Morgan tried to stand and found himself oddly weighed down, looking to the right to find a blinking twi'lek looking back at him. The room was barely large enough for one, so he did supposed she had a good excuse for sleeping on him, but still.
"Four days?" He guessed, floating her datapad over. "Almost five, damn. You better not have been sleeping on me for an entire work week."
Vette blinked harder, some semblance of activity returning to her eyes. "I'm not the one that left an hour after you got back. I need cuddles, you know? Otherwise I get cranky."
"My limbs were going necrotic from soul-damage." He replied dryly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Trust me, there wouldn't have been any 'cuddling'. Seriously, how long have you been here?"
"Couple of hours. I took naps, and the people monitoring your health seemed very understanding. Eventually. So, you're all healed?"
"My soul is." Morgan sighed, resting his head on hers. "Other than that? No, not really."
He picked her up, setting her down as he rose. Manually, at that, relishing skin-on-skin contact even as she squawked in protest. "Oi."
"Oi indeed. Anything happen?"
"So much stuff. Half the galaxy has gone crazy, if not more, and no I'm not exaggerating. Zethix will want to call a meeting the moment you wake up, which means now, but I'm feeling possessive."
"You?" He exclaimed, deep shock in his tone. "Never!"
"Shut up."
"Only if you make me."
Vette turned to him, raising an eyebrow as her grin turned sharp. "Promise?"
"I have a meeting." Morgan evaded, striding out of the small room. The nurse was waiting outside, probably desperately looking for an excuse as to why he hadn't come in the moment Morgan woke up, and he waved at the man. "Just send the results to my datapad."
The nurse nodded, clearly relieved, and Vette skipped after him as Morgan started walking down the hallway. "Where ya going?"
"To take a shower, then eat. And before you say something suitably embarrassing to that, I'm keeping us in a privacy bubble."
She closed her mouth, grinning as she looked at a passing nurse. Screamed, really loudly, but it only made the woman blink. "Damn."
"You're horrible." Morgan complained, waving the nurse away. Who made to nod before her eyes widened, managing something between a bow and a salute. "That's it, I'm going full stealth. And here I thought a translucent, sound altering veil would be enough."
Vette scrambled closer as the woman startled, probably having seen them fade from sight. She moved on after a moment, shaking her head as Vette attached himself to his side. "Does that mean no one can see what I'm doing?"
"Yes, but be aware that I can drop it at any time. So, you know, proceed at your own risk."
"Pfff. As if you could stand to have a hallway full of people see me doing something that embarrassing. Besides, this is your fault. I've been neglected."
"Yes, well. Sorry for being captured." He meant for that to be joking, but his tone slipped. She paused, face shifting from teasing to concerned, and he waved it away. "I'll be fine. Just need some time, is all. Distract me from all the horrible memories?"
Her eyes danced with mirth as she all but draped herself over his shoulder, somehow able to keep walking. "Oh, you want a distraction? Well, if you insist. I'm sure I could be tempted to be a giver instead of a taker, for once."
"You've given quite enough." He replied. "Or all of it, if memory serves. Also, this metaphor is falling apart, because you also take, and now I'm confused."
Vette chuckled, dropping the painfully sweet tone to shrug. "I'm flexible, and I mean that in all the ways possible. But, and taking in account your injuries, you're right. I can wait for one more day, but no longer. I might actually do something rash."
"And I just hate it when you lose control."
She glared at him, but Morgan increased his speed. Vette increased her own, stubbornness written all over her, so he increased it again. Waited at the end of the hall, more amused than he probably should have been. "You lose. I'll take my payment in the location of Soft Voice."
"You cheat." Vette huffed, reluctant. But after a moment she pulled out her datapad, connecting with the man's office to get an update. "He's… He's waiting in board room four? Apparently you were invited the moment you woke up."
Morgan hummed, shaking his head. "It was more fun when I was the only one capable of vaguely threatening people with future knowledge. Or it was a coincidence. Either way, wanna join?"
"Normally, yes. It's fun to needle Lana." Vette sighed. "But I have work to do. Thanks for the assassins, by the way! You know just what to get a girl for her anniversary."
"You're welcome, I have no idea what you're talking about and we have no anniversary because we can't agree on a date on which we actually started dating."
"Details. Bye!"
She kissed him before leaving, Morgan bending down much more than he needed just for fun, and grinned at her half-glare. Was promptly abandoned, wondering if someone really approved Enosis special operatives to work for her.
Made his way over to board room four, which only took a minute when he stopped pretending to be a baseline human, and found less people waiting than expected.
Lana was there, seeming bored, as were his apprentices. Soft Voice, of course, and Mirla was standing behind the man. Astara was lurking in the corner, speaking to a neatly dressed spook, but that was it.
No Kala or Quinn, no other military personnel and no Octavian or Vylon. Morgan spoke before his surprise could be noted. "Who gave Vette assassins? I'm assuming they're Force sensitive, since she has plenty of normal ones, but my question stands."
"That would be me." Soft Voice replied, eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry, did you not want me to? That would be rather out of character."
Morgan folded his arms. "Well, no, she can have whatever she wants, but the fact she accepted, or god forbid asked for them, is bad. For me personally, I mean. It means she cares more about results than proving she can do it on her own, in turn meaning she's doing something rather massive. Which means my recent leap in power will be cancelled as she grows in hers, and I realise I'm rambling. I blame the soul-torture."
"At least you're making fun of it." Lana muttered. "Can we get to the actual important matters? I have training to continue."
"Be snippy at someone else, I'm not the one that set this meeting. So, Vette said everything's gone to hell. She lying?"
Soft Voice shook his head. "She is not. The Enosis is safe, though our new location has impacted recruitment cycles to the point that one had to be skipped. As for the rest; Marr was wounded after our fight with him, that much we know for certain, but the rest is speculation."
"Spit it out."
"The Empire has more or less collapsed." Lana answered, shrugging. "Not like anyone saw that coming, yes? Three Dark Council members have all but abandoned it, Baras is dead, and Marr took over the man's seat. Moffs are going rogue with their Darth Masters and the war with the Republic is all but forgotten. What else? Oh, someone named Hexid has been in contact. Says she leads a small group of independent Darths who wish to 'engage in talks'. Should be fun."
Morgan paused. "Baras is dead?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Triple sure?"
