[White Scars]

[Auryn]

The Rating for this thread is M15+. It will contain violence, suggested violence, medical procedures, and the portrayal of characters dealing with issues of abuse.

Reithan


Sickness had taken Reithan out of lucid consciousness quickly after he'd been dumped, physically broken and weak with agony, in the deeper bowels of The Kaddath's prisoner cells. He drifted in and out, hours and days warping and melding together in the damp darkness of the ill-ventilated rooms... whilst the wounds on his legs festered.

He remembered Phrixos chiding him as he'd first been dropped on the floor of the cell. "You are back in my world now, apprentice... home, where you belong. Here we earn everything. Nothing is given. You will fight that infection or it will kill you. If you die you are nothing - if you live, you may be allowed to walk again."

Fever gripped him in its clutches long after. The wounded Jedi tried numbly to tug on the Force, for soothing and healing, but the daze gripped him too completely... the pain. The heat. The /pain/.

He began to hallucinate. Miller knelt by him, shaking his head. "I told you, friend. I told you...". Audaine leaned against the wall murmuring about his betrayal of her trust and referred to him only by ‘Ayen’, stubbornly… and deep, dark tendrils rose up from the grating in the floors, wrapping around his stubbed, mutilated legs and causing him to moan and roll about as though the touch burned him with acid. Ja'zin of all people, he saw, standing over him with a pipe raised above head, ready to put the frail and ailing Jedi out of his misery--

Seven red eyes glared down at him, the head of a spider peering into his cell. Reithan retched, though there was nothing left to bring up. He was dying. It didn't make sense. Phrixos had gone to so much trouble, yet he would be left to die here, with infection and necrosis inching up from his severed knees, sweat and puss and filth covering his spent body...

The spider reached down with metal pincers snapping.


Reithan opened his eyes blearily. There was light. He was somewhere else. Misty liquid caused him to blink, uncomfortably... uncomfortable, but the pain from before, the fever and the stench of dead flesh, it was all gone. He felt something metal and plasteel clamped over his face, helping him breathe. The world was a blur, locked in a transparisteel bubble. A kolto tank.

His legs. /Ashla, his -legs-./ He would have panicked and despaired if he wasn't so weary. Or if he had the ability to look downwards.

Just on the other side of the barrier, condensation had begun to gather. He had been here for some time, and his vision was obscured by it as well as the viscous gel that kept him suspended. It was just as well that he had been out cold. There was nothing for him to gather about his surroundings, save for the vague impressions of red lights emanating from off in the distance. Occasionally, a cluster of them would appear before his tank and mutter something that sounded like droidspeak, even muffled by the transparisteel partition and the stuff containing him.

Inside the tank, life was going on without his interference, his existence in the hands of some other master now - presumably not the one that'd put him in the state of decay that he was gradually being worked out of. His hands couldn't have reached out to touch the sides of his sterile prison even if they weren't suspended by tightly-bound braces with tubes thrust into his veins. His legs, despite being severed, were also braced and bound. An ambiguous feeling emanated from the wound, something akin to the nipping of many tiny fish at the scar tissue. A cursory glance downward would've revealed the presence of a collection of insectoid machines suspended in the kolto along with Reithan, using small pincers to gently clip away any rotten or gangrenous patches in his flesh.

If the makeup of the little mechanical surgeons was not clue enough as to the identity of the current warden presiding over his captivity, the appearance of a cluster of seven red lights on the other side of the transparisteel would've revealed it. The presence of the void pressed in on the other side of the glass, though it wasn't as entirely unwelcoming as it once may have been. It wasn't harsh and lashing out, but instead simply... quiet, subdued. The ripples in the stygian pond that was the cyborg's force presence had subsided and given way to a placid, almost calming black. It was a mask of course, but one that had been donned for the younger man's benefit. His state was fragile, and having to gaze into the hungering abyss was one stress he was in no need of right now.

Reithan could feel the dark lord's eyes on him, and not the ones on his mask but the ones behind it - rather, the single organic one behind it. After a few minutes of quiet staring, the impression of a black leatheris palm-print pressed to the side of the kolto tank, fingers spread. Thrax had been where he now was, though surely what'd befallen him had been far worse. A rare expression of sympathy, maybe the only one he'd known to come from the man in as many years since their last meeting.

Darth Thrax.

That didn't make sense. Reithan frowned slowly, awake enough to see and understand, to feel confusion. Why would Thrax be here...? Though he did not feel like the Kaddath anymore. There was something about the resonance of that place, like a carcass floating in space, rotting from the inside out - the shell of a creature, hiding something deep and dark within. This was not that place, that ship where the Lord of Agony and his creatures were. This had a different feel. Metal, wrapped around void.

The feel of the tiny, mechanical insects crawling and spinning and nipping at the flesh around his severed knee and thigh was nothing compared to the pain and discomfort he'd already experienced, and didn't bother him nearly as much as it could have. After a little while, the humming and tingling of them had enough of a rhythm to be something of a white noise. They were helping... and he wasn't going anywhere, anyway.

Whatever his fate, and whatever questions and confusion he had about it... none of them mattered. He was trapped, and alone, stood tall over by two Sith that plagued him most in the galaxy.

He saw the black blur of a hand rise against the glass and closed his eyes again, an exhausted breath out leaving the mask as a cloud of bubbles. It didn't sicken him as it had other times, the sight of the Hollow Lord. Perhaps he was just tired. Perhaps he had felt too much for that to effect him, anymore. If Thrax was being gentle with him, he couldn't fathom why. The last time their paths had crossed, it had been with his sister, mentally twisted and brain-washed, standing between them.

/Then, Aolanni... is she here too...?/

\No.\

It was highly unlikely that Reithan could have expected a reply to his idle musing, but then he should've considered who he was dealing with. Thrax was a master of the dark side of the Force before the half-Miraluka had even been born. Telepathy was not beyond him, reasonably. And when he spoke with it, the voice resonated from -inside- the younger man. If not for the courtesy of the Lord of Entropy creating a clear distinction for what was his response to Reithan's errant thought, it might have been easy for the recipient of the message to mistake it for a thought of his own making.

Thrax's entire den of iniquity, wherever he was holding Reithan, seemed to resonate with the same basic aura of both oppression and invasion. While there was certainly the ever-present feeling of domination, there was also something more insidious lurking beneath, trying to worm its way inside the younger man's heart like water into cracks in stone. The erosion that accompanied his presence was not only passive, but also actively manipulative. It was the remnant of what once had been the unique ability to create powerful bonds with others in the Force, a power which had since corrupted so as to make Thrax himself something akin to a plague-bearer, actively spreading an infection of darkness and despair.

It would have been how he corrupted so many on Zythia into following his nihilistic rule. It must have been how he corrupted Aolanni, too... though Aolanni, if her jailer was to be believed, was no longer with him. And why would Thrax lie about being in possession of such a potentially valuable advantage in his dealings with him?

Before Reithan could project another question toward the Darth, a sudden jab to his neck disrupted his thoughts. One of the insectoid medi-bots had snuck along his back and now had its syringe proboscis buried deep in the young man's throat. Warmth filled his veins, rising to his cheeks, which he felt reddening as the anesthetic began to take hold over his body and mind. Clearly it wasn't intended that he should awaken just yet.

The first feeling to be lost was that of the small droids going about their work. Apparently the mechanized mites had their fill of the last bits of infected tissue clinging to his body and had left the tank somehow. The tingling feeling of skin healing into scar tissue over these areas was overwhelming to Reithan's senses, before it started to fade to numbness along with everything else in his world.

The last sensation the young man would experience before his mind returned to blackness was that of great suction emanating from beneath him. His kolto-filled world was rapidly emptying, and soon he would follow with it as the braces containing his body were released, starting with his legs and ending with his wrists. He descended with the draining goo, breathing mask leaving his face as he started to slide into the depths of unconsciousness again.

Seven red eyes saw him off to his renewed sleep.

[Auryn]

Mild trigger warning. This is a character dealing with recovering from abuse, please be advised.



Aolanni


The cool of the polished tile floor beneath Aolanni's bare feet soothed her in the mild Corescantian night. It had probably cooled decently outside since the sun had gone down, but the buildings, so tightly packed and clustered together, always took a while to release the heat of the day. Aolanni had few memories of the old Jedi Temple deeper into the centre of the main city, but she remembered on the cool nights after lessons, how she'd liked to walk around without boots and socks, and imagine the roots of her energy going down through the bottom of her feet into the floor, and then the earth... until she'd recall she was miles above the ruined, rocky ground-level.

/How many times might we have passed each other in the corridors, or classrooms... and not known?/

She knew it would be nonsense to blame herself for such a mistake. She had been small, getting over a large trauma, and with a very clear knowledge of what her brother looked like. How his energy moved, how it felt, the warmth of his presence and the snow of his scent.

When she had first looked upon Reithan, there had been none of that. Though it was an idle thing, that memory, and not something she would have known to hold onto for importance... she found herself remembering it quite clearly. It had been years after the move to Tython. They had both been well into their teenage years by then, and it was a hot, humid summer afternoon. Lessons finished early for the Padawans so they could take some time on quiet contemplation near the refreshing cool of the waterfalls. Force-throwing clumps of water and force-shoving friends over into the shallows took over instead, and Aolanni had wandered away in her damp summer robes wondering how to sneak by Master Jiorn to their joint bathroom...



She saw the uxibeast first, waddling to and fro in the tall sweetgrass, snorting at the flies that attempted to crawl up its muzzle every now and then. It must have been sweltering, slowly shedding its thick winter coat in a summer that had rushed on quite suddenly form the spring.

Aolanni had seen the body of course – that of a teenager sprawled in the grass on his back, but hadn't really noticed him – not until the uxibeast tried to take a bite out of him.

“Ow!”

The creature reared back, startled – bouncing its heavy mass on the spot a bit, grunting indignantly. A hand slung up out of the grass, palm flat, non-threatening.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”

It seemed rather unconvinced. Stupid human.

“Really...that was my hair.”

The uxibeast sniffed the hand, then gently leaned its face into the teen's palm, seeming appeased. Aolanni smiled.

“They're sweet, aren't they?”

Reithan sat bolt upright in the grass, an intense pale gaze fixing on her in the harsh sunlight.

Aolanni stared back, canting her head to the side in his sudden and silent reaction.

Cold... was her first impression. There was nothing friendly or inviting about the way his attention fixed on her – and the girl did not need her empathy to tell her he would much rather have been left alone. Unsociable, startled... aid empathy did help her glean a little deeper, however. Awkward, shy. Aloof. Guarded. So guarded. Why was he--

“What do you want?” He snapped, with all the friendliness of a sithspawn.

Aolanni sucked on her bottom lip, snapping out of her probing. “There is no need for such a tone... I didn't see you there.”

The uxibeast nudged his shoulder, rather harshly. As though to say, 'behave', though really it probably just wanted to get to the grass beneath the teen, which was clearly tastiest in all the field.

“Sorry,” he sighed, “you startled me.”

She nodded, taken aback but recovering, gesturing to the beast. “You two are even now, then.”

He answered her with silence. This one was of a more awkward nature than before, possibly a little regretful for his harsh tone. His hand shifted absently up and down the uxibeast's snout. It leaned its head up, sniffing at his hand and hair, trying to have a nibble at it before the teen pre-empted and leaned away.

Aolanni clasped her hands behind her back, swaying from side to side. “Are you done with classes today too?”

He considering answering her a long while, then nodded.

“You... don't like to speak much, huh,”

He said nothing.

“Well... I should...” she gestured down to her damp robes, “meditation turned into a bit of a water battle...”

He nodded.

“Well, uhm...” Aolanni made a show of her best smile, exuding a presence of calm and warmth. He was so uncomfortable, so on edge, as though she had intruded upon some sort of private musing... there was no need to be so tightly wound, not so close to their home, “it was...nice to meet you...?”

“..... Reithan,” he replied, and she had a subtle feeling that was the last she would hear from him.

Her smile widened, and she gave a short bow. “Oh, you're Master Yhana's Padawan! I'm Aolanni, A, Aolanni Vaek, your Master teaches my Soresu masterclass...”



Even back then, he had not batted an eyelash at the name. He had remember nothing, she had recognised nothing, and they had felt nothing from one another. It was sad, really.

So much of their story was sad.

Aolanni only vaguely remembered looking upon him through Raiza's wretchedness. Or, she imagined that she did, for the sake of her own comfort. Part of her wanted to believe that they had in some way managed to be reunited again before being dragged apart once more. It was less... cruel, that way. She could recall the way his aura had been different. Something had changed within him. He was Reithan who carried Ayen's core. Forever changed, but having recovered something he'd lost...

She wanted to talk to him about it.

She wanted them to be up at the dead of night together, now; pacing the halls or sitting by the window, or perhaps in the fountain room or on the deck... talking. Reminiscing. Of their childhood, of the countless snow-gundarks and the ice-skating and the running-off-to-find-Aolanni-because-she's-lost-in-the-woods-again and remembering the terrible smell when mother attempted to cook instead of father, and how they would be at war trying to ladle each other's servings into each other's bowls when she wasn't looking. She wanted to ask if he remembered mother's voice and the sound her singing them to sleep, or the wild witch Egnosi who lived by the frozen lake that had saved them from the storm that one time, if he remembered the visit from the Jedi when Aolanni had said they weren't to take 'her Ayen' away and kicked the Master in the shins--

“You're just trying to distract yourself.”

Aolanni looked up. She had stopped walking a little while ago, with a hand drifted against the wall and another clutching her robes around her as though she were cold.

“Hn....?” She peered across the hall, towards a doorway leading into youngling dorms. A small child lingered there, half-hanging out of the doorframe, clinging to its edges. She felt the frown on his face. He was Miraluka, veiled with a brown leatheris cloth that had woven braided trimmings.

She squatted to his height with a gentle sigh. “Little brother, you should be sleeping at this time.”

“You're not,” he pointed out. Then, uncomfortably, “your pain is keeping me awake.”

“M... my pain?” her brow creased beneath her own all-covering veil. He was sensitive then, too. Like her, or perhaps... more perceptive. She recalled his prior words. “Oh little one, I am sorry. My wandering thoughts have distracted you.”

“It's not fair, you know...”

“What isn't?”

He padded over to her, also barefoot, and slipped his hand into hers. “Let's go outside.”

They did, the doors to the balcony opening to allow in a cool nightly breeze. There was no quiet to be had outside of course – Coruscant didn't sleep, and the traffic was ever-busy, sounding like a rushing river gushing around the forms of the buildings that jutted out between the lanes.

The boy hopped up on the edge of the balcony, peering momentarily over the side.

“You be careful there,” Aolanni urged.

“I won't fall,” he shrugged, paused, then added, “are you afraid of falling?”

“No,”

“Why not?”

“I have not placed myself beside a sheer drop, dear,” she replied, cautiously now. She could feel his keen senses probing her.

“Then why are you trying to distract yourself?”

“You said that before...”

“You're thinking about him, when you should be focussing on yourself. You can't help him right now, but you can help you...” he canted his head towards her, “so, why aren't you?”

Aolanni tugged her robes up a touch, stepping over to the boy and lowering to her knees in front of him. She drew down her hood, though it did little to reveal anything over her – the only slight of skin she had showing, over her whole lithe body, were her hands, feet and the lower half of her face. All else was covered. All else had to be, so that the other's wouldn't-

“See,” he finished the thought for her.

“You're afraid they'll see the ugliness you won't deal with.”

The woman pursed her lips, not sure how to answer. She believed in being gentle with children... but not in shielding them. “You are not wrong, little one... I have been weak.”

“You thought you were pure, and good,” he nodded, understanding, giving a sniff, “now you know you're dirty like everyone else, and you don't want them to see.”

“Dirty is,” she started, a little taken aback by his bluntless, “not the word I would use...”

“It's exactly the word you would use,”

Aolanni gasped, looking up. While the boy's lips moved and the voice came from him, it was her own that spoke... her own, but deeper, more accusing... a tone she did not often use.

“You think, 'he has touched me and I am dirty. I will never be clean again.',”

She rose slowly back to her feet. The boy's face split into a terrible grin.

“ 'He has touched my soul and made it dirty. I will never be clean again.' ”

“Stop it,” Aolanni ushered with a tremor.

“ 'How can I see Ayen again, when I am this unclean? When I have the Hollow Lord's sickness inside me?' ”

“Stop it!”

“ ' I was so clean and good. I was so proud of my purity. I flaunted my purity over the others,' “

“That,” Aolanni hesitated, taking a moment to breathe, “that is not truth,”

“Don't lie anymore sis,” he drawled, reaching up to snatch at the veil and drag it down – revealing eyes that she knew to be white as snow, blind as she was to the view of them. Just as it had been her childhood at the temple, she had failed to notice her brother once again.

“Please stop,” She whimpered, “Ayen, please, why are you doing this...?”

“ 'I was never pure. I was always like everyone else. He showed me the truth.' “

“No,”

“ 'Raiza was the truth within me,' “

“No!”

An almost inhumane shriek broke from Aolanni's lips, and she found herself jerking forward, smacking her hands over the boy's face and mouth, around his neck, anything to get him to stop – but he continued on, and he laughed, and he did it all in her voice. She squeezed his throat hard, sobbing in desperation, but the voice went on.

He has touched me and I am dirty. I will never be clean again. He has touched me and I am dirty. I will never be clean again. He has touched my soul and made it dirty. I will never be clean again. He has touched my soul and made it dirty. I will never be clean again. I was never pure. I was always like everyone else. He showed me the truth. I was never pure. I was always like everyone else. He showed me the truth.

Raiza was the truth within me.
Raiza was the truth within me.



Aolanni shuddered upright, waking with a choked breath.

Monika still slept in her cot, undisturbed, though she still squirmed and rocked back and forth with a mutter here and there. The sound of the midnight traffic outside did not penetrate the windows. A think glean of sweat covered the Mirlauka's bare face, her unkempt and outgrown hair a mess about her shoulders.

In a rush and flurry of bedding she was up, crossing the room to their shared 'fresher. Her sweat-damp bedclothes were torn to the floor. Her hands fumbled at the faucets at the shower, releasing a jet of ice-cold water upon her form, which took some to warm. She gasped in the spray, beginning to rake her hands through her hair and over her body, over and over, scrubbing, scrubbing, as though trying to wash the remnants of the dream away.

She had to become clean.

She had to become clean.

[Auryn]

This follows on directly from Reithan losing consciousness in the first post.


Reithan


He dreamed. Or... he remembered.

Reithan thought he would see her. His sister, the child he remembered clearly with each passing day since Edan, the smiling, sensitive, chubby-cheeked Miralukan girl who clung to his side like clue. He had seen her frequently in his dreams, between the nightmares, a gentle reminder of the person he wanted to meet again, to see face to face, to have her... recognise him.

Instead, he saw red eyes again, though only two - one cybernetic, one organic and tainted by the dark side. He watched large, powerful arms throw a cloak over his small and childish form, and the weight of it falling around him, blocking out the cold of a Ziost eventing. Reithan frowned at the scene as though watching from outside his own body - the small, nameless child he'd once been, and a Sith Lord who humoured him in idle conversation that, even radically different and more human than ever, could only have been Thrax.

Another piece of the puzzle floating the surface that was the endless dark ocean of his mind. Yes... "Yes," He murmured, hushed, his gaze softening with nostalgia. "I remember..."

/“If you want to become a Sith one day…”/ that same voice, far less mechanical, and bearing a flame of life that the metal, hollow corpse had lost long ago, /"You should pick yourself a name before then. If you do… you can concentrate on it. Your name is your goal, yes?” /

/“If things become... difficult to endure, remember it. Through victory, my chains are broken.”/

How he had changed. How they both had.



Ziost, Many Years Ago

Frigid winds tore against the spires of House Navras. A snowstorm - they came and they went, usually with little fuss. Somewhere in the inner sanctums of the ancient palatial Sith dwelling, a pair of dark lords were holding a discussion of some import, presumably. Whatever significance it had kept it, apparently, from the ears of their subjects and apprentices. And while there was no tension between the power bases of either of dark side titan, there was no familiarity. By all rights, Darths Phrixos and Volgoss shared no commonalities, yet here they were. It had been only the third of such meetings, which had become biannual events. A man stood out on a balcony beneath a low awning, looking very much as if he’d become accustomed to the way things worked by now.

His arms were crossed, and he leaned against one of the columns that supported the low overhang that currently spared him the blistering cold just beyond. Chill winds didn’t seem to bother him, as they still whipped his cloaked legs and boots, but they weren’t what was on his mind, by the look of him. His mask was relatively simple - a breathing apparatus, girded in black armor, shielding the lower half of a face that may’ve been handsome at one time. Jagged scars and cybernetic implants decorated his pallid, pasty flesh, and his single eye was closed, though red light seethed powerfully behind the thin membrane of his eyelid. He didn’t spare the doors a glance as they opened with a rush of mist somewhere off behind him, stuck in thoughts of another life, another time just a decade gone now. He wanted to be anywhere else but here, anyone else but him. He hadn’t come this far just to waste time in some frigid old mausoleum - everything seemed cold and dead enough already.

The boy lingered a moment in the doorway, enfeebled eyes squinting at the unfamiliar figure. Though he was met with a blast of cold wind, he wore no jacket or hood against it, not seeming to feel the cold of this place as visitors might. He was small, weedy, would have looked more like some half-starved street rat if not for the tunic of finer quality he wore, in dark blue with a red and black sash. His sleeves were cut off at the elbow, revealing arms and hands that were heavily bandaged. His neck, too, was wrapped, and there was a medical patch taped over the right side of his jawline, from beneath which spread angry purple bruising across half his face. It had been a recent beating.

He stood there for the longest time, quietly studying the visitor, tilting his head to the very vaguest tones of their masters speaking from within the houses. Though his eyes were weak and near-useless, his hearing was keen, and most of the time he perceived the world easier a different way.

Finally, he stepped over the threshold, taking the thin cloth hood woven into his tunic and bringing it up over his head of dark brown hair. He walked over to the corner of the bannister and pretended to look out over Ziost’s petrified forests… though really, he studied the newcomer, the strange man and his metal parts and breath mask, looked quite an odd picture through the sight of his Force. If he concentrated, as his Lord had taught him, he could feel the pain of his breath, too.
The cyborg was less subtle in his own study of who was, to him, a newcomer. He hadn’t expected visitors of any sort - in all the times he had accompanied his master to Ziost, there had never been another person, and especially not a child. How strange, then, on the last visit to this place that he ever planned to make with the old Miraluka, there would be another to join him staring out onto the frozen landscape beneath.

It took him a few moments, took him canting his head to the left, the right, then forward. Flecks of snow decorated the Sith Lord’s slicked black hair, caught themselves on his robes as he stepped off from the pillar supporting him to stand upright. The action produced a telltale mechanical whirring, and two soft mechanical clicks as his taloned cybernetic feet set themselves upright upon the floor.

It was a quick stride across to the boy, who heard the man approach. To his sensitive hearing, he might’ve been a symphony of mechanisms, all of which silenced as the much older lord dropped to one knee, unbuckled his hooded cloak, and swathed the young boy in it with no argument expected.

The boy almost flinched when the Lord had descended upon him, clearly expecting some sort of violent handling or strike, and not the dark cloak that fell around his bony shoulders as a warm, heavy weight. He made a soft note of surprise, momentarily blinded by the hood falling over his face. Then he reached up and pushed it back, blinking up at the strange and so-pained man.

“You should not be out here.” That was all Thrax said to start, in a neutral tone that conflicted with the pained expression on his face. His eyes practically bored into the awful bruise the youngling wore. Maybe it was what had caused him to take pity, or take offence, at least to the extent that he would put himself out in such a way, even though dark armour kept the cyborg insulated from the cold.

“What is your name, son? Why are you here?”

There was no fear in the boy's gaze, which was white as the snow and frozen lands around the Navras towers and homestead. It was understanding, though, and not ignorance that made any form of wariness on his part absent. He seemed completely aware of his situation, and at peace with it - how could one fear pain and punishment when it was near routine?

It took him a while to answer, busy studying the mechanical Lord. He was shameless about staring now that they had addressed one another, as children often could be, paying close attention not so much to the mechanical parts themselves, but the areas where they were bound and fused to flesh.

“I live here,” he replied then, simply. His voice was soft, and not yet broken with age. The accent was odd - sounding as though he had lived somewhere near the edge of Republic space, rolling his Reshs but annunciating mostly with Imperial form.

Unabashedly, he followed up with “Why are you here?”, as accusatory as the Sith Lord’s own first words to him.

The accusation didn’t seem to phase the dark lord, nor did the gaze he could feel on the ruined portions of his flesh. He was a child, he had an excuse that most of his peers lacked, most of the ones that referred to him derogatorily as a walking corpse, as a fragile cripple. His enhancements and his sheer power had actually made him stronger than any of them despite their jeers, and while he had learned to deal with Sith politics after many years of service to the order, his lament for his state was etched in each jagged scar on his body, fed his reserves of dark power, and accumulated as a pool of crimson soreness in his still-organic left eye. The boy’s stare was curious though, not malicious - it was tolerable. He knew what a sight his mangled form was to the uninitiated, having stared at it too long for his own good. Part of him hoped that the impressive white of the ogling child’s stare was not sufficient to make out any scars, if only to spare him the gruesomeness.

“I am Lord Thrax.” The modulated voice was empty of inflection, though his accent was, notably, not that of an Imperial. “I am the apprentice to Darth Volgoss.” He had grown weary of saying it, and soon anticipated no longer qualifying himself with the name of another - by this point, he’d been doing so for four decades, though the name had changed many times.

Reaching out, Thrax’s left hand, his organic hand, curled around the collar of his own cloak, draped about the young man’s shoulders. He straightened and tugged it to properly swaddle the emaciated-looking boy. He gave another flinch, though this one not as sudden and worried as the last, as the Sith’s hand reached for him. He didn’t seem to like being handled, though he didn’t pull away, tolerating it all the same, relaxing soon after realising he was merely being rugged up again. It felt unnecessary - this cold he had known since before he could remember, and he barely felt the more frigid edge of its bite anymore. Outside he always felt calmer, more able to breathe, and the crispness of the air only helped that. 

Two streams of cold mist trailed from the vents at either side of Thrax's mask - a sigh, not uttered but certainly made in the same spirit. As the boy had been admiring his scars, he too had spared a glance at the purple blotch decorating his neck. Even for a weathered Sith, even in the throes of a dehumanizing existence such as the one the cyborg found himself stuck in, there was something pitiable about this scrawny little kid.

The boy tilted his head. Volgoss was the one whom he’d glimpsed briefly before he and Lord Phrixos had disappeared into the lower levels of the towers to conduct business. Volgoss was… as he was, in a way. The boy felt it, and saw it. Miraluka, he recalled idly. He knew he was only part-one, because he still had eyes, even if they weren't all that good.

