful to get away from the awkward questions and emotions almost blurted out her response, “It attacks DNA at first we thought it was targeting specific family. However, as more bodies began to show it soon became clear that whoever had developed this was operating on a larger scale, a planetary or galactic scale, DNA is part of the key but it also seems to be able to identify that 1/5th of the population that has genius, creativity, potential to become[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]1/5th of the galaxy did not sound like a lot but if you take in the population of the galaxy, the numbers that could be affected were it was a number that would give anyone pause.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Ok, so what will we be looking for?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve considered for a moment, “A facility highly guarded, most likely technology not guards. Isolated perhaps. But first let’s check the hospitals to see if they have had anything that resembles the deaths we’ve seen already”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna had to ask, it was there in her mind, “Did Rianna suffer with this, you know does it...” was it painful she couldn’t bring herself to say the last few words.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve would like to have lied, “It was destroying her and who she was by consuming her DNA, and it was extremely painful. How she functioned as she did can only be attributed to her strength.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]She suffered. Feth. Arianna, “I’m going to take her ashes to Alderaan bury them next to the monument where our parents were killed. She always missed our mother it’s the least I can do.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Balmorra[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Be inconspicuous, right did they look at Rekha. She strutted like a peacock held her head high, and then when she headed into the Cantina she yelled at the top of her lungs, “I HAVE ARRIVED”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]If she hadn’t she would not remain true to her nature, that would have drawn attention from anyone sitting there that new her name. She hoped someone knew her name, like one person…the lack of acknowledgement took some of her confidence but restored once a drink was placed in her hand.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve did not join them she was walking hidden in the force to see a local shaman, doctor, healer whatever name they went by today to see if there were any cases fitting their description. As she spoke with the Doctor, whose office stood alone at the end of an alley, she heard about how one of the Admirals had contracted a disease, he had died of unusual circumstances according to the military.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Doctor looked at Maeve curious, “Didn’t we talk about this on your last visit?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve drew back, “we may have I just wanted to check again, in case circumstances changed.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]He nodded, “seems my year for Jedi, two others and now you. Odd” The older man laughed, “You’re not as old as the last one”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve smiled and nodded, “We come in many different ages, and sizes Doctor.” It was odd that another Jedi had been to Balmorra. “Please contact me if you see any of these cases” What was it Rianna had found. Was it the other Jedi he mentioned.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]So he had not seen any patients. But what of the Admiral who had died so mysteriously. Maeve contemplated the information she had the Admiral was worth looking into.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Meantime back at the Cantina[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]You don’t say, really, and it’s just sitting out there? [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Rekha couldn’t help but be fascinated, she and Arianna both sat completely captivated. It was rumored that there was an Imperial Remnant Victory II Class ship floating empty. It was told it was abandoned because of reactor problems, sabotage, but the locals didn’t believe it. But none had the courage to go and find it to verify.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]So, you say it’s just sitting out there in tact? [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Rekha’s green eyes gleamed with curiosity. Arianna was more hesitant she knew that rumors didn’t just happen without reason. Rumors happened to deter, and distract. She put her hand on Rekha’s arm to try and caution her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]But she had to admit, a Victory II Class Imperial Star Destroyer intact, could give them incredible insight on how to defeat them. She began to bit her lip nervously.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Admiral in charge of it he died all mysterious like. [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Their new Rodian friend shared information rather quickly. Rekha nodded, Sounds like the ship killed him, but what about the crew? A ship that size has thousands on it.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Rodian shrugged, No one knows, they got off, rescued, died they could all be there dead.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha made a face smiling as she got up, You’ve been a lot of help and I’ve enjoyed the…story. Rekha grabbed Arianna’s arm and tugged she was ready to go and wanted her to come with her. A few glances came their way Rekha smiled turned planting a kiss on Arianna. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Arianna stood in shock, she didn’t know what to do. Why was Rekha kissing her? She stood rigid until Rekha pulled back. I couldn’t wait to get back to the ship. It seemed in that moment anyone who noticed turned away. Most species were uncomfortable with public shows of affection, it was a sure way to ensure some privacy.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha keeping hold of Arianna led her back outside. Arianna was shaking her head, A ploy?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Rekha nodded, A ruse, make them look somewhere else, usually works. Now let’s talk about this ship, I think we need to find it and we need to let Maeve know about it. She will probably say no, but it’s my ship we are on and I have bills to pay.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The pair headed back to The Midnight Star, Rekha’s YT to wait for Maeve.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]On the Midnight Star[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]I think we need to go. [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Maeve stood silently looking at them, after listening to Rekha and Arianna talk about the ship she couldn’t agree more.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]That just took all the argument out of Rekha who was prepared with a list. Well. It’s settled. It had never really been an argument, Rekha felt let down she had been so ready to argue. Feth. Kark. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]I’ll just go plot us a course in the general direction given to us by the Rodian and we’ll begin our needle in a haystack search. [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]It could be anywhere finding it would be a stroke of luck, for the owner of The Lucky Lady Cantina who believed in luck she thought they’d find it in no time.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Maeve believed the answers they needed about the Admirals mystery disease were on the ship. She could feel the force vibrating around her telling her she was on the right path. The disease was spreading Valera had sent word of 5 more cases they could no longer have them brought to Yavin, their facilities were not big enough.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Healers of Yavin were headed to Coruscant, it was now becoming Galactic news. Everyone was on edge of when, where and who would the next case be.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]And the Midnight Star was off on a wild bantha chase in hopes of finding one elusive Imperial Star Destroyer.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The Hunt Begins[/SIZE]​

​

[SIZE=12pt]Chapter 2[/SIZE]​

 

[Lord Ajihad]

The alarm clock's obnoxious blaring cut through the cold January air. A young man, perhaps in his twenties, leaned out of the springy double bed to turn it off. The clock read 4:30 in the morning, perhaps an explanation as to why a pair of dark circles drooped under his eyes as a byproduct of exhaustion. He quietly rolled out of bed so as not to wake his wife and headed over to the small bathroom to brush his teeth. He prepared himself for the day like any other working man in the Big Apple, heading downstairs to his apartment's tiny kitchen to grab a quick breakfast before work. His hand shook as he poured himself a bowl of Lucky Charms, not adding milk as he liked his cereal dry. He ate quickly, so as not to be late for work. He got in the elevator and headed to the bottom floor, the questionably shaky lift rattling as it descended through the building. He gave his landlord a nod as he left the lobby, a greasy middle-aged man who looked as if though he lived off of fast food. The young man walked through the parking lot, quickly finding his dinghy car as he got inside. He fired up the ignition, the vehicle groaning to life as if it were on its deathbed. It was a gift from his parents and he never cared to replace it as he wasn't in a very good place financially. He didn't attempt to turn on the heater, even though it was January. He knew it wouldn't work if he tried.

Jordan Dunham was average in every sense of the word. He was in his early twenties, a recent graduate from a local community college. He had a wife who he had been married to for eight months. They argued often and had an unborn child, two things that both of them knew did not pair well. He was trying to break into corporate America by working for a large accounting firm in Manhattan. His job didn't pay well, even though he often had to work into the late hours of night. It was barely enough to support he and his wife, as he tried his best to pay off his landlord who raised the rent what seemed like every month. He had a few close friends and knew a handful people from the office. He rarely had any time to himself between work and his struggling family, so he coped by having a little too much to drink before coming home each night. Hence the arguments between he and his spouse.

Just like any normal day, he would head to work along his normal route. He would stop along the way to get to get a paper, bringing it to work with him. He would read it during his break that day, soaking in all of the terrible things it reported were happening around the world. He sighed with exasperation. Why did the news only report the sad and depressing things about the world? He supposed that's just what people enjoyed reading.

However, just as he was about to leave work late that night, he would break the monotonous cycle that was his life. Instead of heading straight to the elevator like he usually did, Jordan would instead turn around and walk over to his boss's office. He would slide a piece of paper under the door into the vacant room.

His resignation.

But why would someone who needed the money so desperately quit their job? It was an illogical move, something very uncharacteristic of the accountant. What was he thinking?

As he was driving home across the Queensboro bridge, he would stop and pull over to the side. He got out of his car, shivering as the frigid January air permeated his thin suit jacket. There wasn't much traffic that night, cars passing him only once every few minutes. A blue Mazda slowed as it neared him, the driver rolling down his window. He looked a little older than Jordan, maybe somewhere in his thirties.

"Hey, you need a lift?" His accent hinted that he was from Brooklyn.

Jordan gave a weak half-smile. "No thanks, I'm fine."

"You sure? It's as cold as balls out here."

"Yeah, I'm good."

The driver shrugged, rolling the window up to prevent his vehicle from getting any colder. He drove away, tail lights fading away in the distance.

Jeffrey walked over to the edge of the bridge, stepping in between the safety bars for a look out onto the horizon. Even though it was almost midnight, the city truly never slept. He could hear the sounds of cars honking, swerving, and otherwise interrupting the would-be silence even of the night. He gazed at the starry black sky, taking it all in. It was a beautiful world he lived in, but it wasn't enough to make him stay.

He pulled a pistol out of his jacket, hands sticking to the already-cold metal. He gazed down at it, it was the only thing his grandfather had left him in his will. He had said it would protect his family. It was quite ironic, really. What his grandfather had left him in death would grant him the same thing in his last moment of life. He would slowly raise the gun to his temple in one last solemn salute. A tear dripped down his cheek, freezing before it could fall to the ground. And then he pulled the trigger.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The NYPD would pull his frozen body from the East River the following morning. He had fallen off the bridge once the bullet penetrated his brain, the blunt force of his body hitting the frozen river enough to crack the ice and send him into the murky waters below. His boss had immediately reported his resignation once he had heard the news. It was all the detective needed to rule his death a suicide.

For Jeffrey, space and time no longer applied. The world was now an exhibit that he could watch but not effect. He had no physical presence, just a nonexistent pair of eyes silently observing his planet. His city. His family.

He would watch as pair of officers approached his wife. No sound reached his ears, but he could tell words were being exchanged. His wife would stumble backwards in shock, sitting down on the curb. He could tell from the expression on her face that she was wailing in despair. The officers approached to help her up, noticing the fact she was in the later stages of pregnancy. She denied their help vehemently as she continued to weep.

The scene would pan out, switching to his parents' house in Cleveland. He was in their living room; the very place he had sat watching TV as a child. The landline was sitting on their little coffee table, seemingly on speaker phone. His mom and dad sat down on the nearby couch as they listened to the caller. All of a sudden, his mother would cup her face in her hands and began to sob. They had gotten the news. His father, who he had never seen shed a single tear in his entire life, open cried in a blatant and depressing display of pure, unrestricted grief. Deep inside his stomach, Jeffrey felt a terrible guilt eating away at him. He had done this.

He suddenly saw his wife sitting alone in the corner of their apartment, her face pale and her eyes ringed with red. It looked like she had lost weight, her skin seemingly hanging off of her bones with a sickly yellow pallor. She was clutching some that looked to be a crunched-up piece of paper. He managed to make out a few words of it, suddenly realizing with a deep and innate sadness why she looked how she did. His wife had had a miscarriage.

Over a span of time which seemed like hours, Jeffrey would observe the aftereffects of his demise in virtually everyone he had ever met. His boss, his coworkers, his landlord, his friends, his family. Even the man who had stopped to offer him a ride that fateful night had been affected. One he saw Jeffrey's face on the local news and learned what had happened, he knew he had been the last one to ever see him alive. A total stranger which he had only thirty seconds of interaction with would be plagued until his dying days with regrets as to how he could have handled those precious few seconds differently.

If Jeffrey could weep, he would have. He had failed his wife and his unborn child. He had failed his parents. He had failed himself. His life was something he had taken for granted, and only now did he realize how precious it truly was. He only had one shot and he had thrown it away, there were no second chances. He would have to continue on his existence, forever knowing he was a failure and a coward.

He senses slowly began to return to him. A smell permeated his nostrils, something foul and sickly. The unmistakeable stench of sulfur. He could hear crying and screaming, the grief of all those he had left behind. He could feel a growing heat beginning to scorch his back, now his entire body. It was burning into his soul, just beginning to punish him for his sins. His last thoughts he had before succumbing to the unbearable agony were those of remorse and sadness. He would forever regret that small pull of the trigger...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The alarm clock's obnoxious blaring cut through the cold January air. Jeffrey shot up in bed with a gasp. He was covered in a cold sweat and was literally panting for air. Where was he? A quick look around confirmed he was back in his bedroom, much to his surprise He reached up to touch his face, feeling the familiar coarseness of his five o'clock shadow. He was alive. But how? Suddenly, the simple explanation hit him like a revelation.

It had been a dream

It had been so realistic. He was actually planning on ending his life that day after work, having the courtesy to pack up his things and turn in his resignation before doing so. Everything had been so vivid, it had felt so real.

Jeffrey couldn't have been more happy it wasn't.

"For God's sake Jeff, will you turn off that damn alarm already?"

His wife! She was alive and well, as was their unborn child. She squinted as she half- sat up in bed, her face quite beautiful in the light of the moon shining through their window.

"Are you ok? You look sick."

He quickly switched off the alarm, the room once again becoming filled with the subtle quietness of the night.

"Never been better." he said as he climbed back into the sheets.

"Honey, you're going to be late for work." Her tone sounded drowsy, as if she were already drifting back to sleep.

Kissing his wife on the forehead as she laid back down, Jeffrey said something that would prove to strengthen the foundation of their marriage for years to come.

"I think I'll take the day off."