Lana glared at him, Morgan holding up a hand. Retreated into his soul, locking his body so it wouldn't fall over, and inspected it. Once upon a time Baras had been able to track him with their Master-apprentice bond, something which Morgan himself had since cut. But he wasn't half the Force user back then, so he looked again.
Finding it was actually pretty difficult, having been unravelled and fading over time, but he managed it. Wondered why Baras never did as he was doing now, before deciding it didn't matter. Then got his answer anyway, the bond leading to the dead-end where he had cut it.
It did, however, seem to be decaying faster from Baras's former end than his. No location, since it wasn't connected to anything, but if he interpreted the echoes right, the man's soul really was gone.
"Alright, Baras is dead. That seems anticlimactic."
"Beg pardon." Soft Voice mocked. "Would you like to have an epic duel to determine the fate of the galaxy? The man played games with the Dark Council, and his bluff was called. You'd think, what? They would just let that go? And to think I credited you with foresight, saying you told Marr about the Voice to make him make the Dark Council kill Baras. Disappointing."
Morgan shook his head at the man. "No need to be rude. Any flavor to what she just told me?"
"She?"
Soft Voice spoke over Lana's pointed tone, shooting the woman a look. "Some. The Dark Council splintered after they killed Baras and Marr claimed Baras' seat, which he accomplished with the help of Rictus and Vowrawn. Again, this part is speculation, but Darth Acharon was quite keen to spread the story. He's one of the three that defected, by the way. Him, Zhorrid and Mortis. It leaves Marr, Vowrawn and Ravage in charge, with Darth Nox the only unknown. She's the wildcard, killing her Master Thanaton days before your rescue."
"The third military arm? Military Strategy, or something?"
"The Sphere of Military Strategy, yes. Darth Decimus still holds the position, but rumor is that Marr and his allies are backing the man's apprentice to take the seat. To then no doubt kill him in turn, of course, cementing their control over the Empire. Quite a mess, and not nearly as stable as any one of them are hoping."
"Who's looking to take over Baras's old spot? I doubt no one will argue that Marr shouldn't hold two seats."
"Sith Lord by the name of Malgus. Strong, from all accounts, and a sure bet for Darth. Well known, too, though we haven't had much contact with him."
"He's one to watch out for. Kill him if you can, preferably before he becomes a problem. Assuming we have any assassin's left?"
"Noted, and we do. Does it bother you so much?"
Morgan shrugged. "Not in the slightest, but I will admit to some curiosity. Is that all?"
"In extremely broad, non-specific strokes, yes." Soft Voice sighed, waving a hand. "So, what's the plan? You have that look about you."
"The plan. I suppose it is the same as it has always been. Free people, abolish slavery, put ourselves in charge for the greater good. But it was a bit distant, you know? I got complacent."
Lana raised an eyebrow, the so-far silent Astara and Mirla keeping their observations to themselves. Morgan continued after a moment, seeing no one was about to interrupt. "I hated them for Korriban, but I was happy. Am happy, I suppose, but more able to distance myself from it. Then Marr came, and he reminded me exactly why I hate them. Torture I can understand, we employ that ourselves if only against our enemies, but this? He didn't even try."
"Didn't try to talk, or to bargain. Straight for the soul-mutilation, damn the consequences. And for what? For peace, self-defence? No. He wanted power, to grab the authority of the Dark Council for himself, most likely abandoning his neutrality when he saw there was no other choice. More war, more slavery, more hatred for no other reason than greed. So yes, the plan is the same as it has always been. But now I'm motivated, properly and personally. That's the plan, Soft Voice. War."
The devaronian grinned. "Good. Let's get started, shall we?"
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"Get it done." Vette intoned, tone low and cold. "That shipment is worth seventy five million credits, Obara. Losing it will be on your head, and Armie didn't spend the better part of two months collecting that many heat exchangers for you to risk them now. Failure I can stand, but negligence? This is your first, last and only warning."
She heard the door open and cut the connection, pivoting to look. Her expression apparently wasn't as clear as she thought, because Morgan put his hands up. "I brought an offering?"
"Unnecessary." She dismissed. "Just work stuff. Good smuggler, terrible gambler. Requires a certain touch, and showing my face every now and then is good for morale. Well, if a shadowed shape counts as showing. And if fear-addled greed counts as morale."
He snorted, keeping something behind his back. Vette leaned to look, but he turned with her, not letting her see. So she stepped left then right, a grin forming when he turned the wrong way, and then she saw absolutely nothing.
No, that wasn't quite right. There was something, but he kept it hidden. Her mind skipped over it a few times until she gave up, pouting. "That's mean."
"That's karma." He retorted. "And most people don't even notice something is wrong, so don't sulk. And yes, it really is a gift. Does it count if you requested it?"
Vette paused, mind casting back, and her eyes widened. "You didn't?"
His hand came into focus and a bundle of cloth was pushed forward. Dark blue colouring, the fabric thick and high quality. Objects were folded within, and the start of some sort of symbol wrapped around the back.
"Four lightsabers, and a flag. As requested." His tone was smug. "Something about romance and conquest, bringing you the weapons of the enemy. At that point the metaphor kinda breaks, because they weren't really your enemy to start with and all that, but still. Gift."
She felt a huge smile creep up on her face and didn't bother trying to hide it, clutching the pouch of weapons. "You are the best boyfriend ever, bringing your delicate princess tokens of affection. The court will love it."
"You're hardly delicate." He grinned, something behind his eyes easing. "And we're not nobility. Still, it's worth it to make you smile."
The blush, she decided, would be hidden. No need to be so obvious about how much it affected her, taking one of her stupid jokes seriously. Vette turned, saying something suitably smooth to hide the fact that she was changing the subject, and put the gift aside.
"So what are you up to?"
"You first." She shot back. "I doubt you'll take the next few weeks to rest and recover."
Morgan's grin faltered. "No, I won't be. Baras is dead, but he still has a fortress. His so-called Sanctuary, which we think is the same place that John gave us the coordinates too. One that I plan to rob, break and bury. We leave tomorrow morning."
"Ah." Vette sighed. "Work never ends, eh?"
"You don't mind?"
"I mind." She countered, sending him a half-pout. "But I know what it's like to be busy. Sooner or later things will calm down, and we can spend more time together. For now the job takes priority, and we'll take what we can get. Trust me, it could be worse."