“Lord… Thrax.”



A long while later, with more calm darkness following the poignant recollection, Reithan felt the cool metal of the bench against his bare back, drawing him up out of the induced sleep. Absently, he flexed his arms, fingers curling against the table... he was strapped down again. Sluggishly, each senses began to tune in. His pale eyes blinked open slowly.

The first thing he laid his Force-augmented gaze upon was the cluster of machines hanging above, just in view. A hundred mechanical limbs, it seemed, clustered around a single conical point that drooped from the ceiling. Many of them were still stored against the sides of the core apparatus, but many more gently writhed in the air or hung still from below it. Some of the arms wielded what he could've guessed were cybernetic components, including something that looked like... a foot.

Reithan's new legs were hovering above him, each in fifteen different pieces. Still, he could almost swear he heard them approaching him, a soft mechanical whirring growing progressively nearer...

"Welcome back, boy."

 It wasn't the echo of the hypothetical limbs that'd caused the noise, but the very real metal limbs of Darth Thrax, who now stood at the end of Reithan's medical table with hands folded before himself. His gloved hand glided across to the bracer of his mechanical arm, where his fingertips tapped against a discreetly-hidden keypad, which seemed to cause the metal slab to rotate forward. Holding the half-Miraluka at a 75 degree angle, Thrax stepped around to one side of his slab to address his patient with his eyes. One organic, one mechanical.

A cursory search found no hate on the surface, only pity and perhaps despair. Not the face of the man he'd fought only months ago... or perhaps it was. The cyborg had been wearing a mask then, and Reithan had been wearing a blindfold over his mind's eye that'd prevented him from recognizing the Sith sooner.

"There will be no pain here for you just now. There is more than enough of that in your future... and in your past."

Reithan was caught off guard by the look. It wasn't the face he'd ever imagined seeing behind the seven-eyed mask, and yet... it was a face he remembered. It was paler now, cruder, had more augments... but he was surprised and erred to see so much humanity, where he'd expected none. Could this really be the one who had brought Zythia to its knees? The hollowed-out monster who had stalked and eventually ruined Silooni, the spider who had laid his web for Aolanni and drawn her into that hellish void-stuff he lived and breathed--

The young Jedi's face hardened again at that thought, his eyes growing quickly steely and cold, flaring with weakened anger. He remembered the way the Darth's clawed hand had stroked through his sister's hair, the way she had stood there, loyal and at attention, lettering herself be played with.

"I don't want your pity," he breathed, finding his voice hoarse and raspy from dis-use and weeks of pain and sickness. He strained at his bonds, not looking away from that bloodied gaze, "tell me... what you did with her..."

Thrax turned away, took a step out of Reithan's sight, paced around the back of the medical table and became one with the shadows again, so it seemed. He was incredibly difficult to sense before the backdrop of wherever they were - likely a space vessel of some sort, considering the unobtrusive din of ambient engine noise that echoed in from all around. If they were aboard a ship after all, it was running silent - both within real space, and within the Force itself. Even if anyone was coming for him, he wouldn't be found if his caretaker didn't want him to be.

"Unfortunately for you, you have my pity." The cyborg's voiced echoed from somewhere behind him, modulated by his breathing mask. "The question at hand is what you shall do with it. This process can be as seamless or as difficult as you wish."

The mechanical arms hanging far above shuddered all at once, then began to go about their work, gathering tools and preparing for... something. And if he was with Thrax, it wasn't hard to guess the nature of the procedure at hand.

"As for your sister..." His tone changed, less monotonous. Anger seeped in at the edges of his cold calm. "The Jedi absconded with her before I could reunite you properly."

'Your sister'.

Was there an Imperial left in the galaxy that didn't know?

Reithan had been ignorant of the fact all of his teenage years and adult life, whilst growing up alongside the very girl amongst the Jedi. How different his aura just have looked by the time he was rescued from Phrixos' clutches, for her not to recognise him... and his memory had long since been locked away. The fact that so many knew, now... it was a mockery.

So then... had she known, in the end? Surrounded by Sith who knew of their connection, had Aolanni been made savvy to it prior to their last meeting? The creature called Raiza had referred to him as 'brother'...

/Reunite us? Sick bastard.../ Either way, it did not matter. Reithan relaxed some, letting his eyes fall closed, the fight and the fury leaving him. She was back among the Jedi, now... Thrax had no reason to lie, and he sounded annoyed enough at the prospect. Aolanni would be safe there. She would heal. She would recover. Perhaps Dassalya would see to her. She would mourn, if she knew of her brother and his fate... but she would rise above. His sister had always seemed one of the best of the Jedi, to him. That wouldn't have changed.

He would have... liked to see her. See her once as her brother, Ayen Vaek, before they were torn away from each other again. How wretched and pitiful their fates were.

Reithan's eyes flicked open once more, following the movements of the tangle of whirring arms circling and prowling above, holding what would soon be his new legs, of Thrax's design. The near-white of his gaze seemed... starker, somehow. Pallid, defeated.

"... why... did you do what you did to her?" He face contorted slightly with pain, jawline muscles rippling beneath the new scars Phrixos had left there. "Why won't you Sith... leave us alone...?"

Stillness fell over the room for a moment or two after the younger man's whimpered question. The arms above began to slow, but continued to go about their work assembling and disassembling one another in preparation for whatever the procedure to come called for. Thrax himself didn't respond immediately, though there was a whirring of cybernetics. Out of Reithan's sight, the cyborg had curled both fists and laid them to the workbench before him, head down, eyes locked on a cybernetic frame fitted perfectly for one of the half-Miraluka's forearms. Not a replacement, but an augment... yet staring at it, he couldn't help but wonder at the question, and how he could explain it. It had been a very long time since he'd felt the need to explain himself to anyone.

"Not... Sith. One man. Darth Phrixos." It was not a deflection in any way. The Lord of Entropy clearly accepted full responsibility for whatever role he was to play. But his tone made it clear that to play a role at all was his own decision, and for reasons known only to him... until now, perhaps.

"You ask me, in part... about what significance you bear to him, and by extension, to a Sith such as I. But I wanted you here, agreed to treat you and augment you and spent a considerable amount of time and wealth devising exactly how I would do that... in order to ask you the very same question." Thrax now stepped around into Reithan's view. In place of his right forearm was a veritable cluster of surgical tools.

"I have wracked my databases on and off in my spare time since we met attempting to determine why... a pureblood Sith of a powerful and ancient line such as Navras would wish to make an apprentice out of you. And now that he has... I am no closer to the answer."

After a moment of quiet, Thrax neared and stared up toward the ceiling, where the arm-laden apparatus above was already working to respond to his non-verbal beckoning. A limb handed down a pair of braces, apparently meant for Reithan's legs and designed not only to press into his skin.. but to be riveted directly into his hip and thigh bones.

"Your guess... is as good as mine," Reithan muttered, slants of white lie in there. He could not rely on what knowledge he'd been made savvy to through a dream, though that didn't merrit disregarding it completely... though, nor did it merit sharing what he knew with Thrax.

Perhaps now, he thought, he would finally find out the truth. His heart felt to clench slightly at that thought, the reality of his situation steadily gripping him. He was a prisoner. Phrixos' prisoner. The time he had always fears, had arrived. He suppressed a shaky sigh, forcing his thoughts away from his fate.

Staring at the metal framework, the Sith continued. "Your sister... perhaps Phrixos wants you for the same reason I wanted her. There was..." The brace was lowered, and he curled his gloved hand around the edge of the slab, voice drifting. "...something about her, she... could see. She was on the cusp of real enlightenment and all that was needed was a push. I though that she would understand if I brought her into the darkness with me." His next words were incredibly deliberate, enunciated very carefully.

"I thought that I would not have to be alone any longer. I thought that I could -teach- another to live with -this- as I have learned to. I thought that I could teach everyone."

Aolanni. To him, had always seemed... so full of light. Gentle, calm, accepting and understanding of the ways of life and the universe. If she had been on the cusp of some form of enlightenment, which Reithan couldn't deny could be possible... Thrax could have only dragged her away from that into the numbness of his affliction.
He shook his head slowly, silent with disgust. There was nothing enlightening about what the Sith had tried to do. All of it was selfish. All of it was thinking he had the right to manipulate someone so terribly into seeing the universe through his lens. That was how they all were. That was what made them so rotten. They thought they had the right to change and tamper with people. They did not want to understand, and yet they wanted to be understood themselves.

"Well," he said quietly, bold and blunt despite knowing who's mercy he was at, and that Thrax's pity would not be infinite, "now you can suffer in loneliness again."

"I suppose that makes two of us."

Was Thrax more horrifying that he seemed, apparently, self-aware regarding his affliction, his predisposition for imposing his will on the galaxy around him and the people within it regardless of how it would be accepted? It was difficult to say, but it was uncommon for a Sith to truly see themselves for what they were to everyone else, or at least acknowledge that they could be seen as anything other than how they wish to be. The Lord of Entropy could not, however, be entirely solipsistic. So much of his work in undermining Jedi was dependent on a keen sense of understanding that allowed him to hone in on how and where where to erode away his enemy's constitutions and wills. He had done as much to both Silooni and Aolanni now, not to mention the entire population of more than one world, and the countless others that comprised his power base. But despite being possessed of an unnatural intuition regarding people (or perhaps, partially because of it), Thrax knew that there was no way he could ever possibly relate to any of them. He, like Reithan himself and in spite of his own efforts, was completely and utterly alone... and by the tone of his response, he seemed to understand he always would be.

All the while, the young man's corrupt caregiver had been lowering into place the pair of braces that would be locked into what remained of his thighs, in order to provide extra fortification for the cybernetics about to be applied. There was the impression of a prickling feeling at the inside of each leg before the muscles began to go numb. A powered tool on the cyborg's limb whirred to life - apparently a powered screwdriver for implanting the rivets right into his bones.

"Well then." Thrax displayed the hydrospanner attachment before Reithan, tipping his head to one side.

"Shall we begin?"

[Hawking]

@Aolanni
@Ollin

 Aolanni

Tython - The Chambers of the Council of First Knowledge

The Tythonian sun shone through the beautiful pane-glass windows of the Council of First Knowledge's main chamber, warming the respective skins of Masters Irella Kadar and Maiel Ravel as they sat, deliberating quietly over a stone tablet, seemingly some ages old. Master Fr'lor Jiorn hesitated outside the double doors leading into the chamber, turning briefly to his former Padawan - uncharacteristic softness melted his usually stern features. "Are you sure you are ready to speak to the council?"

Aolanni smiled up at the Togruta, though it was still marred by her exhaustion and uncertainty - one thing she had never been able to do, was hide her emotions from him. "The Force is with me, as are my friends," she touched Monika's shoulder briefly, at her other side - her free hand cradling a package wrapped in old cloth. "Anyway, I am feeling stronger than ever now that we are back on Tython."

Without waiting any longer, she moved forward to the doors, and parted them, bowing as she entered.

Mastar Kadar sets the tablet down, nodding to Master Raval. "To be continued, old friend." The Twi'lek returns the nod, offering the newcomers a smile. "Master Jiorn, Knight Vaek, Padawan Monika, it brings us great peace to know you have returned to us safely."
"As it brings me great peace to have returns, Masters," Aolanni took on a humbled stance, as Master Jiorn took his council seat, his eyes barely leaving the young woman. "I am sure you understand myself and my apprentice have news, and much to talk about... I am only sorry we could not arrive sooner."

Kadar and Raval return to their seats, taking up practiced postures, sitting expectantly. Kadar clears her throat, the middle-aged human watching the Miraluka curiously, blue eyes looking serene. "How may the Council of First Knowledge, or, half of it, as luck would have it, assist you, Knight Vaek?"

"There are a couple of things i wish to report," she hesitated forward, idly smoothing her other hand over the cloth covering the object she held, "as well as to deposit an object here for your scrutiny. My memories of a good deal of my time captures are muddled, masters... but lately I have remembered a few details which I have found quite disconcerting." "Am I to believe that all of the remaining Dark Reapers that we know of, have been destroyed?"

Kadar nods, smiling. "So we have heard from the Custodum Enclave's reports. Rest assured, Knight Vaek, we are quite certain their horror has been removed from the galaxy." She pauses. "This object of yours, might you place it before us?" Raval nods, tapping his chin in thought. Monika seemed uncomfortable at the thought of Dark Reapers, though, she didn't say anything. Her eyes just moved from side to side as if scanning idly for threats despite the impossibility of them. Her breathing became ever so out changed by the thought.

"Oh, of course, this..." She glanced down at the wrapped item with a slight frown. Aolanni bore only a vague memory of the holocron-like artifact being pressed into her hands by Darth Lexicanus, and little of what he had said to her at the time. She had not been herself, then... timidly, she moved forward and placed it on a small counter set before the chairs, allowing the fabric to fall away.
"This was given to me by Darth Lexicanus. It does not seem dangerous, though I know not the point of it..." She moistened her lips, "As soon as he had both myself and the planet captive, he lost most interest in both, and seemed to... allow Darth Thrax to take over."

The Masters' expressions visibly darken at the mention of the Sith. Kadar eyes the now exposed blue stone cautiously, reaching out with a hand to pick it up. "Mmm...we know of this Lexicanus. He has long been somewhat of a mythical foe to this council...much like an initiation story we tell new council-members." Raval nods, adding on to Kadar's statement. "A boogieman in Sith form." Kadar runs a nail along the beautiful grooves on the ancient, engraved artefact. It seems to hum quietly under her touch, growing visibly more luminescent. "And just what are you..." She muses.

Aolanni nodded in agreement. "His ways are mysterious, and his tongue made of silver." She took a few steps back, and came to clasp her hands before her. "I know not if the object is dangerous or not... I have attempted to open it or access information several times, and it has given no reaction."

Raval leans forward, eyeing Aolanni. "And yet the Sith has never confronted us. The Serpent slithers behind it's rock every time we seem to close in on him..." Kadar leans back, ice-blue eyes locked on the holocron. "Mmm...curious. I sense only Light from this object...'tis pure." She casts her gaze to Monika, and then to Aolanni. "Did Darth Lexicanus perhaps have a philanthropic agenda? I would not be so foolish as to presume he gave you this holocron to guide you back to the light, but, perhaps as...a comfort, to Darth Thrax's machinations?" "I... do not know. I remember little of our exchange," She shook her head, stepping back now to stand beside her apprentice. Her words gave pause a moment. "He did offer me several times, my freedom... though it came with consequences, some I was unwilling to make. If He has an Agenda, masters, I believe it to be purely selfish."

Kadar raises an eyebrow, breaking her gaze from the holocron. "Curious. Very well, Knight Vaek, we will...cautiously review this artefact for you, should you think it to be worth investigating. Is there anything else you would wish to share with the council?" Aolanni pursed her lips... she knew that, moreso than others, the Council of First Knowledge had to be vigilant and suspicious of her - it was their right. The life of a Shadow brought with it unique dangers, being sent into deep cover, or to deal with Sith artifacts, falling, being twisted and manipulated, ever a risk. She'd only prove her true intentions by her actions, and she intended to.

"There is. I believe he and Thrax are in some sort of... agreement. I know no details of any other reapers, but when I was under his power, I recall the Lord of Entropy speaking of..." She pauses, trying to bring up the fragmented memory. "... the "Scarred Heart'. I believe it to be some sort of ship... in relation to a similar power than the Reapers." Raval strokes a lekku thoughtfully. "Troubling...did he speak more on it? Have you brought this information to any before us?" More suspicion.

Aolanni shook her head slowly. "No... I only recently recalled it, while meditating on the sickness within me."
Master Jiorn leaned forward in his chair slightly, shooting Raval a quick look of disapproving.

Kadar exchanges glances with Jiorn and Raval, placing the glowing blue artefact down on the desk, stroking her chin. She glances to Monika. "What have you to say on the matter, Padawan?"

Monika looks towards Kadar, "My intelligence on the situation is lacking, my own specific knowledge on the inner workings of the Sith wouldn't add much." She frowned ever so slightly, "Though, I do agree that any agenda would hardly be selfless of them. I had felt many things due to my connection through the force to my master, but some did not make sense and others I had to avoid actively addressing."

Kadar nods slowly, again exchanging glances with Raval. "I see, might I ask if-" The master is abruptly cut off as the glowing blue artifact pulsated once, twice, then three times. The human woman frowned. "What in the Force's-" A figure. Dark, robed, the signature deep blue of a force imprint. An insidious chuckle reverberates around the room, as though coming from different directions. Aolanni made a note of surprise, shifting herself in front of her Padawan - though her hand instinctively went to rest on her belt, she wore none, nor did she have a lightsabre. She recognised both the seeping darkness, and the laugh. "be wary and mindful, Moni."

"My dearest council members...a fine morning to you. I will assume my protege delivered this message to you...safely. She was a most...informative case, I have yet to see an equivalent to her raw...ability. I am of the understanding you requested a more...direct course of action. I have provided."

Kadar's eyes dart to Aolanni, looking pained. "Knight Vaek..."

Some of the colour drained from Aolanni's face. "This is a trick. I had no such correspondence with him."

Master Jiorn rose from his chair, beginning a slow pace around the projected image, going to the young woman's side.

Monika jumped out from behind Aolanni grabbing her sabre in preparation for whatever, but not lighting it. "What is this?" She demanded to the figure.

The silk-like voice continues to purr, the hooded figure emanating from the stone standing perfectly still, arms folded within it's robes. "I trust this will be more to your liking...perhaps now you will rectify your woefully inadequate superstitions." The figure faded as quickly as it had appeared. Master Kadar looked at Aolanni pointedly, a sadness in her eyes. "Child...you are tainted. And you have delivered an artefact of the Sith to our door. You speak of secret weapons and Thrax's machinations when you are both one and the same." Raval stands, his fingers tracing slowly toward the silver hilt of his lightsaber upon his belt, steel in his gaze.

N, no..." she shook her head slowly, though her voice begun to tremble subtly. "I assure you, that is not the case..."

"My former Padawan has not been compromised," Jiorn stated firmly, his usual gruffness returning as he fixed his gaze on the other Masters, lowering his hands. "She speaks truth of the serpent's forked tongue. He would have us turn on our own like this. Let us discuss this matter in private, and allow Knight Vaek time to rest."

"No, this can't be true. These are lies; they are deceiving us." The padawan stood loyal to her master.

Kadar also stands, brushing her longer sleeved brown Jedi robes off her shoulders, fingers also tracing toward the lightsaber on her hip. "There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge, Master Jiorn. Look upon her! She is tainted! The void within her..." Something flashes in her eyes, and Aolanni could detect a sudden, spike-like shift in both Kadar and Raval's auras. The stone no longer seemed quite so pure. Darkness seeped through the cracks, a deep, blood red hissing from the grooves like smoke. "It is not natural, Jiorn! This is our duty! To root out darkness in the force wherever it may hide!" Kadar hisses.

Jiorn's eyes flicked down to the stone, and up to the Masters again. "I fear you are the ones tainted, my friends," His deep voice projected across to them as he rested a hand at his own hilt. "Please, look inside yourselves, fight this trick!" Aolanni seemed to have frozen, unsure of what to do or say... the Master's words mimicking the accusations of her own fears within her. A hand rose, shaking to cover her mouth, and she took a few steps back.

Kadar takes a step forward, lightsaber in hand but unignited. Raval mirrored her. "You can feel her fear! She knows we speak the truth...this is no trickery, Master Jiorn, this is revelation." Monika looked around her, assessing the situation. Her eyes darted about, the danger never truly went away - even when they had destroyed the machine. "This is all a ruse...a tactic to bring division. To divide and control." She said with certainty, she wouldn't let her voice not be heard.

"Then I suppose your sudden turn to violence is particularly natural of you, Master Kadar?" Jiorn snapped, his jaw set. "Knight Vaek is in need of healing and understanding. Her wise apprentice has it right. The serpent means to separate us, find your resolves." "She left her Padawan on that world, Jiorn, she turned this sweet, young, promising Jedi into a soldier, and now to Sith! Just as she corrupts you!" Kadar hisses, taking another step forward, eyes manic. Raval seems to be in some sort of trance, eyes staring forward.

The artefact was now a deep, insidious red, and had begun to pulsate much like a heartbeat. Chillingly, Aolanni felt the stone beating in tandem to her own heart.

Her hand lowered from her face to grip at her chest, feeling the thump of her quickening heartbeat. Aolanni felt the connection, between herself and the object... stepping back from the centre of the room, she lowered herself to her knees and called on the Force to pool around her, searching for calm, seeing if she could effect the artefact's state with her own. "I see clearly, friend. Now lower your weapons - even if you are correct, we are on Tython. if Knight Vaek were to try and escape, where would she go? Let us handle this calmly."

Monika remains calm, staring down the council member."Diplomacy must win out. We can find out what this is without the need for imprisoning our own."

The two council-members advanced on the Jedi, now standing directly before the stone. Kadar says nothing, merely brushing the activation matrix of her lightsaber, the brilliant sage green doing naught to curb the luminescence of the artefact, the deep red illuminating the room. Raval mirrors her action like a puppet, his own sun-orange blade springing outwards from the silver hilt.

Suddenly, as Aolanni reaches out for the stone with the Force...the pulsating stops chillingly. For the briefest of moments, the Miraluka feels her heart stop beating within her breast. She gives the quietest of gasps, the strength in her body wavering. Jiorn ignites his own sabre, marred with regret, but jerks his head back as he feels his former apprentice waver.

"Forgive me, masters, for blades should not be drawn this day." Monika ignites her sabre, steeling herself for any dire consequences.

Kadar's face remains resolute, stern, narrowed and manic. "I take responsibility for what I must do." She steps forward toward the artefact, Raval doing the same, ready to engage the Jedi...just as a huge scarlet flash engulfs the room, blinding the inhabitants. A pair of inhuman screams penetrate the blinding red light, suddenly echoing into a choir of similar voices.

"Flash-ban-..." Monika screamed almost instinctively, as she disengages her lightsaber and jumps away in the blind state she was in.


Aolanni cries out, and collapsed forward on her hands. Pain gripped her, and the voices were loud, splittingly so, feeling to penetrate her very being and make her ache all over. The light fades as quickly as it came. The two prone forms of Masters Kadar and Raval are visible, collapsed near the stone, face down.

Jiorn's arms came up to shield his face in the blast - as the light cleared, he did not move, gaze passing over the two bodies of his friends, then fixing on the stone.

"Power demands sacrifice, my dear Jedi. I thank you for yours."

What appears to be steam rises from the prone forms of the two masters. Something about the way they lay seemed...odd. Monika re-ignited her lightsaber as her vision returned, her eyes scanning the area - not immediately rushing to help her master. "To your feet, Padawan." Jiorn barked over his shoulder. "It is not over yet. Monika, at my side, adopt a defensive stance."

Monika nods, "I can't see any contacts..." She prepared herself none the less. "Trust in the Force moreso than your eyes," he near-scolded, taking a careful step towards the bodies whilst his free hand extended - pushing the stone towards the far side of the room.

Aolanni gasped for air, clutching at her chest again, while her mind reeled - what had just happened? How was she bound to that thing...? What wasn't she remembering? The losses of the Masters were another mar on her..

The stone hits the wall with a crack, already inert. It splits in two, the grooves now grey and lifeless.

The bodies of Kadar and Raval lay cold in more ways than physically. Upon closer inspection, they no longer felt...living, as though the very essence of the Force had been removed from their bodies, leaving them no trace of them ever having been alive, no more so than a rock or a building. Objects, not corpses.
Their skin was shrunken and husk-like, their eyes gone from their sockets, faces scrunched and skeletal. "What's the situation?" Monika said to the master next to her, "I've never encountered something like this."

Jiorn frowned darkly as he cautiously approached the nearest of the bodies, regret now etched into his features. He extended his senses, trying to feel out the malevolent energy that could have done this to them, if any remained.

Disturbingly, there was no trace left on the bodies. They were no more warm to the touch or the senses than the nearby desk, or chairs. Some of the Jedi Order's finest now confined to that worst of all fates, the inability to become one with the Force. Master Jiorn suppressed a flinch. He whipped his head around, regarding Aolanni curled on the floor, and then her apprentice. He nodded to her. "You are to return to your quarters with Aolanni - seal her in, and then contact another Master... one that you trust. Allow no one else in or out." Grimly, he looked back on the play of lifeless, stone-like bodies. "I must alert the rest of the Council."


"I... I did not know of this," Aolanni uttered.

An amused chuckle met Jiorn's senses.
"What remains of it, Master Jiorn...I do hope you do not consider yourself more...mortal than your compatriots. Rest assured, my dear Jedi, I come for the rest of your bumbling council in time. You destroy that which you fail to understand no longer."

Monika  walked over to her master, kneeling next to her. "We must get to our quarters, it will be safer there."

"And do pass along my most sincere
gratuity to your former Padawan, she was truly instrumental in this...unfortunate necessity.”

"Actually, I must thank you for revealing your intentions to me, Darth Lexicanus," The Master muttered, pressing his eyes closed. He lowered to his knees, and put a hand gently to the shoulder of one of the corpses. "... make haste, Monika."

Another amused, near silent chuckle.

"I had no hand it it... Moni..." Aolanni raised her head, gripping onto the girl's arm, "I swear it... I would never hurt... I would never...!" "There will be time for that later, master Aolanni." Monika said as she picked up Aolanni with her new muscles she'd gained during months of combat and moved off with haste.

Dragged to her feet, Aolanni felt oddly cool to the touch. She raised her head towards Master Jiorn, but his back was turned to them, and he did not address them again. She felt weak, and sick... and ever used, again. "C... contact Master Shatari, if he is available," she urged her Padawan, "and do as Master Jiorn says. Until this is sorted I should not be trusted..."

[Auryn]

Written with @Thrax , like all the rest with him in it!


Reithan


"Well then." Thrax displayed the hydrospanner attachment before Reithan, tipping his head to one side.

"Shall we begin?"


Reithan let his head fall back. His near-white eyes stared at the rotating instrument atop Thrax's augmented wrist.

It felt as though, in the past year, he had more people interfering in his life than ever before. Prior to that, he had been left to his own devices. Those few who had tried to connect to him struggled with it. Master Yhana had gotten through... rarely did others. Not even Xian'do, the second Master he'd always carefully held at arm's length away. Recently, though, there had been so many... lights. So many connections. Belaya. Drexa. Silooni. Miller. Audaine. He had, at some point, abruptly turned around and begun to realise how important bonds with others were, and not only that... but he had craved it.

Closeness, the sense of being apart of a group. Nothing sexually wanting or needy... he had simply become tired of his lonely path. Some part of him had thought, maybe, been convinced by the optimistic likes of Miller and such, that surrounding himself with others, building in strength in numbers, would have saved him.