 

[Titan]

Most sane beings would say that it is difficult to think deeply when death is staring you in the face. The adrenaline of combat stirs one's emotions into a frenzy, makes it nearly impossible for one to descend into a state of reflection and objective consideration. If a blaster was pointed at your face, the last thing any rational brain would do is ponder about unrelated events.
But this is where Sog Triskan found himself as neon yellow bolts arced past his TIE fighter. The harsh green sky beyond the transparasteel of his cockpit was filled with dozens of other ships--other TIEs jockeying for position with the Lortans. The surface below was pockmarked with flame-filled craters and blasted out buildings, and the horizon was colored red and orange by the distant ground battle in the foothills. The Lortans piloting the airspeeders that flitted through the sky sought to kill him, to drive him and his comrades off of this planet and back into Imperial space. If it weren't for Sog Triskan's brilliant piloting skills, the Lortans would have already succeeded. It was only by the virtue of his training that some stray laser blast hadn't turned his TIE into a smoldering cloud of slag.

Sog's scanners beeped at him. As a Lortan speeder raced underneath and behind hit TIE, Sog pulled on the yoke and executed a roll that brought him directly behind the airspeeder. He twisted a dial on his control console, waited the split-second for the targeting computer to chirp in affirmation, and released a volley of green plasma that vaporized the Lortan's craft and sent metal shrapnel cascading across the city below.

Sog Triskan was a pilot in the Imperial Navy. Only twenty years old, Sog had already illuminated his presence to Imperial Command with only one prior battle under his belt. Most cadets spent a year or more conducting routine patrols on secure Core worlds, but Sog was already being assigned to dangerous missions in the Mid Rim. He had graduated from the Imperial Academy on Prefsbelt, top of his class, and had caught the eye of Captain Kane Sartoza. Captain Sartoza, commander of the esteemed 242nd TIE Fighter Wing, was an astute and perceptive man with decades of decorated wartime experience--so when he specifically requested that a cadet from the Prefsbelt Academy be fast-tracked into his service, Sog Triskan found himself in one of the most respected battlegroups in the entirety of the Imperial Navy. Within months of his deployment, Sog had been sent into battle against a flotilla of pirates that were ravaging trade routes in the Corporate Sector. It was there that Sog discovered his proclivity and capability for aerial combat.

Another airspeeder zoomed past him, and Sog twisted his TIE to pursue. His thoughts were elsewhere, but he was not distracted. He knew the mission (eliminate the Lortan presence and secure the Saloch system). He knew what the stakes were (the Lortans were a group of religious fanatics who had already "purified" six systems in the Yushan Sector). Most of all, he knew the enemy. His squadron had studied the Lortans extensively in the days prior to the battlegroup's arrival on Saloch. Sog was intensely aware of everything that happened around him, and he was mopping up the Lortan's primitive airspeeders with ease.

But all of this was happening automatically. He felt like he was on autopilot, simply going through the motions of the battle and not actively engaging in it. His mind was gone, thinking about events of the previous night, thinking about Laria.

Sog blasted the Lortan's airspeeder out of the sky before swiveling to engage another. As he did, his mind fell completely into the vivid recesses of memory.

#

The night before, Sog sat with two of his squad mates in one of the dozens of mess halls aboard the Star Destroyer Accorder. They'd just come from a briefing on their upcoming battle, and they were discussing the situation before they went to bed to rest up for war.

"We came out of hyperspace a few hours ago," said a red-haired officer named Banks. "We're in the system already, but they're holding us back. It doesn't make any sense. Why aren't they sending us down to Saloch tonight?"

"You heard the Captain," said another officer, a short woman named Skartis. "We emerged at the edge of the system. They're hoping to catch the Lortans by surprise."

Banks shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense, that's what I'm saying. How would showing up farther away give us the element of surprise? Why wouldn't they take us out of hyperspace right on top of them?"

"They'd pick us up on their scanners as soon as we emerged," Sog said, shaking his head. "If the Accorder just popped into realspace in Saloch's orbit ahead of the rest of the battlegroup, the Lortans would ready their defenses and swarm us before the others arrived. If we wait here, then we can come at them with our full force, catch them unprepared."

"It's basic training stuff," Skartis said with a smile. "They oughtta send you back to the Academy, Banks."

Banks frowned and leaned back, gripping the edges of the steel bench that he sat on. "Still doesn't make any sense. We don't need to wait for the rest of the battlegroup. No alien force is a match for even one Star Destroyer. They should've sent us right down their throats."

"For one thing, the Lortans aren't aliens," Skartis said. "They're humans. Did you even listen to the briefing?"

Banks gestured dismissively.

"And another thing," Skartis continued, "what you're saying is simply wrong. Alien forces have taken out Star Destroyers before. Remember what we learned about Ryloth?"

Sog nodded in agreement. Over a decade prior, a terrorist group of Twi'leks known as the Free Ryloth Movement had scuttled a Star Destroyer that was en route to their home planet. This incident, the first of its kind, was largely suppressed in galactic media, but was taught to all cadets at the Imperial Academies as a lesson in hubris. No individual cog of the Empire is indestructible, they had been told--it is only through unity and obedience that the Imperial Navy can control the chaos that is the Outer Rim.

Banks sighed. "Yes, I know. I suppose I'm just anxious to get out there."

Skartis smiled again. "This will be your first battle, won't it?"

"Yours too," Banks said. "I'm glad to be done with patrolling spice mines and escorting bulk freighters. I don't think I've pulled a trigger since the Academy. I half expect the blaster cannons on these TIEs are fake."

Skartis laughed. "Fair enough." She turned. "You've been out before, Sog. You anxious about tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I am," Sog said. "You guys are fresher meat than I am, but not by much. I've only been in one other battle before this."

"Ammuud," Banks said. "In CorpSec. That was right before Skartis and I arrived. Missed it by mere weeks."

"You didn't miss much."

"I don't believe that," Banks said. "Not with how often you and Laria talk about it." He sat up higher in his seat. "Say, where is Laria?"

Sog gave a quick look around. He didn't see her anywhere in the mess. "I'm not sure. She was at the briefing."

"Probably prepping for Saloch," Skartis said, taking a bite from the grey slab that made up her Imperial rations. "I bet she's more excited for tomorrow than any of us. What was her kill count at Ammuud? Seven confirmed?"

"Eight confirmed, three probables," Sog said. He finished up his ration and wiped the sides of his mouth. "Excuse me," he said, standing up and straightening out his grey uniform.

"Say hi to her for me," Skartis said.

Sog nodded, and then left the mess hall. Behind him, Skartis and Banks continued to rile each other up about the forthcoming battle. He felt a heightened sense of condescension as he walked away, like they were children excited about their very first day of school. This feeling struck him as odd, because his combat experience was so trivially greater than theirs. And yet, he couldn't help it. He had experienced what war felt like, and they hadn't. His first battle against that flotilla of pirates had changed him forever, shown him what it truly means to be a soldier for the Empire. Skartis and Banks would experience that feeling tomorrow. But for now they were mere infants, and he no longer desired to speak with infants. He wanted to get in the proper state of mind before the invasion, and speaking to Laria was the best way to do that.

Two turbo lifts and a hundred meters of hallway later, Sog found himself outside of the barracks of Nexu Squadron--his home aboard the Accorder. He swiped his keycard, waited for the hissing door to rise into the ceiling, and strode into the barracks. It was a contained living space for 24 individuals, a common area surrounded by six small dormitories, a unisex refresher, and a private comm room. The common area was well lit and aggressively austere, the only decoration being a large grey and black poster on the wall near the main door that displayed the Imperial Naval Code. Sog read it to himself, as he did every time he stepped through that door:
I WILL HONOR THE EMPIRE IN
MY THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS

I WILL OBEY MY SUPERIORS

I WILL NEVER SHIRK FROM MY DUTIES

I WILL MAINTAIN IMPECCABLE STANDARDS
OF CONDUCT AND APPEARANCE

I WILL USE IMPERIAL RESOURCES
RESPONSIBLY

I WILL COMPLETE EVERY MISSION WITHOUT
HESITATION, AMBIGUITY, OR MERCY

I WILL RECOGNIZE THAT THE EMPIRE IS
GREATER THAN MYSELF AND BE WILLING TO
DIE IN ITS SERVICE

These words echoed through Sog. They didn't make him smile; there was nothing cheery or jovial about them. But they were straightforward. The Empire was a well-oiled machine that fabricated order and peace, and this Code was its owner's manual. It was heartening to him to know that if these spartan teachings were followed to the letter, then the New Order could and would maintain stability across the galaxy. Simpler instructions had never been given to him.

There was one other person in the common area with him--a younger pilot with short, curly black hair. He was reclining on the sofa that sat in the center of the room and reading something on his datapad.

"Evening, Triskan," the pilot said without looking up.

"Relons," Sog replied. Sog walked past the pilot and opened up the door to his dormitory. The three-by-four-meter room was tightly filled with two double bunks and a single dresser. The dorm was empty.

"Hey, Relons," Sog said. "You seen Laria anywhere?"

"She's on a holo," Relons said, keeping his eyes fixated on whatever he was reading.

Sog nodded and glanced at the comm room. There was a red light on the panel by the door, indicating that the holotranceiver was in use.

"Did she mention who with?" Sog asked.

Relons shrugged. "Her mother, I think."

Sog was surprised to hear that. Contacting a loved one over the holonet--while not prohibited by Imperial Command--was highly frowned upon. On the one hand, it no doubt seemed a sign of weakness to contact one's parents on the eve of a battle. On the other hand, Laria was no coward. She had been one of the finest cadets at Prefsbelt, second in piloting ability only to Sog himself. Where she had surpassed him by far, however, was in ground combat, especially in the martial art of Echani. Sog had never met someone so in-tune with the mechanics of her own body as Laria Forelo. She was an astounding soldier, and the Empire was stronger for having her.

Sog had met Laria's mother on the day of their graduation from the Imperial Academy. Tooshara Forelo was a lovely single mother in her sixties who always seemed to find joy in everything that was presented to her. At the graduation ceremony--a purposefully bland event meant to represent the cadets' introductions into something far greater than themselves--Ms. Forelo had broken down in tears of pride and admiration. Afterwards, Ms. Forelo insisted that Sog join her and her daughter for a celebratory dinner. Sog had acquiesced, and spent a charming evening with Laria and her mother at a high-end restaurant under the skyhook that would take them away to their futures in the Empire the following morning.

A dull pain manifested in Sog's chest. Neither of his parents had attended the graduation ceremony. He was fairly certain that they were both dead. A small part of him hoped so, as it was easier to accept that reality than the one where his parents had consciously chosen not to contact him for the last seven years.

He suddenly wished to speak with Laria's mother. He couldn't explain why, but the feeling was almost overwhelming. He was sure that Laria, who was like a sister to him, wouldn't mind his interruption. Tooshara would probably be elated to see him over the holo.

"She said it was private," Relons said, still not looking up.

Sog ignored him and approached the door and swiped his card. It opened with a quiet hiss, allowing him to step in to the room beyond.

The comm room was as big as the common area outside, but much more cluttered. It was dark, with only the blue glow of the three holotranceivers providing any illumination beyond the glow from the common area. Each holotranceiver was in its own cubicle, preventing the displays or projectors from the other machines interfering with each other, and also providing a modicum of privacy. Only one holotranceiver was occupied. Sog quietly sealed the door behind him, and once more plunged the room into darkness and silence.

Sog heard Laria's voice from the farthest holotranceiver, and he realized she hadn't heard him enter. She was speaking with someone in a hushed, almost worried tone. Sog was about to make his presence known when he heard the person on the other end of the holo speak.

The voice wasn't that of a woman. It wasn't even that of a human. Sog stayed by the door and held his breath.

"You're certain this communication is secure?" the garbled voice said. It was watery, like the speaker's mouth was full of froth.

"Absolutely," Laria said, her voice low. "I've installed the spike into the terminal, they can't trace this. Most of my squad mates are out at the mess. No one's listening in."

"Good," the voice said. "You were right to contact us. You're doing the right thing."

"I just didn't know where else to turn," Laria said. Sog could hear the despair in her voice. "I can't take it anymore. It's... I just... I can't be a part of this anymore. I can't."

Sog swallowed a lump in his throat. What was she talking about? Who was she saying this to? He wished to step closer, to catch sight of the blue holographic projection of the alien speaker on the other end. But he dared not move a muscle.

"It's alright," the alien said. "We can help you."

"And I want to help you," Laria said, urgency and passion taking ahold of her words.

"That's good to hear," the alien said. "The Rebel Alliance needs all the help it can get."

#

A light flashed on Sog Triskan's control panel, and once again he found himself in the present. The twin ion engines of his fighter were screaming, the broken remains of buildings were passing underneath, and laser bolts were lighting up the green sky above like fireworks. He glanced at the display--a little digital representation of his TIE surrounded by a field of concentric circles--and saw a red dot indicating that an airspeeder had gotten behind him.

Sog flicked a switch and set his engines to maximum speed, propelling himself forward and up to try and shake his pursuer. Yellow bolts streaked by him, narrowly missing the broad solar arrays to his right and left. He rolled to the left, hoping to break the Lortan's line of sight, but the speeder stayed on him, matching his trajectory exactly.

Whoever was after him was good.

Sog pushed forward on the yoke and sent his TIE into a dive. He aimed straight for the ruined skyscrapers in the city below. The Lortans' airspeeders were maneuverable, but no where near as mobile as a TIE fighter. He pulled up just before slamming into the roof of a wide-domed structure, and then veered left behind a skyscraper. His TIE narrowly avoided careening into the glass windows of an office building, but he pulled hard to starboard at the last second and then flew under another skyscraper that had fallen on its side, hanging over the streets below like a dead tree after a storm. He jockeyed between the buildings, keeping one eye constantly on the display near his hands.

The red dot stayed behind him the entire time.

Insid his obscuring helmet, Sog smiled. He hadn't been challenged once in this battle so far. It was beginning to look like the Lortans didn't have a single competent pilot among them.