He sighed in turn, then smiled. "It could. But I have another six hours before bed, and I'm feeling magnanimous. Got any horrifically terrible shows you feel like watching?"
"Maybe." Vette shook off her melancholy, eyes flickering to him. "Dinner and a movie? That could be fun."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Inara stepped up next to her Lord, the bridge of the Yamada almost full to bursting. It and an escort fleet of nine other ships would be leaving any moment now, officers were double checking everything from fuel reserves to personnel assignments, but that wasn't her problem.
Her problem was not a problem at all, but something that needed to be addressed all the same. "Jaesa said something last night."
He turned to her, and his eyes looked normal. His face looked normal, as did his body and his expression and the way he held himself. But something was different, which she hadn't needed Jea's help to notice. Not that it mattered here and now, but it was there.
"Not gossiping, I hope? With her power she would be unstoppable."
"No." Inara managed a serious tone, though the idea was horrifying. "But she did briefly rant about the feeling of absolute serenity that is experienced by Star. Enough so that she feels the need to reach out on her own, to a different Other, and corroborate her findings."
"And you're telling on her?"
Inara suppressed a wince. "Yes? It's dangerous, and not something you would approve of without supervision. But ever since your return she has been determined to improve, and it's been affecting her work."
He stayed silent, clearly thinking that over. Wondering what Jaesa had seen, perhaps, though Inara hadn't asked. It had pushed her drive higher than usual, but power never came without a price.
"You three communicated with Star, a direct result of which was how easily Lana and Soft Voice found me." Lord Caro hummed. "Very well. We'll schedule something for tomorrow or the day after, get the three of you an Other to talk to. Not one each, mind, but a single one should be doable."
She blanched. "That wasn't what I meant."
"I know." He seemed amused, which was better than the utter cold she could sometimes find in his tone, but she stiffened all the same. "It'll be good for you. Perspective can't be taught, but I can pave the way. Actually doing something with it is up to you, though it's power of a different sort than you're used to."
Captain Ikkus interrupted her reply, Inara waiting as the man confirmed they were ready to depart. She spoke once the man had left. "If you feel it's best. I'm just unsure if we'll ever truly master it, nevermind reaching your level of power."
"You are not me." Lord Caro replied, seeming somewhat bemused. "I am not Teacher. My job as a Master is to help you achieve the best version of yourself, nothing more. Service is the price, as barbaric as that sounds, and that is that. When I can no longer fulfil that role, we will either part ways or I will accept you as peers."
Inara almost rolled her eyes at that. "Not to be contrary, my Lord, but we wouldn't be peers. You are in charge of the Enosis."
"True. But I have a different relationship with Soft Voice or Lana than I do with you, which includes both more autonomy and responsibility. We can talk about this more later, if you wish, but I need to focus on this part."
She fell silent, stretching out of her power to watch him. A common affair, and often the source of their homework, but it was usually informative. Even if she couldn't fully follow along, which was happening less and less.
This time, though, she failed to sense much of anything. Brief glimpses of the deep Force, as her Master called it, and something she only knew of by reference. Fate, the ultimate culmination of a Force user's sixth sense, and he was tracing his finger along it.
Inara flinched back, stilling the pounding headache with a soothing cocktail of endorphins. Peers. Right.
Ensuring their trip would be uneventful, she reasoned, though she hadn't known that was possible on such a large scale. Probably not that useful if the enemy had their own Force users, or to remove every threat, but still.
Their destination, on the other hand, was going to be filled with them. The rules about what was an apprentice and what wasn't were strange in the Empire, and Baras hadn't replaced her Master after he freed himself, but that didn't mean he was out of minions.
Sith Lords, assassins, traps and soldiers. Artifacts, droids, Inara could think of a dozen ways someone of Baras's caliber could accrue power, none of it so fragile as to disappear the moment he died.
Travel would take time, if less so with isotope-5 ships, but even then the man's body wasn't even cold yet. She doubted they would win this without a fight.
But that was for when they arrived, so she bowed and took her leave. Not much for her to do on the bridge, after all, and Alyssa was waiting on her report. As was Jaesa, no doubt. Keeping secrets around that one was a lesson in futility.
The pureblood ambushed her the moment Inara opened the door, the sparring room spreading beyond. Jaesa was meditating, opening her eyes with a distinctly unamused look to them, and Inara held up her hand.
"He's going to give us our own Other." She explained. "Which isn't what he actually said, but that's what it came down to."
Jaesa frowned. "To share?"
"Oh, you think you can handle one on your own, do you?" Alyssa mocked. "The three of us just about managed it, and the two of you went insane. We owe Lady Beniko for our sanity, in case you forgot, and I wasn't the one muttering about bone realigning."
The former jedi shifted. "Yes, well. Did he say when?"
"Tomorrow or the day after." Inara said, kissing Alyssa for the sole reason that it made Jaesa uncomfortable. "So we have until then to decide if this is really something we want."
Alyssa's smile turned into a frown. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"Because power doesn't come without a price." Jaesa's tone dropped, eyes going distant. "And our Master isn't half as alright as he pretends. When his soul returned, before he meditated on Tython's Nexus point, he was primal. Angry and wounded, only just about managing to rise above it. He's doing better than that, now, and better still with each passing day, but the pain."
Jaesa grimaced. "I felt but a shadow of it, like looking at a drawing of the real thing, and I've no idea how he survived. How he managed to keep his sanity for months of that. So yes, while I feel that the need outweighs the price, Inara is right in that we should discuss it. Communing with an Other will take something from us, and give something in turn, and it is only proper that we choose whether to sacrifice ourselves."
"What she said." Inara shrugged, turning back to Alyssa . "So, what do you think?"
"I've been outvoted, it seems, but yes. Fuck it. Who knows, we might even learn it before Lord Caro becomes a god."
Inara snorted, though Jaesa actually looked curious. "Would he cast us aside then? No, probably not. Lessons would continue as long as we'd show interest, though I'm fairly sure he isn't as magnanimous as he insists. No longer being his apprentices, for one, would mean no more access to his training. Which, to me, seems obvious, bu- No. Nevermind."
"You, uncertain?" Inara grinned. "Never thought I'd see the day. Can't feel him anymore, then?"