Thrax was right, though. He hadn't been saved - neither of them had - and despite best efforts, they were both still utterly alone. Was he has bad as the cyborg, in that way? Had he tugged desperately at the attentions of others, throwing caution of their safety to the wind?

/It's better this way/ He thought, blandly, an old tune brought back up into the present. /They'll be safer this way.../

Thrax was a vastly different sort of monster than Darth Phrixos, that much was clear. Still, he had the decency to offer the numbing agent. Reithan hadn't thought him merciful enough for that. Even if he'd been promised a lack of pain, here.

"It doesn't matter." he murmured, with the slight shake of his head, lowering his eyes from the instrument and resting back against the bench.

/None of it mattered.../

"Indeed."

It couldn't have been telepathy again."And once you come to understand exactly what that means, you, my boy..." The whirring of the hydrospanner attachment ceased for a moment as Thrax finished, ".. will have taken your first step into a much larger world."

The fallen Sith's cybernetic wrist began to lower. There was pressure in his right knee - at least, what was left of it - as the first rivet of sixteen total began to drive itself into his flesh. Vague impressions of some sort of warmth radiated up from the severed limb, but there was no pain, not really. Soreness, perhaps, but that was natural and, while unpleasant, tolerable. Everything seemed rather muted and sedate in the operating theatre, including the operator, his very presence.

The first brace was simple enough to attach. Eight rivets, two rings of four, each rivet equidistant from the next. The material comprising the actual brace was some sort of flex-metal alloy that moulded to the contours of his lightly-muscled thighs.. but then atrophy had set in. Likely, what was left of his legs would have to be stimmed back into a truly conditioned state before he'd be ambulatory again, but if anyone knew the ins and outs of such a process... it was Thrax. At the very least, he was in good hands.

The second brace was more difficult. There were eight more rivets, two more rings of four each, but as the other leg had been nearly shattered, a solution had to be devised in order to equal it out to the length of the first leg. A sort of plug seemed to have been designed to fill the break in the bone evenly, with firm plasteel padding for muscle, and had apparently been moulded specifically for Reithan. Despite the fact that it was all in service of his greatest enemy, Reithan was being paid more personal attention and care for his recuperation than he might've expected. The Empire was rich, and Thrax had access to a vast swath of resources and seemed to be intent on making the younger man's recovery as swift and painless as possible.

To his credit, Reithan was near silent. While his hands trembled in fists at his sides and his teeth ground behind his lips, he did not make a sound. From childhood he'd learned how to deal with pain, and the psychology of this than worse that what he felt. It wasn't so much pain as it was... the feeling of knowing what was happening. The sensation of the rivets going onto bone. The dull ache in calves and ankles that did not exist. It was surreal. He could not look down yet without seeing his dismembered body and feeling ill, his mind had barely caught up with the absence of legs yet... so he kept his eyes shut, and did the closest thing he could to meditating on the cyborg's operating table. Drawing on the Force in any way he could. Looking inward, blocking out the present. It was hard. He strained at it. The feel of the Darth's entropic elements hovered so close, physically and otherwise.

Quick and painless weren't the words for the process. While the braces had been attached relatively simply, the discomfort of the process seemed to slow down the passage of time. Matters were only exacerbated as three or four of the smaller mechanical arms writhing above began to lower themselves over the half-Miraluka's legs. Each one bore a needle containing a green substance, and each one moved faster than any human hand to inject small amounts of the liquid into various points arrayed across the young man's thighs. Every application seemed to heighten the intensity of the interminable tingling that had replaced the pain of the operation.

"Synthetic anabolic steroids, designed to enhance your atrophied musculature." Thrax clarified. "A derivative of those employed in my own recovery, refined and balanced to your biological chemistry. You will need them for your physical therapy."

The Sith looked on as the automated limbs continued to pump Reithan's body with chemicals, presumably in preparation for attaching the cybernetic limbs that hung above. His gaze was relatively passive, disturbed only by the same vague pain he seemed always to be in the throes of. Though ripples of withering power continued to ebb from him as they always did, they were directionless. This was Thrax at rest, and perhaps concentrating - being essentially an engineer at heart, it likely pleased him on some level to have an intellectual project of personal interest to him - but why such a personal interest in the 'boy' to begin with?

".. your own... nngh," Reithan flinched, the shuddering and throbbing of his thigh muscles in response to the stim being pumped in being the first thing to break his concentration and tolerance. Again, his invisible and non-existent legs below the knee also throbbed, as though a great pressure were being put on them, and they were inflating and expanding in a space that was too small for them to do so. His nails scratched the surface of the table. A hot sweat began to gather against his face, chest and neck as his body reacted to such a strong stimulant, slow to adapt with his weakened bond to the Force.

His senses reeled, the room spun for a moment. He was going to be sick. Reithan forced his eyes shut again, gulping in a few breaths, his body frail in the face of  such sudden change from the sickness and malnourishment of the past few weeks. Already, muscle had begun to break down from disuse, and his ribs could be seen beneath the pale skin at his sides. He was weak, in every aspect of the word. Phrixos' plans, apparently, were to whittle him down completely, and build an apprentice out of what was left, from the ground up.

Thrax stepped away from Reithan as the veritable torrent of numbed agony overwhelmed his senses. There wasn't any sting behind the pain, but there was a lot of it, and the Force could not be invoked here in order to stifle the ache. His body wouldn't give, however, and the Sith seemed to be aware of it. His droids had been intravenously funnelling nutrients to his patient as needed, but he hadn't offered any actual food... likely because nothing aboard the ship required it, and so it wasn't kept on hand. So while Reithan's body was being given what it needed to go on functioning, the crippled half-Miraluka still hungered for something substantial and real - not unlike Thrax himself. The hunger pains were only exacerbated with the application of chemicals designed to facilitate the construction of body mass, which brought their own kind of ache as they went about their work.

A pair of mechanical arms descended from on high and took hold of Reithan's shackles and dislodged them from the table, then rose with his wrists. Another shackle-bearing limb descended from above and locked a steel collar around his neck to it still and to secure him in place. Muscles that hadn't been used in a good while ached with stiffness as his arms were slung up above him, forcing him into a suspended sitting position on the table. Pain rolled over his forearms, neck and shoulders, and his head lolled forward a moment before he gained the strength to raise it.
Another pair of metal limbs descended behind him and went about applying further anaesthetic to the areas surrounding his spinal column. He could guess at what was next to come as something that resembled a large metal ribcage descended from on high.

A cybernetic spine served as the core of the apparatus, and seemed to... writhe like a maggot as it was suspended in the air.

While the underside of it matched the shape and structure of a human spine perfectly - and was likely fashioned to suit his own unique bone stricture - there were ridges and upraised mechanical links over the other side, giving the impression that part would be bolted to (or replace) his own bones, and the other would remain meshed over his skin.

He steadily felt the muscles along the small of his back and most of his lower torso fall into that abyss of numbness. To the best of his abilities in his puppeted state, Reithan squared his shoulders, knuckles white and teeth clenched, and waited.

Darth Thrax stepped around to examine the new exo-skeletal framework, appraising it with his gaze. Some of the tools on his left hand fell away as he started to make adjustments to it with a welding torch integrated into the cluster of implements that replaced his right hand. Sparks jumped from the mechanical spine, which contracted and squirmed with each one as if pained.

"Biological stasis field engaging." he activated a switch embedded in his gauntlet, which caused a trio of arms to lower from the cluster above. Each one bore a strange disk on the end of it that seethed with a hazy blue hue. A strange energy of the same colour began to spread across Reithan's body, inducing not numbness, but... stillness. He was gradually being frozen in place down to the very last molecule, or so it seemed.

Reithan quickly began to feel a deathly cold creep along his body, radiating and stretching and encompassing him from the shower of blue forcefield. He shuddered. His chest heaved, lungs feeling heavy and somehow as though they were full of dust. What little colour was there fell from his face and lips.

A pair of droids approached from the shadows and began to handle the mechanical spinal column as the Sith lord stepped from it. He paced back toward his patient, meeting his eyes as he spoke in subdued tones while the curious energy continued to subdue the younger man's crippled body.

"In order to prevent your death due to spinal fortification and partial replacement... your bodily functions will be minimised just below acceptable parameters. And once the procedure is finished, you will be resuscitated. Do you understand?"

Reithan struggled to focus his eyes on Thrax, vision beginning to haze and darken. 'Below acceptable parameters'. He heard the clinking and whirring of the robotic arms spinning and craning above, and the subtle hiss and writhe of the spine. A shrill beeping, a warning tone as the machine registering his vitals showed them dropping dramatically.

"D... don't..." he wheezed, stretching and pulling in discomfort at his bonds, one last act of resistance, "... don't give me... back to him..."

Darkness took him once more.

[Auryn]

Okay, about time these posts had some pictures.
@Thrax , big thanks for Akunadan and the NPC Jedi Elsika!

'Knight Vaek,

Please consider this summons in regards to the incident that took place on [DATE OMITTED] at the Chambers of the Council of First Knowledge. You are required to provide a full statement, and answer any questions needed for a full investigation to be conducted. Your Padawan is not required or encouraged to be present.

Stand by to be advised on an appropriate date. Please remain in your quarters at the Custodum Enclave on Coruscant and make no travel plans.'



She knew of her innocence. Aolanni knew at the very most that she was guilty of ignorance, at the very most, and nothing more. Yet tension ran through her being, and as she waited within one of the sound-proofed meditation chambers near to her solitary quarters, knelt on the floor at the centre of the room, she felt nervousness and guilt knot in her stomach like the twisting hand of a murderous beast.

She remembered the accusation in the Master's eyes...

A gentle chime split the vision in her mind's eye, coaxed her back into reality. Just beyond the door, the Force revealed a figure to the Miraluka's advanced sight. Humanoid, of course, no impressions of hair. His signature was bright, and ebbed gently, calmly, akin to lapping waves against a beach of silky sand. This man, this Jedi, was familiar indeed, though perhaps not as familiar as some of her contemporaries to her second sight.

A common fixture around the Custodum's archives, he always seemed far too busy with this or that to give adequate attention to the more active areas of concern for the larger enclave. Mostly regarded as a managerial Jedi, he was nonetheless accomplished and respected by the other knights for his work.

Now, his work had brought him to Aolanni's cell. The door chimed once more to allow the Rattataki known only as Akunadan through the portal into the small room, where he took up a seat on the only available bench, and smiled across at its occupant. There was a quiet confidence about the alien, and while he did not exactly seem open and welcoming, there was no judgement to be found in the emotions swirling about him now, the serene calm in the vision of him to her eyes.

"Knight Vaek. It's.. well, it is good to see you again. I had been meaning to extend my warm wishes to you earlier in your recovery than this, but I had been training my initiate for her trials during that time."

Her smile was etched with relief as she rose up on her knees, bowing her head to the man. She had last seen Knight Akunadan back on Zythia itself, only a few short days before the Reaper had appeared, and she had been arrested... for the longest time, Aolanni had fretted that he had been one of the many Jedi slain by Lord Carvur that day, as the trap had unfolded. The thought had been buried in her mind as the straining of her captivity had diverted her attention elsewhere... but either way, he was a comforting sight.

"Knight Akunadan. It is good to see you too, and in fine health. You have taken on a Padawan, since last we met...?"

"Please..." As she rose to her seat, she could feel his senses peaking, suddenly alert. Benevolent as his demeanour was, he would not have been allowed past the guards if his intent was merely commiseration over the past. His hands rose, and he gestured to gently ease her to her rest at the bench across from him, exhaling calmly. All of his tension fell away with the sigh.

"Yes, a Padawan. She was a Sith pureblood that Master Shatari helped to liberate from a darksider cult. I rehabilitated her, guided her through her initiation, and she is a Jedi now." There was a gentle fondness in his tone as he recalled Viyacinta to his thoughts, and it reflected in the picture of him, which eased considerably and fluttered with ethereal light.

That light stiffened and became less diffuse as he continued, adopting an inflection of austerity. His presence was far from overbearing, but he was serious to be sure. "As you may or may not know, I am a sentinel of the Order, and I act in the capacity of investigator from time to time. That's.. why I am here. In light of the ...events for which you were present, the masters thought that a familiar face would provide a small comfort at least during the inquest to come."

Aolanni stepped back, nodding gently with understanding to the stoic front he offered. She was by no means a prisoner, but the Jedi had to treat problems within the order such as these with much caution... for when one fell, they were a danger not only to the Order, but the Republic itself. A certain amount of disconnect had to exist between them. She slid into her seat on the bench. it was not uncomfortable, felt felt oddly cold.

"I understand," She spoke gently, folding her hands in her lap. For their formal meeting, she had her hood drawn back, though there was still little left revealed beneath her full-headed veil. Even so, her tension spoke of how exposed even that simple lack left her feeling.

"I appreciate how delicately this situation is being handled."

"I insisted on that much." The Rattataki bobbed his head, and the smile gradually returned to his features. With a soft sigh, he mimicked her motion and folded his hands in his lap, before raising one leg to cross over the other. His casual robes flowed with him, but did not constrict overly much. The back of his head pressed to the wall behind it as he settled in for a moment or two, just examining her.

He broke the pregnant pause with mild words, apparently also insisting on easing her into the particulars of the process. "There are a few guards outside. They and I are going to escort you to a room a few floors down, where we'll discuss what happened, how it happened. Another, more senior investigator will be joining us. I want you to answer everything she asks you in as much detail as you can. Every single word is extremely important when it comes to delicate situations such as this."

"And I assume..." her hands clenched just a little, fingers woven around one another tensing and colouring her knuckles a paler shade of white, ".... this will include questions of my time as prisoner of of Darth Lexicanus?" She spoke more to her knees than Akunadan, her person seeming to somehow reduce.

She did not speak her other captive's name. She -would- not, unless asked. Whatever Lexicanus' game or hand was in the ambush on the Council of First Knowledge, Aolanni very much doubted that Darth Thrax cared for, or was included in such things.

Akunadan, for his part, did not seem much more willing to mention the other Sith in question. Aolanni could sense the hesitation in his tone as he offered a firm, but calm response. "We will be discussing any aspects that we deem relevant to the inquest, including your time with Darth Lexicanus. His involvement in this matter is not a matter of debate, certainly." His wording was deft and agile, but the meanings were clear enough.

"...I... yes," the hesitation in her disjointed words was obvious, and she nodded again, returning to bowing her head like a scolded child. They did not think her in league with the Darth, surely... and she knew she had done no such thing. The guilt in her heart remained though, a guilt of possibilities she did not remember, of the things she had not done, of precautions not taken...

Aolanni gave a gentle breath out - in, and out again. /Remember you are among friends,/ She assured herself, a few person that had reminded her the same coming to memory - the distant yet concerned Merrant, the caring and proactive Miller. Her Padawan's wide, concerned eyes, peering at her from within her own mist. Monika needed her, now more than ever. And the Force was with them both.

She raised her head, a tentative calm settling around her heart. "I am ready. Let us proceed."

Lifting his head from the wall at his back, the Rattataki rose to his feet and offered a hand down to Knight Vaek, along with a kind smile. "For what it is worth, I have faith in you. Just have faith in yourself and you will be just fine, I am certain."

"I know my own innocence," She agreed, reaching up gratefully to take his hand and rise, "my fears come from my worries, and I will not let them rule me."

As they walked from the room however, the two hovering guards outside falling into step on either side of her as they made towards the turbolift - her heart still fluttered. Another one came to mind amid the thoughts of her friends - Kell, or as he was known now, Lord Lethash. The calm resentment and bitter acceptance of him, the pattern of cybernetic parts stapled over his flow of energy. A small frown of confusion went unnoticed by the others beneath her veil. Why did she think of him, then...?

/Because he was innocent too,/ her mind recalled, /and that and the Force was not enough./

The walk to the turbolift was fairly quiet. Passing attendants and inhabitants of the temple offered little in the way of attention to the Miraluka or her escorts. To his credit, Akunadan lead the procession with as little formality as possible, so as not to attract attention but also to shield the visage of Knight Vaek behind his own. But even though no scurrilous whisperings met the Miraluka's ears, the occasional aversion of a stare from her veiled face was indicative enough that there were some in the temple walls who had already made their judgements.

All of that fell away when the group entered a waiting lift. During the smooth ride to one of the lower levels of the enclave, Akunadan made a point to offer a smile over his shoulder toward his charge. The armoured temple guardians at either side of her had eased off, allowing the Rattataki to offer an encouraging hand out to her just before the lift hit its destination and the doors opened wide.

She moved forward to his beckoning, resisting the urge to grip at her hood and draw it back up. She was no child in need of a security blanket, and nor was she Kell Winters... their situations were barely comparable. Aolanni could look at Aku's smile, draw on the calm reassurance of his energy, and assure herself of that much.

This level of the enclave, not open to the public and used only for formal business, was less decorated than the higher floors, and through the walls the bustle of the energy of life beyond in the endless Coruscantian city was closer, a little noisier. She followed the Rattataki through the halls, and the guards fell away from the in the doorway of a simple, well-insulated room that was mostly unremarkable. There was a table and four chairs, two on either side - a single holoprojector was clamped to the centre of the table, and there were no windows.

Akunadan took up one of the chairs closest to the door, then gestured to the seat across from him. "Please, Knight Vaek. Knight Elsika Fortessk will be in soon." His hands folded up on the tabletop, his demeanour remaining calm, though there were hints of unease in his words when he spoke the name of his fellow examiner. "Knight Fortessk is rather a stickler for procedure. But I have always known her to be a fair arbit-" A soft chime at the door cut off his words, and caused the Rattataki to rise easily from his seat to open the door for the only other individual that would be joining the investigation.

The woman at the door was rather short, not all that much taller than Knight Vaek herself save for the curious bumps that adorned the back of her skull. She was a Chagrian by the look of her, and she wore the rigid, wilful demeanour of most of her people. Sparing a firm nod to the taller knight, she passed him by with her eyes set upon Aolanni herself. The look on her face, the way her energy rippled as if flowing from one prepared for combat... it was doubtful she would be taking her eyes off the Miraluka at any point in the near future.

Akunadan noted the steely gaze of his fellow knight, who sat down rather casually across from her potential quarry despite the clear antipathy present in the flow of her energy throughout her form. He did not even make an attempt to calm the woman, seeming to have expected this sort of thing by the ragged sigh he offered as he stepped back into the room and dropped into his seat beside Knight Fortessk.

"Elsika, this is Aolanni Vaek, Diplomat of the Order and Jedi Shadow under the Council of First Knowledge." The Rattataki offered in a cool tone. "I am sure you are aware of the situation." The Chagrian nodded, then craned her head to one side, her head-tails swaying gently with the movement.

"Indeed, I am." Knight Fortessk's tone bore the notes of patience, but carried an undercurrent of righteous aggression that was almost imperceptible to those not so keenly attuned to emotional wavelengths as Aolanni happened to be. "I have reviewed the incident. Two Jedi masters, drained of all life, of all Force, I dare say. A peculiar situation, all things considered."

Aolanni tilted her head towards the woman upon her entry, noting the open beat of her energy, in rhythm with her pulse, firm and focussed - she knew she would not get the same gentle treatment from this one as she had Akunadan. The Shadows of the First Knowledge rarely saw to the business of their own people in this manner, due to the nature of their work and how it could skew their perceptions and judgement. Aolanni somehow got the feet, as she took in Elsika's vibration, that this was not the first situation she'd been in with a Shadow, and possibly the last meeting had not gone so well. There was something... guarded about her.

She realised she was being questioned, and drew her thoughts away from her wondering, attention fixing on the Knight's face instead. She looked between her and Aku, nodding.

"Peculiar is not the word I would use for it... but yes. Masters Kadar and Raval were drained, through the powers of the artefact given to me by Darth Lexicanus."

/"Do not answer more than is needed. Be short and concise."/ She heard Master Jiorn's warning once more, in her memories.

Akunadan folded his hands, tipped his head slightly to peer toward Knight Fortessk. There was a wry gleam in his gaze. He seemed to have no great affection for the other knight, and Aolanni's response gave him some level of comfort about her chances going forward. She would be fine after all, it seemed.

Still, the Chagrian knight continued her obdurate observation of the woman across from her. Her hands fell to the desk and one folded over the other easily, casually. There was a distinct feeling of abdication about her, no particular compunction to offer the same charity to a recovering woman that her Rattataki colleague had given. And she seemed unphased by the woman's answer, just as mild as ever in her demeanour.

"Did you aware become aware of Darth Lexicanus' vendetta against the Council of First Knowledge at any point during your captivity?"

"No," she replied simply, "I was not even aware he had uncovered that I was not simply a diplomat, and a Shadow under the Order."

Fortessk was quick to shoot back. "You were held by this Sith lord for almost a full year, and yet you did not learn of his true intentions for you at any point during that time?"

"Darth Lexicanus was rarely present," she frowned gently, as she explained, "he showed little to no interest in me other than to place his Lords as guards by my side. I believe at most, he believed I would make a good Sith if turned, with my empathetic abilities..."

She swallowed thickly. /You are safe here./ "It was Darth Thrax that spent the most time with me."

Akunadan remained silent, but offered a wary stare toward his fellow knight before gently tapping her forearm nearest him. Knight Fortessk stared across to the Rattataki, and nodded, a bit hesitant in her manner.

"Knight Vaek, did Darth Thrax speak to you regarding the Council of First Knowledge at all during your imprisonment? Do you believe he was involved in this matter specifically?"

She shook her head. "No. He and Lexicanus seemed to operate separately, with different agendas."

The calm of the Rattataki knight's smile was quickly broken by the Chagrian knight's tone, which seemed a measure harsher than it had been when last she spoke. "Tell us of Darth Thrax, then. When you returned to us, you admitted that your experience had been particularly traumatic. It's not unusual for some to experience..." Her breath hitched in her throat before she continued, a little more serene for just a moment. "...lasting effects, from contact with particularly pervasive elements of the dark side."

Aolanni turned her head to focus completely on Knight Fortessk, mindful of her own body language, how it tensed and how her discomfort was so easily an open book.

She could not fault the woman... She was doing her job. The Miralukan had expected a touch more empathy on the subject, was all.

"I have... Already spoken to both healers and council members on my continued ailments. They do not believe me to be a danger, or to have been corrupted."

Her gut clenched. She was dirty. Surely she was now a liar too. She was not believed to be a danger, but her own worries and suspicions of what was left of such handiwork remained...

"Yes, well." The woman seemed unconvinced, her blue head-tails swaying as she reclined with crossed arms. Akunadan tensed instead, frowning at the proceedings. "Ever since a member of the Jedi High Council was discovered to carry the Emperor's brainwashing, our standards have had to become increasingly exacting to compensate."

The other knight swiftly interjected. "With all due respect, we are not here to discuss Darth Thrax. That is a matter for another time, yes? Perhaps when the situation is much calmer." After a sigh, some of the tension left the man and he looked to Aolanni. Fortessk seemed mildly displeased, but offered no rebuttal.

"Regarding Lexicanus." Akunadan continued, "Do you recall the statement his recording made? He named you as his protege, or at least that is how we are interpreting his wording for now. We are not inclined to believe Sith on their word, especially if what we know of this... scorpion is true." After a moment, he arcs his bald skull, his piercings jangling softly before he continues. "You stated that he believed that you could be made into a Sith. Did he do anything to attempt to facilitate this change that you can recall?"

Her wash of relief and gratitude towards Akunadan was evident, as the whole room seemed to sigh and breathe. She was not ready for that talk yet, to face those shadows and demons, and not in such a setting.

"He... made offers from the guise of kindliness, shrouded in manipulation," She explained, focussing blearily on the blur that was here memories of that long time in captivity, the short visits of Darth Lexicanus between the rest of them.

"He knew of my relation to Knight Skyfallen, somehow." /He knew before I did. Before we did./ "He used that as a threat against me, to stop me from attempting escape. He wanted me to construct a new lightsabre from materials he provided. The guardsmen he offered me were polar opposites... one meant to intimidate, and one I was meant to befriend."

"Knight Skyfallen?" Fortessk was the one to interject, one of her palms flattening against the table between them as she asked, now openly accusatory in her tone. One of her indigo-hued fingers activated the holoprojector at the centre of the table, displaying an image of the very same half-Miraluka.

"He has been missing since an attempt to rescue you from your imprisonment on Zythia. The others who returned from that mission claimed that you were present during his capture at the hands of another Darth known as Phrixos." The Chagrian's head-tails swayed as she arched her head slightly, eyes widening just a bit. "Tell me, do you think that it is possible that you were utilised as bait to trap your very own brother? In a trap that you were apparently complicit in, due to three separate accountings of the incident?"

Yes.

"I was not complicit, I was not myself," The sudden harshness was evident in her tone. Aolanni leaned forward, gripping the side of the table. So often, she had to explain, it was starting to seem like an excuse. 'It was not me. It was Raiza. It was not me. It was not me. I was not myself.'

She wavered, sitting slowly back in her chair, gathering her hands in her lap. "You should know if this. I-It has been detailed in a report... I barely remember even having seen him..."

/"You must re-learn to control your empathy. I know this will be a slow process for you." Master Jiorn had sighed. "Rampant emotions will do you no credit in the coming investigation, though."/

"... but, yes. I'm sure my presence there was of the utmost convenience for their plans. Perhaps it played a part in my original capture... I do not know. I can only assume."

Akunadan leaned forward, apparently attempting to interject once again, but Knight Fortessk beat him to the punch, curling her hand flat on the table into a fist. "Fortunately, we do not have to assume regarding these details, Knight Vaek. SIS Intelligence agents have reported that your half-brother remains alive, under the care of Darth Phrixos, as well as..." She paused, and the Rattataki knight would have used the time to cease the clearly hostile line of questioning, but something about the other knight's tone had gripped his naturally inquisitive mind. "...Darth Thrax."

No.... no.

Not him, as well. Not the both of them... 

The fear and dread that quickly and intensely lunged and wrapped around Aolanni's chest like a vice, could be felt very briefly by the other two Jedi as though it were their own emotions, before she gasped and condensed and forced herself to keep handle on her feelings. Her hands crept up, trembling subtly, to hold onto the edges of the table once more as though it was a lifeboat. Her mind felt vaguely... unfocused, a little dizzy, almost reeling.

She swallowed, the taste of bile sitting at the back of her throat.

"I was... not... aware of this." A sharp inhale. "Why would you tell me this now...? What has this to do with the incident at the Council? Do you wish to unseat my focus so cruelly?"

"Not aware?!" The Chagrian woman now had both palms flat to the table, and stared down her nose imperiously at the Miraluka. "How... dare you violate the sacred trust of our order, then presume to lie in such a manner? Do you think we cannot sense what lurks behind your veil?"