He began testing the Lortan pilot by taking a series of increasingly risky maneuvers. Sog rolled his TIE so that he flew horizontally through a hole that had been blasted out of the center of a huge tower, and the airspeeder followed. Yellow laser bolts pelted the durasteel and glass of the buildings around him and created a storm of fire and smoke. Sog pushed the fore of his craft straight down so that he headed into a canyon that ran through the center of the city, pulling up only just as he reached the rushing river at the bottom. There was a slight shudder as the TIE's solar arrays skimmed the surface of the water.

The airspeeder followed him into the canyon, copying his flying pattern perfectly. When the canyon opened up into a waterfall that cascaded down the cliff atop which the city was perched, Sog slammed on the accelerator. His TIE shot out into the open sky and back into the chaos of the battle. The airspeeder stayed right on his tail.

Worse yet, his scanners told him that the airspeeder had opened up a comm channel. Sog scowled. He'd hoped that the Lortan pilot had recognized that the two of them had engaged in what he felt was an honorable test of skill. This was a duel between two warriors, Sog had assumed. Instead the Lortan was calling for backup.

Sog decided that the game had come to an end. With no structures to block him up, Sog pulled down on the throttle and twisted the control stick with the other, executing a Koiogran turn. He was suddenly facing his opponent while maintaining his forward momentum. If he were in space, his TIE would have kept heading the same direction while he carefully lined up a shot on his pursuer. But in the atmosphere of Saloch, gravity and friction fought to deny him such leisure. Sog knew he only had a fraction of a second before his TIE would stall out and the airspeeder would go zipping by him.

Fortunately, he had anticipated this. His opponent had not.

The Lortan must have panicked when he saw Sog's TIE invert itself, because the airspeeder immediately threw on its airbrakes, and it slowed right into the path of Sog's laser cannons.

Sog pulled the trigger and felt a rush of excitement as the airspeeder's engines exploded. The airspeeder started spinning and plummeting to the surface below, clouds of black smoke and flames billowing out behind it. Sog pushed the throttle forward and pulled back on the yoke, righting his TIE and watching with satisfaction as the red dot disappeared from his display.

His victory was short lived, however, as two more dots quickly appeared off to his left.

Sog grunted and gripped the control stick with both hands. He veered port, seeking to intercept the airspeeders before they started firing into his flank. The horizon slanted, the expanse of fields and mountains disappeared to his right, and the city on the cliffs came back into his view. The bulk of the battle was raging in the distance--a cluster of small black dots and colored lines of energy swarming through the sky like glowbugs. Sog knew that the fighting was just as intense on the ground below as the Saloch natives fought against the Lortan's army, but that wasn't his concern. He flipped his scanners over to short range detection and saw the red dots magnify on his display. To his surprise, their courses had changed. They were no longer coming for him. Instead, they were headed upwards into the sky, chasing down another TIE fighter that looked exactly like his.

Sog wasn't sure if the Lortan reinforcements had gotten their targets confused or if they had watched him execute their comrade and were now too afraid to engage him. Either way, Sog's next objective was clear: save his fellow TIE pilot before those airspeeders converged on shot him out of the sky.

Sog gunned his TIE fighter and reveled in the sound of the ion engines screaming in exertion. The metal of the TIE's frame groaned, the displays rattled and chirped in warning. To him, these were sounds of ecstasy. This wasn't his fighter; he'd never flown it before. The Imperial Navy didn't permit pilots getting attached to their ships, preferring to keep their tools of war interchangeable and anonymous. Still, Sog knew that this TIE was enjoying the rush of combat. It lusted for blood and speed. All TIEs did, and he sought to appease them.

The airspeeders were closing on the other TIE. Sog opened his comm channel to the pilot.

"This is Nexu One," Sog said. "You've got two on your six."

The TIE pilot reacted to Sog's warning by rolling just as the first bolts shot by it.

"Roger, Nexu One, this is Nexu Three. Thanks for the heads up."

Sog's heart caught in his chest as he heard Laria's voice over the comm, and once again his mind descended into memory.

#

Sog stood in the entryway of the private comm room. The door to the common area was shut behind him, the holotranceivers cast their eerie blue glow across the dark walls, and Laria was staring straight at him. She was half standing, half sitting in the chair of the farthest holo booth, her posture tensed in anticipation, her eyes filled with absolute horror.

"Sog," she said.

Sog couldn't even respond to her. Laria had just finished her communication with the aquatic alien, ending by telling it that she would be jumping ship at their next friendly port of call and leaving the Empire behind forever. The alien had not only mentioned the Rebel Alliance, it had said that it was a recruiter for the terrorist organization. It was recruiting Laria. The alien hadn't contacted her here, there was no way for it to--Laria had contacted it. Once the holo was over, she had disconnected a small blinking device from the terminal. She turned around coolly, and then she saw Sog.

"How..." she stumbled over her words, her voice coming out raspy and quiet. "How did... Did you hear any..."

"Laria," Sog said. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. He and Laria had been through flight school together, had been by each other's sides all throughout the last six years. They'd thanked the stars when, by pure chance, they'd been assigned to the same battlegroup.

Sog blinked in an effort to erase this moment from his vision. It didn't leave. Laria was still crouching by the terminal, holding an illegal computer spike in her hands and looking like she'd just been caught at the scene of a murder.

"Sog," she said quickly. "Please. Don't--Don't shout. Don't do anything brash. Just... Just let me explain."

"Explain?" Sog said. "Laria, what the heck is happening here? What was that? Who was that?"

Laria slowly placed the spike inside her coat. "It wasn't anything. It wasn't anybody, Sog. I wasn't talking to anybody."

"I saw everything," Sog said. "I don't believe I... Laria, you're a..." The words wouldn't leave his throat.

"I'm not," she said. "I'm not. I'm still with you."

"The Rebels?" Sog said, the word sounding blasphemous to his ears. "You're defecting? How? Why?"

"Sog, please. Please. This can't leave this room. Sog, you have to promise me."

Sog shook his head. "No," he said, pausing. "You're a traitor--A traitor to the Empire. A traitor to... To me."

"I'm not." She rushed up to him, and he flinched. She grabbed both of his arms and stared up into his face. Sog was tall, much taller than her, and she had to crane her neck back to meet his eyes. Her eyes were deep brown, even in the dim blue light of the holotranceivers. Her short auburn hair framed her pleading face.

"I would never betray you, Sog. Never. This has absolutely nothing to do with you. It's... It's me. I can't--I can't take this anymore. What we do. The things they make us do. Sog, this place is poison. These people, this Empire, it's... bad."

"What are you talking about?" Sog said. He couldn't understand where this was coming from, what had led her to this. Why was she doing such a horrible thing? "The Empire is our life. The Empire is everything. It's order, it's peace, it's--" He shook his head. "Why am I explaining--You know this, Laria! You know this as well as I do."

"It's evil, Sog," she said. He knew from her voice that the words were hard for her to say, but it sounded like she believed them.

"Laria, I can't abide this. I have to report... this. You." He turned to the door.

She pulled him back.

"Sog, please. You can't turn me over to them. You can't. I don't want to hurt anyone, especially you. I just want to get out. I just need to leave."

"I have to," he said. "I would be betraying everything I stood for if I saw this and didn't say anything. I have to, Laria."

"No," she almost shouted. "You're a good person, Sog. You're loyal to a fault. But you're loyal to the people who matter to you. I know you, better than anyone. There's nothing more important to you than your team. Skartis, Banks, Relons, Antion, Temm... I'm part of that team, Sog. You can't turn me over to them."

"You're not part of my team anymore," Sog said. "Not after witnessing that. You're not an Imperial."

"I'm not," she said quietly. "But I'm still part of your team, Sog. Not theirs. Not Palpatine's. I'm part of you."

Sog didn't say anything to that.

Her lips trembled. "You know what they'll do to me if you turn me in. I won't be discharged, I won't be tried. They'll torture me, Sog. We've seen it happen. They'll drain me for information I don't have, and then days, maybe weeks later, they'll execute me in front of everyone. Sog, you can't let that happen to me. Not to one of your own."

Sog knew she was right. After the battle above Ammuun, it was discovered that a comms operator aboard the Accorder had been leaking military trade route information to the pirates. Captain Sartoza had the comms operator stripped down and paraded into the central hangar bay, where much of the Star Destroyer's crew and troops had been assembled. The comms operator, a woman named Keeni Jusako, was forced to her knees and shot through the back of the head after admitting to her treachery. From the bruises and cuts that covered her skin, it was clear that the interrogation droids had had some time with her before the public execution.

Sog couldn't have that happen to Laria. She was right; she was part of his squad. And even if a member of his squad a mistake, he would stand by them. It was the right thing to do.

After a moment of standing with her in the near darkness, he turned his back to her. "You took an oath," he said.

"I have to leave, Sog," Laria said. "I can't be a part of this. Not willingly. I'd rather die."

Sog winced. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly through his nose. Then he opened the door to the common area and walked out.

"Sog, wait--"

Relons was still on the sofa, data pad in hand. He looked up as Sog entered.

"I heard yelling," Relons said. "Everything okay?"

Laria rushed out of the darkness into the common area, eyes wide and begging. Sog didn't even look back at her.

"Argument with her mother," he said, and then stormed into his dormitory.

#

"Nexu One, I could use a hand here," Laria said. She was dodging left and right, barely keeping ahead of the yellow laser blasts from the airspeeders.

Sog just kept staring ahead. There was Laria, still flying her TIE fighter the day after openly telling him that she was planning on abandoning the Empire. She was a deserter, she practically said so herself. She couldn't stand the thought of being in the Imperial Navy a day longer, and yet here she was the next day.

Laria, his friend. Laria, the Rebel sympathizer. Laria, the traitor.

TIE fighters didn't have any shielding, and barely any armor to speak of. If even one of those brilliant yellow bolts struck her fighter, she was dead.

"Nexu One," Laria shouted over the comms. "They're all over me; I need you!"

Sog shook his head. No. Laria was not a traitor. Not today, at least. Right now, she was his squad mate. His wingman. And she needed his help.

Sog's TIE fighter tore through the open sky and closed the gap between him and the airspeeders. They reacted to his arrival by peeling off of Laria's TIE and trying to come around to face him, but these two weren't nearly as skilled as the last Lortan pilot. Sog caught the first one just as it veered left, blasting it in half with two pulls of the trigger. The second one managed to escape his field of fire and, seeing that it was now outnumbered, began to turn and flee. Sog pulled a quick pitchback, gaining altitude and closing on the slower airspeeder. He fired two shots that went over the Lortan's bow, dropped slightly, and then vaporized the airspeeder with a third shot.

"Thanks, Nexu One," came Laria's voice over the comm.

Sog hesitated, then said, "Return to formation, Nexu Three. We're not done yet."

"Roger, Nexu One."

Laria's TIE took off into the cloud of fighters above. Sog waited for a moment, watched her rise into the sky until she was just another speck--uniform, aggressive, nameless--and then followed.

#

"...Not have done it without the aid of the Empire. You have saved us in our most desperate hour."

Sog barely listened to the towering alien as it spoke. His mind was racing, still going back to the events of the night before.

Sog and nearly fifty other TIE pilots stood at attention in a blasted plot of land that might have been a park before the Lortans arrived. Rows of TIE fighters were parked behind the pilots, standing on their wings on the uneven ground (a landing method that always greatly agitated Sog--TIEs weren't structurally designed to be supported by their wings for long). In front of them, standing atop a makeshift stage, was Captain Kane Sartoza, still in his flight suit and standing proud with his arms behind his back. He was flanked by Admiral Yax Vonteri and Lieutenant Commander Stiern Kotops, two men whom Sog knew by reputation but not by acquaintance. Accordingly, a squad of stormtroopers stood behind them with rifles low. Opposite them stood a gathering of Tunroth, the denizens of Saloch. The Tunroth were huge, hulking aliens with wide heads and tusks emerging from their lower jaws. None of them were wearing armor, and each carried a primitive club that was adorned with metal blades. It seemed impossible to Sog that such creatures were capable of constructing the once-mighty skyscrapers that stood in ruins around them.

The Tunroth at the head of the group--their leader, judging by his cape and scepter--was presenting Captain Sartoza with a weighty-looking medallion with a leather band. Sog could not tell if Captain Sartoza was particularly honored, but the Captain played the part in any case.

"When the Lortan fanatics first landed on our planet, my people made short work of them. But then they brought their spaceships, and their blasters, and their airspeeders... And my people experienced crippling loss for the first time in our history." The alien looked deeply humbled by this admission. Sog suppressed a sigh. Captain Sartoza had briefed the 242nd TIE Fighter Wing on the native Tunroth before their arrival on Saloch. The Tunroth, despite their capacity to travel the stars, had refused to harness blaster technology in the entirety of their civilization. They were a warrior race, and saw blasters as an obstruction of honor. Their people fought each other in wars with swords and axes and their bizarre bladed clubs that they called "kilters." As a species, they had decided to refute and deny the usefulness or even the existence of blasters. It was unsurprising to Sog that the Lortans had conquered so many of the Tunroth's worlds.

"We were doomed," the Tunroth said somberly. "Though we never gave up fighting the invaders, my people knew that our race was at an end. But then, as if sent by the gods, you descended from the heavens to slay the Lortans by our side. My people are far too proud to ask for assistance, but still you came. You have saved the Tunroth, Captain Sartoza. For this, my people will always be in the Empire's debt."

Sartoza bowed, and the Tunroth placed the medallion around the Captain's neck. Sartoza stumbled ever-so-slightly from the weight of the hunk of metal, but he retained his balance. Rising to his full height, he turned towards the audience of TIE pilots and civilian Tunroth. He bowed again, and the audience applauded.

Laria, who was standing next to Sog, leaned over to him slightly. The applause drowned out her whispers so that no one could hear her but Sog.