Jaesa huffed. "I can feel him just fine. Comprehending it, on the other hand, is growing increasingly difficult. Shall we meditate before the two of you become even more insufferable?"
"Touchy." Alyssa mocked, moving to sit. "But fine. We have time to kill anyway, and beating you two around is getting boring."
"That's an outright lie and you should be ashamed of yourself. Inara, correct the object of your affection."
Inara swallowed a grin. "Bad Alyssa, making Jaesa feel your love for me through no actions of your own. You should really be more considerate of those able to feel your every emotion without care for consent or defence."
A glare was her answer, though nothing more. They, Inara decided, were good for Jaesa. Let her feel, actually feel, that caring for someone romantically wasn't the end of the world. That it had layers, choices and boundaries she could decide on her own.
Not that Jaesa was turning into a social butterfly, but at least she wasn't getting a sick feeling to her stomach at the sight of people kissing. Probably. Maybe she just got better at hiding it. Inara shrugged.
Alyssa tugged at their connection and she rolled her eyes, sinking into it as she sat. The soul of her other half fluttered around her as they descended, going deep into the Force. Deep enough to feel the heartbeat of the cosmos, Jaesa joining them from a distance.
Still closer than anyone else, even her Master, dared to get. Not without risking injury only seen in battle.
Souls were intimate things, after all, and this deep they almost had a mind of their own. Inara snorted. Deep, right. She caught her Master calling it a shallow stretch, once, though he'd looked apologetic when she caught him.
Meditation did her good, as usual, and after a few hours they shifted to light sparring. Then not so light sparring, broken bones the least of their injuries. But with fleshcrafting it was taken care of easily, and counted as a secondary form of training besides.
Inara glanced at Jaesa, recalling how the woman had regrown a whole arm during combat, and grinned. Hard and painful work, but a feeling like that was indescribable. To realise, fully and true, how much she'd grown.
She slept late and rose early, the strain but a shadow of what it should have been, and then they meditated more. Trying to achieve as much calm and stability as they could, her Master sending a message that their lesson would start at eleven.
Well, captain Harran had. Probably just someone who had been present as her Master remembered they still needed to set a time, doing as ordered. Somewhat of a cybersecurity concern, apparently, frequently switching datapads or not using his own at all. Keeping track of it alone was the job of four people, she'd heard rumoured.
Not that anyone had complained about it. Simply moved on and did their job, even if he made it a little harder.
Ten to eleven and the door opened, Inara straightening from where she'd been practising with Alyssa. Jaesa was just finishing her own workout, it would have been her turn to defend against a fleshcrafting invasion, and the three of them bowed.
Lord Caro nodded. "Right then, getting straight to it. Others. I assume you've discussed it amongst yourselves? No matter what I said to Inara, this is a choice."
"We have, Lord." Jaesa responded. "We feel it will be good for our continued improvement."
"So it will. Alyssa, why will it help you improve?"
The pureblood straightened. "It will help our perspective, and give us experience dealing with the Other of the Force."
"Correct. Why does perspective matter?"
Inara said nothing, followed by her fellow apprentices. She spoke once it became clear he was actually waiting for an answer. "We don't know, Lord."
"You don't know for sure." He corrected. "Never be afraid of being wrong. Perspective trains the mind to do things it is not used to, improving our ability to concentrate, focus or be creative. In a word; Willpower. A demonstration, I think. I will not move, and you will hit me with sticks."
The time where she would hesitate was long past, Inara summoning one of the training blades to hand. Jaesa beat her by a split second, her own raised to strike, and Alyssa went for a more careful probe.
Lord Caro stood there, arms folded, and didn't move an inch. Inara crossed the distance, visualising the blow as going through his arm, and shifted her footing.
Jaesa smashed against her, a failure of coordination that hadn't happened since she first joined them, and Inara tripped. Fell, turning it into a roll. Stood to find Alyssa's attack blocked by her new position, wondering why she hadn't thought to take that into account.
The pureblood moved to the side, avoiding another collision, and Jaesa had regained her own poise. Swiped, losing balance as her ankle rolled. Poor positioning, putting too much weight on the leg at the wrong moment.
Inara tightened her shields and moved, aiming to hit him at least once, and fell herself. Embarrassment burned as the seconds ticked by, each failure happening just right to get into each other's way.
Ten seconds, then Jaesa got close enough. Ten humiliating, annoying seconds, but at least the man would be hit once. Then her attack froze, Jaesa's eyes widening as she struggled against nothing.
Alyssa called on power and Inara joined her, combining their techniques to break the hold. But there was nothing to break, and she realised it was the very air keeping her immobile. The power took her too, then Alyssa, and he let them go after nodding.
"Perspective." He repeated. "I received a rather large dose of it, recently, and I find the Force easier to control. More pliable and less stubborn, for we have gotten to know one another better. Jaesa, what did I just do?"
"You controlled Fate, then immobilised the air to keep me still."
Lord Caro smiled. "Very good. Power over Fate is an ability that let me slaughter a full blooded, experienced sith Lord without having to worry about trivial things such as unpredictability or defensive wounds. I use air as a medium because my control is well suited to it, allowing me to use many clusters and simulate a form of telekinesis, and can't be easily countered. All that without needing a lightsaber, for I could have killed you with my own two hands just as readily."
"I understand, Lord." Inara said, bowing her head. "How can we counter such a thing?"
"You can't. Not yet. What we will do in a moment is forge your willpower anew, which will allow you to defend against Fate manipulation and hone your own control. Since my power of air was constant, it could be broken by someone of sufficient skill. Keep in mind that a blast of air, or indeed any material, cannot be broken, and needs to be physically defended against."
"Now." He continued, taking a moment to let them absorb that. "Meet someone Star considers a friend, though apparently they haven't spoken since The Shelling. Don't ask. He is, from what I've been told, patient as a saint and twice as harmless."
The air thickened and Inara breathed, this part not being new. The pressure increased and she sat, not wishing to fall again, while intertwining her soul with Alyssa. Jaesa joined after a moment, closer than usual.
Further and further the power grew, until it didn't. Her Master grunted. "Others can't properly interact with our reality without a medium, and I think that's a bit advanced. Follow my lead so we can meet it halfway."
So they did, delving deeper into the Force than ever. Past the point of feeling pressured, her very soul compacted by the sheer vastness around her. Things floated far away, too far, and then not far at all. A school of a hundred fish approached, varied yet the same.