As Aolanni lurched back in her seat, miming wordlessly, Akunadan rose to his feet with a start, eyes wide, his energy more focused by the look of him. "That is quite enough, Elsika. You have far too much emotion attached to this investigation, I suggest that we-"

"I am not through, Akunadan." She thrust a blue finger in the pale alien's face, causing him to exhale sharply, retaining his composure. That finger turned to point toward Vaek, the woman's hand shuddering with her growing indignation.

"Your lies will not stand." Every one of the woman's words was enunciated with a clear focus behind it. "You are a pawn. You are not what a victim looks like, not to me. And I have brought down far greater Jedi than you in my time, Vaek. I will see to it that yo-"

"Enough!" It was the first time that the Rattataki had truly risen his voice in a very long time. His eyes wide with focus, the sentinel quickly re-assumed what serenity he could, piercing the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the room with a soft voice.

"Have we become so... fearful, so paranoid, that we must... extinguish a person because they unwillingly bear the markings of a current enemy?" Fortessk seemed to recoil slightly, and Akunadan reached forth to draw back one of the other knight's sleeves, revealing prodigious ritualistic scarring along her forearm. The Chagrian moved to cover it, then recoiled to one corner of the room before throwing up her hood and departing, clearly distraught.

"I... I am sorry..." Aolanni rose carefully from her seat, cautioning a few steps back from the bench. "I unsettled her... I was projecting..."

She felt cold, and the room felt dark and unwelcoming in the wake of Fortessk's animosity. She had not lied. She could not have known. Had Raiza been present, maybe? Had the SIS seen her, and reported on Knight Vaek conversing and planning with the enemy...

...Now that the images were in her head, it was impossible to distract from them. She saw Reithan, and his already turbulent energy, the light fighting for dominance... she saw Darth Thrax's void and sickness, seeping in through the cracks like dark water, drowning out all traces of shine or black, hollowing him out bit by bit as he had her...

A hand curled around her mouth. Her stomach heaved with nausea.

"Will you... " she gasped, "leave him there... to suffer... as long as I was left?"

"What?" Akunadan stepped around the table and laid both palms to the other Knight's shoulders, offering his stoic gaze. "No... Knight Vaek-- Aolanni, no. We do not leave Jedi behind. You are a testament to that."

Her now shaking arms snapped up, shoving off the weight of his grip, as warm as the offered comfort felt, and she continued to back off, towards the centre of the room, shaking her head, mouth agape in disbelief.

"You... you leave me in the spider's web for the better half of a year... and then have the coldness and the audacity to accuse of such lying and corruption when we have emerged from the other side...??"

She had fought so hard. Her heart thudded in her chest. The room spun. She had fought so hard to remain pure, untainted. She had gotten through to him, briefly, here and there. She had seen it. She had clung to her teachings and remained as gentle as she could. None of it had been enough. Now, for the first time, she stared upon her fellow Jedi, and distrust ran thickly through her. Would they ever trust her again? Would they... throw her to the wolves, as they had Kell?

"I did all I could," She uttered, "I did all I could... with what I had..."

The Rattataki's gaze remained set, his hands slowly folding before himself. His tone had remained consistent, despite the outburst, despite the chaos he could sense roiling over from the beleaguered Miraluka. "Not all of us believe as Knight Fortessk does. She, too, has experienced trauma at the hands of the Sith in her time... it took her many years to recuperate, though... some scars do not fade."

Taking a seat at the table again, Akunadan remained a pillar of calm and made certain to watch the Miraluka, as well as the door to the room. "For what it is worth, I do not believe there is sufficient, relevant evidence to implicate you in this. The word of a single Sith hardly counts for much, though... you must be aware that we will be keeping a close watch on you, going forth."

Aolanni looks towards the door of the room as well, fighting the almost encompassing urge to flee. To find space, and air, and quiet. Calm would not come to her. She made forward as though to sit back at the table, then halted mid stride, and backed off once more.

"...this is exactly what he wanted," She managed to breathe, reaching for her hood and drawing it up over her veiled head, "you are aware of this, are you not? Those words spoke in the chambers by Lexicanus' voice were to breed distrust. He wants me singled out, alienated, to turn to him. That is what he had always wanted."

 The dimness and unwelcoming vibe of the room dimmed a bit, but her nerves still did not calm. "... please... may I leave?"

"Of course." Frowning at her words, Akunadan knew better than to pursue the matter just then. He merely passed a hand before the door to the room to part it, then offered his hands to her again. "I will escort you back, alright?"

"No," she recoiled, shaking her head, for the first time sounding like the other Vaek,

"Do not touch me."

[Auryn]

Continued on from Reithan's last entry. @Thrax finally completes his new masterpiece.

There were no nightmares in Reithan's unconsciousness, this time. The remnants of his new master's torture wouldn't plague him, at least, but it was only because there were no dreams to speak of. They had been replaced by an unnatural nothingness, likely sustained by his current caretaker, the Lord of Entropy. Nothingness was the best that the young man could hope for now - a brief reprieve from the parade of suffering that his existence had become. In the past few days... or weeks... or however long it had been, a demon and a tyrant had managed to annihilate his entire past, present, and future. A few moments of blissful void were a blessing by comparison. But like all good things in his life, it just had to end before he could start to relish it too much.

Awakening was a slow and painful process. Though his mind was fully intact, his muscles seemed to be refusing to respond. Wiggling his fingers or moving his arms produced no reaction, nor did his attempt to open his eyes. Whatever was done to him had made him a prisoner within his own body for the moment, though it was apparent that the feeling was meant to be permanent. After all, he could still feel the tingling soreness, though it now radiated throughout his entire form - that meant, at least, that his nervous system hadn't totally collapsed with the spinal replacement.

"... -ing at ninety-seven percent and... holding. Curious."

Reithan could hear again, and the first thing he heard was the voice of the man that, like Raiza before him, he could call in a twisted way, 'father'. After all, Thrax was the architect of the new body that would carry him on toward his service in the Sith, whatever that entailed. The fallen Jedi, like his sister, had now been reconstructed to the exacting specifications of the Hollow Lord, though unlike her, his thoughts were still his own. At the very least, he could oppose his dark masters within his own mind, even while his form was increasingly reshaped to suit their needs.

"I know you can hear me, boy." Reithan was being addressed directly now, and in a tone far gentler than he might've expected from his corrupt benefactor. Thrax continued in his patriarchal manner - likely, it was more conducive to getting the young man to pay attention. "I need you to try to move your arms, and keep trying. You are not restrained. Note however that your new legs have not yet been attached. The probability of successfully executing an attempt at escape is... astronomically low."

Boy. He was getting sick of that title. Not so much for how it degraded him in age and ability, though... and more how the user tried to claim ownership over him with it. He was no one's 'boy'. He refused to be. He did not belong to Phrixos, nor did he have any idea to be a pseudo metal wonder-son of Thrax... no matter how much of him the cyborg had remade with his own hands.

The ache of his body started to become more prominent, radiating out from what would soon be a fierce, raging burn along the ridge of his back. Whilst he strained for command of basic movement, at the very least opening his eyes (his Sight too was refusing to focus), Reithan took in his surroundings, position and state. He was lying on his stomach now, and though the bench beneath his chest was cold, he felt nearly colder, though tingling warmth was slowly returning to him along with the awareness of tender flesh and pain. His arms were by his sides, and felt stiff as carbon-freezing.

He called tentatively to the Force for aid... though in his current condition and with the void-lord hovering so close, it was a feeble effort. Like being held under the surface, close enough for fingertips to scrape air. He will warmth and feeling into his limbs. A few fingers twitched. He guided the feeling through his muscles and veins, reminding them of what they were, and the strength they usually carried.

He managed to slide a hand up against the bench closer to his shoulder - raised himself off its surface with a struggling moan before the strength gave out and smacked him back down. His gritted his teeth. His back flared up.

"Good." Thrax stepped around into the periphery of Reithan's vision, lingering just out of sight, a watchful shadow. An incredibly bright lamp had been turned upon him and while it kept the immediate area well-illuminated, the light that emanated out from it did not travel far. There was the sound of machinery in the nearby darkness. Droids moving and medical machines hissing and pumping and recording, likely taking data from the numerous cords that trailed the floor and ended upon and inside his body. Every aspect of him was being monitored and recorded and studied by the Dark Network itself. Only Reithan's mind belonged solely to him now, and another lord had been vying for that his whole life.

A jolt of electricity ran down his new mechanical spine, causing his whole body to jerk and writhe at once. There was a burning in all of his nerve endings as an artificial impulse was sent forth to each, consuming his insides and scorching them painfully. "Impressive reaction." More mechanical whirring as Thrax continued to pace around the younger man on the slab, just on the shadow's edge. "The Force is with you. For what little that is worth in the end."

The corpse-lord neared. More buzzing of machinery followed in his wake as Reithan could feel a dull heat nearing where the steel spine jutted forth from the scarred flesh of his back. Adjustments were being made. He was feeling looser by the moment, less restrained and stiff. At the same time, there was unnatural flexibility and stability. For combat, the cybernetic spine would serve him well.. even if while at rest, the young man would constantly be aware of it, and the metal ribcage that now held lungs and heart gratefully left organic... for now.

A calm, gloved palm was laid to the 'boy's' shoulderblade. "Relax. I am making alterations. I anticipated that I would. You have experienced more muscle atrophy than my initial projections anticipated."

The jolt had him arch back, a swear bursting forth in a yell before he collapsed back onto his front, his body shuddering and jerking with the residual energy that dissipated through into his muscles. It was uncomfortably hot now, where he'd been cold just before, and a sharp and pungent burning smell assaulted his nostrils, like the reek of burnt flesh after being attacked with lightning.

He wasn't sure if Thrax's words were a mockery or not. The Force felt mostly absent, it it was in no way helping him right now... unless it had been the dark side's will to see him where he was. His own body felt alien to him, and he was becoming acutely aware of the feel of each curved metal rib, each artificial link of the spine. A hand fumbled shakily backwards, and he flinched at the feel of the elegant curved ridges protruding through his recently settled skin. So much less of him was still human than he had expected... and the legs weren't even on yet.

And it all hurt.

Thrax's grip on him, if it was meant to be comforting in some dry and ironic way, was instead the last thing Reithan wanted to feel. A machine somewhere outside his circle of light gave a warning tone as his heart-rate rose - he could feel it hammering in his chest against the table as well as the increase in frequency of electronic beeps from the machine. Panic was setting in.

"Geh... get it off me...!" Blind anxiety made his vision burst into red and white haze. He reared up, trying to throw Thrax's hand off him, reaching back and beginning to tear frantically at the dozens of cords needled and fed into his body with as much mobility as his straining muscles would allow. Forgetting he had no knees, let alone legs, he tried to rise up on them and crashed back to the table with a groan.

"Oooh Force," he groaned, "gh-ghet off... what've you done.. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!" The accusations bellowed out of him while he struggled. He wasn't sure whether he was screaming at Thrax, or Phrixos. Both. It was both of them.

Thrax recoiled, his dark power bristling in such a way that allowed Reithan to feel it nipping at what little presence in the Force he retained, siphoning off the last of his strength. And that oppressive aura was rapidly expanding, forcing the younger man to come to the realisation that he hadn't as much strength in him as he might've hoped. A strange kind of lethargy began to overtake his muscles, which went limp as soon as he tried to employ them, tried to flail out and grab onto some kind of semblance of sanity or power or /something/ to take the pain away for just a few minutes.

"I have repaired you, boy. You should be grateful, if not honoured." The cyborg's tone was that of a parent scolding a child, "Your master left you hovering in a state of near-death, highly septic and fading quickly. You would have died within hours if I had not intervened. And you would never be able to walk again without the enhancements I have provided."

The threat meant nothing. Reithan knew Phrixos would not allow him to die. The aim of the exercise had been to suffer, and suffer he had. Likely his prior condition had been what made this one all more difficult and complicated. It was always the Lord of Agony's goal, with him at least, to find a way to make every situation more torturous.

He crumpled weakly back against the table with a stifled moan, hands shaking and covered in blood and fluid from the tubes he had in his blind panic managed to tear out. Thrax's power settled over him like a heavy blanket of nul-energy, making his Sight blind and further crippling his energy, rippled with waves of nausea. Reithan had not forgotten who's mercy he was at, but the reminder helped.

"D... damn him... dam you..." he murmured into the cool metal, barely able to lift his head, his face contorted. "You should... have let me... die..."

"If I had allowed you to die..." Thrax neared again, once his oppressive energies had stifled the younger man's outburst and siphoned off what little he had left in him to make it with. "... then I would have been sacrificing a potentially valuable strategic asset."

As the Sith resumed his work on the mechanical spine, it might've occurred to Reithan that, given the apparent rivalry between Thrax and Phrixos, it would've been incredibly advantageous to allow the Pureblood's potential apprentice to simply die and blame it on operational complications. What could the Lord of Agony, even with the backing of the Navras Clan, possibly be able to do against the massive power base that comprised the Dark Network? There must've been an ulterior motive for Thrax's eagerness to provide aid to a Darth that openly opposed him more than once.

"I won't... do your will... or his..." Thrax's attentions returning to his spine caused Reithan to finally get to the end of his struggling and fall still, each touch sensitive and jarring enough without his movement. It was odd... how he could feel the Darth's instruments on the surface of the metal as though it were part of him, the cybernetic nerve map of the implant extremely advanced. Even in lamenting his whole, organic body... he couldn't deny it was good work.

Despite himself, a rugged, bitter grin hesitated to his lips as he flinched back the feel of a sensitive jab at the small of his back. Deep within him, the dark side turned and festered. "If I must be here... I'll make things difficult for both.. of you..."

"Very good. Use your..." There was a sharp jab right at the base of his neck, then a gentle beeping inside of Reithan's head that quickly died off. "... your aggressive feelings, boy." He punctuated the last word with his tone. It was clear that he could feel the way it amplified Reithan's latent rage each time he was referred to by that slightly humiliating moniker.

One of the cyborg's mechanical implements was tapping against an errant framework that took up part of the nape of his patient's neck. An implant of some kind, clearly linking directly into his brain stem and spinal column. By the way it was being fortified, it was likely important somehow. A switch was flipped or something was installed - either way, something had activated an internal heads-up display that rested on the inside of his eye and detailed the overall condition and other various statistics regarding his installed cybernetics.

"As I mentioned earlier..." Something was being locked into place on his spinal harness, behind his right shoulderblade. It was another framework of some kind, locking into a flexible joint that connected to a harness that was in the process of being linked up to his right arm. It wasn't going to be riveted into the bone, thank the Force - at least, not quite yet. As Thrax continued to snap it into place over his right arm, he continued. "... I have been attempting for a very long time to discover the exact trajectory of Darth Phrixos' plans. Plans.. " Another buzz caused the heads-up display to flicker as something was clamped to his forearm, and small hooks were lashed around his wrist and the ends of his fingers. A web of flexmetal spread out across the back of his palm. "... which your cybernetic rig will relay to me via the Dark Network."

Finally, the Sith lord stepped around to stand in view of the patient prone on the table. "You have now become a mobile node of information collection for me. Whatever you learn, I will learn. And I will speak, if you require." It was then that Reithan realised that the voice of Thrax was now emanating, unmodulated, from within his skull.

The concept being laid before him that he was essentially and unwittingly becoming a walking, talking beacon and espionage device for Thrax was disconcerting enough before Reithan made that realisation. It felt like a sheet of cold water falling over him, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His mind wouldn't even be his own, any more. It would have no quiet to it, not if the corpse-lord had the need for it. His last dregs of solitude and personal space were being ripped away, in a way he could not fix. He would, as long as those implants remains - some of which were likely wired deep within his rig - never be alone again.

"You... sly bastard..." he hissed, a tremble and sweat taking him up again. He could feel that thing at the base of his brain, resonating in his aura, interrupting the normal flow of energy through his body.

"And... how do you know I won't tell him... that you're spying on him using my cybernetics...?" /My cybernetics/. The words felt weird and stark leaving his lips.

There was a brief pause from the dark lord, who eventually leaned in to address Reithan's gaze with his own. While the cybernetic eye was still analysing him by the way its lens continually dilated and contracted, the organic one remained utterly still, ripples of red corruption drifting outward subtly from the iris.

"I suggest that you reconsider your statement boy, and reconsider to whom you are speaking." The Sith's head canted slowly to one side, studying his face, the whites of his eyes. "If your wish is to invite further unnecessary agony on yourself, do tell Darth Phrixos everything; but realize that I have only informed you of this wrinkle at all... as a courtesy to you."

Thrax rose again, then continued his work, sending more sparks through Reithan's mechanical spine before moving to his leg braces. The backs of them had been riveted properly into his flesh while he was out, it seemed. And each time they were given attention by a torch or a hydrospanner or another tool, /feelings/ emanated from them and seemed to be registered by his brain. The framework had become an exoskeleton, an extension of his body, even as it continued to dig into his flesh uncomfortably and remind him of the invisible shackles of Phrixos that held him still.

He stared back into that eye, with what defiance was left in him. Not much, as Thrax's nul-energy had been swirling around him for hours and days now, ebbing and flowing like a tide, slowly sapping him of strength and will and a viscous barrier between him and the Force. He didn't speak further. Arguing anymore with his captor would just waste more energy, and maybe end up in unfit installation of the cybernetics. He flicked his eyes down, a deep frown of resentment creasing his brow, edged with defeat.

The Sith's attention moved to his back and legs, and Reithan reached back with an arm and hand that barely wanted to obey him, tentatively felt along the spot at the base of his skull where the droid arm had spent so much delicate attention on. He felt where his hair had been shaved back, and the same vaguely warm metal of the spine - though it was smooth and nonchalant on the inside, he could still feel something within as though the soft beeping that hard first emanated had never ceased. It felt like a low, dull white-noise in the force, interefering with the resonance of his aura. He could attempt to take it out himself if he was ever given a moment alone again... but he was no surgeon, and the implant felt so close to the brain stem.

No... For now, he was at the mercy of whatever Thrax - and soon, Phrixos- wanted to do with him.

There was a hiss, and then a clicking, and a weight upon Reithan's right limb. Another hiss and array of clicking followed as another weight was added to the left. Finally, could it be? The cybernetic heads-up-display started to register a power fluctuation to lower extremities... which he now apparently had once again. The metal legs were slender but sturdy, though not incredibly heavy or unwieldy. They had been attached painlessly, though there was the onset of a headache as his cybernetic rig started to acknowledge them. Likely, his very neurons controlling the governance of his legs were being booted back into life, and unexpectedly so.

Something seemed amiss though, at least according to the cybernetic rig. Apparently both legs were missing their power cells. That was when he noticed that Thrax was gone from his direct sight, likely having moved to retrieve the plasma batteries that would be going into the panels hidden right behind his shins. More clicking emanated from behind the young man laying face down on the slab. There was a jolt and a snap, and his HUD registered power flow to the left leg, and then the right, following a second snap. The technology was seamless, simple, though actually attempting to stand was now the trick.

The Lord of Entropy moved to Retihan's left side. Five droids emerged from the darkness surrounding the center of the operating theater, where the patient still laid face down upon the surgical bed. He could feel their mechanical hands grasp hold of his limbs as they lifted him up, then turned him over and set him flat on his back instead. As the medi-droids moved off into the shadows, Darth Thrax stepped forward, offering his left hand out toward the half-Miraluka. He could see void trailing off of it, but ebbing away gradually, as if his limb were composed of a placid black fluid. Corruption echoed in ripples on the surface of the cyborg, like oil on water.

"Rise, boy. It is time you began your return to the galaxy."

His eyes swiveled and blinked, still getting used to the zero-focus HUD showing at the top edges of his vision, as they activated and he felt the power-cells connect like a breath of life through metal legs. The disassociation between when he felt within the Force, and what his nerves registered was immediately disconcerting. His Sight, his energy told him he was attached to some dead metal things through which the energy of his being could not pass. His mind told him there were legs there. Reithan felt an involuntary shudder, while the droids turned him over and disconnected the remaining needles and tubes from his body. The ridge of his protruding spine clinked against the table as they laid him down, uncomfortable.

Darth Thrax loomed over him, dropping a dark shadow over the Jedi and blocking out the sharp light hanging from above, which illuminated the border of his form in a way that made him seem somewhat less intimidating, as though it were that light and not the Sith's will that drew in his corrosive energies.

Reithan looked down at himself. his hand moved, training over the flesh of his thigh - flinching slightly as flesh became that slightly-warmed metal, the braces designed to run along the shape of his muscles. Lower, over the smooth cap of a metal knee. He felt and heard the hydraulics within, reactive to every tiny and delicate movement. He felt the touch of the metal, and the metal oh so vaguely felt the touch of his scar-rippled fingers. Enough haptic feedback of the sensation of something being there, though not strong, and unlikely to register pain or discomfort. It was good work. He'd never seen cybernetics this advanced.

Some strength had returned to him. Not much... maybe not enough to get up on his own. Slowly, unflinching, Reithan eased up onto his elbows, muscles strained with disuse. He stared at the offered hand hesitantly. Taking it would seal some sort of... deal, or pact between them, from which there was no excape. Or he had already been sealed into the agreement, against his will, and this was just a formality. Or... Thrax was simply showing a flicker of humanity, an understanding of the toll the operations would have taken on the young man's body, taking care in something though only becaus he saw himself as having a hand in the creating of it. Either way, Reithan stared at that hand, flicking eyes briefly between it, and the red eyes studying him, looking through him.

It was the same man who had ruined Silooni. The same man who tortured his sister.

He wanted to hate him.

He did hate him.

[Listen]

Reithan slid one leg off the side of the table, carefully. He felt and heard the bottom of his foot touch the floor with a metallic -tap-. He leaned on it, applying a bit of weight. The leg was lighter than he thought it would be. He bent the knee. Hydrolics and neural circuits whirred faintly. His leg ached. How could it ache like that? He felt the newly healed skin at the end of his thigh, where his organic-self ended, rubbing against the brace.

One of the hands that braced against the bench finally rose. Hesitant, at first. Then clamping around Thrax's own with a tremor of strength.

Thrax compensated with his own strength, taking hold of Reithan's arm and hefting him to stand upright upon his newly-minted phrik-quadranium alloy feet. The steel boots of both men stood toe to toe as the elder cyborg helped the younger take his first steps on new, dead legs. In the process of bringing him to his feet, the scrawnier of the two ended in the quasi-embrace of the massive man before him, who did curl his metal arm around to pat the his right shoulderblade once or twice. A gesture of solidarity, perhaps, or another twisted acknowledgement of what side Reithan was meant to be on now. Likely, it was a mix of both.

As the Lord of Entropy stood back, he allowed Reithan to move under his own power. The Sith knew full well that his patient was perfectly capable, but understood what it meant to have to truly relearn how to walk again. It was a difficult experience, and humiliating - to have to teach yourseof how to do what you already know how to do, what everyone else already intrinsically knows. To teach yourself to walk upright and not crawl around like a child. Thrax knew that his hate was the only thing that carried him through - his desire for vengeance and destruction, which had not wavered for even a moment in the course of his existence since then. The same impulses, he knew, Reithan would have to foster in himself in order to go on living not only as a cyborg.. but as slave to an illogical sadist such as Phrixos. He didn't envy the young half-Miraluka, though he had given him the tools he would need to stand a chance, at least.

The shadows on the edge of the young man's vision dispersed gradually, revealing the full operating theater, now illuminated properly. His immediate surroundings darkened considerably as the surgical lamps above deactivated and began to depart into some discreet compartment in the ceiling of the domed room. The array of automatic surgical arms ascended with them, having no further use with the conclusion of the operation. Dried blood still clung to some of the tools - Reithan's, which would likely to be washed away soon enough in preparation for the hollow lord's next feat of butchery.

Thrax drew back, and his automated droid surgeons did the same, each mimicing his actions as he crossed his arms behind his back. Dozens of red eyes fell upon Reithan, and the cyborg lord stared out from each one... and from Reithan's eyes as well.  He was expected to start walking, and now.

Reithan all but tore himself out of Thrax's grasp, stumbling on new legs and just managing to keep upright. He didn't want that solidarity. He didn't want pity or gentleness or any form of understanding from the cyborg. Thrax had no right to treat him so gently when he had offered nothing but the opposite to those who deserved gentleness far more than Reithan did. Even still, the move saw him wobble badly, throwing his own balance off. He'd over-compensated, expecting the legs to be heavier still. Bending his knees he dropped his weight, gracing his arms out... managed not to fall.

His thigh muscles ached with that simple exhertion. Though they did not rub and press all the weight of him against the legs, it was still something to get used to; and as well, still weak and sickly, with pallid skin and dark circles under haunted eyes, Reithan was far from his best, despite enhancements.

Despite his resistance, he did not speak, protest, didn't break the quiet, that was subtly disturbed only by the muttering and shifting of the circle of Dark network droids that had gathered in the dim light around them, and Reithan's own breathing, which sounded loud and seemed to reach to the high domed ceiling and back. He was trembling faintly, concentrating. Simply standing had never felt so... awkward.

/I am not your ally./ His ailed gaze settled on Thrax, who awaited him a few steps away in a morbid reflection of a father beckoning to his toddler son for some first few steps. /I am in your debt, but we are not allies./

The thoughts raged so strongly in his mind, he hoped the Darth was caring to listen in, as Reithan used that hate to rise himself unflinchingly to full height. It was too late to worry about what the darkness of it would do to him. It was too late for a lot of things. The pain, the loathing and the despair was buried too deep within, as he looked through Thrax and into where his future would go from here. He refused to accept it. He would fight it, with his every breath. But it was still coming.

One step. Slow. Careful. Metal on metal. His senses screamed at him that his legs were alien and wrong and he wanted his old ones back. Another step. Heavier. He centres his weight. He consciously and subonsciously got a feel for the weight of them, the more fluid movement of the knee joint. He felt the added flexibility in his back. Compensated. His walk hunched a little. Another step, then another. Thunk. Thunk.

Thrax was nodding along with each step, his droids shifting in their proximity to his patient, seeming to grow closer with each metal footfall. "Good..." As Reithan's waddling grew more organized, more natural, the elder cyborg seemed pleased, a grin rising on his face at the edges of his mask. His cheekbones seemed to shift - unusual in and of itself - but more unusual still was the powerful, unnatural glow of his one organic eye, which bored a hole through the half-Miraluka's forehead. It also acted as a bloody guiding light, of sorts, for the young man... leading him on toward his destiny within darkness.

It seemed to take an age to get there, but Reithan had very nearly traversed the room when one of the strangest, rarest sounds in the galaxy echoed into his eardrums.

Laughter - Thrax's, specifically.