"This is such sithspit," she said. "These people think the Empire came here to save them. If that were true, then why didn't they come earlier? Why didn't they save Rrulinn? Or Quaensan Prime? It was only when the Lortans became the Empire's problem, when they started interfering with Mid Rim trade routes, that the Empire stepped in."

Laria nodded up to the stage. "But look at Sartoza, accepting that medal like he's some kind of hero. If we'd shown up a day later and the Tunroth had been wiped out, no one in Imperial Command would have lost a wink of sleep."

Sog heard her words, but he didn't listen to them. The only thing she said that resonated with him was the word "they." She considered the Empire a "they," not a "we."

She kept looking at him, waiting for him to say something. When he never did, she leaned away and looked down at her feet. "Thank you," she whispered.

The Tunroth leader knelt to bow before Captain Sartoza, and then Sartoza began a speech of his own. It was filled with the same kind of rhetoric that Sog had heard a dozen times before, and he didn't listen. All he kept thinking about was the person beside him. She was simultaneously his friend and his enemy. An ally and a traitor. The venom in her words was evident. Her hate for the Empire was so palpable he could almost taste it. She claimed that she wasn't going to hurt anyone, that she just wanted to leave this all behind, but he heard her talking to the Rebel recuitor last night. She didn't just want to get out, she wanted to join them. Even if she wasn't hurting anyone in his squad now, soon she would be actively fighting against them. Should he just let her go and hope that one day she doesn't blow up a factory? Or bomb an Empire Day parade? Or shoot Banks or Skartis out of the sky? She wasn't just abandoning him--she was betraying him. He thought of the COMPNOR-approved poster that he and Relons had put up in the streets of Hanna City on Chandrila a year ago. YOUR EMPEROR COMMANDS YOU, it read, imposed over a background of stormtroopers arranged in a stylized Imperial crest. EXPOSE, PURSUE, DESTROY THOSE WHO WOULD RESIST US!

And yet still Sog knew he couldn't turn her over to the Empire. She was practically his family. When he was alone in the Academy, when all of the other recruits were receiving holos or care packages from their families, she had always been the one to seek him out and provide him company. When they were seventeen and the Academy had thrown a ball in honor of the visiting Moff Tarkin, Laria had rejected the hands of half a dozen other cadets to dance with him at the stroke of midnight. Not six months ago during the battle above Ammuud, she'd saved his life. Blasted a pirate's Z-95 out of the air just as it had acquired a lock on Sog's TIE.

His loyalties were pulling him apart. The galaxy needed the Empire, that much he was sure of. Never, in all of the galaxy's history, had there been such a prolonged era of peace as they were experiencing now. The Empire meant order and security to all those under its banner.

But he couldn't give up Laria. He couldn't. All of his training told him that he must, that she was a threat, a danger to all he held sacred and dear.

Captain Sartoza finished his speech and bowed again before stepping off the stage. The pilots began to disperse.

"Well," Laria said, putting on her helmet. "See you back up there."

Sog stood still. The Tunroth were departing. Sartoza was walking by him, headed for his TIE intercepter.

He couldn't let Laria go.

"Sir," Sog said. "Captain Sartoza."

Sartoza paused mid-stride, body wavering from the massive medallion that hung around his neck. Recognizing Sog amongst the amalgam of black-clad pilots, he grinned slightly and altered his course.

"Lieutenant Triskan," the Captain said. "That was some flying you did today. I heard about your in-atmo Koiogran. I'm impressed."

"Sir," Sog said. "There's something I have to tell you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sog saw Laria stop and turn towards him. He could almost see the terror on her face through the mask.

Sartoza frowned. "Is it so important that it can't wait until we're back aboard the Accorder? I'm anxious to get off this miserable rock."

"It is, sir."

"Alright, then. Out with it, son."

Sog breathed in deep. "During the skirmish... There was an airspeeder that escaped. A Lortan fighter. I tried to pursue, but I was intercepted and forced to disengage."

"A single airspeeder?" Sortoza said. "That's not exactly a cause for alarm."

"These Lortans are zealots, sir. Fanatics, as the Tunroth said. I fear that if even one combatant from this battle survives, he will be viewed as a hero or prophet and inspire others to seek vengeance. It could grow, sir."

"One pilot, though? I think you're overreacting, son."

"The Seperatist Crisis started with one planet leaving the Republic. Sir."

Sartoza blinked at that. He stroked his chin, and then nodded. "You raise a good point. What do you suggest?"

"It was, as you said, only a single ship," Sog said. "I recommend that myself and another pilot hunt down this straggler and deal with him."

Sartoza nodded. "A solid plan. You should have joined the ISB, Triskan. You'd go far." Sartoza looked around him, and his gaze fell on the only TIE pilot that remained around them: the stunned and staring Lieutenant Laria Forelo.

"You. Your return to the Accorder has been delayed. You're following Lieutenant Triskan on a recon mission."

Laria turned her helmeted head from Sartoza to Sog and back. "But, sir, I--"

"You can have celebratory drinks with your comrades when this task is done," Sartoza said. "This is an order, Lieutenant."

Laria stood silent for a moment. "Yes, sir," she said at last.

Sartoza grinned, clapped Sog on the shoulder, and made for his TIE interceptor. As soon as he was out of earshot, Laria walked up to Sog.

"Sog, what the heck are you doing? None of the Lortans escaped. You made sure of that."

Sog pushed by her. "Follow me," he said.

She did. The two of them climbed into their TIEs and flew off into Saloch's emerald sky.

#

The two TIE fighters cleared the borders of the destroyed city in seconds. Behind them, dozens of identical ships were rising into the air to dock with the Star Destroyer that wasn't anymore than a wedge-shaped dot in the cloudless sky above. To their right, Saloch's primary was setting on the horizon, casting shadows across the spine of mountains that bordered the massive plains that surrounded the city.

"Sog," Laria said over private comms. "What's going on? What are we doing out here?"

"Fly past the ridge," Sog said. "Into the desert beyond the mountains. Touch down when I do."

"But Sog, I don't--"

Sog silenced his comms. For the next few minutes, he did nothing but fly straight and think. The craggy, snow-frosted mountains passed underneath him, giving way to an endless sea of sand that was broken up by islands of jagged rock. It took him nearly five minutes to find a suitable spot that would fit both of their fighters. Their TIEs landed in a patch of rough sand that rested in the bowl of a massive slab of rock, like water left on a boulder at high tide. Sog undid his flight harness, opened the boarding hatch, threw down the emergency escape ladder, and climbed to the sand below.

The moment he removed his climate-controlled helmet, he began to sweat. Saloch's deserts were as infuriatingly inhospitable as the rest of the planet. Sog found himself wondering why the Lortan's fought so hard to claim it.

"Sog," came Laria's voice from behind him. She too had removed her helmet and was now marching across the sand towards him.

"What is going on?" she said. "Why did you lie to the Captain? What are we doing out here?"

"We need to talk," Sog said.

Laria looked away. "Sog... I know you're upset. But I told you: this is something that I have to do. I can't stay here. The Empire is monstrous."

"If you're just going to keep saying the same things, then we aren't talking. It's just you preaching to me."

Laria looked at him briefly, and then looked away again. "I'm sorry." She waited, staring at him, her sweaty hair falling across her face and sticking to her skin.

"Come with me," she said, but Sog knew she didn't mean it. It was said as a placating gesture, an attempt to show him that she still cared about him.

"I would never do that," Sog said.

"I know," she said. Then she smiled. "Can't blame a girl for trying, right?"

"Is there anything that I can say to convince you to stay?" Sog asked. "Anything at all?"

Laria frowned deeply, bowed her head. "No," she said. "My mind is made up, Sog."

"So you're joining them, then? Taking up with the enemy?"

Laria looked like she was about to say something, to offer a counter point, but she just nodded slowly instead.

"Even though you know what it could come down to?" Sog said. "That there may come a day when the two of us could meet on the battlefield?"

Laria closed her eyes at that. It was clearly something that she had thought about frequently, something that truly upset her. It made Sog's heart sink.

She licked her dry lips. "The odds of that happening--"

"You're willing to risk it?" Sog asked.

Laria was silent.

Sog shook his head. kark it.

"The Empire is evil," Laria said after a moment. "This I know. If it came down to it, Sog... If ever I ran into you while fighting the Empire... I like to think that we'd recognize each other and we would aim another direction, but I honestly don't know. Every fiber of my being tells me that the Empire is the cause of all the suffering in the galaxy, and the people who support it must... can't..." Her words trailed off.

"The Empire is peace and order," Sog said. He wasn't yelling, he wasn't arguing. He was simply stating it. "What you said back there, about the Tunroth and the Lortans, about the Empire only interfering becaue it was threatening Imperial interests... Don't you see? That is what makes the Empire a force for good. It isn't motivated by emotion or... or passion. It's driven by the need for the galaxy and its inhabitants to succeed. Do you think Saloch is the only planet in the galaxy ravaged by internal struggle? If the Empire just went around helping everyone, that would be the only thing that the Empire did. It would consume all of our resources and destroy the galaxy. Then everyone would suffer."

Laria bit her lip. "It's still not right that so many Tunroth had to die before they deemed it necessary to intervene."

"If the Empire didn't intervene, then nobody would have intervened!" Sog was shouting now, and he forced himself to calm down. "Not all wrongs can be righted, Laria. Pirates are always going to raid ships, terrorists are always going to blow up hospitals. Sometimes bad things happen in the galaxy. That's just the way it is." He sighed. "But at least with the Empire, I can wake up every day knowing that I make a difference. That I put some sort of dent into the vacuum of chaos and despondancy that lurks at the edges of our civilization."

"At what cost, Sog?" Laria's head shot up. Sog thought she might be crying, but instead he only saw righteous indignation in her eyes. "How many worlds do you have to burn? How many executions do you have to witness before you start to think that maybe the ends don't justify the means? At what point do you sacrifice your humanity for the sake of your precious Empire?"

Sog thought back to the poster on the wall of his barracks. I WILL RECOGNIZE THAT THE EMPIRE IS GREATER THAN MYSELF AND BE WILLING TO DIE IN ITS SERVICE.

"I would sacrifice everything, Laria," he said. "Except for you."

In spite of her anger, he saw her eyes light up. She stood straighter, loosened her balled-up fists.

"I won't turn you over to some tribunal," Sog said. "I won't let them torture you."

"Thank you," Laria said.

"But I can't let you kill my comrades." Sog reached to his side and put his hand on the grip of his sidearm. But he didn't draw it. He waited for Laria to see what he was doing, to catch on to his meaning.

"Sog..." Her voice was hoarse, as if she'd spent days heaving or crying. "What are... What are you doing?"

"Grab your gun," he said.

She gingerly touched the blaster at her side, as if surprised and disgusted by its presence. "No, Sog, this isn't how--"

"I said grab your gun." Sog could feel tears welling up in his eyes. "I won't shoot someone unless they're armed and staring me in the eye. Now draw your fragginged gun."

"Sog." Laria's words became stern and commanding. "This isn't how this is supposed to happen. We can't do this to each other. We can't."

Sog blinked back tears, but it did no good. He began yelling in an attempt to fight them away.

"I said, Draw. Your. Gun."

"Sog..."

"Draw your gun, Rebel!"

Laria flinched, and whipped out her pistol. Sog blinked, then drew his own, but not quick enough. Laria lifted her arm and fired without aiming, shooting a searing bolt of plasma right by Sog's head and hitting the solar array of his TIE. Before she could get off another shot, Sog's gun was up, leveled on her torso. He kept expecting a chime to go off, telling him he'd locked on to his target.

There was no chime. Only the singing pop of the blaster as it rocked in his hands and sent a bolt into Laria's chest. Her eyes bulged and her feet came out from under her.

Sog stood completely still as Laria collapsed into the sand. The gun was shaking in his hand, his teeth were clattering.

Laria was on her back. She wasn't moving.

He waited. Held his breath to listen. He heard nothing in response. No gasps, no cries of pain, no breathing.

When the smoke cleared from the hole in Laria's chestplate, Sog fell to his knees and sobbed into an empty desert on a nearly dead world.

#

He buried Laria in the sands of Saloch. He blasted her TIE fighter apart from the air and did his best to make it look like she'd been shot down. Then he returned to the Accorder.

Captain Sartoza summoned him the moment he arrived. He demanded to know how the mission went, to which Sog responded that it was successful. Sartoza asked about Laria's whereabouts, and Sog told him that she'd been shot out of the sky in pursuit of the airspeeder, taking down the Lortan with her last breath.

Sartoza didn't question him further. He had no reason to disbelieve anything Sog had to say.

But it was the last time that Sog would ever lie to his Empire. He swore to it.

As he walked back to his barracks and into the embrace of his squad mates, he swore again: He would never let any of them die without reason. He would never allow the Empire to decide their fates for him. Laria was the last time.

As the Accorder jumped into hyperspace, Sog Triskan overheard Skartis asking Banks what he thought of their first battle.

"Well, I'll say this," said Banks. "I'm not the same person I was yesteday."

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Griswold wandered around through the winding corridors of the cathedral, moving deliberately, listening carefully around every corner, every darkened alcove filled with shadow. It wasn’t that he thought there were people or creatures waiting in them to attack him, it was just that he was afraid of the dark. It had not helped that every child in the Cathedral had always slept with a light of some sort in the bunk rooms. The Nun’s kept it going throughout the night so that the smoke from the fireplace continued to stretch to the heavens unbroken. One fire had been light and never put out, an eternal flame, since the Cathedral was built. The deep mystery of the unknown was what trouble him day in and day out, that was why he became religious. He sought answers and answers were difficult to come by without guidance. What he had sought in religion he had not found. Not meaningful answers to life’s many mysteries or guidance on the long journey of his life. What he had found was quiet, darkness, and solidarity.