A few of them surged forward, curious more than hostile, and Inara felt her soul buckle. Her identity subsumed, the whole of her focus drawn to their eyes.
Lord Caro stepped in front of them, possessing an actual form, and held up a hand. The fish stopped, confused, and one flickered forward. Bit his hand, which he rolled his eyes at, and he slapped it in turn.
The whole school reared back, every imaginable emotion playing through the swarm. Angry and gleeful, apologetic and scared. Confident and shy, all playing out at once. Inara got lost in it, the scope and beauty, and only just about noticed her fellow apprentices weren't much better.
"Ground rules." Lord Caro intoned, voice resonating with power. The fish turned to focus on him, the Others' entire attention crashing down like a wave, and he rolled his eyes. "Don't get snippy with me. They might be small, but so were you. Or did you like it when the Elders snapped in irritation?"
The Other paused, then seemed to wilt. The fish turned back to them, watching but keeping their distance.
"What's his name?" Inara asked, curious. "He's just the one, right? All the fish?"
Lord Caro kept his eyes focused, but answered after a moment. "It, not him. We'll get around to explaining gender, then it can choose for itself. And yes, the school is all part of it. Or, as would be more accurate, the school is it. Introductions, I would think."
An incomprehensible bubble was their answer, Morgan nodding as if it made perfect sense, but at least her ears weren't bleeding. Metaphorically speaking.
Alyssa sends the impression of a polite bow, Inara following a moment after Jaesa. The school of fish imitated it, she got the feeling it wasn't sure what the gesture even meant, and Morgan nodded again.
"Good, good. No killings, no major misunderstandings. Good." He took a breath, releasing it as he swept his hand aside. "Speech. Care to say hello? Slowly, that is, and in the common tongue. My apprentices aren't used to your language yet."
It struck her that it seemed to understand. Probably just a translation technique he was running. The Other spoke a few halting words, her mind trying its best to translate the intent.
Fish. Join. Become!
The school shifted eagerly, and her Master raised his hand again. The Other slowed, appearing annoyed at the constant interruptions. "I said introductions, not absorption. They can't shed a part of their essence to commune."
Join! It insisted, moving forwards anyway. The Force shifted, Lord Caro hardening his position. The Other paused. Threat?
"Only if you force the issue." He replied, expression carved from stone. "Do not mistake my cooperation for weakness."
Test. The Other decided, shifting from annoyed to happy. Success. HeWhoSwallowedStars good teacher.
"And a good friend, so don't make me explain why I threw one of his hunting partners into a Sun-Echo."
Sun-Echo? The Other winced, an odd expression to see on fish, and shook its many heads. Inara personally felt the conversation had spun thoroughly out of control, though she kept that thought to herself. Jaesa introduced herself, speaking haltingly in the intent-driven semi-Other speech their Master had taught them, and Alyssa followed.
Inara was last, which meant she had more prep and her name came out more solid as a result, but the Other seemed uncaring. Only had eyes for Jaesa, which made the girl horribly uncomfortable, and something she couldn't understand passed between it and her Lord.
Her Master sighed. "It wants to eat your gift. I'm explaining that you can't grow it back, but that's a strange concept to them. Just, don't let it touch you for now?"
Jaesa nodded, doing the soul equivalent of stepping behind Alyssa to shield herself. Inara snorted. "So now what?"
"Now, we talk. And then we keep talking, until the three of you are capable of talking to it yourself. Any questions for the ancient, possibly pre-time soul creature?"
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan closed the door to his private quarters, ignoring the empty feel of it. Sank into the Force as he went through the daily motions of life, grabbing a ready-made meal from the fridge and eating it cold.
Star arrived later than he usually did, which probably meant the Other had actually been doing something, and raised a curious tentacle. Morgan rolled his eyes, letting him taste the freshly made memory of the not-so-great pasta.
"I never thanked you." Morgan said, taking a moment to ensure his physical body was still obeying instructions. Multitasking, such a useful skill. "For both defending and then helping to rescue me, I mean. The Dark Council aren't exactly pushovers, and I don't doubt some of them could do you serious harm."
A moment paused, Star slowly forming mortal words. Haltingly, but forming them. "Strong, brittle. Knowledge, fear."
"Fair. But I'm sure you won't have to worry about them much longer. You're learning how us mortals fight, how we think, and you're young. You'll be an Elder yourself before too long, right?"
The Other paused, dropping regular speech. I will not be. Not unless I undergo Joining, and it is a rare affair to begin with. This is all I have ever been, and likely all I will ever be.
"What? You don't grow in the Force? Seriously?"
We do not. We are born, as you would understand it, and eventually we will die, but we will be the same. We can learn, combine essence to become an Elder, and we might even be killed. But growth is for mortal souls, not immortal ones. One day, perhaps soon and perhaps not, you will command a greater power over the Force than I do. It is the nature of things.
"So what happens when you do die?"
Star shrugged, form shifting in a way Morgan had come to recognize as boredom. We are reborn as we were at the beginning. Why worry over something I will not remember?
Well, that certainly was one way to deal with the issue. Morgan shrugged and didn't press, shifting his body into physical form again. Still something that took active concentration, and doing so while also multitasking in his flesh-and-blood body was a bit much, but speed eating wasn't exactly going to have consequences.
"I learned to take physical form, by the way." He started, Star clearly not deeming it noteworthy enough to comment on. "What do you think?"
Overeager. Why not let those around you decide your physical form? It will give you power over their Fate, though you are new to that as well.
"At least try to practise regular speech." Morgan chided, shifting his arm into a tentacle. "And I can alter it just fine, thank you very much. Us mortals are attached to how we look, and in this case it lets me better shape my intent."
"Young." Star mocked, managing tone far better than pronunciation. "Baby legs."
"Rude. You don't hear me complain about your horrifically malformed body."
"Me perfect. You small."
Morgan rolled his eyes again. "I see you're feeling mature. Care to meditate, or are you set on exchanging childish insults?"
Star narrowed his eyes but let the matter go, shifting into a ball of compressed flesh. Took a nap, for all that Morgan could tell, but the Force twisted. Bend towards the Other, Morgan imposing himself between it and his friend.