He was chuckling heartily, his tone a full of sinister mirth, like the proud parent of a bouncing baby monster. Both of the Sith's arms opened toward him, welcoming the fallen Jedi forward, though when the young cyborg neared and reached out his arms instinctively in an attempt to stabilize himself, the hollow lord seemed to ascend on a pillar of corrupted energy to the operating theatre above. With arms folded, he stared down at the 'boy', then cast his metal hand toward the area below. Reithan was alone there now.. save for the medical droids, who seemed to have come dangerously close in the meantime.

"Now earn your steel, boy! Droids - execute dismemberment protocols."

Each of the mechanical surgeons deployed brutal buzz-saws from either limb and lifted them toward Reithan, nearing threateningly, clearly intending to tear him apart as their master had instructed.

Reithan look a look around him, feeling the strain and ache in his limbs and ghost limbs like never before as the circle gathering of droids whirred to life out of their idle stares, violently, producing bone-saws and surgical vibro-knives, beeping a dark tune amongst themselves -- then begun to close in.

He shot a vehement look upwards, to the glowing red eyes in the dark beyond the balcony railing, and how they seemed both mocking and expectant. He should not have been surprised. He was barely on his feet again... but Reithan was expected to become Sith, and the teachings here were of a different kind.

This was his first lesson - that the worlds of darkness would be upon him before he was ready.

PART I - END

[Auryn]

@Miller , best bro ever.


The agent teased him with her eyes, and the seductive sway of her hips on the dance floor, though behind the act was a coolness that did not sit comfortable with Miller.

“Maybe I'm worried about my Master's work. Maybe I don't think it's within the best interests of the Empire.”

Her lips had pursed a moment.

“Get me that holocorn that Scallywag had on him, before M'Lord gets his red mitts on it... and I'll assure your boyfriend's in a convenient place to be rescued in the near future.”

*

Edan was the same glistening pearl in space it had been the first time Miller had ventured there, and the weather planetside was just as terrible. The wind went right through one walking along through the resettlement of Ginoeki, the small outpost town that had been built near the ruins, even beneath the biodome. Every now and then, one had to watch out above if they walked beneath the trees, giant sheets of snow often flung downwards from the splayed branches in the breeze.

"I think come next mining season, I'll be outta here," some nearby conversation was caught, "getting sick of the cold. Waking up with icicles on my toes, yannow? Not to mention all the weird stuff happening near the Shinboki Ruins. Maydee said she saw that ghost there again."

"If there really were ghosts near Albeki," his companion pointed out dryly, "there would be more than one. I'm more worried 'bout all the visitors to that place. Never been so popular since the first couple years after the raid."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, few months back. Then again just today. Some dark fella. Gave me the creepies somethin' awful."

Miller frowned slightly as the words hit his ears, but ventured in, looking for speeder rental or at least, a taxi service. He needed to get where he was going as quickly as possible.

Were Reithan's holocron here, it'd be well-hidden - but then, looters made their living off of what hid in plain sight.

"Well, look who it is."

The woman raising her goggles and pushing her thick leatheris-capped hat back, leaning against the side of one of the many run-down speeders and swoops by the taxi service pad, was the very same that had driven them down to the ruined village the last time Miller had been there – with Reithan at his side. She wore that same slight-scowl, as though for some reason the very sight of him meant trouble.

"Back for some more memory lane, huh?" Her gaze was suspicious.

Miller searched for the right lie. "The one who was with me last time..." His gaze grew distant, and he frowned.

"He passed on unexpectedly. I figured I'd see about getting him buried with his family."

"Uh-huh," She nodded slowly, unblinking, her gaze not leaving his face.

Then, "you know there's really not much left there to pillage. Ya don't even have to keep lying. Go get some scrap metal or try your luck in the temple ruins, nobody here cares."

He shook his head, "I wish I could tell you why I'm going, but I'm afraid it just wouldn't make sense. I can pay my way, if you'll take me."

She sighed, gruffly, continuing to let her gaze bore into him... eventually she shuffled square-shouldered over to one of the smaller speeders, nodding her head for him to follow.

"Like I said, don' care. Just don't you go making up fancy stories like we're some sorta idiots."

"I don't think you're an idiot."

He didn't say anything more - his mind was clearly elsewhere, and as for her gaze, he had been given worse.

The trip to the outskirts of the Albeki ruins was as uneventful as the last time, though a little lonelier, and silent. That time, of course, Reithan's own confused and worried feelings had dominated their ride, thick in the air around them both. The place still felt sad enough, but it lacked the weight the half-Miraluka had brought the time before.

She stopped the vehicle by the hollowed out tree that Miller had sheltered from the storm in last time. She shrugged for him to depart.

"Be careful. Wind's fierce. Sun was out a few days ago, snow's hard. Watch out for it fallin', or landslides."

"Thank you." He offered her a nod, before turning to work in towards the ruins.


The monument that stood in memory of all the lost souls had, oddly, fallen into a little disrepair. Since he and Reithan had visited last, the shield protecting it from the elements had either malfunctioned or been deactivated, and snow and ice clung to the surface of the stone, it accompanied with the wind already eroding at the words. Miller frowned at the state of it. It reminded him vaguely of the remnants of his own home. Although this was a fair bit more tragic. Were it  malicious, it'd be someone's attempt to destroy the history of this place - an event that he felt shouldn't be forgotten.

Beyond, the ruins of the colony were silent, apart from the eerie whistling of a hollow wind through the remnants of buildings. He moved further into the ruins, towards where the younger Reithan had trekked, hoping to be brought closer to the home of the fallen Jedi.

The colony was split into several streets, radial in pattern, leading from where he was to a town centre of sorts - each of the streets had a few small courts that branched off, where it looked as though the more residential homes had been, compared to what was left of larger shop-like buildings, a small speeder hangar, a town hall, a warehouse.

The Force was at work though... and rather than draw Miller to his desired location, he found himself being pulled to the centre of the radial splay of colony, where a large, weather-beaten deepground water pump and well  resided.

It was unfamiliar - why was he brought here?

It didn't feel right. The air was dank with the darkness of the place. Not from the settlement itself – something present, perhaps a something – or someone – that had passed through.

The weather wasn't helping anything either. His confidence in finding what he was looking for here hadn't yet waned, but he was starting to question his motivations for coming. The feel of the area was... somehow more confused than the last time he'd been here. Whilst the reverberations through the Force given off by the central area were sad, but almost welcoming, Albeki was still cloaked in its usual grim aura – on top of that detached darkness, crawling along the edges of his perception, invading the ground slowly and quietly as he did. It was that feeling that disturbed him more than anything. It was...

...No, this had to be something else - real or imagined.

Pervasive. It shouldn't be here. The essence of this place had long since melded, and made its mark on the Force. Miller lowered slowly to his knees on the snow, bowing his head - trying to sense it out.

An odd sound breathed through the wind. At first descriptionles, then... It sounded almost like a woman's voice, whispering a language he did not know, but the moment he tried to listen in, it was taken again by the air.

His hand rested now on the hilt of his lightsaber.

"Why are you here, alone?"

The voice, feminine, breathed from directly ahead of Miller.

Upon looking up it took him a moment, peering, to make her out - she almost disappeared against the white and grey of the landscape, and would have completely, if not for the gentle blue glow around her transparent form, and the deep purple of the elegant wrappings around her upper face, braided into her long, brown hair.

"I'm looking for something that belongs to someone who lived here." He replied as naturally as he could, trying not to stare.

"I come not as a thief, but as one who must recover the past, to salvage the future... Who are you?"

She drifted closer, the outline of ghostly lavender and pearl robes swirling about her, though not disturbed by the wind.

"I remember you," breathed Niresha Vaek, instead of an answer, "you were here before, with my son. Where is he? Where is my Aolanni? He said to me, he would return with her. She said, much longer a time ago, she would return with him. Two little promises, my sweet dears... neither here to fulfil them. Tell me what has happened. The Force will not answer."

"Your son has been taken to the Dark Side - though not by his own will. Your daughter is recovering well in the care of the Jedi."

Miller paused. Were she who he thought, truly the ghost of a mother, their mother... this would not be easy to hear. "I've cut a deal with an agent of the Darth who took your son. If I can recover a holocron that he has kept in his possession, she can bring him to me. After his recovery, I can bring them both here to you. Do you know what holocron I might be speaking of?"

She canted her head, studying Miller a long while.

"...Ayen only came here once. With him he brought nothing, but away with him, he took his heart."

She appeared to take a moment listening to something. "... then it is truly as I foresaw. I tried to hide them from it... but all I did in the end was prolong the inevitable." her head lowered.

"You did all you could,” He assured her, gently. “You fought until your dying breath for your children. You have nothing to feel of guilt. Many tried, and none could succeed, but that does not mean that this is the end of Reithan. I am not prepared to let that be true."

She merely shook her head, sadly. "No... there is so little you understand. When my boy returned to me, I had the chance to tell him... but even in death, I am a cowardly being. My shame is complete. That is why I remain here... that is why the Force does not welcome me back to its light."

"What could you not tell him?"

"Many things," she sighed, glancing away, "many things I was sure I could grow and protect him away from. Things I assumed I would be there for, in his adulthood, to explain..."

Her arms wrapped around himself, "... If I told you, I wonder, could you do what I could not?"

He hesitated. "I could try - I would try. I would do whatever it takes to help him. And through me, vicariously, you would be helping your son."

Niresha's presence seemed to increase, shimmering against the snow. The cold rushed through Miller like ice. She drifted over to one of the elongated piped by the well, and sat herself against its edge.

"... I was a seer, in life. Amongst the Luka Sene of our home planet I was young, and brash, and wanted to give myself completely to the Force. So when I had a vision, depicting to me that I would bed a Jedi Padawan passing through the system with his Master, and carry his child... I did not hesitate, even though I was wedded already. The child would be important, I realised. He was needed. The Force needed him - needed me."

Her hand curled against the piping. "As he grew within me, so did dark dreams, visions of a future I did not want... I saw my child a man grown, haunted, in pain - with a destiny only to suffer. I saw twisted worlds beyond my comprehension, and gates made of blood and starlight.

'So... I ran. We came to this planet when Ayen was an infant. I did not understand what I saw... only that I had made a mistake, and I wanted a better life for my loved ones."

She looked to Milleronce more. "I tried to run and hide from the will of the Force, and I believe, as a result... this entire colony suffered its attempts to correct what was changed. Either that, or..." immense sadness welled to surroundthe area,

"Everything happened as it should have. I sit here and ponder often, which is true."

Miller couldn't find his voice right away. "I'm sorry,” He managed at first, raw.

"I'm sorry that you had to bear that weight. You knew, far before what happened, what his destiny was to be. And so it was, yet, you know not what the future still holds. That is what we must hold on to. That is the faith that awakes me, and keeps you here. You don't linger in misery - you're too stubborn to pass on without helping your children."

He tried a small, encouraging smile. "I will do all I can to honour your will, as it is my own as well."

She was almost dazed for a moment, her blind and covered gaze directed right up at the Padawan. It looked as though her lips were about to twitch into returned smile--

--when abruptly, her head jerked to the side, and she peered off into the distance, still as a statue. Moments later, Miller felt the dark pangs from before, welling even closer now to them.

"Someone is near."

He frowned slightly, "I felt it earlier. It's foreign to me - though dark it is. Are you familiar with it?"

"I... I am," her form gave a small shudder... and disappeared, without another word. though the visual was gone, Miller could still feel her energy, dissipating into the surrounds.

The wind had picked up again, dragging snow and ice through it now. It was freezing. The dark cut through it like a knife, from the western outskirts of the settlement.

"Don't let him scare you."

The firmness in his voice wasn't feigned. He'd have to be strong - he horror at the sensation could only mean the darkness belonged to him.

"Don't let him scare you. You are stronger in death than you were in life. You may no longer be able to help you children directly, but do it vicariously through me."

The darkness began to take form. A black smudge, approaching through the white-out.

"Lend me what strength you have, please. For Reithan, and Aolanni, for all the other children taken from their parents, and the parents who lost their own."

Niresha did not reply. Her energy hovered close though, and even when she was no longer visible, the pulse of it was stronger than before.

The rush of sensation then was almost strong enough to make Miller stumble. Not just her energy joining with his own, a strength and closer proximity to the living Force blossoming like a warm light within his breast - but a tumble of emotion with it too. Protection, love. Injustice, hurt. He took on her energy, and her pain, and it made his heart ache, it made his thoughts confused a moment.

'Has he not taken enough from me? My people? My children?'

He let it flow through him. He channeled it all  - all they were both feeling, and all the power that the Force had granted in the union - The energy pulsing like a shield, rejecting the falling snow, sending it all away from him - even that which had already been sitting around them, creating circles in the white beneath his feet.

It was a raw, light power. The Dark Lord would feel it, and a part of Miller, be it from him, Niersha, or both, relished in that fact.

He did feel it - and was attracted to it like a bee to the sweetness of a flower. The smudge became his cloak, a stark charcoal against the white of the surrounds and grey of the remains of the buildings. The wind ripped and rippled at it. He stopped, turned his head slowly, deliberately towards Miller. Although the two had never met before, yellow eyes gleamed on that red face beneath the cowl of the hood, as though the dark Lord recognised the one who would become his prey.

With a slow stride he approached, digging great groves into the snow with his pointed armoured boots. The wind was screaming now, as though the voices of those who had perished all those years ago remembered, and howled their terror in unison.

"Ah... I know your face."

To be continued.

[Auryn]

Continued from Part 1, as above.


With a slow stride he approached, digging great groves into the snow with his pointed armoured boots. The wind was screaming now, as though the voices of those who had perished all those years ago remembered, and howled their terror in unison.

"Ah... I know your face."



Miller smirked. "How lucky for you - it's a pleasure not many get to experience."

Internally he reminded himself to keep the over-confidence as an act, and to not under-estimate his foe.

"Why are you here, Phrixos?"

"My business is my own." the Darth replied, a low rumble in the back of his voice. Whatever amusement he had gained at finding the Jedi here was waning quickly. The weather mirrored his annoyance, as the clouds of the sky above quickly began to darken their entire surrounds.

"Do not think to waste my time, boy. This is all beyond you."

"I'd expect as much, from a Sith. Your own time is worth more than anyone else's - your brilliance isn't challenged by even the sharpest of scholars." He spread his arms, gesturing around to Albeki. "Your arrogance knows no bounds, and the audacity you must have to come here is immeasurable. I ask again - for what reason have you returned?"

"This is the land that I helped to conquer," Phrixos bared his teeth as he spoke, predatory in manner, flashing off-white against his burgundy flesh, "it belongs moreso to me than you. You trespass on my triumph here."

"This was a defenseless colony that you sacked and pillaged. This wasn't a military victory, it was a feast for your primal urges.” It was more her anger, than his. "You're a monster - and like all monsters, you are to be met by a champion who'll bring an end to your putrid ways. If I am not that champion, so be it, but there's only one way for me to find out.”

He took up his sabre in hand, holding the hilt by his side, eyes not leaving the other. “Before our dance, and our meeting with destiny, tell me, last chance - why are you here?"

A toothy grin spread across Phrixos' marred face. Then the Darth reached up, tugging down the hood from his bare and pierced head. Tilting his head from side to side, he rolled his shoulders - criiiik, craaaack.

"As you say, I am a monster," His eyes shone bright within the gathering storm, "and I am here to gain what I need, to awaken the rest."

His sabre was in his hand in an instant, a blood red beam with an ebony core, and he leapt towards Miller with starling speed and fury.

Miller's own saber was ignited in his hand as soon as the Darth was upon him, both hands firmly clutching the hilt as the orange beam, brilliant like the sun, caught that of Phrixos. "Do you remember the glow of this crystal?"

"Should I?" he drawled carelessly, the weight of him pressing down upon Miller's block, single handed, hulking figure bent over the younger man.

"It belonged to Reithan's true Master." He spoke the words firmly, before pushing back at the Dark Lords blade with a strength that surely could not have been his own.

Brief surprise flickered in the Sith's eyes as he was shoved back, having underestimated the strength of the other. But no... his gaze narrowed, with curiosity and bitter amusement. There was more to it than that. There was a light power, driving him. All the more sweeter the victory would be, he figured.

"I recall now... the Zabrak." he tipped his head. The irony if the situation found him, as did the Soresu stance of the Padawan. similar to the Master. Both of them were guardians... though as he had the other, he would cut down this one.

"I killed him, and gave my apprentice his head," he went spinning towards Miller again, though this time the hit was one-handed, as his other grabbed the front of Miller's robes and dragged him in close to hiss in his face.

"Shall I gift him yours, too??"

"It'd look much better on a display." He mocked, "If you're killing everyone prettier than you, you've got a long way to go."

He didn't waste a moment, bringing his armoured knee up quickly, aiming a strike to the groin. Phrixos took the hit well - a grimace of pain melting into a smirk. The 'Lord of Agony' was no simple title, and he would show this overcharged hero exactly what the name meant. He didn't back off, but rather cracked his skull forward into Miller's - once, twice, then releasing him.

"Only fools fight with words."

Miller recoiled, dazed for a second - though a wall may crack without falling.

"Then we'll do it your way."

The way the Sith enjoyed the pain - the way it fuelled him. Miller would lose if his strikes didn't do anything significant.

He needed a brief time longer to think. To buy himself that he drew his hands back, before thrusting them forward towards his opponent, firing a huge wave of Force energy, the snow flowing with it.

Phrixos launched himself into the air, spinning in a whirl of black and red. He unfurled, his hand reaching up towards the heavens, electric energy wrapping around a closed fist -before he slammed back to the ground, sending a powerful and electrified shockwave outwards from himself.

Miller jumped up, and back from the ground, using his saber to catch any lightning that may have flowed to him from the surface.

Neither of the two attacks were practical - they were a show of force.

Miller wasn't intimidated - not yet, but in that, he was certain that Phrixos wasn't either.

He retook his position on the ground, entering his Soresu stance, before stalking back towards the Sith, awaiting his next move. They crossed the space between them and met with near-equal force, scattering a crater of snow out to envelop them. Miller was a wall of light and strength, but Phrixos' darkness was just as strong, and far more practised. He swung heavy hits, again and again, testing the Padawan's defense, looking for an opening.

Miller wasn't giving one - not yet. He found an interesting enemy in this monster. He thought on the nature of his enemy as he autonomously caught his blows.

The key to Soresu was to outlast your enemy. To run out their patience, and take advantage of their mistake, or to run out their endurance, and to methodically defeat them. This beast would take pleasure in any pain, and grow to enjoy the battle the longer it went on. His patience could wan, but it would only bolster his concentration.

This Sith fought to fight. To instil fear. To never yield.

Then so it would have to be - decisive.

Much to the surprise of Phrixos, Miller parried a strike, leading into a launching of his own barrage. The strikes were swift, though aimed entirely at the crimson of the lightsaber opposing him.

Phrixos snarled with annoyance, catching each blow easily - it was meant for his blade, after all. Whilst the strain in his muscled fuelled him, he longed for the feel and the smell of flesh sizzling against plasma, but the Jedi had caught on to his motives. Perhaps the boy had spoken more of him in the past than he had believed.

His stance changed, abruptly becoming more aggressive. An empty hand lashed out and grabbed Miller's by the forearm, intending to twist and dislocate him at the shoulder, whilst his red-black blade thrust forward towards his chest like a spear.

As he was grasped, Miller twisted with his arm, throwing himself narrowly over the incoming blade, throwing a kick for the side of the Sith's head. He'd need to thank Eszrah for that move later.

The kick connected, sending Phrixos staggering to the side... though his hand was a vice around Millers arm, taking the young man with him. Though momentarily dazed, the Sith spread his stance and lashed out with his other hand, deactivating his sabre and smacking his fist into Miller's jaw.

He took the punch in full, blood firing like a projectile from his mouth. Still he reacted fast, used the momentum from the hit to untwist his arm from Phrixos' grasp... before gripping his opponents arm with the hand that was previously unavailable.

He stabbed his saber straight towards Phrixos' chest in the same way he had before, knowing that the large Sith couldn't use acrobatic manoeuvres as easily as he could.

For a split second, it looked to Miller as though he had surely shoved the blade right through the Sith's chest.

The plasma struck home, fizzling and sparking.

When the flash died - Phrixos stood hunched against the attack, his yellow eyes aglow, both of his hands clasped inches from the emitter of Miller's sabre, the dark side pouring out of him... he was dispersing the blade of plasma itself.

"You," he grunted through gritted teeth, "know not..." behind him, a shadow of the pureblood creaked against the snow by the lightning above stretched, and grew, dozens of tentacle like arms spewing forward and twining like a dark shadow play across the ground.

"With whom... you deal...!" A blast erupted from his hands, shoving Miller backwards as his lightsabre blade reformed.

Miller retreated with the blast. The Sith's reflex wasn't expected - it was the method that took him by surprise. It didn't matter. That was good - it was an attempt that would've ended the fight in a single blow. He'd keep stalking slowly; the Sith spoke up his own game, though was now forced to acknowledge the threat potential in his opponent.

He hoped that'd make the Sith try to end this with haste - effectively going against what both of the fighters were accustomed to. It would all be a matter of who would adjust faster.

Now, he'd try to goad him into an attack.

"I'm surprised the mighty Phrixos - the infallible Phrixos hasn't already won. Considering this isn't a beauty contest, you should be a shoe-in."

"Winning, is only part of the fun in sport," The pureblood hissed, his shadow shrinking and returning to mirror his form as he returned to full height, absently shaking off the smoulder his hands had taken in doing to Miller's sabre what they had. His gloves had been burned away from his palms, revealing burnt red skin underneath. His own blade ignited once more, fizzling as snow and ice hit it.

"I want a story to tell my apprentice of how I ruined you. Something to feed his appetite for anger and vengeance,"

"How about I tell him the story of how Darth Phrixos lost the first fair fight he ever got into?" A practiced smirk made its way onto Miller's face, before he beckons to him, "Let's see who has a better story, hm?"

Phrixos mirrored the smirk, his own far more sinister, dark skin stretching across his skull. "Gladly."

He raised both arms, harsh metallic whining filling the air as long-since disturbed chunks of house were torn up from the ground - then flung his fists forward, hurtling them towards his prey. chasing their path to follow up with a leaping sabre strike.

Miller did something then that surprised even him. Perhaps then, it wasn't him - but someone more familiar with the surroundings.

He separated his hands, pulling them far apart, grabbing the ice and snow around him, before pulling it in in front of him into a solid mass, catching the flying debris.

Phrixos was undeterred - he didn't need to be. The Dark Lord crashed through both the wreckage he had thrown, and he cold improvised shield, and brought his saber down, it barely being caught by Miller, who entered a dead lock with his enemy.

Their sabres spluttered orange and red against one another, lighting up the snow-covered ground beneath them. Phrixos brought up his foot and slammed it against the side of Miller's knee, trying to buckle his stance.

Miller disengaged his saber and threw himself into a backwards roll. Recovering as quickly as he could to a knee, he shot another wave of Force energy, though only with a single hand, trying only to buy him enough time to stand. Phrixos dodged to the side, the blast careering back into the trunk of a towering tree. Snowmelt fell thickly from its branches as it groaned, splintering at the middle, bending slightly but catching its weight and not toppling completely.

The Sith gripped at another piece of debris with the Force, this time electrifying it with a sputter of shocking blue and purple. Rather than fling it straight away, he carried it through the storm with him as his sinister stride gained on Miller.

The slump in the tree was noticeable - the wave had been large enough to make an easily seen source of the bend. Miller got to his feet now. Gripping his own large piece of debris with the Force. He projected it forward, with unexpected speed. To Phrixos, it must have looked terribly uncontrolled, as it easily blasted past him a few meters to the side.

Heading directly for the weakened tree trunk.

The terrible cracking sound as the debris impacted caused Phrixos' head to turn. He abandoned his own projectile and raised his arms above his head--

The branches of the tree kicked up snow and debris outwards, the Sith disappearing within the cloud for a moment. Then a dim, green glow pierced out through the dust as it slowly parted - revealing him to be, with all his effort, holding the tree in its entirety suspended inches above his head.

With a bellow of effort, he flung it forward, a force-charged torpedo of solid wood.

Undeterred, Miller fell to one knee and spiked his saber up and forward.

The tree flew into the orange blade, severing itself in half as it ran, splitting just far enough to avoid him, before careering past with reknewed momentum over to the side of one of the towering mountain's overlooking the ruined settlement. The smack of the two bodies of solid wood into its side echoed through the landscape with a horrible crack, sending up two plumes.

Splinters and leaves had showered the Padawan, but left him mostly unscathed.

"Impressive," Phrixos scoffed, hunkering down and preparing for another charge-- then stopping dead, as a delayed shudder of warning passed through both he and his prey. His glowing eyes turned upwards, to the mountainside, as the ground beneath the two of them began to quake.

Another explosion of cold cloud went up from the mountainside. The sheet of ice and snow against the the sheer rock face detached, as though in slow motion, and began rolling down the side, spilling over rocks, trees, remnants of structures - a force of nature breaking and tumbling through everything and anything in its way, heading right for them. Gaining speed.

Miller took the Force in both hands and threw it at the ground beneath him as he jumped onto a nearby roof. He began to jump from roof to roof in the opposite direction of the avalanche, as fast as he could.

He lost sight of Phrixos quickly, as the lord decided to dart in through the treeline instead - but would either be fast enough to get away in time? The low rumbling that shook the earth increased in volume with amazing speed, with a loud and explosive thud as it hit the ground at the bottom of the mountain, and continued on... beginning to consume the remains of Albeki.

An internalized apology came across Miller's mind before anything else, as he chanced a look back.

He could feel her pain. This was her home, in life, in death, and in the after.

Then a spoken apology, as breathless as it could be, but undeniably still, "I am so sorry, Niersha."

Reality reaffirmed itself - it wouldn't be ignored.

He couldn't outrun it, so he'd chance the path of least resistance.

He turned around and ran towards the coming snow, jumping up with the aid of the Force right before its arrival, looking to land atop the snow that had ceased it's rampage. The snow beneath hadn't set yet, and sucked him down to his thighs. Though he missed the main brunt of the fall, which would have surely knocked him over and crushed him on impact, the remaining snow and debris continued to tumble forward over him - allowing the Jedi to get no footing or upper hand, as the slowing torrent began to bury him alive along with the ruined colony.

At that point, he had little to do but draw himself into a tight ball, and hope for the best. It wasn't the wisest choice he could've made, but then, something in the Force told him he would be protected. Something – someone was with him, today. He trusted it. The snow engulfed him.

The snow settled overhead, and a deep and eerie quiet settled over the area. His joint felt cold and stiff, so cold - he would suffocate before he would freeze though, and with the compacted snow slowly setting solid over him, the stark white surrounds began to blur, and darken...