The floorboards creaked at his passing and he stopped, listening carefully for other noises. He could hear whispers from below him. Probably some other parishioners moving around in the more populated areas of the Cathedral, speaking among themselves. He continued, careful with his footing now that he knew the floors creaked as he made his way through the building.

The sun was long since gone, and soon the inhabitants would begin their nightly rituals leaving Griswold to explore unheeded and unnoticed. The young man didn’t like the thought of them knowing he was rustling around in their church for whatever reason, much less knowing he was looking for something important. Not important to him, but important to them. Something they would pay to have back, but more than that, something that might offer him any solace in discovering his own path. Plus there was always the old rule the children had been drilled that no one is allowed to wander at night, since it disturbs the boards too much or some such. All his life he had been told not to wander around at night and the Cathedral had a long history of having every child in bed by nine at night. Every time he had asked the nuns why, he had always been chastised or told that had been the way it always was since the Cathedral was first built, even the Bishop was in his room by nine.

He turned a corner and stumbled into a small offering table, knocking the cup and plate from the little wooden object with them clattering to the floor. Griswold heard an older man call out, “Who goes?”, as he turned around, running in the opposite direction. Deeper into the darkness of the Cathedral after dark. His feet carried him quickly, quietly, through the darkened corners where less and less light fell, the shadows grasping at his form as he escaped the inquisitive nature of the Bishop.

The old man was already in his nightgown for the night, and he looked either way, down all three corridors before setting the cup and the plate back on the table and straightening it. Bishop Horace was a good man, always helped those that asked, kind and gentle. He would have been understanding and let Griswold go about his own way if he had found the young man. Griswold knew that, but he didn’t want to deal with a long drawn out speech and questioning from the older gentleman. That would have led to further conversations and questions, more poking around in his business, and more warnings about requiring faith in everything that they do.

Griswold waited in the shadows, his heart pounding, blood surging through him panicky despite knowing the man seeking him would have little more consequence to offer than a mild chastising. It was the dark that scared him, not the Bishop. At every false shadow, every imagined whisper or noise he heard, his eyes snapped in all directions, seeking the source, but it was only his own breath against the drapes, the wind rustling the fabric, or his own imagination. His fear pressed on him, stealing his breath while he held his hand over his mouth. He could have sworn the bishop looked straight at him when he was peering into the blackness of the corridor, even smiled as he caught sight of Griswold, but the bishop’s eyes moved elsewhere and Griswold sighed very softly with relief. He lied in wait, watching the old man shuffle things around on the little table, making sure everything was just as he liked it before glancing down all three hallways once again and going back the way he came, accepting that it had been nothing more than random happenstance.

Griswold waited for several more minutes before making his way out through the darkened corridor. He hadn’t liked it in there, he felt trapped, scared, deafened. It was the dark that had burned in his mind, worried him. Slowly and carefully, the young man continued his journey through the Cathedral seeking his answers.

He crept through the corridors, around pillars looking at each painting or ornamental object. Nothing much interested him, much less intrigued him enough to have an existential conversation with himself. No, they were all just meaningless trinkets, important only to a few old men who thought they were because they were. There was nothing fantastic or amazing about anything that Griswold found within the Cathedral. As he worked his way through the building, doubling back, he say the very dark hallway he had hidden in again. It look ominous and foreboding, far too dark and troublesome for what was a place of worship and rejoicing.

Curiosity gripped at him, <What if the good stuff, the really important stuff, is kept that way?> He thought to himself as he looked at it. No, not without a light of some sort to keep him company. Certainly not in that place. Griswold saw that there was a candle on the table now, probably left by the Bishop when he had been investigating the noise Griswold had caused earlier. It was unlit, it looked very new, in fact. Even the wick was still white, not blackened from being burned. The Bishop must have forgotten a light for it when he hastily made his way into the corridor. The old man wasn’t exactly known for having the best memory in the Cathedral after all. Griswold looked around for something to light it with, but he didn’t find anything immediately. It wasn’t like he carried matches on himself at all times.

There was a small statue, nothing out of the ordinary, but he hadn’t remembered it being there when he had knocked other objects from the table. It was stone, he could tell, and upon some inspection, it appeared to be a man he did not recognize. Griswold picked it up, and it was heavy for its small size, but still easily hefted in one hand. It interested him unlike the other objects in the Cathedral. “Maybe latter.” He said aloud, noticing that he spoke and covering his mouth looking in all three corridors for anyone who may have heard him. No one. Not even an insect fluttered down any of the corridors.

Griswold left the little statue and took the unlit candle, turning back the way he had come to seek out a match, something to light the candle before he continued exploring the darkened corridor. It felt like an hour or more before he found the kitchens and lit the little candle, but he finally had his light, his bright beacon to burn away the dark that he feared while he explored. It was just past twilight now, so there were still many hours left in the night to seek out what he wanted.

The adolescent made his way through winding stairs, back up to the upper levels and across the corridors and passages that made up the cathedral working his way back to the darkened corridor that had so intrigued him. When he arrived, he stopped to look down the hallway, his little light cast into the darkness. Long shadows crept backwards from it, releasing their hold on the furniture and drapes down the passage. Griswold could see nothing special, but he knew there were rooms this way. No hallway was so completely devoid of anything.

Quietly he padded down the hallway, glad that he had bothered to fetch a candle before exploring this way as the dark gripped at every corner, like it hung there until burned off by the light of the small flame he carried. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of darkness being controlled by some supernatural means. Griswold came to the first door and opened it with a long creaking as it slowly swung open, revealing a study. The Bishop’s Study perhaps? It would make sense given how close Bishop Horace had been too the corridor when he had made all that noise. That meant that the Bishop slept just down the other way, obviously within ear shot. The room had books, a desk, even a few other things like a liquor cabinet, though it was empty and dry as a bone.

Griswold looked around the room, and began digging through bookshelves looking for anything neat he could find that he liked. Maybe that was it; that he liked exploring and that would be where he found his purpose, his calling as it were. Exploring old ruins with people, digging out ancient artifacts from the sand. His fear of the dark was manageable if he had to, he would just have to buckle down and work on it, convince himself the fear was all in his head.

Griswold shuffled the books around on a shelf, and removed one of those statues he found, the same figure, and placed them on the desk. The Bishop wouldn’t remember if he had left them out or not anyway, so he didn’t have to worry about putting them back in a precise order or anything. Griswold plucked up a book and heard an audible click from the shelf. The young man stood back for a moment, jerking his hand away. After the initial shock he gathered his courage again and took up his candle, still burning bright and investigated the sound. There was a small pressure plate beneath the book, labeled “The Deepest Desert”, and when Griswold removed it, again, he heard the click. A lock perhaps? The young man began investigating the whole shelf, pulling off as many books as he could until he found another pressure plate, this time near the middle of the shelf. Another click just above the panel. Again he searched the shelf, finding a third pressure plate on the left side of the shelf. Griswold could tell that the shelf formed a rectangle with a pressure plate lock in the middle of each of the four sides of the rectangle. It made the fourth one much easier to find knowing that and when it clicked open, the shelf popped as it slid backwards, hissing out stale air.

The shelf slid backwards slowly and stopped, stuck partway open. Griswold had to put his back into forcing it open and in his struggle, he tripped and fell over, slipping on loose paper. The young man landed on something hard and heavy as he fell over with a thud and an oof. “Ow, what the hell.” He muttered to himself, looking back on the floor and seeing the statue, its head broken off and a few small slivers of broken stone lying around. “Oh, crap… how am I going to fix this?” He said, picking up the broken statue and holding it in his hands. He scrambled, looking for some glue in one of the drawers of the study, digging through the desk thoroughly, desperate to find anything that could help fix the little statuette he had accidently broke.

An hour passed and Griswold relented, unable to find anything and in the pits of despair. He was caught, his exploring days done with before he had even truly begun. Bishop Horace would be kind and lenient, but the Nuns were brutal, they would rap on his knuckles with those rulers and he would spend the next several weeks cleaning the privies, much less be allowed to explore after dark. <Wait. There is another one of these down the hall. I can just hide this one in the passage and replace it with the other. And I’ll still be able to go exploring in it.> Griswold grinned to himself, pleased with the plan he had concocted in his desperation. He took up his candle and finished pushing the shelf backwards when it slid partially to the left exposing a thin passage, a little taller and wider than he was, but not by much.

Taking the broken statuette he entered the passage, putting the thing down in the corner of the shelf just inside the passage. He could get some glue tomorrow during the day and tomorrow night make his way back here and fix it. No one would be the wiser of the incident. It wasn’t like people came up her all that often, the thick layer of dust told him that much.

Inside the passage the walls were bare stone. Obviously a space had been left between the walls of the other here for that reason, just enough to create a tight passage through the Cathedral. The floor was cold stone, there were some stains on the walls and on the floor, probably just paint spilt when they were working on the Cathedral centuries ago. Griswold pressed onward as the passage stopped in a winding spiral staircase downwards, and he could see the little shadows retreating again as he held his little candle out to peer inside. He had that shiver again as his mind played tricks on him, telling him that the shadows were letting go of the surfaces as they retreated, as though frightened, personified. “No, Gris, you gotta stop that.” He said aloud to himself, building up his courage again as he prepared to descend down the stairwell into the utter blackness and unknown. He had started today to find something that would reveal some importance or existential thought in his mind, and perhaps this passageway was that thing, rather than an object it was an adventure that would lead him onwards in his life. Archaeology would be a fun career path for the young explorer, going into old ruins, making discoveries no one else had ever dreamed of before he found them, ancient treasures unlike anything anyone had seen before, and old texts that would open new and amazing windows into what the past was like for people.

The stairs stretched ever onward, deeper, and deeper into the blackness, but now Griswold had courage, a future he had to convince himself to fight for, and so he went ever onward into the breach, holding his courage, and his candle tight. The stairwell rounded and Griswold’s fingers touched something, where the stone had been furrowed out ever so slightly. He held his candle up and touched the three little lines in the stone, deepest at the top and trailing away as they pulled towards downstairs. His spine shivered and he looked worriedly back up the way before shaking his head, no. “No Griz, gotta do this. It’s probably just were some tool nicked the wall while they were working on it.” What other explanation was there that made sense? He took up his candle and continued, only a handful more steps until it opened up into a long corridor, so long that he could not see the end. To either side pillars sat, probably the foundation given how long he walked down the spiral staircase. The young man began making his way down the corridor, cobwebs hung in the corners, and a thick layer of dust covered everything. No insects crawled, no water leaked. Nothing appeared as though anyone had been in this corridor for years other than the trail of foot prints in the dust leading in both directions. Perhaps this was where the Bishop came to get some peace and quiet, or where he kept his secrets? Maybe the Bishops had always used this as a little, very private recluse like all the kings and queens had in the ancient times.

Griswold made his way down the corridor, taking his time, being quiet in case the Bishop was in the room at the very end of the hall, he could see the door now that he had made it about half way. His eyes glanced to the side of the corridor and he frowned, confused by what he saw. It was a simple painting of a silhouette, nothing more, no features, just a very detailed silhouette of a woman in an odd pose, as though she had her head buried in her hands. It was odd, confusing him as to why anyone would bother painting just a black silhouette on the wall. He turned and say another, this one a child, maybe a young teenager crouching, covering its ears. As he inspected it, between many pillars there was such a painting, all unique, all in different poses. Griswold looked at them, each of them and inspected them closely. On some, the silhouettes obviously wore older clothing, like Elizabethan era clothes. Some had Eighteenth century wigs on, others wore more modern clothing. There was nothing truly similar about them as a whole. Each was unique in its own ways, as unique as a silhouette could be, and each had enough subtle differences that none of them could be mistaken as the same. He moved back the way he had come some, looking and he saw that some of the spaces between the pillars were empty, bare walls with no painting on them. What could the paintings represent? His mind wandered and swam while he slowly moved down the hall towards the room, still looking to each silhouette painting with wonder and curiosity.

When he reached the door he found it to be latched from the outside, but he slid it open without much difficulty. In fact, he didn’t struggle with the latch at all. The door opened, the hinges on the outside rusted over offered some resistance, but not much. Not enough to deter the young man as he entered the little room. The room was smaller than he anticipated, and it didn’t really have anything in it like he thought a Bishops escape would have. There was no couch, no bed. Not even a desk. There was only a chest carved of stone on the far side of the room and nothing else he could see as he took the first step into the room.

Griswold gasped as he glanced around, dozens of silhouettes were painted on each wall and the ceiling, all different than the ones in the hallway. These ones were very different from those, they didn’t have any fancy clothing and there weren’t entirely unique. These were all similar to each other, like they were all from the same general place doing the same thing. The young man approached the chest and saw that it was closed. As he crouched to look it over, he noticed it had writing on it, Latin from what he could tell.

Quid est, in aeternum, sedet in vincti. A prima luce usque ad vesperam sole,​

necesse est ut remaneat ex hodierna die et finem dierum.​

His Latin was never great but he could make out some of it, Sun’s Light stuck out to him, as did to the end of days, but not much else. He could translate it tomorrow sometime though. Quickly he scribbled the words onto his hand and started to turn to leave, satisfied for tonight. As he began he saw an old piece of parchment on the floor, something very old given the looks of it, and so he plucked it. The piece of paper had been tucked slightly beneath the chest, almost completely hidden beneath it. Griswold squinted in the dim light to read it, but it was written in English.

“Day Thirty Six
They started building something in the bottom of the Cathedral a few weeks ago. They make us all leave when night falls and they won’t say why, but some of us are asking questions now that Samuel went missing. Samuel was the loudest voice before yesterday about why they made us leave before nightfall every day, no matter what, now there are some others. The Judges won’t say, they are keeping tight lipped about it.