Took a breath, letting it go as his thoughts slowed. Tried to exist, calming to the point he could feel it again. The weave of creation, slowly thrumming with life. He let himself feel it, that ocean of power so vast it had no end, and felt at peace.
Peace like he only really felt while meditating, these days. A problem he hoped time would mend, because he had no idea on how to self-medicate PTSD. Introspection this deep seemed to have blunted the worst of it, enough so he felt almost guilty for calling it PTSD, but ignoring it would be more foolish still.
Meditation would soothe all, that much he believed in. So he spent most of his time doing exactly that, practising some with Star when it came to shielding techniques, and found himself arriving on the bridge a few days later.
Days of meditation. If there was anything that fucked with your perception on time, that would be it. But he wasn't going to complain about the most relaxing experience known to man, and captain Ikkus seemed to want his attention anyway.
"My Lord." The man said, nodding. Kala wasn't here, leading the main fleet back with the Enosis stations, so the captain was in charge. "Our scouts report no active signatures in the target system. It seems to be uninhabited save for a singular moon, orbiting a gas giant our maps have not named. We are approximately seven pathway calculations away from civilized space."
A perfect place for a doomsday fortress, in other words.
"Initial readings?"
"What we expected. Shields strong enough to defend against orbital bombardment, anti air numerous enough to make a hostile landing suicide. Based on heat-readings and visible terraforming efforts, an estimated two hundred thousand people call it home. More if they build deep underground."
"So what's the plan, captain?"
Ikkus shrugged. "Bomb them until their shields fail. It should take around seven hours. Then we send fighter squadrons to disable their heavier guns, enter orbit with our destroyers and land troops on the planet."
"Apologies for making your job harder, captain." Morgan said, looking over the readings himself. Nothing new sprung out. "I need to verify a number of things, to say nothing about the innocents living there. We can't just keep bombing until there's nothing left."
"Your Will be done."
Morgan sent a glare at the man, which was answered with a light smirk. "Funny. Don't let me keep you from your job."
"At once, my Lord."
Another glare and the man moved off, Morgan shaking his head. Not someone whom he spoke to often, but neither were they strangers. One of Kala's supporters, and it seemed he had come to realise the slightest misstep wouldn't get him killed. Which was good, since it meant the man could actually focus on his job.
A large, digital clock hung central on the bridge, counting some thirty minutes until their scheduled hyperspace exit, and Morgan spent it not doing much of anything. Listening to the crew of the Yamada finish their last minute preparations, the bridge sealing after the last sith arrived. Their security.
Somewhat redundant with him here, but standard protocol.
When the countdown ended and reality became normal, they were not hovering over the moon. In fact, it would take another two hours before they would even see the place as more than a distant spot of light, let alone engage in battle. But this was an empty system, so his perception stretched wide.
With only two places containing souls, his fleet and the moon, finding them was easy. Separating them, on the other hand, was not. Nearly all of them were disciplined to an almost unhealthy degree, with a disproportionate amount of Force users among them, and from what he could tell they separated into closed-off living districts.
Starting a riot wasn't going to work, then. Not without the various weaker sith banding together to stop him, what little success he could manage blunted by the fact it couldn't spread. Even if he set aside the fact that killing thousands of civilians wasn't the plan, mind.
Something else snagged his attention, just for a moment, and Morgan narrowed his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, not seeming keen on repeating the process, and he let it go. For now.
He did keep an eye open, for bad things happened to those that dismissed the unusual, but it never appeared again. Not as they closed the distance, letting him taste the rather unnerving lack of fear of those on the moon, and not when they got in range to start the bombardment.
Ah, planetary shields. Technically city-sized, but with enough of those the threat of being bombed out of existence became null and void. Unless, of course, you brought a dreadnought, in which case there really wasn't much anyone could do about it anymore.
After so long of being the underdog, it felt good to let overwhelming firepower take care of his problems.
The shields fell after a few hours of waiting, Morgan busy combing the fortress for any threats. And anomalies, but he only found the former even after aggressively sweeping the entire moon. Still plenty of threats, though.
A sith Lord, he had no idea where Baras found another one, and devoted soldiers. Which he disliked because it meant that they would fight to the death. He wasn't going to waste thousands of his men taking a place he cared nothing about, not if he could help it, so it was time to see if shock and awe could overcome lifelong indoctrination.
But first fighter squadrons would need to battle over air supremacy, and the Sanctuary seemed to have prepared. Over a hundred of them, on both sides, and swarming like enraged bees as Enosis starfighters entered their airspace.
Morgan narrowed his perception. Enraged bees was a more apt description than usual, the sheer indignation he could feel almost comical. Pilots boiled with emotion, wishing for nothing more than to see the invaders gone.
"Captain." He said, making the man turn. "Military discipline seems lacking, at least for the pilots. I wonder if they will chase us when we run."
Ikkus hummed. "Retreat our fighters, prepare targeting solutions. If the enemy comes within effective range, eliminate them."
Watching it play out on the monitor, and in his senses, Morgan concentrated. Almost felt the enemy order their pilots to disengage, ripples of rage and defiance spreading through their ranks. And just their ranks, the pilots being the only souls currently engaged in battle.
He nudged them, grabbing the whole and whispering a reminder. Because why shouldn't they seek vengeance? Why not chase the enemy down, cleansing their holy skies of the filth that dared to invade it? It was only right, after all, when victory was this close.
Another call to retreat came, fighting his influence, and it was a large working besides. Forgoing individual attention for a larger narrative, and their souls were stubborn. Set in their ways and thus hard to influence, even if he simply wanted them to continue as they were.
But still twenty eight pilots gave in to their righteous anger, crossing an invisible line they should not have. The Yamada opened fire, her two destroyer escorts joining, and the support ships did what they could. Morgan clamped down on their instinct to flee, those he had affected, and released their more cautious fellows.
They still tried to abort, his hold wasn't that strong, but too late. Four planes made it back outside their range, a lucky shot crippling a fifth. The Yamada stopped, her enemy too far for effective aim.
"An estimated one fourth destroyed, Lord." Captain Ikkus reported, a pleased note to his tone. "The advantage is ours."
"Very good. Destroy the remainder and ensure our troops can land. I'm taking my apprentices to go for a hostile drop."
"My Lord."
Morgan turned and left the man to it, collecting said apprentices. He had to pull them from their assignments, since the original plan was for one to accompany each initial push, but no one complained. That plan had been made before he felt the enemy's fanaticism, anyway, and he was honestly curious if he could overcome it.