He felt Niresha's energy, beckoning and struggling, trying to find a way to keep him conscious and fighting - but even her voice stirred little in him. Though she had lent him her strength, they were not close, not connected, only through another did they know each other...

... she realised, and calmed. Searching within the man's drifting mind, she beckoned memories to the surface.



/ “I don't know what I would do... only that I can't allow it to happen again.”

He sat hunched over his knees, hands clasped, that lost look on his face that made him appear so much younger - the timid and worried child beneath the mask of the chilly aloof Jedi Knight Skyfallen he tried so desperately to hold in front of his face. Something he never quiet managed to do in front of his friend.

"I can't... lose anyone else, Miller."/




His eyes shot open, his frosted grip firmly enough to ignite the blade of his lightsaber, cutting through some of the ice in front of him, melting some that surrounded it.

He let the warmth loosen the ice enough to free his arms.The thought of Reithan opened the floodgates to the memories of everyone and everything of importance to him. Masters past, and present. Friends and foes alike - they were all reasons for him to live. He hadn't lived out his usefulness, and he hadn't completed his destiny - not as he saw it.
He tuned down the intensity of his saber - the heat retained, but it would be tame enough for the touch of it not to burn too badly, or cut him. Methodically, he worked the blade past either side of his head, then his shoulders, down past whatever frost still covered his arms, to his torso, down outside his legs, before finishing with the inside of the aforementioned.
He was still beneath a few feet of ice, but he had wiggle room now - albeit not much more than the space his mass occupied.

He didn't have enough room to cut a cylinder in the ice above him, unless...

That's when it dawned on him that some of the memories that'd flashed before him weren't his own.  Niersha sought strength for him too, and for that, she'd have to have bolstered her own resolve.

With that strength somewhat restored, he returned the blade to it's highest intensity, before plunging it into a corner of the ice above him. He turned it slowly, in a wide arc, a circle, stopping three fourths of the way through.

He gripped the saber only with his right hand now, the left serving as a catalyst for the Force to flow through.

He continued to cut, until he had but a few seconds to go. Now all the Force energy he could muster was caught in his left hand. Miller completed the circle, and before the ice has a chance to fall, he thrusts his left hand upward, releasing all that energy, projecting the heavy cylinder of ice upwards, and out of the snow bank.
He panted heavily, before jumping up with the aid of the Force - which was now significantly less. It only got him far enough to grip the edge of the now formed pit, his physical strength pulling him the rest of the way.

He rolled over atop the snow, staring up into the sky, into the still raging blizzard that hadn't stopped to watch the commotion, breathing hard.

Getting back wouldn't be the hardest thing he's had to do this day, and he'd do it, his confidence bolstered.

If Phrixos was on Edan, it meant something. What I meant, he couldn't be certain, be it the Force showing Miller the strength he had when fighting for those he cared about, or if this was meant to bring him a step closer to saving his friend.

It didn't matter. He lived - that's what mattered.

If he lived, the candle of hope still burnt bright - brighter than any crimson blade or daunting darkness could ever extinguish.

*

Elsewhere in the surrounds, a little while later, a heavy pair of boots landed on the  freshly laid round, the Sith leaping down from the tree he'd taken refuge in. His face was pulled into a thin frown of annoyance as he shook the snow from his cloak.

Pausing, he peeled back a layer of tunic, checking that his prize had not been damaged commotion. the small, oddly shaped holocron with intricate ebony wiring pulsed faintly, unharmed. It was a good thing he had elected to go to the ruins first, otherwise the archeologists uncovered entrance would have been buried by the avalanche.

Phrixos smiled to himself, drawing his hood back up and heading through the trees. The fate of the Jedi mattered little to him. He was one step closer to his destiny.


INTERMISSION - END

[Auryn]

“I was under the impression you came to Tython to heal, not wallow in self-pity.”

Coming from anyone else the statement may have seemed harsh or cruel, but Aolanni smiled faintly at the familiar voice, without rising from her chair or turning. She listened to her Master's gentle footsteps cross the room, the approach of his calm, careful energy, and the feel of his calloused red hands laying atop the back of the chair.

“Will you walk with me?”

She nodded.

*

[Listen]

The water was clear, cold and bubbling. Hitching her robes up above her ankles Aolanni took a dainty step in in, her bare feet setting on the smooth stones at the bottom. The coolness was soothing, not overly chilled at this time of year even though it was an overcast day streaked with blue and ice capped the distant mountains, and leaves that had drifted down from overhead bobbed past towards the calmer areas, further from the falls.

“You will not talk to me. You will not talk to anyone.”

He always sounded so gruff, always so to the point. Since they had first met though, it had been easy for the empath to read through his tone. To everyone else, they had been an odd match; Grumpy Master Fr'lor Jiorn and sensitive, emotional Aolanni Vaek. When Master Sheray from the archives had first seen the Padawan make the Master grin, she had sworn it was actually a grimace, or at the very least that the togruta's face would crack. Fr'lor didn't smile for anyone. Not back then. Over the years, the others claimed that Aolanni had softened him. She defended that he was as grumpy as ever, and old age had simply made him to weary to express it.

“I have spoken to others,” she replied slowly, taking another step forward, setting her other foot in the water, “Padawans Turlim and Merrant have been especially supportive.”

He gave an idle mutter, tipping his head and vaguely scratching a thumbnail along the edge of one headtail. “A player and an ex-Sith. You have chosen interesting friends.”

“That is an unkind and very two-dimensional summary of either man,”

“And yet true.” He turned sharply towards her, though the Miraluka's back was faced away from him still, as she dallied about in the shallows. “Aolanni. You are not a child. Face me.”

He felt the waver of her carefully controlled calm at what was almost a sharp demand, and instantly regretted the words. Felt the fragility beneath, and how the young woman he had spent so much time helping to shape into the Jedi she currently was, was afraid – even for him, to see what lay beneath her constructed barrier of empathetic void.

“I am sorry,” Fr'lor breathed, “my frustration is not at you, but... my own helplessness, in all this,” He waved a hand idly through the air, “even with your aid, Padawan, I can be as empathetic as a stone block at times.”

“This is truth,” she agreed, with a slight bob of her head. There was amusement at the edges of her tone.

“Then will you permit me to be blunt? As I am having a hard time navigating these waters as it is.” he pauses, then added, “as gently blunt as I can be.”

Aolanni released her robes from her grasp – the edges of them tumbled town and scraped the surface of the water, becoming quickly heavy with it. Her hands rose to press carefully over her chest, feeling the quickening and nervous beat of her heart.

“Talk to me. Please. Watching you suffer in silence, not even turning to me for aid,” though his voice sounded gruff, she could always read through it to the tenderness beneath,

“It hurts me to see you withering like this.”

“You would...” she murmured, turning her head downwards, to watch the swirl of energy that was the water around her robes and ankles, “...think less of me, Master.”

Fr'lor felt his eyes blur, and tears that were not his own prickle there. It was a familiar feeling, with her – one he had not felt in several years, however. Long ago she had learned to control such impulses, to regulate and carefully tend to her empathy. The inability to... meant hurting, and pain beyond her containment... or a silent cry for help. With a deeper breath he strayed forward, boots sliding into the stream.

“Such things are impossible.”

She lowered her hands from her breast, wrapping arms around her middle. It was not cold, and the coolness of the water still soothed her. A shoulder turned slightly towards her Master, shrugged, uncomfortable. Since when had speaking to him felt so uncomfortable...? Her own dear Fr'lor, the man with a body of stone and a heart of gold.

“I do not think so.”

“Oh? Do you know my heart and judgement so well?” He challenged, a deep-set frown on his red and white face. He took another one, two steps towards her, arms spread amicably. “Aolanni. My sweet apprentice. You were among the Sith for close to half a standard year, and they could not change your heart. They stamped a fake persona over you, but they could not turn you. That speaks all of your nature that I need to know, that I have always known.”

“Th... that's not true,” she uttered, her carefully veiled face finally angling towards him. “They did not turn me... but they have... changed me. Broken me. D...” She gripped at the edges of her robes with trembling fingers now, drawing them in closer. “Dirtied me...”

There was that warning word, that warning tone, that made nails of concern and anger drive into the Master's soul. Dirtied. Fr'lor did not want to even hazard to think, to imagine, that...

“Not what you're thinking,” she replied for him. The touches of a forlorn smile traced her lips, and she shook her head – Fr'lor raised his eyes to her with that deep-set, worried frown. “Not... that. Though, it may sound crude... in ways, I... would have preferred it. But no. He did not violate my body.”

“Preferred it?” He demanded. “Your words confuse me. You cannot say such things...”

“To a Miraluka, this is...” she raised a hand, stroking her fingers together, “simply... flesh. A physical form for the spirit within... crude matter. You know this, Master.”

“Yes I do, but that does not mean violation of that 'crude matter' is not still a despicable act--”

“And violation of the soul?” She demanded, almost sharply, “is that less disgusting, less... a horror, because it does not involve the taking of my body? Is my suffering less because I was not deflowered??”

He gave pause, the red tone of his skin paling some – a sickened feeling beginning to turn in the base of his gut.

“No... no, you are right. It is not less.” He hesitated, moving closer, “I... I was wrong to assume. Forgive me.”

“You are mortal,” She shrugged gently, with a small smile, “and it comes from care... there is nothing to forgive. I just...” the smile wavered, her lips trembling. The sickness of her pallid skin could, briefly be felt as a tremor through the Force towards him. The careful net she had weaved around the pockets of scarring and negative energy in her aura peeled back, just a moment, to reveal the still-smarting wounds beneath.

“It is hard to talk about...”

“And yet I feel the time has come when you must talk of it,” he prodded, gently as he could. He was close now, close enough to set his hands carefully against her arms. She was cold – he frowned – colder than the afternoon sun would have her, even standing in the stream. Cold like a corpse.

“I do not want to harass you, child. But if you must speak to anyone of these... I would prefer it was me. Keeping it within, it has been a poison to you. You have no reason to shame... not with me, at least.” With a pause, he added, not unkindly, “your teenage years were far more difficult.”

She laughed. Then she cried, and buried her face against his chest, like the distressed teenager he spoke of had done so many times. Fr'lor sighed softly, wrapping his large arms about her, setting his chin atop her head, her tears running freely down his face. So much. She always had to carry so much emotion, of herself, of others... it was the least he could do to share in it for a time.

“Come... let it out.” Gruff still, but this time with a voice raw with feeling. “I am with you.”

[Auryn]

(Ziost came out just in time for me to bet these screenies, yaaay n_n. This would have taken place before the problems Ziost is currently having, however. Say about two months ago.
Thanks to @Thrax for some dialogue and @Audaine for proof-reading Also please listen to the music! I listened to it while writing this post and I feel it is completely a part of the experience.)

Being back on Ziost was a slow nightmare made solid.

[Listen]

The planet itself barely seemed to have changed in about fifteen years – the petrified forests of twisted, gnarled and otherwise bent-over trees where in fact still petrified, and though it was the midsts of what on this side of the cold world referred to as winter, no snow fell. The air was faintly fetid, and the cold of it seeped into ones bones through all layers– though the billowing of wind through the distant oddly shaped mountains could be heard vaguely as an eerie and oddly high-pitched piping, which rose and fell like a wave. Eventually that same wind reached him, ruffling through his dark hair and cloak, he a smudge of charcoal against the white and grey landscape.

A gloved hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Welcome home, boy.”

There was a satisfied smile in Darth Phrixos' voice.

Reithan felt sick.

*

[Previously, on the Scarred Heart]

The pureblood's heavy armoured steps paced in a tighter-than-appreciated circle around his prize, his once and future apprentice, yellow eyes tracing his new cybernetics and augments up and down. He liked the unspoken ferocity of the spine's raised points, and the sharp, efficient design of the legs. Good work had been done to make the boy functional again, and as it should have been – he had poured a ludicrous amount of money into the Dark Network the eve he and Darth Thrax had made the agreement, when the Lord of Agony had met with the Lord of Entropy to discuss terms and convenience.

Reithan couldn't bring himself to follow him with his eyes, felt staring ahead at the far wall was saving him from having to accept the situation as reality - while Phrixos examined him, picked him apart in his mind, his gaze wicked with intent. Darth Thrax was just out of his line of sight, but he didn't have any care for him, either. The room was blurry and out of focus. He preferred it that way. If he let focus come, if he let himself be in the moment, surely he would lose it. He would go mad, he would dash for the nearest exit, he would--

With a smack, Reithan found himself on his back on the floor. He blinked and grunted, eyes travelling around dazedly. Nothing had hit him. No one had touched him. He couldn't move. He couldn't--

“... will keep him from scurrying off until he learns to accept this world?” Phrixos' tone was smooth like quicksilver, and drenched in amusement.

"It will keep him contained." Thrax offered in an impassive tone, barely constrained disgust evident in his voice, in his very presence. He was almost challenging the Lord of Agony to acknowledge the open disdain. "My systems are without significant error, as you are well aware. And in my personal experience, those present in the boy's mechanics have kept him well in line."

His chest felt tight. Rose and fell dramatically. That wasn't from the deactivation. He was panicking. They had control. They had complete control over him. Reithan fought for breath, for calm. He could feel it - Phrixos drinking it in. He couldn't give him that. Couldn't. Tried to move. Couldn't.

"So,"  He heard the pureblood's step idle closer to him, but didn't care turn his head. Didn't check if he could.

"I'll assume, then, that you'll retain the ability to incapacitate him, as well as I." He sounded to have already begrudgingly accepted this fact.

"Would that there were a need for it," Thrax added, a modicum of that open annoyance drifting into his tone. "... yes, I suppose that one could render him fully immobile. His spinal function, and by extension, his nervous system, is now a factor that may be freely manipulated and altered."

He felt more than saw the Darth's morbid curiosity. Felt that gaze on him, eager to see a reaction.

"Show me. Deactivate his spine."

The cyborg cast a glance toward the downed Jedi. There seemed to be a flicker of hesitation before he brought his mechanical hand over to the keypad concealed in his left gauntlet. The flick of a switch signified the deactivation, as requested.

Reithan had expected to feel nothing from the neck down. Instead, his body gave a limp and awkward flop like a fish dying on a pier and -- intense pain spread up his back. Burning, a fire through his spine, which slowly spread along through the entire web of his nervous system. An unprepared yelp of pain burst from his lips. His body wanted to tense, and convulse, yet somehow laid there, deathly still.

"I see..." Phrixos breathed, "... could it kill him?"

His mouth gawked open. His vision was quickly blurring and fizzling over into buzzing shades of red and black. His eyes rolled. A shudder or two ran through his torso.

"What you are observing, Darth, if you will mark with your senses, is not shut-down in the true sense. Merely a marked reduction of his natural bodily processes." Thrax was quick to add specification.

"The feedback to his nervous system causes the subject pain, while depriving his body, momentarily, of its natural functionality. Due to the nature of his cybernetics, he Is still functioning within medically-acceptable parameters, though his body believes otherwise."

Reithan heard the pureblood give the briefest note of response. He didn't seem to care as much for the explanation as he did for watching, and enjoying. He would have flinched with disgust, and cursed, if he were not desperately trying to contain any note of pain, trying to lessen his Master's sick thrills as much as possible.

This was going to be the rest of his life, he realised.

With a flick of the same switch, the fallen Jedi regained his spine. The soreness started to leave his form, which gradually regained feeling, control. He was graciously being allowed to inhabit and manipulate his own body again. Thrax seemed to consider this just so, by the look of him. Though he didn't say it, it was clear that he considered that much to be a privilege.

Unable to move his legs still, Reithan could do nothing but lie there, gasping, taking his moment of relief. He squeezed his eyes shut a moment, tightly – when he opened them again, Phrixos was standing over him.

Before he could even gasp the pureblood lunged down upon him, a large red hand snapping closed around his neck and dragging him up off the floor. His metal heels dragged useless and dead against the tiles; his face was brought so close to the Sith's that he could smell the stink of his breath. His hands had snapped up instinctively and fastened around the offending wrist, but he might as well have been trying to move his deactivated legs.

“Did you hear, boy?” Phrixos purred, his grip closing, slowly choking him. “You belong to me. Your legs. Your body. Your everything." He dragged him just that bit closer. "You will suffer as you never have before. No, look at me-" As he tried to close his eyes the Darth's other hand grabbed his face and shook it. "Look at me.. Be present. Do not cheapen this moment."

There was nowhere to hide. He wanted to mask it, but he couldn't. Not now. Unbridled horror rose in Reithan's eyes, as his childhood nightmares fell into reality around him. Phrixos grinned - kissed his brow firmly, and dropped him.

"It is time to awaken from your Jedi dream, apprentice."

*

“How does it feel?”

The bitter breeze bit a pink tinge to his death-pale cheeks, the washed-out landscape causing his eyes to appear a stark grey as he took it in. Then they slipped closed, and he let out a shaky sigh. He had to stay composed. He had to hold on. That was the only way he'd make it through this. The hand on his shoulder clenched, awaiting a response.

'There is no emotion, there is peace.'

The Code kept Jedi safe when they were lead or taken astray. It was a comfort, a mantra, something to live by. Reithan had never found that comfort in it before. It had always seemed alien to him, a preach rather than a way to live. Something else to alienate him from those he aspired to be like, another disappointment. His eyelids parted slightly. It had begun to snow, just a little, minuscule flakes falling and clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

'There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.'

“It was a cold planet I took you from, as well,” Phrixos continued, amid his lack of reply. He retrieved the hand and stepped around his apprentice, folding it with his other behind his back. The yellow gaze from beneath his night-black hood scrutinised the young man with cruel amusement and pride, and Reithan slowly rose his eyes to meet it. “You remember that now, don't you? Your home. Your family. The Gate. Your master. You are complete now, I sense it. All of the pieces have been offered to you.”

Don't hate him. Don't fear him. 'The Gate'...? There was no emotion. “I remember.” He replied, plainly.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

“You're trying to bite it down. Ignore your true nature,” The Darth noted, tilting his head down closer to Reithan's. He refrained from flinching but did look away, taking a careful breath.

“We are in Imperial space now, boy. Let your fear boil over and your anger run free. There is no one here to judge you. No one to tell your Jedi friends of the facade you have run for so long.”

“It's not a facade,” He muttered, but the dark edges of anger already ran along his voice, “my legs are bothering me.” They did. His legs ached. It felt strange, that they did. What was left of his thighs rubbed and chafed against the metal holsters of his cybernetic legs, and the contraptions themselves... Reithan could not understand how the parts of his body that had been replaced by metal could ache. Dull pains, running up and down. They felt both real, and as though he were placed on awkward stilts. It would take getting used to.

Phrixos snorted in reply, turning away with a disappointed shake of his head. “That could be true. You have breathes those smoke dreams and fanciful tales of theirs for too long. If you have not yet accepted and fed off the pain of your stump legs, even... then we have much work to do.”

Work... to do... He grimaced, dipping his head and fighting back a dry retch, and was glad the Darth did not see it.

"I tried to tell you years ago. But you were too young. You could not fathom it. We are all sleeping, apprentice, until true agony graces and awakens us."

Oh Force... don't fear, don't feel, he'll know it.

'There is not chaos, there is harmony.'

Reithan could see a speeder approaching in the distance now, around a bend of rock where the ruins of some old, abandoned barracks had once been. The speeder that would take them to the Navras Estate. He remembered how that building at the centre of the grounds had towered over him as a child, a stone metal monolith, and though the halls had been narrow they seemed endless. He would be back there soon. He wondered if the ceilings would still tower so. He would know soon enough.

'There is no death...'

“Do you remember your escape from here? I had always wondered, how you managed to get off-planet...” The pureblood turned his head idly to the sound of the speeder, flexing his sabre hand close to his side. Open, shut. Reithan found himself staring at the simple gesture. Open, shut. A shiver ran down his cybernetic spine and the nausea rose, filling his senses and blurring his vision briefly. Open, shut. He remembered that. The itch of boredom and the desire for pain in that movement. When his Master longed to rip into some. Something.

There is... no... death...

“The cave in... in the east wing... that the snowstorm after the Eve of Feasts caused,” Breathe. Breathe. You're not little anymore. He can't... can't... Reithan forced himself to look away. He took a deep breath. His chest didn't want to let the air in.

“You used the distraction to overpower me,” Phrixos recounted for him, simply, “it was the first time I had ever seen you harness lightning. I was proud of you then, boy.”

He turned to him and smiled that terrible, rotting smile, and in that smile Reithan saw his future once more. For a brief flicker of a second he considered running, for all the good it would do him. He knew he wouldn't get far.

“You really did earn those fifteen years away. Just as you have earned what is to come.”

His hand fell against the back of his apprentice's neck, pinching gently like a collar, a warning, ownership. Reithan felt the tingle of electricity in it. He closed his eyes.

There is worse than death, here.

[Auryn]

Warning - this shit gets ugly.
@Thrax is in this too! :3

[Zythia, many months ago.]


Aolanni picked her way into the room, walking with the slight sway and waver to her step, as though she moved about in a daze or dream. Her cyborg warden waved a hand toward the door listlessly as she passed through it. A pair of droids shuffled the Jedi prisoner through the halls of the Zythian compound, ultimately tossing her to the floor before their master and departing swiftly afterward.  The Miraluka collapsed to her hands and knees, lowering her pounding head.

“… I still… will say nothing…”

The activation of the Dark Reaper had taken its toll on her. Every death – every cry of pain and fear and terror, they had run her through like shards of glass. With her empathy so unprotected it had been... been... to much. It had left her senseless, and scrabbling for rational thought.

Darth Thrax had chosen this precarious time, to see her.

[Listen]

He rolled his metallic wrist, then leaned back into the massive machine that served as the seat of his office. The droid aides remaining in the room marched out the door at the back of the room, leaving the Jedi alone with the Sith. The dark lord’s power seemed reserved at the moment. Something about the ‘throne’ he was connected directly into was suppressing his vile aura.

“So many…” Aolanni muttered quietly to herself. “So… have they gone quiet yet? No…”

“All is quiet here. They will not disturb us though they are far from satiated.” Thrax was correct, from a certain point of view. In his chamber, the outside seemed to have darkened and dulled, as if he and his prisoner were locked within a sound-proof bubble that prevented the echoes of the Force. This was the dark lord’s oppressive influence, but it provided a respite from the wailing of his victims at least.

“Only in here. Only these walls. Outside it continues… the absence matters not, for it is a lie…” The Jedi crouched lower, laying her head on its side against the cool coloring pressing her ear to it. The quiet was a respite, though she could still collect herself.

“You are a Jedi, lies are your stock and trade… although.” He inclined his head to one side. “This was never about Jedi or Sith. We stand in the twilight now, outside looking in at the edge of oblivion. Can you begin to understand what I encompass?

'You came to Zythia to stop a whispering fiend but there are no whispers here, no schemes. Only judgments. Only truth.”

“…twilight…” Aolanni laid a hand to the floor beside her nose, ran it back and forth along the cool metal. “Twilight is when the sky is between sleep and awake. Time before darkness falls.” She raised her head slowly, masked gaze crossing the floor to his feet. “The small time in which dark and light may exist together… so I am told…”

“Does it please you to sit here then, now at the end of all your work? At the last light of day? I will not gloat to you, I am merely curious as to why you thought that it could be any other way.”

The Jedi shook her head slowly. “No… not my work… no…” She pushed herself up and, more than once, raked her hands through her hair, trailing them around her face and meeting them beneath her chin. “A hand moved me. Moved all of us. Like pieces on a dejarik board. He thought he was the player, the manipulator, but you – it is you, isn’t it?”

“Not always. We play different games entirely, he and I. I do not know if he even has a game at this point. But the Reaper, and everything that had transpired up to its firing unfurled according to my designs. For what little I am sure it means to you my dear, I am Darth Thrax.”

“There was a game.” And I his prize she thought, but had some semblance of sense not to say it aloud. “That monstrosity…. The planet killer, the Death of Souls… why?”

“This is why you are here. You cannot even conceive of what I have done or why, you confine yourself to a realm of war, of a dejarik board.”

“What you have done… I see… though why…” A frown slowly drenched her face. “Why is beyond me. Why one would… in that way…” She pressed her hands to her face once more, moaning quietly at the mere memory of the Reaper’s activation.

“This is a game of time and fate and faith and blood. You can call me a patriot as easily as anything else. Just because I rebel against your god, your Ashla, does not make me any less noble. I will conquer your god, Aolanni Vaek. That is why I have done this to you, to your people. I will make her as blind as she has made you, and deaf, and dumb as she has allowed you to be here and now.”

She dragged her face up from her hands, breath caught in her throat, she shook her head. “No. No, there was nothing noble in that. Not even the wrath of Bogan would do as such. You spit on the Force, on them both…” She drew herself up, sitting upright on the floor. “I am not blind, Darth Thrax. I was never blind. I see more clearly than ever. I see you. Only those who lack what you do are blind. I pity you who, in your emptiness, must snatch others into the void…!”

“Once again I ask you…” Thrax mused, arcing his head to one side. “Why do you believe that this could have had any other ending? Your work, undone in minutes or eons… always undone. That is the essence of entropy. That is what I am.”

“The end is not here yet. This is not an ending, it is…” She tilts her head to one side as well, as though listening for something. “It is something… others… will stop. My work undone, yes, but the work of others… of greater Jedi…” A soft, almost loving smile rose to her lips. “Or smaller…”

“I do not steal others away into the black like the Jedi steal children for their insipid religion, as they stole me once long ago. I move the clock forward. I shepherd this galaxy into the twilight it was always fated to meet.”
“No…” she shook her head. “Time does not move within you. It stops completely… the hands of the clock… rot… …I pity you.” She repeated, at a breath.

“It does move – to its inevitable end. And you may pity me, in fact I am not surprised that you do. I am a pitiable creature, and I do what I am compelled to, because it is logical. Because corruption and death is as integral a part of the universe as your light, and the soft gentle humming of your Ashla in your mind. I am an embodiment of that, and it is to that force of nature that you speak now.”

Aolanni swayed unsteadily up to her feet – her weight uneven, almost sending her tumbling over again, but she caught herself with a foot out. She raised her hand, reaching out toward the Darth, and inched forward. “That does not need to be the way.”

The Sith made no attempt to stop her though the closer she inched, the more she could feel the waves of cancerous energy writhing outward from him, flowing across her flesh like a plague wind. The yawning abyss he represented was more keenly perceptible now as she neared. She could feel the tendrils of a ravenous heart reaching out and slithering along her arm as if to welcome her, finally, into depravity and debasement.

“I am not a form corrupted, Aolanni. I am corruption given form.”