Day Fifty Eight
Gregor went missing last night. He went to investigate what the Judges had been doing all day in the foundation. They hustled out just before dusk, and he went to look at what they had done. Two days ago he said they scribbled a bunch of writing on the walls but that was it. Nothing we can read, it’s all Latin and the Judges are exactly forthcoming about information. They just keep telling us to leave at night and don’t come back until morning. Gregor thought they had been up to something at night, but I guess not.

Day Ninety
No one has gone missing for a while, the Judges cracked down pretty hard after Gregor went missing. Talking about going and seeing what they are up to in that tunnel with some guys, but the Judges found out. They tossed around words like excommunication and witchcraft to scare us off, and it worked for the most part. No one is interested in testing them given how quick they have been to toss people out lately. I just know they are up to something.

Day One Hundred Eighteen
One of the Judges got dragged out of bed by the rest of them last night. All nineteen of them jumped him out of nowhere and dragged him off to the basements. He screamed the whole time, howled more like it. Come morning they all came back out. All twenty of them. The guy they took off didn’t even seem upset, he came back up from the basement a little shaken, but not angry.

Day One Hundred Nineteen
The Judges asked the Bishop for sixteen assistants. All people to help them construct something in the basement that were aware there was a risk involved. I volunteered, so did some others around the abbey. I was surprised they were asking for help given how uptight they have been for the past four months. I plan on figuring out what I can tomorrow before we go to help them, maybe they can saw what happened to Gregor and Samuel.

Day One Hundred Twenty
The Judges didn’t tell me anything about Gregor and Samuel, only offered some condolences. They said tonight they will get us all together and go down just before dark, that we should be done by dawn. The Bishop is pretty angry, he yelled at them in the corridor for a while before one of them gave him a parchment. He wouldn’t say what it was, and I only know he caved as soon as he saw it. Must be something big and official to have Donovan cave like that.

Night One Hundred Twenty
When we got down here the Judges closed the doors and locked it from the outside. The leader had the newest one lock it and leave until morning. He said to keep a torch burning all night to the one that left. There are thirty five of us in this little room and they aren’t really telling us too much. They aren’t wearing their Judges robes though. Thought that was weird.

They scribed a circle in the stone chest they had down here and there is some kind thing they have sitting in the circle. They keep saying they will wait for it until it comes no matter what.

I finally got one of them to tell me what was up, they are waiting for some kind of sign from above and they need forty people to be on this holy ground at all times. I don’t understand it myself, but they are they judges.

They aren’t praying, they’ve told us not to. We can hear some people moving around outside, and the judges got awfully quiet when it happened. They pulled silver stakes from their robes and doused all the candles. I’m pretty sure they haven’t been very honest at this point, and they look like they are about to go into battle. I’m feeling more and more like bait.”

Griswold folded up the parchment and placed it in his pocket, something to read and study later. The chest, he realized was closed, but only mostly. It looked like one corner was open, not a lot, just some. The lid was far too heavy for him to force open on his own, but he could kind of peer inside when he angled the candle so that the holder wasn’t directly below it. The light cast inside showed nothing more than a few odd symbols he didn’t understand.

He turned to leave again, but stopped and counted the silhouettes in the room, just wondering to himself. Thirty Five. Very odd as far as the young man was concerned, but it didn’t match the Parchment’s saying of forty people like he had thought for a moment there. As he left he counted the other silhouettes out. There were a number, none of the sacred numbers he remembered off the top of his head. Including the ones in the room, seventy three total paintings. An odd number he didn’t quite recognize, but perhaps it had some significance.

Griswold started up the stairs. His candle was getting small now, it wouldn’t last much longer. He kicked himself mentally, spending all that time reading that parchment. He should have just picked it up and taken it with him, sitting down there in that creepy room. Bishop Horace would be upset with him if he found out he had been down here, even as kindly as the old man was. He shuddered to think what the Nun’s would do to him if they had found out he had been in that room all the down here. They would probably have him polishing every piece of silverware in the Cathedral for the next couple years. They didn’t even like allowing people into the secluded parts of the Cathedral during the day, and then he was looking at being punished for being out of bed after lights out. “Gotta get back to bed and act like I was there all night. I’ll feign being sick in the morning so they will let me sleep in.” The morning class was studying the history of the Cathedral in the morning anyway. Talking about the Judges being recalled to the Holy Citadel and only one Judge being stationed at the Cathedral until the end of days to look after the place. That had been before the Judges were disbanded for practicing and studying occult subjects centuries ago. It wasn’t a subject that really interested him, especially since most information about the Judges was little more than myth that no one believed.

He made his way to the top of the stairs, rather out of breath and sighed, sitting down on the top stair. “Griz, you done good.” He told himself quietly under his breath. He was still hanging out in the dark and hadn’t been afraid for a while now. Even now he was relaxing with little more than a dim candle in a creepy hidden corridor. After a few minutes, he stood up and dusted himself off. His Candle was going to go out soon and he didn’t want to be stumbling around in the dark where he couldn’t see even if he wasn’t afraid anymore. The winding passage was long and weariness was setting in on Griswold now, he had been out for several hours. Sun rise wasn’t much further away, only a couple of hours and he was ready to get some solid sleep in before he had to feign illness to the Nuns. They would probably recognize what he was doing too.

He turned the corner and stopped, puzzlement crossing his features. The statue he had placed in the corner was sitting in the middle of the passage and the door was closed. But what was most puzzling was that the statuette was whole, unbroken. “Impossible.” He muttered as he took a few more steps towards the door. He could see the shelves hadn’t been all the way closed, but he wasn’t paying much attention to that at this point. He was so much more enthralled by the statuette being moved.

“Sometimes, there is a reason to be afraid of the dark.”​

The voice was cold and raspy, and Griswold didn’t know where it had come from. He turned to look down the passage and then back to the door, scrambling to it clutching his candle in the dying light. He pushed and he shoved, pulled and tugged on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. It was clear that it was meant to be opened from the outside as he struggled. “This is not funny. Let me out.” Griswold called loudly, almost yelling. No one answered him, nothing not even a noise from outside. No one knew he was in here, but maybe they would find him in the morning.

Then he saw it. A shadow just at the edge of the light of his candle. Tall, lanky, curling rams horns on its brow. Long arms that extended almost all the way down the wall, an open maw, dripping with saliva. There was a shadow on the wall, but nothing to cast it that Griswold could see, no noise he could hear. The little statuette was turned to face him, as though following him. He started sobbing, backing up against the door. The candle flickered slowly dying out, a thin trail of smoke starting to come from the wick as it burnt out. As the light dimmed, the shadow drifted closer and closer, staying just on the edge of the light. He screamed just as the little flame became embers.

Dawn rose and everyone else went about their day. Some looked for Griswold, but he had spoken of adventure many times and was close to adulthood. Bishop Horace had smiled and suggested he simply ran off to have his adventures during the night, noting that he had always been afraid of the cathedrals dark corners, and sometimes with good reason.

Seventy four silhouettes.

 

[Caspian Rekali]

After what felt like a lifetime of work, Heinrich a guardsman in the service of the city had his first day off from duty. The Harvest Festival was upon Morhril, and the whole city seemed alive with joy. 'Forget about Becky for the week,' the apothecary at the hospice, William, told Heinrich. “She’s in great hands here with us. It’s not healthy for you to do all this running around, go have fun!” It was hard to leave his little sister off his mind, especially with her illness, but William was right, as usual. After all, he'd been scrounging for money from his many hours of work for a reason hadn’t he? Now he not only could he take a well-deserved break, but he could also spend some on himself. He could finally spend some time with Clara.

It was late in the day when he left for Fountain Square. 'When the church clock strikes nine' was Clara's instruction. The massive clock was in sight now and it was nearly nine when the colossal, marble fountain that earned the square its name came into view. People were everywhere, laughter and music all around. Bright lights of all colors were strung up between the streets, and a wide variety of stands. It was quite easy to get distracted, but now was his opportunity! You can't stand up someone like Clara, anyways. This kind of opportunity maybe came once in a lifetime, if you're lucky.

Heinrich found her there right beside the statue of King Etrides, standing proud and pompous over the fountain, scepter in one hand and a sword raised high in the other. Clara was as gorgeous as she ever was, with her hourglass shape and lithe form, with her deep auburn hair which flowed down like a stream of soft silk, with her sun kissed skin and bright, hazel eyes. She wore the traditional Umbran clothing for a young woman, a long skirt tannin color bound by a leather belt, with about an extra foot of length, all shiny, and nothing more than a sash over her chest, a warm yellow. Bright, scarlet tattoos twisted around her belly, and her left shoulder. It was all in that indecipherable language of the priests, but he recognized the purposes they held.

The one sitting on her shoulder was the timing of her birth, and the one on her stomach her patron fey, Irynis, the spirit of spices. "You made it!" she said, full lips turning to a wide smile. The woman’s voice was like music to his ears; no gruff sergeant screaming at him, or pompous homonere knight belittling him, or the whining of his peers, but feminine and lovely. In comparison Heinrich was tall and lanky with strong muscles and worn scars and scrapes befitting a warrior. Heinrich smiled in return, after a long what felt like a lifetime of work, she was the best thing he had seen in a long time "I wouldn't miss it for the world." Heinrich said stepping close to her.

"Look at that you weren’t even late," she briefly shifted her gaze to the clock tower just as it began to ring out the time. The sounds of flowing water, of happily talking people, of sweet smells of candies and sizzling meats. "The real funs over there by the river," Clara continued. "Shall we?" She turned her full attention over to him. It was hard not to be flustered by such a beautiful woman. Heinrich only slightly nervous replied "Absolutely.", he said.

Clara spun around her deep auburn locks whipping as she went. She headed towards the riverside with Heinrich at her side. It somehow seemed odd that he would actually be spending any time with Clara at all. She was the adopted daughter of a Homonere knight, though she was already old enough to be deep in the practices of the fey. She seemed so much like a natural enemy to him, in so many ways. It felt like it should be so easy to hate the woman, just for being herself, yet... it was impossible to even imagine.

It was all about how she carried herself; she was first a daughter of Morhil, and never even so much as hinted the notion of climbing up as so many of the elves she simply had to be associated with were inclined to do. Clara had a daily routine. That was how he knew her. She walked along the riverside near the southern gate where Heinrich was posted every day. Clara was very willing to chat with anyone; plenty of empathy. Though, maybe he was just trying to label her? Maybe all this was just because she was Clara. There didn't really need to be a reason.

"I hear the fireworks this year are going to be wonderful," Clara said, bringing back to present time. "A shipment from Highcrown, can you believe it?" It was hard to believe, but, admittedly the city council had done some great things for the Harvest Festival in the past, each year trying to outdo themselves. Besides, everyone knows how great the people of Highcrown are at making things that blow up. At least in this case, it was for a good cause. "The City Council goes bigger each year. Highcrown are well known for making things explode, a good choice."

"Uh-huh," she agreed, flashing him a smile. Heinrich mentally kicked himself. Why did he say that?! Of course they're known for that. Even a young child barely the age of five living in the middle of nowhere knows that? Well, at least she didn't seem to mind. Once they broke out from the narrow streets of Morhril out to the riverside, it was much cooler. The breeze from the east was refreshing compared to the press of people. Smoke billowed up into the dark skies, the thousands of lights in the city reflecting elegantly over the clear water. Heinrich could just barely make out other people on the opposite side, setting up the mortars for the fireworks. Clara exclaimed cheerfully: "Look there!” clasping his hand, rushing the two of them over to a red colored booth. Heinrich didn’t even know what the booth was for the longest while. But then his mind erupted she grabbed his hand!! She initiated the contact! That is worth at least double if he had been the one to reach out; but she did!

Well, it turned out to be one of those skill booths, one where you fired a spring-loaded pellet gun at targets. It was an interesting oddity from Masonora. There were stuffed animals hanging from the top of the booth, and it only costed two copper to play; five shots, four targets. As soon as he finished reading the sign he was immediately determined, he would win the prize. Only... he'd never even held a gun before... No that wasn’t a problem! Beginner's luck would surely see him through it! What was a man without a healthy dose of bravado after all he thought? Heinrich walked up close to the booth, and dug in his pocket for two coppers. He was determined, dead set on winning her one of the teddy bears. So far the luck he was having today was tremendous, it was too good not pass up.

The booth owner stepped aside, gestured at the targets. One was close, only five feet away. It was shaped like an angry monkey. Ding! A pellet struck against it, that grinning monkey went down. The next, ten feet away. A smug fish. Ding! It dropped! The next one was fifteen away, a skulking tiger. Ding! The cat was flung back! The last one, twenty feet away, a dragon. The pellet missed. Heinrich tensed. Clara clasped her hands together, probably too excited: "Come on, you can do it!" One last shot.

Heinrich sighted in, "Come on Heinrich don't mess up" he thought to himself, but perhaps he was thinking too much, worrying too much, no he was the brave man in this situation, a chance to show off. Ding! The beast went down! "That's four," the booth owner said, with a sweeping respect. Clara squealed in excitement, threw herself around him. "You did it!" The booth owner was smiling admirably, exchanging the pellet gun for the largest of the prizes, a giant stuffed bear.

Heinrich couldn't help but smile, he did it! And she hugged him! Maybe that washed up the embarrassment of his foolish remark earlier, or was he just nervous? "It was nothing..." He courageously shrugged off, "But this, this is for you!" She took the stuffed animal into her arms, snuggled with it a moment, a display of her endearment. "Hey, let's find a place on the grass before too many people show up," Clara said. There was a good ten feet before the bank of the river, all of it trimmed grass with the occasional tree. Most of it was sloping downward, at just the right angle so that you didn't even need to lift your head to see the fireworks.

Heinrich nodded and followed close behind her. They found a good spot, and Clara sat down, placing the bear beside her. "You know," Clara said. "It's nice to be a bit early." There were only a handful of people already having claimed spots, and no one was particular close to them. "No rush." She laughed. "We have our pick of the litter on spots, much better than trying to squeeze in somewhere." He affirmed. He looked over at her at the mention of the baby "My luck has been good this far, we shall see if it continues."