His backup arranged, Morgan made for one of their heavier shuttles. Built to endure enemy fire, surprisingly quick for its bulk and with sizable turrets. It could only hold half a dozen passengers, though, so it never got mass-produced.
For missions such as this, fortunately, it was perfect. Jenna didn't seem all that pleased to see him, he was surprised to see her too, but he supposed that was normal. He wouldn't be happy to pilot for someone like him, either. A target of such high value would attract all the wrong sorts of attention.
Morgan grinned. Yes, that's exactly what he was. A high value male.
Jaesa was clearly curious about his amusement, which only amused him more, and the transport rose as he contemplated their pilot. Jenna had been assigned to him before, twice now if memory served, but she did seem to come back again and again. Clearly not her own doing, the woman seemed to wish for little more than to do her job before going home, and he could see no patterns of Fate that might explain it.
Coincidence, the easy way out. Morgan shrugged and took it, because he really wasn't that bothered by it. She was a fine pilot.
The battle raged on as he waited, swarms of starfighters battling over air dominance as tens of thousands of soldiers readied for war. Hundreds of Force users, on both sides, as specialist groups like the Chosen prepared to be thrown into the deep end.
A drawn out, bloody battle where victory meant losing the least, all for a place no one really cared about. Its owner dead, the people unwilling to leave, its location hidden. Far away from anything or anyone who would care, nevermind the possibility it could be used against the Enosis.
So why did he feel the need to end this? To do so now, securing the fortress and whatever might lie within?
And it was that. A fortress. Not quite medieval, there were no stone walls or towers to be found, but as the transport got into position and his apprentices equipped their gear, he looked at it.
A monster of size forged from metal, carved inside a mountain like a child playing with blocks. Brutal architecture with little care for aesthetics, the scale of it smoothing out its near ugly nature. A town spread below it, modest homes built in an organised sprawl, and the green light acting as his signal flickered on.
Morgan shook his head, stepping over the edge after the sliding-door opened. Let gravity take hold, unburdened by a mask or jetpack. Small, air-made shields snapped over his eyes, the only part of his body too delicate to handle the fall, and he went back to admiring his target.
Felt his apprentices join him, very much wearing the safety equipment. Good on them.
A tower was built at the highest peak of the Sanctuary, grand enough to break free from the mountain slope. With a shrinking distance Morgan could see the fortifications and weapons mounted to the fortress, enormous laser turret installations defending the walls.
Which were being taken care of by Enosis fighters, though Morgan could see they were taking losses. Expensive losses, both in terms of life and credits, so he put on speed. Pushed up against the air, finding it almost easy where before it had been impossible.
His velocity increased, going past terminal. Angling his body downwards, feet first and slimming his profile, and it increased further still. Someone took a shot at him, the Force gently informing him of the danger, and Morgan rolled his eyes.
Pushed to the side, threading treads of Force through the air like invisible wings. Flapped them, which took an effort of control and willpower that was actually ridiculous, and the streak of concentrated light missed him by a dozen feet.
One last look at the fortress, memorizing the tower's location, and he was out of time. The steel walkway of the outer wall approached at speeds no one would be able to react to, a lack of high-rise buildings making him unable to slow his descent. Unless he wanted to fall onto the tower, anyway, but that wasn't the point of this.
Morgan breathed in the Force, overlaying the mental construct of his body over the real one. The Force pushed out, vast and brimming with power, and the shockwave of his landing shattered steel.
Soldiers were sent flying like dolls, detonating away as the air screamed. The shockwave pushed them further still, tumbling over the edge of the wall, and Morgan unbent his knees.
"And nothing even broke." He grinned, rolling his shoulder. "Who knew purified intent was so useful?"
Not that even he would have survived with that alone, but slowing himself by directing a telekinetic blow downwards seemed to work. He never really had the power to be wasteful like that, and he technically still didn't, but the Force seemed thicker.
More filled with purpose, perhaps. As if it actively helped him do what he wanted, not just following the structure he built into techniques. Understanding, both from it to him and him to it.
Eight knives unsheathed with a quiet rasp of metal, executing the soldiers not killed by his impact. Morgan looked down the wall, finding that his landing had drawn attention, and took note of their souls. Fanatic to the last, and he sighed.
Death it was.
Blood flowed as he waited for his apprentices to land, clearing a wide section of the wall as fighters continued to battle overhead. Few bothered him, thankfully, since it wasn't easy to distinguish his own from the enemy down here. Not quickly.
It was Alyssa that joined him first, landing almost on top of him, and he side-stepped at the last moment. Ignored her almost visceral embarrassment, waving his hand towards the quad anti-air turret he'd been making his way towards.
She got to demolishing after shedding her jetpack, wave after wave of enemy combatants rushing to fight as she did. Brave, he would call them, but there was no bravery without fear. And fear had been scoured from these people. Which in turn had left scars, their souls feeling crippled, and he would be surprised if most made it past fifty.
Inara and Jaesa finally joined them, and Morgan made towards the tower. With his knives and three sith progress was quick, putting on speed to avoid rather than get bogged down again, and the wall ran all the way towards the tower.
And, as they found, no further. There was no door to enter the structure, the walkway ending with a smooth steel wall and a staircase to ground level. Maybe a door would be down there, somewhere, which would undoubtedly be highly guarded.
Morgan flicked his hand towards the wall, his three apprentices starting to remove the obstacle. Thick, clearly, but not thick enough. It took seven seconds for his apprentices to clear a hole big enough to step through, Morgan turning the harried souls who had noticed into corpses.
The inside decorations were, in a word, spartan. A barracks, apparently, so it might seem normal. But the room after was a kitchen, which while not under equipped wasn't exactly luxurious, and after that was a bare-bones storeroom.
They had to backtrack, he let his knives rest so his apprentices could fight, and then backtrack some more. Asking for directions ended poorly, in the sense that Inara got spit at and Alyssa took the man's head, but they got there.
Up one floor then the next, ascending the tower as the fortifications got increasingly impressive. Yet while the decorations got increasingly lavish, going from spartan to royal with each passing floor, the soldiers protecting them felt nervous. Constantly looking around, which Morgan found odd. Because they were afraid, and he hadn't felt that in them before. A whole army, conditioned to be loyal until death, and they were nervous.