“Nature does not act against the Force. The Force is nature." She trembled as the plague of his essence invaded her senses, her lips trembling, but she continued, “It flows through everything. Even that which is dead. The Miraluka see this… even that which was never living… your claims are only your desires… for part of you is still human, alive, and part of the Force.” Her fingertips laid gently against his mask. It was a risky move, she knew this – but it was an attempt to be open, unrestrained. A hand offered, in peace and want for understanding. She sensed something beneath. There had to be something...

...as she touched the mask, a great stillness returned to the room. There was a silence for a long while as the foulness trailing invisibly from the woman dissipated and faded all at once. Surely she was at the heart of the storm at this moment. Without a word, the machine at the cyborg’s back reached out to extract the mask from his face carefully.
“I once lived. That which is ruined always had life once. And then it died. I died. I rotted away. This is what remains of those the Jedi have forgotten, have failed.”

Aolanni’s hand hesitated only for a moment, and not in disgust, more at breaching the personal gap between them. It was difficult for her to perceive his face... She touched the rise of his cheekbone and carefully, gently, traced the shape of his corpse-cold jawline. Scarred and marred skin beneath the cold, emotionless steel. The cyborg’s jawframe was somehow colder than his flesh beneath, which seemed strained by the frames that held it, inflicted agony upon it even as it held his body together.

“What is it that happened… That hollowed you out? That let the sickness into your core, and cause you to believe you were anything but another man, another Sith…?” She breathed deeply, as though the dissipating of the encroaching corruption cleared her mind and lungs. She tried to understand.
Thrax’s single red eye trailed along the hand, up across to the eye-line of its owner, staring into her veil with a look her hadn’t experienced for many years – not quite fear or reticence, something more akin to a gentle curiosity. His hunger abated for a moment.

“Another Jedi… another person. A person at all, and not the monster I have come to embrace. I lost my freedom. I am a Sith that bears chains that can never be broken, and the Force has enslaved me.”

There was her in. There was a weariness there, sadness even. With very little strength in her weakened and slender hand, Aolanni tilted the Darth’s face up to be level with hers. “You have enslaved yourself. You walk this path for it is of your choosing. Your mind lead astray by your own doubt… did you think the pain would stop only if you could silence the Force? This does not have to be the way…”

Carefully, his left arm was lifted and brought across his chest. His leather glove, withdrawn from the hand as he brought it up to the woman’s cheek carefully. Cold fingerpads trailed along her alabaster skin, draping behind one ear as he unclipped one end of her mask, drawing it slowly away from her face, letting it fall to the ground as he stared into her empty sockets. She shivered. A quiet gasp left her as his cold touch drew away the patchwork leatheris veil In taboo, though the young Jedi did not stop him – reflecting her own actions, it was fair. To feel violated would be to be a hypocrite. Smooth skin ran over her empty sockets, topped with slender eyebrows furrowed in concern, adding volumes of expression to her face. Her hand dropped from his cheek. 

“…fascinating. I see… myself… reflected in your eyes.”

“I understand… yet also I do not understand.. how is it it that you loath the Force? Why do you believe us to be trapped?” Almost automatically, she attempted to angle her face away in a way that would cause her hair to shield those sockets from view.

At the subtle roll of her neck, the man’s wrist flicked, shifting across to draw her long locks of hair back over her scalp, at the same time gently caressing along the top of her skull until his cool palm was pressed to the nape of her neck. Aolanni tensed, feeling a sliver of fear grip her centre. She resisted the kneejerk urge to pull away.

“I want to be free…. I need it. What is inside me, the sickness… it’s the pulse of a universe without the Force. It’s truth… and the truth is that a universe without the Force merely exists. No guidance. No control. Entropy is all that matters. You see a man… who wants to learn to live without the Force. Do you condemn me?”

“No, I do not… I could not. But you are wrong in your method. If it is severance from the Force you desire, why must others be killed and maimed? To what end…? What is that infernal machine for…?”

“This is a benevolent thing I do.” Thrax argued gently, “to oppose the god that guides us. I want to be free to exist for myself. I want you to be free… can’t you see that it’s better to die free, severed from one’s chains… than to suffer as an ignorant slave.

'What I will do is a kindness… sometimes one must be cruel to be kind, Aolanni. Let me show you.”

He did not lean forth much to suddenly press his lips to hers. At the time of the contact, his power flared and he immediately began drawing strength from her via the hand across her neck. Her hands snapped up immediately to his chest, pushing against him and attempting to summon the Force to pry them apart, though still recovering from the Reaper’s attack, she could barely fight his grasp. Numb weakness coursed like cold, sickly water through her veins, spreading from the nape of her neck through her entire body. She gasped for air against his cold lips as her knees gave way, becoming limp in his hold.

[Listen]

The kiss of the spider was slowly withdrawn as his venom took hold within her. She was in his web now, cocooned by his power, and all that remained was for him to take the little he’d left her - but he didn’t. Her body remained draped in his hold, cradled over one knee as she was given no choice but to watch as a prisoner of her own mind and body while she was in the grip of her captor. He eyed her now perhaps truthfully, as one might inspect a fascinating specimen of rare insect. She felt fingers she couldn’t couldn’t see caressing her cheek idly as he studied her with his organic eye, the cybernetic one shuttered away for now.

“In this moment.. I have supplanted your god. I have chained you… as the Force has chained me.”

Her helplessness, the cold throughout her body and the webbing veins of corrupting, diseased energy spread over her own signature and made fear leap into her throat. She gave a small strangled cry – only once she had been this helpless before. Only once, as a child in the snow. Her trembling hands wrapped around her forearms, digging into the porcelain pale skin and raking back and forth as though she could scratch the corruption, taint away. “N-no…”

“This is the destiny I’ve chosen for you… just as the Force chose to deposit you here. To let this… happen…” Steel supported her back as she was cradled, the other hand curling up against her cheek, the backs of his fingers drawn along her neckline. He could feel her gasping, her breathing, as his fingertips traced her esophagus. His touch wasn’t corruptive – the infection as in her now. The beast was simply playing with his meal.

“Feels… interesting. Your energy. Overriding logic centers… I can taste your fear, desperation… I want to change it. You owe me awe, after all. Reverence.”

She tried feebly to bat his hand away, shrinking back from his unwanted touch that leeched vitality from her. Had she been so foolish in attempting to reach out to him in the first place? To trust in the Force…? Had she strayed close enough to these Darths in the dark that it had abandoned her too?

/No… do not fall… do not become entangled in the web laid out for you… be strong…/ “What you feel is… empathy for others…”

She could watch understanding wash over his face as the strained musculature became suddenly relaxed. It was not that the agony ebbed, but that his whims were directed elsewhere, a distraction from the pain. But it was only momentary. “Your tether to me... for my blessing, my touch.” The hand left her neck as she’d wished, but did not leave her. She’d feel the backs of his fingers slink across the length of her torso to end at the pit of her stomach, where her empathy was guiding him.

“So many nerve endings… your stomach is considered the ‘second brain’. It operates on pure instinct, untampered by logic or reason… tell me what you feel here now, tell me what your senses reveal.”

Her trembling hand, now bloody from the skin she had rubbed red-raw and broken on her arms, slithered up to wrap around his wrist, trying to pry the wandering hand from her as she lurched away, better to throw herself to the floor than be in his grasp any longer. The attempt to leave his hold wasn’t resisted in the least. She didn't go far and he knew it - she crumpled to the floor before him. His arms, curled around those of his throne as he leaned back, continuing to watch her railing against he bonds he’d placed on her.

“Only now, at the end, can you understand. Your struggle is pointless… nothing you possess is beyond me. Nothing.”
Aolanni slumped bodily to the floor. She resisted the immediate urge to curl up and make herself as small as possible, though her limbs felt heavy as lead. Shivering, her hands petted across the floor, searching for her veil, the only security she had left… that old, worn, dozen-times-repaired veil that could be, with her empathy open wide and her weakened body at the whims of a Darth, her only salvation. “Others… will fight you…” she uttered. "The Jedi… ww…wnnot… allow…”

The veil was retrieved from the floor with a wrist-flick and mental command, Thrax's fingers threading over the thin slip of leatheris. Carefully it was brought to be studied, then draped it over one of the arms of his seat. “Are you ashamed, Miraluka? Why? You have many reasons but I wish to know which is most potent. Which one makes you pity me the most.”

She buried her face in the crook of her elbow, unable to find the energy to raise an arm and take the veil and… Worried of reaching out towards him once more, inviting unwanted attention. “I… for… how much you have mislead yourself… How you…” she moaned softly, nausea rolling in her gut, “… think that these… actions will.. solve your problem…”
“There is no light in me, Aolanni… no heart. It died long ago... no... that is untrue. It changed. It became something that you fear. The peace and the love that I feel is on a plane apart. I am outside you, above.”

“You seem quite intent on assuring me of these things… as though that will make them true.”

He lifted his right arm toward the woman. Each of the four ports at his wrist opened, and cybernetic tendrils trailed from within his arm, writhing through the air toward her. One of the thin cords wrapped around her neck, the tip ending at her lower lip. Another two slithered down the sleeves of her arms, wrapping up around her limbs, pulsing sickly there as the final tendril was drawn across her face, curling and uncurling as she was probed by the mechanical monster.

“What you’ve given me, it allows me to… feel such things… I care for what becomes of you, that you might stop the insignificant striving… and be at peace in the nothing with me.”

She could do little to stop the crawling tendrils fastening around her body – any twist away from them only becoming a painful jerk when they forced her to comply. She felt sick with fear, at how he toyed with her like a beast and it's quivering little prey, at how cold and alone she was in that room, and the reminder that if – that when she left, whilst she might be free of him… the onslaught of empathetic agony would resume, and her mind would drift again. “Care is a gift…” she struggled out, rasping against the neck-hold. “I hope that you will.. try.. to remember it…”

“Hope…” The tendrils tightened their hold as they retracted, pulling her with them, leashes coaxing the beaten bitch over to the master, who held the treat of her mask aloft for her – a minor respite; a symbolic return of her dignity he’d so easily stripped away. “Hope is a flame, and I will snuff it out in you. That warmth it gives you... a crutch. I can teach you to live in despair.”

This time, Aolanni breathed – in that moment of pain and entrapment, of ownership over her, somehow, the Force spoke to her. The mask slipped from Thrax’s grip and into her awaiting, welcoming grasp. She held it to her chest like a lifeline. “There is… always... hope.” 

Her head slipped back and she fell into unconsciousness, overwhelmed and finally spent. With a dismissive thrust of his foot outward, Thrax’s tendrils receded and her body was nudged away from him, his damage done... the last thing she perceived before the world slipped away.

~

Fr'lor was quiet for a long while, and grimly so, after Aolanni finished recalling that first meeting, in all of it's shuddering detail. The young woman had gone quiet, tilting her head towards the sound of the busy waterfall. They did not speak for a long time, though he felt her drink in the calm of the area to steady herself. She had been oddly stoic and collected as she'd recalled the tale - like one reciting a horrible thing that had happened to someone else.

"So... drawing your energy from you, of both your Force and vitality, had an adverse effect on him," He surmised; not changing the subject, but drawing attention to a more practical use of the memory.

Aolanni nodded gently. "It seemed so. He fed upon the Force that made me myself, and thus, for a short time, he experienced... empathy."

You sweet, foolish girl, He mentally scolded her, unable to bring himself to aloud. "You thought through this, that you could sway him."

"Or at least distract him for a while," She shrugged half heartedly, "Darth Lexicanus' doing had stripped away all of the barriers and controls for empathy. I was highly attuned, I could see deeper than before," she hesitated, hands curling in her lap,

"I saw the man within him, past the wounds and void. What was left of him. Of Knight Sedric Rist."

It was not... unfamiliar, that name. Fr'lor mused on it with his usual deep, unfriendly-looking frown, a hand rising to grip his chin. "...I recall him. Vaguely. A proud man. Too proud, really. Though dead, I believe. His name disappeared a long time past."

"... is this what happens to us all, in such times as war?" Aolanni breathed... traces of that despair that had been forced upon and implanted within her, in those words. "Do we either die, or fall to such terrible depths? Do our lights go out always in vain, Master...?"

Giving her the answer of 'there is no death' seemed cruel and dismissive, and her former Master had never been the kind to cut off deeper thought and discussion with the notion that it was unnecessary. He had always encouraged his Padawans to think for themselves. To accept what they were taught and analyse it with their own moral and logical codes. To him, a true Jedi questioned everything - even the Code, if just for deeper understanding of its meaning - though was content with the knowledge that not all questions could be answered.

Instead, he replied honestly, with a hand settling over her own and griping her thin, cold fingers tightly, "I do not know. But such a question is already steeped in doubt." He canted his head, striped tails rustling against coarse linen.

"Perhaps ask it again later, reworded, with a clearer head. And to someone wiser than myself."

Her lips parted, but Aolanni did not seem to be able to find her voice. He gave her hands another squeeze before letting go, suggesting that, at least for now, she had spoken enough.

And they sat there a long while, until the sun sank behind the trees and the horizon swallowed up the light in blooms of pink and blood-orange, and the insects of the evening began to chirp and sing in harmony with the bubbling streams, rushing water, whispering leaves. Aolanni drank it in, in silence, and for the first time in long while, felt a sliver of warmth creep back into her like the sigh of an old, dear friend.

[Auryn]

The ocean. He hadn't returned to it for a while. Not since the Temple had risen. Deep, dark ocean. This time was different. The moons watched, and he struggled. The weight of his thick, dead metal legs dragged him down. The moons watched, Ashla and Bogan, and waited. The sky was full of stars – a red hand closed over his face, blocking them out, and shoved him beneath the still surface.

[Listen]

The dreams were no better than his waking moments lately, and Reithan awoke floundering and gasping as though the ocean had followed him out of slumber. Pain caught up with him quickly; sharp stabs from the cuts over his torso and slow ache from every muscle; he groaned weakly and fell back against the floor of his cell.

He was losing track of time – there were no windows in dank stone room with its tiny cell, and his Sight told him he was beneath the earth, but was oddly inhibited other than that... something about the old, old walls and the ancient Sith magic imprinted into the stone like a barrier, which made him feel caged and claustrophobic. Hours and days and weeks and pain all melded together, and only in the times where the screaming agony drove him blindly into unconsciousness did he find relief. Even if the dreams were dark, the Ocean was calm, and still... and as he had meditated with it on Tython, a time which felt so long ago... he drew slivers of energy and peace from it now.

Then he would awaken, and the pain would begin again.

There was no training. None and no lessons he could recognise, anyway. Just... well. All of the 'catch up' and agony Darth Phrixos had promised him. At first Reithan had tried to resist. He'd bit back screams and looked inward, deep into his mind, but that resolve had been scraped away long ago (or maybe only days? Or hours? He could no longer tell). There was no shame left in it for him any more. He'd screamed at crazed pitches he'd thought impossible for his voice to reach. He'd cried like a child and sobbed for it to stop. He'd fought, and spat, and swore, and vomited, and bled and laughed. He'd promised death and begged for it, too. Phrixos never seemed to tire or bore of it... not yet at least. Always his leering face was there. Watching, enjoying, drinking in the sweet, sweet rewards of his patience.

His cell must have been part of the game, as well. Nothing to focus on, or distract himself with – no comfortable surfaces, no warmth, no way to tell the time or the day or the passage of time. The blocking of his Sight, for the most part. He was alone in a cold stone prison, on a cold Sith world, where no one would ever find him.

It made it easy to hear people approaching, though. He heard them from a mile away – especially the scampering of the thralls, and the way they sniffed the air, which sounded so loud against the low ambience of the basement's backdrop. One thing Reithan had come to learn, was who his visitors were. This pair of footsteps was quiet, and sneaky – belonging to a lighter frame that was used to getting away with stealthing by, but these old halls hid nothing.

“S'up, Scallywag.”

He knew it was the agent before she spoke, and sidled up to the side of the cell.

Reithan blearily rose his head towards the simple steel bars. The woman – Thrasher, Phrixos called her – squatted into a cross-legged sit on the floor, chin propped in hand. She wore a dark open trench, bare down the front except for a thin strip of purple covering her breasts, and her blue eyes sparkled with amusement in the dim, inky light, framed by her dark hair.

He cast his bored, deadened gaze across the cell towards her in return, white meeting her ocean-blue... then he looked away silently, seeing no point in her presence. He didn't want a friendly chat – not from her at least, who always prodded and poked verbally as though this whole thing was such a fun joke to her.

Lakesh tittered lightly and wrapped her fingers around two bars. “Aww, no smile? Not even for a pretty girl?”

He didn't answer. She was loving this, and he didn't know why, and he wanted to hate her for it, but was far too tired.

“Oh wait, I forgot. You're broken that way, aren't you?” she puffed her cheeks up and swung her bodyweight idly to and fro, like a child in the playground pondering some whimsical thought. “How does that even work for a guy? Must be terrible for you. Even Jedi need to get their rocks off sometimes, surely. What do you do with Lord Blindylady into the wee hours of the night, play dejarik?”

He closed his eyes, and subtly inclined his head away from her. He was too exhausted to deal with her... infinite nature.

The agent pouted, with a little 'hmph' sound of disappointment. “Well. You're no fun," a pause. He missed the slow spread of a knowing, conniving grin across her deep-purple lips.

"You know who is going to be fun, though? Your cute boyfriend."

Reithan frowned, twitched. He only knew one person people had called that, in jest...

"What's his name? Tulip? Turret. No... Turlim!” She snapped her pale fingers, the sound bouncing off the walls of the room like a gunshot. “Miller Turlim. That one. Yeah, he's asking for it.”

What...? He felt his heartbeat quicken. He tried not to let it show – remained looking away. She didn't know a thing. She was an agent. She was bluffing. It wouldn't be the first time. Surely...

“That's what happens when you don't give m'Lord what he wants, Rei-Rei. You know this.” She dismissed. “There are so many ways to hurt someone, and I don't think he got the title 'Lord of Agony' just from cutting and stripping skin and sticking staples under fingernails, y'know? It's not just about hurting you physically and mentally. I mean,” she canted her head almost cutely, "imagine how bad and tortured you'd feel if m'Lord kriffed up one of your friends, and made you watch?

“I... I am,” he replied, voice hoarse and rugged, throat dry, a proper string of Basic barely coming to him, “I am... here. He's doing what he... how is this... not already what he wants?”

“Aww, honey,” Lakesh cooed with mock sympathy, tutting, “I know you're not this stupid. Or forgetful. It's what he's been screaming at you for the past two weeks about. But there's a way you can stop your friend from getting involved. Or friends, plural, if you even have more than one,”

She leaned slightly closer to the bars. “Tell me where the holocron is, Scallywag, and he won't see a need to go after Tulip, or your little sister... or your greenie Master... or anyone else.”

Reithan flinched at the ripe mental image that brought on, and remembrance dawned on him. That... that had been what Phrixos been grating him for, for a while, now, yes. He remembered the pureblood's massive hands holding his lolling head up, the taste of blood, losing another tooth.

The... the holocron? The one I found in the Tho Yor... why would he want....?


“I know you've got it,” He had seethed, their faces so close, the lord's fury so feral, Reithan had been dazedly sure the Darth was going to take a vicious bite out of him like a wild animal, “TELL ME!! TELL ME WHERE ALBAEGOTH'S HOLOCRON IS,”


How had he stood up against that? Reithan couldn't remember. Maybe he'd just passed out. Either way, if the agent was here, not only had he kept himself from talking, but... Phrixos was getting desperate.

“...That's why you're here?” He almost laughed, but it would have hurt too much. “He sent you to try and convince me to give in?”

“Not at all. I'm just sick of his terrible mood. You know when m'Lord doesn't get his way, and gets all frustrated and impatient, it's not a fun time for anyone here.”

“How terrible for y-”

“Do you think it'll stop?” She interrupted, harshly.

Her brow suddenly bumped between the bars, hard, and she fixed him with an intent and callous look so unlike her previous charade, it was as though a simple mask had fallen away from her face. Reithan hadn't though himself able to feel colder, but a shiver wormed down his spine at that instant change.

“We know him, Reithan.” Surely that was the first time she'd used his actual name. “Just because you're acting broken and pathetic it doesn't mean anything is going to change. He'll keep going. And going. And going. And if he pushes too hard, and you die, he'll bring you back. And if you get sick, he'll nurse you back to health. And he'll keep going, and going, and neither of you will gain anything.

'Or... you could stop resisting him, quit being a stupid angry little kid, and accept this is your life now - give him the holocron, so we can get past this Torture McPhee phase and on to the Real Training, which I'm thinking will be less shit than the 24/7 torture joyride you're on now. Bite the bullet, stop being a drama queen. Let him teach you like how he wants, make you his little Ormus, give you sabres, maybe even start to trust you - then one day turn around and destroy him with everything he's given you. Plot twist!”

He stared at her. She stared back, and it took him a little white to find his raw voice again. There was old cold, boredom, and the vaguest hints of amusement in her steely gaze... another mask, or perhaps for once, none at all...?“.. why are you telling me this?”

“Because you're so pathetic to look at like this,” she snapped, her nose wrinkling, as she stood with a whirl of cloak and paced back and forth before his prison aggressively, “it's nauseating, I can't take it anymore, and it's not like I think you can even do it. If you keep doing what you're doing there's nothing for you but a world of pain and unbelievable torture until one of you dies from boredom or old age. At least my way, things get interesting. You can become strong again, stronger even, and bide your time, and one day find a perfect moment and,” she jabbed her shiv into one bar – it tinked sweetly, “sweet revenge. You don't even have to hide it from him – you know how Sith are. He'll probably enjoy training you more knowing that it's all to get back at him.”

“I don't want revenge.”

“Shut up,” she dismissed him simply, knowingly, her lips curved to smile as she eyed him down, “Of course you do. You hate him more than anything else in this galaxy, Jedi or no. You're pretending you don't, because you want so badly to be Good Jedi, but I can see it. It's in every muscle of you. I know what hate looks like... you're it, luv. You're afraid too, and it's mostly the little-kid-type fear you let come out, but you know what they say – fear leads to anger to hate and bla bla blaaa.”

He didn't have any words for that. She was right. He hated that she was right. He hated--

“Admit it, it's a good plan. Not that you have much option. The cost of it will probably be your heart, or sanity... but lets be honest,” she gripped the bars tight a moment and shot him another one of her Cheshire grins, “you're already losing those.”

She began to hum a pleasant tune, nonchalantly, like they'd been talking about the weather or Huttball and not giving a sado-masochistic Darth the objects of his desire. Tucking the shiv back away into her boot, she spun away from him on the toe of one boot. “Just thought I'd let you know. I'm going to go see Tulip now. I hear he'll be at Dancer Palace right on the night I need him. Want me to give a kiss from you?”

With whatever sliver of strength remained in him Reithan pushed his back into the floor with a whine and shoved himself up, grabbing hold of the bars and staring at the agents back as she moved away towards the room's heavy blast door. No, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. With him caught, his friends were supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be out of the line of fire.

“He's got nothing to do with this. He knows nothing.”

“Aaaand you just told me how much you care,” She wiggled a finger in the air without turning. “Thanks. I'll let m'Lord know. Get some rest now sweetie, you'll need it. He'll be back down here for you in a couple hours.”

“Please!” He found the beg spring from his lips, through his teeth, “Please leave him alone,”

“Let it go, Scallywag!” She called, stepping out into the hallway, and right before the doors slammed shut,

“Never know – you might like it.”


Reithan waited until the doors were clamped shut and locked behind her, and her elegant footsteps faded to nothing. He dragged himself up from the floor by shoving his fingers into a crack in the wall, falling against it with a rugged gasp as his insides ached and his mind spun. He shut his eyes, and felt for the Force. Even down here, deep beneath the ground, deep within Imperial space, it hadn't abandoned him. Not yet. He used it to breathe. In, out, deeply. Slowly, the pain eased a little. Slowly, he stopped shaking. Slowly, he began to recite the words he needed, not to lose himself here. As long as he remembered them, as long as he stayed true to himself... even here, he was still a Jedi.

There is no emotion, there is peace...

He had to believe that.

[Auryn]

@Miller is in this! @Thrax and @Audaine get a mention too0o~
A break from the usual structure of this thread, to weave a story.

"Go Between"

Lakesh's eyebrows snapped up.

"M'lord.. I err. Really don't think that's wise."

"When I want your opinion agent, I'll ask for it."

"You pay me to be Spymaster," She shot back with that same disapproving frown glued to her face, "not to be all well-behaved and 'yes m'lord' all the time. I keep your information and your property secure even if I have to tell you you're doing something utterly  stupid." Waiting a beat in case he was suddenly going to launch into pain and Force-choking (he didn't), she shifted her weight to one hip and folded her arms. "I know you like messing with him m'Lord, but this seems a but much."

Phrixos whirled around with a flurry of cape and antagonism, yellow eyes fixing on her. Lakesh felt that shiver up her spine, as she always did, but was well practiced in not letting it show. In fact, she manage dot not flinch once as the Darth stalked up to her, right until he was on her toes. She blinked and took the smallest step back, before his hands fastened around her arms and slammed her back into the wall.

"I can only tolerate so much of your blithering," He warned, his breath in his nose and a growl in his throat. Lakesh was careful not to meet his eyes, as one might avoid the gaze of a maddened akk dog. "I need that holocron. You have failed to turn up any evidence of it yet."

"Well that's just not true m'Lord," She pointed out light-heartedly, "We know it was with Lord Buelle for a time. He does like to share things with her. She might know something."

His maroon brows furrowed, his will fixed upon her. Lakesh cut in before he could speak again, "No, you can't just invite her over and beat it out of her, she's Inquisitorious, they'd be all over us and your Estate before you could say antidisestablishmentarianism. You have to butter her up, m'Lord. Give her something she wants, and she might cooperate on a little thing or two."

Phrixos' lip curled with a certain amount of disgust and displeasure. He released the agent, taking a few heavy steps back, watching as she stepped around him and shook out her trench. “I have no interest in the desires of women.”

Lakesh opened her mouth to make a joke, thought about it, and closed it again. No, she liked living. “You have two things she is interested in, m'Lord. Ancient knowledge, and the brat.”

He took her meaning easily enough, some of the disgust being replaced with curiosity. Folding his arms, he stepped to follow her dawdle around the room, absently stroking at the facial-tendril by his chin. “You're proposing I let him go to her.”

“Not yet,” She replied, idling over to the desk and spinning, seating herself against it's edge facing him with a light grin, “Invite her over. Be nice, let her see him. Get a taste. She'll want more sooner or later. I can set up some bugs when they're together but you never know... she might be willing to talk if you,” and she grinned that cheshire grin, “let her have her way with him a few times.”

Phrixos mused for a moment or two. Her idea was simple enough, and she was right at least about Audaine Buelle being marginally untouchable now that she was a Lord of the Inquisitorious. Gone where the days when he could throw her about teasingly – he and a score of other self-important male Sith were out of some fun, Lakesh thought with a twitch of her smirk to a greater size.