"Hopefully," she agreed, looking out onto the river. She paused for a long while. "Hey, listen. I'm glad you came along. It's good to just, you know, have fun”. She said. Heinrich nodded, replied "It's felt like a lifetime since I've had the opportunity to do that last." She lied down, hands behind her head, staring into the dark sky above. She smiled, but said nothing. He laid down as well. "Thanks for this. It's been hard to find time to practically breathe in the past few days."

"Mhm..." she idly agreed. A silence fell between the two of them, but it didn't feel uncomfortable at all. It seemed to linger for the longest while. Then, the fireworks started. Crackling bright flares soaring into the sky and then erupting into brilliant bursts of colors, exploding over the river. They came again and again, each time a new shape and a new color. They continued on for what seemed like half an hour at least. Sometime within, he found Clara's gaze set on him. A firework exploded in the sky, illuminating her face momentarily. The smell of smoke hung idly in the air. Clara pulled herself in, gently closing her eyes, bringing a hand to his cheek...

Drip.
Drip..
Drip...

Heinrich's eyes snapped open. Crimson was everywhere. Everywhere. It was dark, so dark. A crippling pain wrenched across his gut. His fingers twitched and turned, outside of his control, grasping for the spaces between the tiles on the street. Why had he been thinking of her, now? Why? Clara... A foot slammed into his back, and a feral voice came out, haunting in his ear: "Poor... poor thing..." it said, a man's voice, though somehow it seemed more to him like a beast. Heinrich reached out desperately trying to pull himself away, just a little further.

"Ooh somewhere important to go to do we..?" the voice taunted. He heard bone snapping, and a loud banshee’s wail. A deep pain shot through his shoulder, piercing deeper, and deeper. Agony and warmth exploded from his shoulder, through his neck, through his chest, down to his fingers and toes. He felt his body trembling beyond his control, his vision growing darker... darker...

...Clara...he cried out.

Heinrich's consciousness was restored with a flooding anxiety. He snapped away, hands flying forward. He flung himself off the couch which he lied, slamming into the coarse, grainy floorboards beneath him with a thud. As he came to his senses, he found himself staring at a deathly pale almost alabaster hand; his hand. He lingered there for a moment, but there was no movement and no heartbeat. Indeed, he did not even so much as find it necessary to breath-- only his awareness of the self even so much as made him aware.

"Looks like your finally up," a woman's voice remarked. Heinrich's eyes searched the room, and he found a ghostly pale woman leaning up against the wall, just beside windows draped with heavy, thick fabric. It was just then he realized that there was no light in the roo, but he had no problem seeing. How? She was lithe, with short, black hair. Her eyes were eerily bright, an intimidating blue so deep it could be mistaken for violet. She wore a black tunic and sagging trousers, her arms exposed. Umbran tattoos danced across her skin in brilliant patterns, all crimson and bright. She had at least seven different marks on her face resembling her various marriages.

Heinrich would linger looking at his pale hand, virtually his whole being was in a state of shock if that was possible. Why was his hand so pale? Why could he see perfectly in a pitch black room? Why didn't he have to breathe? What happened? No, No it couldn't have been. No it didn't happen. He was only just unconscious, this was a bad dream wasn't it? It had to be that couldn’t have been real. As the woman's voice rang out, visibly startled he shifted over and backed to a wall and looked toward the voice. Heinrich found himself pressed up against the smooth plaster of the walls as he prayed under his breath that he would suddenly wake up screaming from a bad dream. She graced him with a long stare. The serenity over her was almost contagious. "Calm down, would you?" she asked. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"What do you want with me? I was just doing my job!" He sputtered out, last he could remember he was at work, wasn't he? Heinrich said. The woman stared at him deeply for a moment, “What do I want with you?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. "I'm the only reason you didn't cook in the sun. Please, give me some credit. Do I really look like a kidnapper to you? Seriously??" Truthfully he didn’t though she did appear to be quite old, there was something almost innocent about her posture, though perhaps her gazes betrayed that innocence. "Cook in the sun? That's ridiculous!" He said, attempting to shift to his feet, once he could actually stand he'd motion for the curtain, to look out.

"Don't touch those, you moron!" she growled out, a sudden, almost feral violence erupting from her. She paused, took a moment to regain her composure. "Yes... cook in the sun, burn to death it’s all the same. Tell me, do you have any idea who attacked you that night?" Heinrich could vaguely recall the details of the event. Him and two other guardsmen, from his new post, had been sent at the behest of a panicked girl's request. They had arrived at a house... and... by the feys, there was blood everywhere he could see…and a man. He had a silver blade, and eyes as red as the blood pooling around the home. He couldn't remember anything else, no matter how hard he tried to. He was just about to lift the curtain, when he stopped and looked over at the woman once again. "There were three of us, we arrived at a house at the behest of a young girl in distress. There was blood...so much blood, and a man eyes like crimson, and a silver blade...that's all I remember.."

"Well, that's all useless," the woman said, running a hand through her hair, sighing. "So, let's make this perfectly clear to you. That man you saw there? He's a vampire. Not just any vampire, either. He's with the paladins. I'm sure you're familiar with paladins, right? Or are you truly that stupid?" He nodded in affirmation, Heinrich was well aware of who the paladins were. "W-What happened though?" It was all so confusing. "That's the question worth a million coins," she replied, folding her hands across her chest. "He bit you. Who knows why? That's why I had to drag your sorry butt all the way here... but, never mind that. You wouldn't understand that, either, would you? How about I start with this-- if you open those blinds, you'll die. If you don't believe me, then go ahead and open them. Or, you can choose to let me explain the situation and have a chance in the pecking order."

He looked toward the blinds, and then the woman standing over by the door. Heinrich's hand that was on the blinds dropped to his side. "I'm dead already, aren't I?" The man said a stark realization crawling at the fringes of his mind, a reality he pushed away. "No, not really," she replied. "You're just one of us, now. He was a vampire, and he bit you, but didn't drain you entirely. You know what that means, right?"

"If the horror stories are true...that means I, I am a Vampire." He said, sinking back onto the couch and made himself as small as possible. Vampires were the vile, evil, despicable undead of the horror stories, he partially didn't believe, or didn't want to believe something like that could exist. What stung the most was the stark realization that his whole life was over. Vampires died, literally despite what they wanted to believe. He couldn't go to work anymore, and what would happen to Becky if he couldn't support her?! And Clara...that hurt too much just to think about. It couldn’t at all be reality, all of it was too unbelievable to be true and actually happening to him. He stayed in silence for several minutes, looking anywhere but the woman, before shifting his gaze back up to her. "Alright I’ll play along so I'll have to bite and listen to what you have to say..." It was a dream after all, wasn’t it? It wouldn’t hurt to listen?

"Alright," she said, visibly relieved that he had moved away from the blinds. "Yes, you are a vampire. Specifically, you're his vampire. He's your master, and that complicates things terribly for everyone else. As you might expect from a vampire working with the paladins, he kills our kind. Hunts us down. Have the wit to know what this means for you?"

"Does this mean i'm only the bait to lure him to more people like you?"

She chuckled. It was strangely sincere. "You really have no idea what you're saying. Why would he give a damn about a newborn like you? You're a liability to everyone, as it stands. He doesn't care what we do with you." The strange woman answered. "Who is we?" He directed out loud. "The rest of us," she replied. "There's a few too many to drill into your head right now. A few dozen. And don't think everyone's on good terms, either. It just so happens that the paladins are the bigger threat here. On that, there's probably only two others who would stomach your existence here. That's me, Catherine, and my partner, Liphepoli.”She seemed to pause, as if an afterthought. "So, I saved you, so that makes you my property. You're working with Liphepoli and me, is that clear?"

He nodded. "I've pulled too many of Umbra's brilliant people out of the water because the paladins saw them as too big a threat to their religion they keep trying to force on the Umbran people." Perhaps surprisingly she chuckled, again, as sincere as before. "Do you think I care about that nonsense?" "Please, really? Do you?" She was still laughing. "Come on! Answer up." Anger ran through his mind as many memories of being ridiculed by sergeants, knights and others for his lowly position. He stood and went to run over to the blinds in the middle of her talking and laughing, he gripped the side of it and his muscles tensed. That was the last damn time he would hear her laugh, his anger was rising. However he never made it to the blinds. There was a rush, an pain, and he was on the floor, a boot planted firmly on his head. The weight was unbearable.

He didn't even see her move at all was that... that even possible? "You're a brat, do you know that?" she hissed, his voice dripping with hatred. "A stupid little kid who doesn't know the rules of this world. What do you think that would have gotten you? I heard you just before you were bitten." She crouched down, still foot on the side of his head. “Clara, you called out. Clara. A nice name. Maybe that's why he spared you? Do you think killing yourself, or even me, would have mattered at all? Do you think death is a karking threat to a vampire?" She pressed harder, and he felt his skull beginning to crack.

"I don't care about you or your kind! I had my own family! I had my own life and your ilk decided to play god and take it all away from me! Who the kark do you think you are to do that to someone? To do that to me!" His eyes began to well. "Go kark yourself." He finally said. "Do you think that I want to be a monster?" her eyes were welling up with tears. She clenched her eyes shut. "Next time you wake up, you karking brat, don't expect me to help you." She crushed his skull.

He was in a narrow alleyway. It was night. The air was cool, and everything was quiet around him. Heinrich gripped his head as he stood up. God it felt like one rough night at the tavern mixed with being hit by a hammer on the head just for good measure. He looked down at his own body, to see a guard's uniform, only it was torn up in many places, and stained with old blood around the chest, and fresher blood around the shoulders. Heinrich crept up to the edge of the alleyway and peered out. He had to figure out where in the city he was, maybe get home even. Everything here was especially miserable and run down. His post was on the northern side of Morhril, but he didn't have a great reference. Unlike southern Morhril, there was no clock tower to serve as a guiding beacon. The streets were currently sparsely populated.

It was a bad idea to walk around like this, he wouldn't get halfway home looking like an assault victim. He looked around at the buildings and people, he needed an idea for clothes and he needed it now. He was in an alleyway. There was some clothing hanging from a line on a window, but it was three stories up. Heinrich set out ending up on another street. This was a much narrower street, really just another glorified alleyway. There was a group of men hunched over in a particularly large doorframe playing cards. Thugs. Probably good to stay away from them. But, they weren't paying attention to him. These kind of pathways defined northern Morhril. If he wanted to get to his post, then he'd be good just following the irregular path of alleyways.

However going to his post sounded much better, maybe he could get a fresh change of clothes there, at least no one would bother him if he was fully geared, right? Heinrich would follow the irregular path of alleyways to get to his post. It was very late by the time he reached the building. It was a tall building set out on a small hill, away from any of the other buildings and homes around. A tall fence rounded the hill, which was otherwise rocky with a few grassy patches. At the doors of the post was a rather fat guard sitting on a barrel. His bald head was one Heinrich knew well. Eric. A bit of a slob, but he was an honest slob at that. He was presently staring off into space.

Heinrich ducked behind cover as he pulled his shirt off. He looked at his chest and felt around on his neck, he wanted to check if anything directly was out of place. But to his surprise he didn’t have a single mark on his skin. Even old long sealed scars seemed to have vanished. But, his skin was pallid, almost as white as snow. It was... unsettling. However he needed to get back to the task at hand.

He had only been relocated to northern Morhril when Clara's father learned what was going on between the two, pulling strings to get him as far away from his daughter as possible. Not that that stopped them, of course. Heinrich was a fairly muscular man, he did his best to keep in shape. The pallid white skin caused his scarlet tattoos to pop more.

Heinrich put his shirt on and walked up through the fence towards the door. Eric was a slob but he was a good guy and he'd understand, right? Eric spotted him on his approach, and, at first, lazily shifted off the barrel. Then, as he saw Heinrich approached the glow of the lantern that swung over the door, he sat upright. "Rick?!" he exclaimed. "You're alive w-- all that blood. Do you need an apothecary? What about a cleric?! Heinrich faked a smile which felt so hard with what surged through his mind "Hey Eric, of course i'm alright, why wouldn't I be?" He exclaimed. "An apothecary? No i'll be alright, nothing I can't manage on my own."

"But, Jeremiah...and Horatio...they were both killed just last night--" he went on. "--you were with them, right?" Heinrich nodded "We were together yeah." He stopped briefly, Heinrich was beginning to feel nervous standing out in the open like this "Hey Eric do you mind coming inside while I give you the rundown? As much as I like the outdoors, I'd really like to take off these dirty clothes and get into some fresh ones." Eric paused for a moment, gave a nod. "But you need to tell the captain about what happened-- there hasn't been a something like that in years."

It was warm inside, an orange light spilling from a hearth. A wooden staircase lead to the upper floor, which was larger than the lower one, and made primarily of wood and plaster, unlike the stone base. A group of guards were playing cards at a table in the center of the room but stopped as he entered. All eyes were on Heinrich. Eric led him to one of the backrooms on the lower floor, where he could get a fresh uniform. None of them would fit him properly, as he was newblood at the post, but it was certainly better than nothing.

He took off his old uniform and found the best fitting one he could find, before sliding it on. "So Horatio and Jeremiah are dead?" Heinrich asked. Each uniform was starchy, khaki in color. They were thickly sleeved, with heavy pants, and a surcoat to go over the undyed gambeson. The surcoat was in Homonere white, now-a-days. Eric nodded. "And you went missing-- maybe you know what happened? Why, this could be the breakthrough we are looking for!"

Heinrich nodded. "It's awfully fuzzy in some parts, but I remember the event for the most part." "It all happened so fast." Heinrich said. "Well, I'm going to let the captain know you’re back. You'll be good for your shift tomorrow night right..?" Eric replied.