"They're not supposed to be here." Morgan realised, snapping his fingers. Jaesa looked over, her fellow apprentices too busy removing a reinforced door. "The soldiers, I mean. They're not supposed to be in the tower, but someone ordered them up here. A duty reserved for the Sovereign's personal guard, probably, which they are not."
"If Baras is dead, Lord, then why? And who ordered that in the first place?"
Now that was a good question. He shrugged, helping them push, and the soldiers crumbled. Few Force users were a match for his apprentices, the few that were got taken down three-to-one, and hundreds of soldiers died as his knives keened.
Until they got to the final door, grand and rich enough to make kings feel like beggars. Inlaid with gold and jewels, art and inscriptions. But it was the woman in front of it that drew his attention, hand on her lightsaber and back straight.
His senses reached out, finding her to be strong. Trained, clearly, and with that same fanatical devotion. Wielding the strength of a sith Lord, though not one from Korriban.
Because she was strong, yes, and disciplined, but her mind felt brittle. Hard like rough iron, inflexible and tough. He gripped it, not even using a technique, and spoke a word in whispers. "Freeze."
The command rolled through the Force, and she stiffened. Tried to fight it off even as his apprentices advanced, the woman not quite quick enough to free herself. Whatever she had been about to say died with her, head falling as Alyssa sliced it in half.
Jaesa and Inara pushed the door open, finding it to be unlocked, and as a tiny crack appeared Morgan stiffened. Felt his senses expand into the room, cursing himself for not noticing the blank-zone.
"Wait here. Don't let anyone else inside."
Morgan advanced as they bowed, taking positions as the door shut behind him. The room inside was stripped bare, a scattering of new decorations still waiting to be installed, and in the center rose a throne.
"So you have come. How dutiful of you, to claim my life in the same place I claimed the life of my own Master."
Baras looked strange, without a mask and disease evident on his face. Lounging on his seat, looking strangely human. No, not human. Normal.
"So the Dark Council didn't kill you." Morgan replied, sighing. "Incompetence everywhere. No wonder I managed to escape."
The Darth shrugged, twirling a glass of liquid. "They tried, but it pays to have contingencies. And when I inherited a cloning lab from my Master, well. In truth that was the easy part. Escaping them was another, especially without their notice. But I did, so I thought I had months to recover. To rebuild."
"Yet here I am."
"Yet here you are." Baras acknowledged. "You endured the Prison of Time, breaking it in your escape. It seems we both have a talent for that. Escape. How many ships did you bring?"
Morgan paused briefly, inspecting the walls. "You can't tell, can you? What keeps you hidden here also keeps your perception shallow. I brought enough."
"It does, it does." The man drained his drink, refilling it. "It's been years since I could taste, did you know? Decades, really. This body will suffer the same fate, eventually, but for now I can indulge. A Force afflicting disease, if you were wondering, and so rare I never thought much of it. Not until I got infected, though the fight for my life pushed me to new heights. Then I learned you could create them at will, killing Lachris in the process, and I will admit to some amount of pride. You have come far, apprentice."
"Are you trying to unsettle me to death? Because, to be honest, this is getting close."
Baras huffed out a laugh. "Yes, I suppose it would. My escape from Marr's wrath was not without sacrifice, and he took from me the ability to hate. I felt a simple curiosity when he did so, as if he was unsure about what it would do, but it seems to work wonders. I'll get it back, the soul is nothing if not adaptable, but not quite yet."
"Do you want it to?"
"Ah, the very question at the forefront of my mind." The man speared a piece of cheese, chewing slowly. "Clarity for power, happiness for wealth. You seem to have both, but then we both know you've been breaking rules since you set foot on Korriban. Tell me, seer, how would it have ended? Had you not meddled, I mean."
Morgan debated not answering, but found himself curious. This close, without the strange inscriptions keeping the man hidden, he could feel it. The weakness in his old Master, a soul still wounded from escape. A critical piece missing, everything else unbalanced by its loss.
"You named yourself the Voice, your apprentice is named the Wrath after you betray them. The Emperor's Hand sends the Wrath on a number of missions, removing much of your powerbase, and it culminates in a duel before the Dark Council. The Wrath is victorious, sworn into office, and you die."
"How dramatic." Baras chuckled. "But here we are, in a fortress I have just gained and dying on a throne. Recovering, technically, but I can't seem to remember my reason to struggle. Power became the motivation and the goal, circling endlessly until I was devoured. I knew it would, in the end, but delusion is ever so tempting. Tell me, how did you kill my guard?"
"I commanded her to freeze. She fought, but my apprentice killed her. Raising Force users like slaves doesn't work."
Baras sighed. "No it does not. They protect their 'Sovereign Supreme' most zealously, and do hear the quotes I'm using, but they will never rise high because of it. It takes ambition, motivation, to do that. A reason to keep going when every bone in your body tells you to rest."
"So what now?"
"Now?" The Darth put his glass down, rising. "Let's see."
Pressure crashed down on Morgan like a wave, all-consuming and unstoppable. Except his shields thrummed with intent, imbued with the desire for protection, and as the Force passed flesh torrents of power were scattered. Morgan grunted, the weight of it almost physical, and he counter-attacked.
Slammed piercing intent against the Force, raw and unguided as the attack was. Poked the simple barrier funneling the technique until it shattered, warding off the attempts at distraction. The attack vanished, cracking under its own weight.
Darth Baras sat back down, noticeably more tired. "That's the best I got, at least for now, and if I can't kill you with raw power then this will be an actual battle. Hatred has been my crutch for too long, it seems. Stripped of it and I feel as helpless as an acolyte. In time, perhaps, I will adapt. I do not think you will give me the chance."
"No." Morgan replied, lightsaber snapping to hand. "I think not. But civility should be responded to in kind, so I will say this; You taught me nothing, but I learned under your wing."
Baras let his own lightsaber flicker to hand. "As the blade thanks the hammer that forged it. Yes, that seems fair. Come, apprentice. One final test."
Morgan let energy pool in his legs, gripping Fate with an iron will. Baras was there to greet him, a bastion of denial, and Morgan crossed half the room in the time it took the man to stand.
And here, in this moment, it wasn't a fight at all.
Afterword
Discord (two chapters ahead for the low, low price of your soul) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]