“I will consider it,” He dismissed eventually, flinging a hand idly aside, “for now, you will make contact with the friend. Find out what he knows, if he knows anything. Play the same game with him – give him enough of a reason to go searching.”

The agent bit her tongue lightly, and nodded. “Just what I was thinking, m'Lord. Don't you worry your ugly little head about it – I have just the plan.”

*

Dancer's Palace wasn't the classiest place, but it was frequented enough by Jedi. Jedi looking to get away from it all, Jedi looked to lose themselves, Jedi looking for information, good Jedi, bad Jedi... Lakesh imagined, if she were Sith, she would be able to smell their holier-than-thou goodness.

She knew the look of Padawan Miller Turlim already. Numerous security holovids and camera bugs had already made her savvy to the painfully boyish haircut and winning smile. She spent a while watching him play under-cover, sitting at the bar chewing on the edge of her platinum wig. Briefly, she had tossed up coming to the Palace in full dancing gear, all wire and thin transparent wisps of fabric, but given how close Turlim had been working with Scallywag for a number of months, she doubted the get-up would even do the trick on him.

Seriously, she thought disdainfully, as she placed herself at the counter beside him with a flirtaceous smile and a martini, what do all these idiots see in that scrawny little emo?

It wasn't long before they were talking, but Lakesh revealed little until she managed to drag him out to the dance floor, where the noise from bad jazz and drunken patrons was at its peak. He played dumb very well, but was nice and responsive when she'd slid his arms around his waist, drawn herself in and murmured breathily in his ear in a nonsense sing-song tone,

“I know where your boyfriend is~”

That had gotten his attention. She played him, while he thought he played her – she pretended to flirt, as did he, neither thinking anything else but what they could get information-wise from the other. His smiles were less-winning and glassy-eyed, and her patience ran out once or twice when he tried to play the Jedi game... but in the end, they both walked away with something akin to what they wanted. Altogether it was a fun night the endless lights of Nar Shaddaa had to offer.

She had her story set out, nice and simple – she was a double agent, and her boss was suspicious of what Darth Phrixos was doing. Phrixos wanted the holocron, and Lakesh wanted to make sure she got her hands on it before he did. If the Jedi complied, and found his little boyfriend's artifact... then she'd arrange for him to be far more rescueable than where he currently was.

“Now,” Lakesh whipped her head back around, shooting Miller a smile as she stepped out onto the exit balcony, tugging the zip of her collar down in the coolness of the outside, “you want your Scallywag back. I want the holocron. Let's see what we can do, shall we~?”

~

“You'll be reunited again, and I'm certain the location won't matter to either of you.” Again his words, while firm, were devoid of emotion, as if he was stating a simple fact.

“As I said to you then... I only worry that the next time, he will be as lost as I was.” Aolanni hesitated, glancing out across the city. The light of the late afternoon was pink and orange pastels on what had been a relatively cloudless day, colouring the shimmering durasteel and transparisteel of the buildings and speeders with its warmth. Despite those tones, it was cool. Her hood was drawn up against the wind, her cloak wrapped securely around herself, though Miller didn't seem bothered by it.

“Or worse. You know him... he had his troubles. I need not explain.”

“If he is lost, we will simply guide him back through the maze. We'll steady the turbulence, calm the waves, and quell the raging winds.”

How she envied his confidence. She had once had that. “Mn...” With a half-heartedly nod in agreement, she turned her head back to him. “... Miller. I am loathe to intrude, but there is something I should ask.” a pause. “If we are to go forward together, you should... make your involvement clear to me.”

He blinked. “How do you mean? You'd like me to be transparent in my actions?”

“... sort of, yes,” She hesitated, awkwardly, “Transparent in your... relationship with my brother. I am aware that my feelings for him may impede my judgement. I need to know that you understand that as well, and are prepared for it. I have no desire to lecture you on emotional attachment...”

Miller perked a brow. “I'll be sure to stop you from doing anything more than what is called for.”

Aolanni folded her arms, seeming to be waiting expectantly for more. The slight sound of her foot tapping against the ground faded in from the background... and it was hard to read her with the veil covering most of her face, but she seemed suspicious about something.

“A crude deflection, Padawan.” Just that slightest emphasis on the word. Padawan. There was definitely something amiss.

“I'm not sure I understand,” Miller went slowly, “I thought we were already on the same page?”

Her lips thinned. “I am concerned with your emotional involvement as much as mine,” She ventured slowly. “Upon certain... revelations.”

“Revelations?”

Aolanni scritinized him silently a moment. Eventually, she relaxed, letting a breath out all at once. “... oh,” her tone seemed rather abruptly lighter, “Then you're... not romantically involved?”

Miller stared. His mouth gaped. The sides of his lips seemed to have a rather large contradiction – one finding it very funny, curling up, while the other was taken aback and sliding way down.

She tapped a finger to her chin. “... you should speak to someone about your private records.”

He blinked. Once, twice. “You... wh-..... What?”

She put her hand sup defensively. “I did not read them! A, a friend of mind had them accessed... and they say some interesting things about your... r... romantic history.” She continued quickly, “And that there is suspicion that you and,” clear throat, “Reithan were – are – possibly – involved.”

Miller simply stared.

Aolanni's lips quirked upwards, just a little.

“... I am thinking this is not the case, then.”

He nodded, slowly, still... staring.

Aolanni gave him a little longer to collect himself form his overdramatic display... when he didn't, she reached towards his face, slowly, with both hands. She very slowly pinched his cheeks, and starting pulling them outwards.

Miller blinked, but still, silent.

Miller processed.

Aolanni let his cheeks go. They flopped back into place with a satisfying glop sound.

“Are you quite done, Padawan Turlim?”

“...I...” He shook his head in disbelief, looking about as though hoping for someone else to share his sentiments, “Am
I done?!”

Pause.

“Yes.”

Aolanni put a hand to her lips. In a moment she was giggling softly, unable to help herself. “Ahaha... oh.. oh I'm sorry, Miller...”

“So, ah – what exactly did you read on me? I would've told you anything you wanted to know.”

Aolanni calmed. “A friend of mine, Ja'zin – he was the Deprogrammer of the Zythian Resistance – saw fit to hack your personnel file when I told him of you and what we are doing. He and Reithan knew each other, he was interesting in helping out.” She cleared her throat. “Hacking seemed to be second nature to him. Anyway, next to your apparently colourful romantic history, there was a, I suppose... dot-point highlighting the suspicion.”

“Suspicion?”

Aolanni shrugged shyly. “Someone apparently saw fit to mention their suspicion that you and Reithan were romantically involved.”

“Someone jelo-”

Miller stopped.

Aolani looked at him. He wasn't going to make that joke, because he'd never hear the end of it.

“... either way,” she continued, “something you are yet to deny, I might add.” She sounded amused, if anything.

“I am not romantically inolved with anyone,” he replied quickly, “Nor will I be.”

“I believe that is quite the right place to be on the subject.”

Miller perked a brow. “Is there anything else you'd like to bring up? I'm a tad disappointed you simply didn't ask me of my past. I'm an open book.”

“As I said, I had no intention to pry,” She spread her arms, apologetic, “I did not even know Ja'zin had accessed a private file before he stuttered out that little tidbit.”

Miller crossed his arms, a little indigant. “I have no shame now – there's no point. My past doesn't weight me down – I'd hope that you'd give me the benefit of the doubt.”

The humour left the moment, giving way to a sliver of guilt. “I do,” She sighed, the remains of her amusement faded from her face, “I just thought it would be... inconvenient, if both of us were impaired by our feelings. Dealing with Darths... it requires a clear head. The heart must not be present.”

Miller smiled his signature smile, “I'll be sound of mind, I can promise you that. I won't lose sight of our goal.”

~

It was early evening when Miller's comlink beeped, the frequency blocked and only showing up as a series of Xeshes. He perked a brow, though wasn't surprised by any means. He clicked for the call to go through,

"Hello?"

"Hi there. How's my favourite detective Jedi?" The voice, light-hearted and thickly Imperial, was easily recognisable as that of the agent – the one who'd made contact with him on Nar Shaddaa at the Palace, asking about the holocron in the first place. Back then she had introduced herself as wanting to help, and being 'on his side'. He was starting to doubt that.

"Lovely. The last lead I followed brought me toe to toe with your master, and I managed to bury an entire town." His tone was dry. "Do you have anything that could help me? I have a few leads, but I'm all ears to more ideas."

"Yes and no," she hummed pleasantly. "We'll get to that. From the sounds of it you're stupid and useless and have made zero progress, though? Other than attracting m'Lord's attention, which was the exact thing we were trying to avoid?"

"I have more than a few actionable leads. Me sharing them with you wasn't part of our little agreement." The smug smile could almost be felt across the galaxy.

"So you just called to remind me that you need me now more than ever?"

"Oh honey, you're cute. So much less up-tight than the rest of your lot too. I like a Jedi that can take a joke. Your boyfriend has a sense of humour like a dustbin."

"Is there a reason we're still talking? I know my voice is firm and reassuring, but I do have places to be."

"I need you to find it faster," She spoke a little more firmly, herself. "Before m'Lord picks up on anything or progresses too far. So I've called with some help." She pauses slyly for some emphasis. "He won't talk to any of us, and he hasn't broken under interrogation yet. I thought maybe he'd talk to you."
There was noise of movement in the background, some sort of distant alarm, and the sound of a few opening, closing and locking doors. Then a soft, electronic hum, that sounds like some sort of field.

"Say hello, Scallywag."

There was a measure of silence. Then a weak and hoarse voice, barely above a mutter, said "Go away."

[Listen]

"Reithan,” Miller's eyes widened a little. It had been a while since he'd heard the voice, but he couldn't so easily forget it. “I'm here. Well, not here - you know, I've never been good at talking over these. How about you tell me where you are, I'll swing by for a visit?"

Again, quiet for a while. He could hear the other's breathing, faintly, haggard and drawn.

"Don't look at me like that," the agent drawled, "this is leverage, aaand you get to talk to your boyfriend. Everyone's happy!"

More silence.

"Yesss, I am staying right here, so don't start phonesexing or anything."

"Reithan, can you hear me?"

He didn't  reply. Finally, the agent could be heard sighing dramatically.

"Fiiine. It's recording, so I'll hear it all later anyway. Don't take too long. Or wreck my com. You wreck my com, I'll wreck you."

Footsteps retreated, a door opened but didn't close again.

".... y.... yeah..." Only then Reithan finally reply. He sounded as disbelieving of the situation as his friend initially had.

Realising they likely didn't have much time, Miller pressed on. "There's a lot worth being said, but right now, I need you to save your energy, and focus on what I'm saying." He didn't wait for a response. "Do you know where you are?"

Reithan's breathing was louder now, and hard to listen to. Miller got the impression he was trying to save face in front of the agent, before, because now the pain it caused him, just to heave himself up and talk... seemed palpable.

"... the Kadath, I think... Phrixos' capital shh... sshiip..." he paused, with a shudder, "don't know... where in space,"

"We're going to get you soon, but to do so we need your help. That agent wants to go behind her master and trade you for something of yours.” He pauses, making sure the other was following. “A holocron that was in your possession for some time. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

The hoarse breathing died off.  For a good while, there is no sound from the other end.

"No."

"Reithan, I need you to trust me - this holocron is the difference between your life as a free man, or as a captive, subjected to horrors no one should have to bear."

"No," he repeated, a streak of coldness in his voice through the pain, "... this is... a bad try... at a trick. You're losing your... touch..."

"I am not that monster. Ugly bastard couldn't replicate this beautiful face, or this silky voice."

There was only more silence from the other end, so Miller followed up quickly. "Hey. He also wouldn't be trying to boost your morale - Aolanni is doing better. She's coming along very well."

He heard hesitation, the sound of shifting, however Reithan was sitting or lying.

"If you still don't believe me, ask me something that only I could answer."

"I don't... knn... can't remember... I don't know what's... real anymore... " A muffled sort of whimper. He caught his breath.

"Aolanni is... doing okay...?"

"It's touch and go, but overall, she's doing better. I told her about my lightsaber the other night. Believe it or not, I think you found it more interesting than she did."

"... tell me... about them again. Your different... sabres..."

"Well, my first saber's buried somewhere on Tatooine. Or on a sandcrawler. Or on some guys waist. I had left it there to memorialize the sacrifice someone had made. The next saber, and the first I still have, was a nice, long metallic shaft. I had that I was the drunkard Jedi. It's the one I gave up after stepping down from my Padawanhood, and joining the Service Corps. Then there's that...” he tried to find the right words, “ 'Elegant-monstrosity-best-of-a-bad-situation' lightsaber. That thing glows an ungodly yellow - maybe uglier than the hilt itself - but it was appropriate, at the time."

Reithan released a shaky sigh, maybe of relief, or hurt. 

"It's good... to hear your voice..."  it was the most heartfelt and fragile he'd ever sounded, the weight of the past few months heavy in the admittance.

"I... Am glad that you're still able..." Miller choked the rest of the sentence down, before moving on. "I'm sorry, but time is of the essence. Do you know where the holocron is?"

He made a noise, part a groan. "... I can't tell you... hhhhe... can't... if he wants it... cccan't risk it..."

"Do you trust me, Reithan?"

"You," he breathes, "not him... not... her..."

"That hurts me! Right in my heart-place!" the agent could be heard calling from beyond the doorway.

Miller blinked to himself.

..."I'm very foolish, Reithan, to have almost fell for something so obvious. My... Emotions are getting the better of me."

"Y... yeah... you're a right idiot...."

"Well, since we can't risk them finding out, might as well distract you as much as I can." He forced a grin into his voice. "Your sister asked if we we're lovers."

It might have been laughing, or coughing up a lung, likely both. It was a wet cough too, with the sound of blood in his mouth. "What did you... do to give... her that impression...?” Of course, because it was always Miller's fault when things went weird.

"Well frankly, I'm a good looking, flirtatious guy, who's slightly older than you, and has a protector's complex. You're technically my type. Oh, and my modesty is superb."

"You'd... like to think all that... wouldn't you...?"

"Pft. If I keep acting like it's true, it will be someday. Self-fulfilling prophecies and all that."

"Miller...  I'm sorry,"

He swallowed. "It's not your fault."

"Hnn... liar," he rasped. "You were right. I should... have listened to you... waited... "

"You did what you thought you had to do. No one can fault you for that."

"I can," he swallowed. It sound like it was unnaturally hard to do, like everything else.

"He... he took my legs... he took my legs, Miller..." there was a sob in those words somewhere. Traces of some old, beaten down despair and desperation. It had been so long since he'd heard a friendly voice. So long since he'd been abandoned in the dark by everything he'd known. It showed, in his voice. All of it. "Now he's... he's taking... the rest of me..."

"He can't take from you who you truly are Reithan.” Miller affirmed, “Always remember that - always remember that no matter what, he can never win as long as you are who you are."

"... no... that was the first thing he ever... took from me."

Miller paused. He muted himself on the holo briefly, bringing a free hand up to his face to wipe the watering in the corners of his eyes. He sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, drew a deep breath,  and un-muted. himself,

"You are strong. Look deep within yourself. He cannot claim what he cannot understand - and he doesn't understand who you really are."

".... Listen," the sudden harsh breath was painfully resigned, "I'm not going... to last much longer... I know that.... I-I... I'm not strong like you. It's not... light, deep within me... listen, Miller... I can't tell you... but find it." his voice gains just a bit of strength, with urgency, "Destroy it. Please... find a way..."

"I..." He knew there's no point is arguing. It was only make things harder on Reithan.

He would instead do something he rarely did, and very much disliked doing.

He would lie.

"Okay."

Footsteps were approaching again.

"T... tell Aola--"

"HEY~ So guys that was a while." scuffling, as the agent snatched the holocom back for herself. "So I totes lost track of time, my bad. Anything good? Tell me you have something now."

"Sorry, agent. He's so messed up he can barely remember his own name."

His stomach lurched, as his lie wasn't far from reality, though he did well to hide it.

"Well, that's how m'Lord likes 'im. All sweet and helpless. I'd hurry up and make some real progress if I were you, Jedi."

Her usually casual tone is especially cold now. Like the rest of them, she too was taking some sort of enjoyment in this whole thing. Before she ended the communication, she added one last quip.

"He's right, he won't last much longer. Nobody ever does, here."




Their conversation came to a close with a path set – he would continue on tot he Akar and investigate the Tho Yor, looking for information in this holocron Reithan had carried – and she would go to the Council of First Knowledge, seeking out a Shadow who would be willing to head into Imperial Territory and fnd more information.

“Ollie... “ Miller muttered, mostly to himself, already turning to leave, “right. I'll do what I can.” A few steps away he paused, glancing back at the Miralukan over his shoulder. She peered back, waiting.

“If it gives you any entertainment,” He finished, “I never outright said it was impossible. I simple commented on the state of things as they are now.”

Aolanni offered an enquiring look, her head canting.

Miller snickered lightly, turning away. “You are selectively perceptive, Knight Aolanni. May the Force be with you.”
It took her a little while to get it. She sighed, and shook her head, but she was smiling.

[Auryn]

Parts with Darth Thrax were written with @Thrax .

"When you were a Jedi, as a Jedi... did you not love? Selfless love... for duty... for the safety of others... for the innocent, the hard-working... the children... a Jedi's work is all about love. I do not think you ever... understood what that meant, even before you became... this."

Her breathing was shallow at that point, as she still struggled to hold herself upright in the chair. She searched absently for the veil, her veil, that worn leatheris that she had carried all these years. Where had it fallen...? Did he still hold it...? Some part of her seemed to believe it could protect her from another onslaught, from the gaze of that hungry eye from within the storm.

"Even then, there is no... such thing... as no return. You do not have to be this..."

"As a Jedi..." He repeated her words slowly.

That eye turned away, nearly closed up - no, rolled back into the head as he thought on the words. The eye was lidless, eternal. She couldn't shake it and as much as she'd distracted the dark lord, she knew his full, undivided attentions were upon her now. His web tugged at her heartstrings whenever she'd gather strength. She was growing too bloated for the cocoon he'd imprisoned her in and soon it'd be time to feast again.

"...I was deprived of choice. In every aspect of my life, I was commanded, instructed. I was told not to trust my instincts, not to be myself... but to become someone else - the same 'person' that the Council would turn all of their initiates into. Someone that does not exist. Homogenized, sterilized, lifeless."

The center of the web shifted as the spider ascended to his feet, fangs dripping. Invisible tendrils coruscated outward as Thrax brought his metal feet to the floor, stepping around the desk, pacing agonizingly slowly toward her as he continued. "They enslave your feelings and divert them, force you to 'love' others, to tolerate weakness, to protect those who do not deserve it, contribute -nothing-... the useless, the indigent, the insufficient and the illogical. How much of your life are you willing to give up... to a galaxy too afraid to save you from me?"

Something was within the arachnid's maw. Her veil, held aloft in one hand before her, between the two of them. The little patchwork leatheris piece was dangled like a lure, seething in the Force. His filth fell onto it, starting to pervert the very nature of the thing as he held it in his clutch.

"I do not have to be this. That is correct. I -want- to be this. I want to show the Jedi, the galaxy... you... the meaningless nature of your actions so long as the Force is controlling you. And so long as your mind is grounded in the present, you'll never see it... I will widen your gaze, open you up and let you see into the cosmic with me... and that is why I remove your veil." He dangled it between two fingers now, teasing at this point. "You have no need of it with me."

Aolanni could not bear to watch as his infection slipped into the veil, though there was also no way she could look away - that veil that still held touches of her brother's energy, his love, his fierce protection of her. It could have broken her already stitched heart, watching Thrax's corruption smoke and suffocate Ayen's gentleness out of the lifeless fabric, leaving it something... something she could not stand the thought of wearing.

"N..no..." She cried softly, her head hanging. She had carried that mask so long, repaired it endlessly. It had held up so well since Yena had repaired and strengthened it... Slowly, he was breaking her down. Piece by piece, some moves obvious and others more subtle... and with her body and soul's weakness, all she could so was sit and allow it to happen.

/No./

Metal talons sunk into the lovingly-stitched wrap, piercing it as the frayed cloth was cast to the floor between them. The void trembled with barely contained fury, which made itself known gradually, pouring outward in waves too subtle to do anything more than punctuate the anger he'd been holding back from her up until this point.

"If you cannot be made to have vision.. then you will be blinded."

All at once, each of the spider's incalculable limbs lashed out from the humanoid figure. Ash hurled itself from him in all directions as his tendrils moved in to enclose her in his stygian grip. Her resistance had provoked the retaliation she'd likely expected, but rather than simply humor her, it was clear he had no intention of allowing her even a moment's belief in a possibility of any other end to the current scenario.

He approached, the plague of him swirling out of control, seeping forth in his next attempt to infest, to hollow her out and fill her carcass with poison and rot. "You are already changing, Aolanni... you cannot go back, out there.. you will never see as you once did, never feel as you once had.. I have made you mine -forever-, and the pain I leave in you...

...it will make you just as I have become."

~

[Present]

“Today is not a good day,” Aolanni said quietly.

The Togruta surveyed his former apprentice with a gently sigh and a heavy heart. The way her eyeless gaze was angled to the floor, and how she kneaded and wrung her slim hands before her, and the almost shamed way she attempted to explain to him that she would not be up to the tasks and tests that the day would bring. That frown of his seemed chiselled there as of late, especially when he was looking upon or thinking about the Miraluka, giving Fr'lor an even grumpier appearance than usual... though his eyes shone with concern. Two steps forward, one step back. It was to be expected. He was content, for now, that there seemed to be a growing number of 'good days'. She ate regularly now, she interacted with others almost as she had before.

“I can see to Monika's lessons for you.” He nodded simply, after a time.

She offered on in turn. “Thank you. I... I do not want to worry her. She has been doing better.”

“So have you,” he pointed out, guiding them into an idle stroll along the balcony. “Do not lessen your own recovery. As you say – today is simply not a good day. You are allowed that.” His gaze shifted ahead, jaw set grimly, “many Jedi would have fallen in your position, and in less months than you were held. You must be patient with yourself, Padawan.”

“Do you think Ayen is falling faster, then?”

He hesitated. It took Fr'lor a moment to recall who she was talking of. Reithan Skyfallen, or as he had once been known... Ayen Vaek.

“That, I do not know,” he dismissed.

She was too aware, she knew him too well. She caught him just as he thought he had gotten away with the half-truth. “But you suspect he is already lost, don't you?”

“That is unfair of you, to lead me into such a word trap,” he grumbled, “do you want to be made more miserable, Aolanni? Invite more worry into your life? You have not the balance of mind and spirit to think or talk of this currently. Spare yourself the burden. You are Jedi – ponder on your brother only when you can do so in a detached manner.”

Her pace faltered. Fr'lor got a few steps ahead before he heard her murmur,

“I am Miraluka first.”

Those words held a weight to them he understood, but struggled to empathise with. Master Jiorn had never struggled with attachment as so many other Jedi (in his eyes) seemed to, and might have possibly been a little prideful of it in his younger days – but then, a colony planet of Togruta had not been completely eradicated several centuries before, dinting the population of his race in the galaxy and causing an already close-knit and private people to become more closed off and mildly xenophobic. The Miraluka had their reasons, and Aolanni was a smart young woman – she had been brought up to understand that family was everything, and whilst that would not rule her, it would still concern her. It always would. Not one day of her life she had stopped thinking of her brother and father, and that had only become more apparent since the reveal of who Reithan truly was.

“Of course.” he answered simply. “I just don't want you to cause yourself further grief today. At the same time, I do not want to lie to you on my feelings concerning Knight Skyfallen.”

“I know... you never liked or trusted him,”

“I never did dislike him, girl. But he is weak, and his demons are great. I would not have allowed such a person to be trained. I think his current position is a danger to him, to the Jedi,” his frown deepened, almost crossly, “and even greater a danger to you.”

Aolanni took a deep breath – he knew his words had wounded her, the exact thing Fr'lor had been hoping to avoid. Her head turned, out to the tinted buildings, the long overhanging leaves of one of the potted plants brushing by her veil-covered cheek.

“He survived the Sith once. I must believe that he will again. Someone must believe that for him.”

Before her former master could speak, she cut in quickly, a whip in her voice, “I am prepared for the worst. Do not think I am. But if I do not hope... If I do not trust in the Force, and in Ashla to guide over him...” the clarity in her tone fumbled a little, broke some, “then I will be giving into the hopelessness that Darth Thrax tried so hard to implant in me. He is at Thrax's mercy now, too. Both his, and Darth Phrixos' . When we meet again – and I know that we will meet again, Master – I must show him that healing is attainable. That he can dare to hope.”

He was at a loss for words. She did that to him still, just as she had ever since she was little. Fr'lor could not help but appreciate and admire her resolve.

He moved back to her side, and rested his hand on her shoulder.

“I thought today was a bad day?”

Her lips slit in a small smile. Cautious, tired, but it was there.

“Don't be smart...”

“Such optimism is almost insufferable. You're spending too much time in the company of that Turlim fellow.” Truly, that whole sentence was almost completely grumbled. “Or the Kyn. They are both trouble.”

She gave a short laugh of disbelief. “Why Master Fr'lor, since when were you so over-protective of my honour...?”

“Since you suddenly became surrounded by facetious males known to cause trouble. And one of them that you are,” He made a face, the corner of his mouth twisting in distaste, flapping a hand idly in the air to express how much he disapproved, “Emotionally bonded to.”

Aolanni nodded wisely, staring out across the city. “Ah, yes. My virginal purity is surely in peril.”

Fr'lor lost his voice. His mouth opened and closed a little, much like a puffer-fish out of water. His entire head felt to suddenly be a few degrees hotter, causing the shades of red and blue patterned over his face to darken. She angled a look in his direction, her eyebrows seen to be rising beneath her veil.

“Really, Master. I would have expected this talk as an adolescent, but now? And to speak so ill of the characters of both men. For shame.”

“You...” he spoke slowly, “you are toying with me, Padawan.”

Aolanni laughed. “Maybe a little.”

“Bad day, indeed,” Fr'lor muttered once more, clearing his throat. It was not beyond him, though, that it had been a long time since he'd heard the young woman joke like that, and given the sudden light-heartedness of her now... that even on a bad day, truly, she was on the mend. It was enough to warm his heart, even as his face continued to be warmed by embarrassment. He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, folding his arms into the sleeves of his robes.

“I hope your amusement at my expense has lessened your woes, at least.”

“I have never seen you blush before, Master.”

“You didn't see me blush, you are blind.”

“Oh, but I felt it.”

“If our morning walks are going to be this derogatory always, then I will not be attending them.”

“Your training never did prepare you for this, did it?”

“No, it did not.”