"I think so, as long as everything back home is okay." He replied, adjusting the belt. "Let me head home first before you tell the Captain huh? I'm really beat and I got to check in on Becky, make sure she’s okay, especially since she’s ill. I'll give him the full report tomorrow." Eric nodded. "I still need to speak to him, but I'll see you off before I head out to tell him. Sun and Moon be with you," he said, patting Heinrich on the shoulder. "And... whatever happened... don't let it eat away at you, alright?" Eric said. The man didn’t know the half of it all. Heinrich nodded slowly at the man’s kind gesture. "Thanks Eric, and I'll try…" Heinrich would go with Eric to leave if the man was going to see him off. Heinrich walked without direction, thought where exactly what was ‘home’.

Home. It was hard to know exactly where that was these days. There was his parents' house, where he lived. Not because he couldn't set out on his own, but because both his mother and father were at the age where living alone just wasn't particularly an option, especially after his father broke his hip.

There was also Clara's place. A grassy estate that Heinrich had become intimate with. It was rather amusing how guards just let him in, and everyone just turned an eye and didn't mention anything to her father. Clara had that kind of effect on people though. During the trip while he had time to think...he thought back on the situation. A Vampire working with the Paladins was at the house they headed to. By other information the Vampire killed Horatio, Jeremiah and bit him for some reason. But Catherine...? The vampires? He needed to clear his head, and come down to earth. The place that meant the most to him was Clara's estate, he had to see her especially after the night he had.

Clara’s estate was a beautiful location in southern Morhril. It was rounded by high, stone walls with flat, white tops. The entrance was barred by a city guard, Thomas, who just nodded him in, though commented that he looked a bit pale and asked if he was sick. Inside was the beautiful garden leading up to the three-story building. There were trimmed hedges everywhere in sight. In the spring, flowers were everywhere. The structure itself was made out of pale bricks, with a red roof. He made his way around the back. There was a pond way back there, but his interest was the balcony on the left side. A wooden lattice, covered in vines, was the way he climbed up. Just beyond was Clara's room.

The balcony was a cleared space, where one could look out all the way to the river. A glass door was between him and her room. It was admittedly massive, with carpet. It was red and soft to the touch. The walls were mostly unadorned, with furniture of dark wood and iron everywhere. The bed was colossal, veiled by silk. Currently Clara was at her dresser, brushing her long, auburn hair, seated at an ornate stool and looking into a large, shining mirror that rested upon the wall just behind the dresser. She was in her pink nightgown, the one with the little floral patterns trimming it, the silken one. As a matter of fact it was his favorite one. Admittedly, it wasn't for the most noble of reasons, but it only reached half way down her thighs. Heinrich moved to open the glass which swung open, but when he tried to enter some sort of intangible force seemed to repel him. He couldn't bring even a foot into her room. Clara heard the door opening, and turned. She placed her brush down and stood up, approaching Heinrich. At first, there was a warm smile, but it was overtaken by great concern. "Ricky," she said, softly, stepping right up to him, placing a hand right up against his cheek. "You're so pale... and cold... you're not well."

Maybe she was right? He certainly didn't feel good, and he didn't feel his cheeks flush with her touch, like he usually did. Maybe he was cold... but she was so very warm, it seemed to him that there could be nothing better in this world than to just have her hand rest against his cheek. Her hazel eyes met his with the sort of sincerity that only she seemed able to muster. "Clara." He wrapped his arms around her "I'm not sure how I feel, maybe you’re right...but I feel much better now."

"You're not sick, are you?" she asked, pulling him into her room. Whatever force was there previously was gone. Maybe he was just hesitant for whatever reason? "I'm sure I can get you the best apothecary if you are--" she continued, now only haphazardly in his embrace. "Ricky, we weren't even supposed to meet up tonight." She looked to the side, flustered. "Please tell me you didn't come here because you're that sick..."

He shook his head as he kept her in his arms. Her warmth felt like the best thing he had ever felt in the past agonizing hours. He couldn't feel much else on his body since what happened, but this he could feel and like it was the most precious thing in the world, he held on. "No no, nothing like that. I needed to see you after the terrible night I've had up north.." Clara’s face filled with more concern "What did they do to you up there?" she asked, accepting his embrace, but keeping enough distance to meet his eyes. "I swear, if they hurt you I'll make sure that father..." she trailed off. "...sorry," she said, finding her words. "I don't mean to sound spiteful."

He shook his head "It's alright...it’s just, what happened during a patrol up there. We were responding to a report by some girl at this house you see. The three of us. When we went into the house, there was this man in there with his silver blade. My two comrades died....I almost, he.." He shut his eyes, and pulled her closer, it felt like everything was okay so long as he was here. "Shh..." she murmured, wrapping herself around him. It was hard for him not to bury his head against her and cry. But why? Grief? Happiness? He wasn't certain. Her fingers were running through his hair, though, and wasn't that what mattered? "Ricky," she said. "You can stay here as long as you need to... I don't care if I get in trouble for it."

Heinrich nodded "Thank you. I love you more than anything on this earth." He said while in embrace. Of course Clara was his beacon during times such as this, the perpetual nightmare he had been put into, and her touch was the only thing that he could truly feel. After Heinrich had calmed down, Clara returned to her perch by the dresser, resumed to brush her hair. She was always like that. It wasn't her nature to hover over anybody. He sat down on the bed as she went to brush, looking at his hands. He was disturbed quite a lot at the now pallid skin as white as alabaster, and even the old scar running from his thumb down his arm was gone, the apothecary said he would always have that as a mark. No, the man was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. The skin? He was just sick, maybe some kind of flu perhaps?

He was left to linger for a short while before Clara brought herself nearby, sitting at the bed's edge. "I suppose I can check on my parents tomorrow...I’ll stay here with you…” He said. She nodded, standing up to blow out the lantern in her room before returning to the bed, this time tucking herself in. Heinrich would walk over and shut the curtains tightly, before sliding into bed next to her. It was strange to him that he seemed to see better in the blackness that now engulfed the chamber, he couldn't help but look around at the difference, and it was astounding. He waited a little bit before carefully climbing out of bed and walking to the mirror. He needed to get a good look at what he looked like after the hell he had went through, he only did this after he knew she was asleep. Heinrich approached the mirror, but saw nothing there but the room behind him, reflecting back. He touched the mirror, his hands trembling as he did. Heinrich quickly moved back to the bed and carefully slid inside it, still trembling. Some while after he went back to bed, he began to smell something delicious. Like a freshly cooked meal. He then became aware of how hungry he was... had he eaten anything today at all? He... couldn't remember.

Out of curiosity he'd smell to see if he could tell what it might be. His gaze fell upon Clara, then, sleeping peacefully beside him. The scent was from her, he needed to ignore it and quickly tried to usher himself to sleep, yet he could not find sleep. A pain was growing deep within his gut, and he found himself restless. Heinrich got up from the bed, and paced the room. He had to find something to eat. Maybe the kitchen? He had had been in other parts of the house, but usually only during social gatherings, and thus never in the quarters for servants, kitchen included. After he decided it would be safe, he attempted to sneak to the kitchen. He found his way. It was on the lower floor, with pale tiles and brick walls, the same white bricks on the exterior. A large, soot-stained hearth lied on the far wall, with long tables and counters everywhere. Everything was cleaned up, presently.

Heinrich would try to fix himself something to eat. Without starting a fire, he couldn't get himself anything much-- there was some rye bread that was still relatively soft, as far as rye bread is concerned, though. Heinrich would take out the bread, and search for some cheese, and ham. He eventually found half a wheel of white cheese, with a knife beside it. He'd cut a thin slice of cheese before searching for meats eventually finding a storeroom full of heavily salted meats. The smell was so potent he initially stepped away. Inside Heinrich found some ham and returned with it to the other room, he'd then slice a few pieces and make himself a ham and cheese, and he'd begin eating. As soon as he took the first bite, and the food touched his tongue, he tasted ash. He retched it up immediately. Heinrich tried another bite only to see ash again. He couldn't keep it down, spitting it up with a horrible hacking sound. He'd throw out his sandwich and head back to Clara's room after putting everything back, clearly disturbed. He returned, assailed by that intoxicating aroma once more.

Heinrich would slide into bed why had that happened? He always ate that sandwich before? Why did she smell so ungodly good? Out of all the times he had been here never had she worn such a fragrance? Clara was still fast asleep. He would bury his nose in the pillow to stifle the smell. Heinrich continued that way for some while, the smell growing stronger and stronger. His digits were twitching unbidden, and he felt a gnawing pain in his jaws. He was feeling dizzy.
Heinrich would get out of bed, and walk out of Clara's room. He needed to get away from the torturous smell. Heinrich sat up on the bed. "Clara?"

Clara stirred lazily turning her head round, her eyes opened. It was obvious that she couldn't see very well at all, and was hazy from sleep, as well. "Mm..?" she quietly questioned. "Somethings not right...I'm feeling dizzy...really dizzy. There's this gnawing pain in my jaw..."

"Ricky," she began, growing a bit more cognitive, "Are you going to be okay..?" Clara reached out blindly, finding his arm, and tenderly grasping against it. For a moment, the absurd thought of ripping her arm off crossed Heinrich's mind. He had no idea where it came from, and a chill ran down his spine just contemplating upon its passing presence. "No I don't think l am...” He said, physically shivering as the chill ran down his spine. "Clara, I think somethings...somethings wrong." Heinrich replied. "Should... I have an apothecary fetched?" she asked. He had to grit his teeth, the pain in his jaw was unbelievable. Heinrich’s vision was shifting, as if an intense heat had taken the air. His muscles were tensing unbidden. "Clara...I'm in so much pain." He said as he growled in pain, placing his head against the wall. "Whatever it is, it's causing my whole body to ache and tense without me doing so...”

“Let me fetch someone, it’ll be just a moment," She said, swinging out of her bed and heading out the room with all haste. The door shut behind her, and then the event happened. He hunched forward, hunched over, a horrific, wet snapping sound erupting from his ribs, first, and then his spine, arms, neck, and jaw. Heinrich's vision blurred so that he could not see even a foot in front of himself. Everything was agonizing, like his skin was being stretched to unbelievable lengths while his bones were being crushed. Heinrich was flung from the bed striking the hard wood floor. He could no longer feel his lower jaw, but was absently aware that blood was gushing from his gaping mouth. He growled in pain. "Clara..don't come back with him!" He uttered as soon as the door shut. His vision returned to him, abruptly, with a sudden serenity. His body rose without his direction, a strange, clicking sound came from his mouth, prowling.

Heinrich’s gaze turned towards the door that Clara had just fled from, and he found himself moving forward. His every step caused the floorboards beneath him to buckle. Once he reached the door, rather than opening it, he brought up an arm, and bashed his way through, making all the noise necessary. He sniffed sharply, and then moved with a blurring speed down the hallway finding himself in a large hall. Heinrich saw Clara speaking with two servants. He leered forward, and then suddenly hurled himself at the three of them. The last thing he recalled was the burst of crimson blood that covered him, the feeling of his nails ripping into flesh. He heard Clara scream.

When sentience returned to Heinrich, he found himself lying on the floor of a broken down bedroom, heavy curtains pulled over the windows. He was staring at his hands, which were dark with fresh blood, dripping. Dripping. His entire body was burning, but the hunger was gone. He would immediately get u to look where he was. He had to get back to Clara's estate. Heinrich exited the alleyway, then, and found himself staring out in the room. ...A hand grasped onto Heinrich's sleeve, tugging him, drawing his attention. Someone was standing at his side. He saw a girl, no older than twelve, standing there, staring over the scene. She had the same, pale skin that he, and Catherine, had. She wore a frilled, white and tan dress with a bonnet over his short, blonde hair. Her eyes were eerie. Red. Blood red.

"Catherine said to make sure you didn't get yourself killed," she stated, not looking at him. "And to stay hidden until you realized what you were. Do you know, now?" She spoke with a serenity and certainty that far surpassed what one would reckon from her age. "I need to know...I need to know..did I..did I..." "You fed," she replied. "Well, maybe if you had listened to Catherine in the first place then you wouldn't have had to deal with all that?" she suggested. "She's a bit thick-headed sometimes, but it's not like she doesn't know what she's talking about.”

"Did you drag me out?" Heinrich asked.

"Me? No. You busted through the front doors on your own." She laughed. "I wouldn't have been able to get to you even if I had wanted to drag you out. But, why would I do that? You were handling yourself quite well, and there weren't even any paladins there." The girl shook her head and turned “Come find me when you’re done sulking.” The girl walked away.

"It:..I can't be...this.." Heinrich struggled to say, there was a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that threatened to overwhelm his entire body, as the weight of everything that just happened came down on him. “I can't believe that...that I just killed her back there...the last I saw I was lunging at the two servants and her she was standing next to.” The man’s eyes looked over at the window that concealed the bright, blazing sun and one of the only ways to cause their demise. Heinrich’s entire world came crashing down around him just then, after countless hours of denial, boundless agony and a refusal to accept true reality.

Memories of his work and all the time he put into the job, his family and countless visits seeing his baby sister in her hospital bed, the laughs and loving moments they shared, and especially Clara flashed through his mind, her touch, her kiss and her loving caress. While he wasn’t rich or powerful and his life wasn’t the greatest, it was still his to do with what he wanted. But none of that mattered now, in one night everything turned into ash just like the sandwich he tried eating. He was turned into a monster, a monster who killed the one woman who truly care about him. Out of all the pain he experienced before it was nothing compared to that realization. Heinrich walked over to the curtains and grabbed a hold of them standing there for what seemed like forever. There was only one way he could end this nightmare that he lived in, and one way he would get to see Clara again. After taking a deep breath he whipped them open to expose the entire chamber to sunlight.
“…Clara…”