(A/N) I am sooo incredibly sorry for the lateness of this story. I know several of you have been waiting on this one, having seen Bro-rifles' absolutely amazing art for it. And if you haven't seen that yet, you should definitely go check it out, as it is beautiful beyond imagining. (Thanks again, Bro-rifles! You're an amazing artist!) And someday I'll figure out how to actually embed art in a story.
brorifles. tumblr post /179067050168 /art-for-anaths-fic-when-you-pry-it-from-my-cold
So I wrote this piece for the Star Wars Rebels Minibang. All that was required of me was to write a story of 5,000 words. As you can see, it's a- great deal longer than that. _ I've written more of a novel here. But that tends to happen with me. I can't seem to write a short story to save my life. (Somebody send help!) Either way, I certainly hope you enjoy my humble offering. For all I adore them, this is my first stab at writing a soulmate AU. Hopefully I didn't do too bad. Heheh. Enjoy!
When You Pry it From My Cold, Dead Chest
Chapter 1: If Our Love is Tragedy
"Alex!"
He knew he ought to answer. Mama always got upset when she couldn't find him. But if he answered her, it would mean it was bedtime. He didn't want it to be bedtime yet.
He would answer eventually. He had to be in bed before Mama went to work. That was the rule. But he was going to stretch it for as long as he could tonight.
"Bet you don't hafta go to bed early," he whispered conspiratorially to the words on his forearm.
The soulmark shimmered faintly in the darkness, its vivid purple gleam dimly lighting up the little boy's face. At three and a half standard years, he couldn't yet read all the words, but Mama had told him what it said.
'Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!'
He'd asked all the questions he possibly could about the mark, and his mother had answered them as best she could. What was Lasan? A planet in the Outer Rim. What was the Honor Guard? An order of noble warriors who protected the royal family of Lasan. What was a bo-rifle? The traditional weapon of the Honor Guard, a weapon that was both rifle and bo-staff. The words didn't really tell him much about the being who was fated to be his partner. More they told him about himself – that he would one day own a bo-rifle...and that this fated partner would somehow be unhappy about that.
"Alex! Answer Mama, sweetheart," Mama's voice called out to him again, starting to sound worried. Well, he didn't want to go to bed, but even less did he want to make his mother worry.
"Here I am, Mama," he called softly as he climbed out of the storage cylinder he'd been hiding in. Mama had reached the end of the corridor by the time he'd called to her and when she turned back to the sound of his voice, it was with a relieved smile.
"Oh, you," she scolded mildly as she came to scoop him up in her arms, nuzzling his nose with her own. Alex giggled as her blonde curls fell in a curtain around his face. "My naughty little meiloorun. What were you doing?"
"I was talking to them," he answered, holding out his arm to let her know who he meant.
"Oh," she started with a small laugh. "I'm not sure it works like that, mei-mei."
"Why not? We're...connected...aren't we?" he asked, stumbling over the longer word.
"Of course you are, but your connection hasn't properly formed yet. You have to meet first. You can't be impatient for these things," she explained as she carried him through the House.
"How do you know it doesn't work like that?" Alex pressed.
"Well, I've never heard of anything like that. And I never spoke to Kass, so-"
"Did you try?" he interrupted her.
His mother stopped short at the question, seemingly amazed that such an obvious thought had never occurred to her. Smiling, she shook her head as she continued on. "Well...no. I suppose I didn't."
"I'm gonna keep tryin'," he said solemnly, though his eyes still glinted with mirth as he looked up at his mother. "Maybe they can hear me. Maybe I can make 'em feel better if they're sad. Maybe I can make 'em understand I'm not bad."
It was something that had always concerned him – the angry tone of the words on his skin. He felt certain it was just going to be some kind of misunderstanding, but it still frightened him sometimes – his soulmate's anger.
"If you think it will help, there's nothing saying you can't try. I'm sure they'll be happy you've been so concerned for them. Kass was always talking about how concerned she was for me when she was young."
"Mama? he started to ask after several silent moments, giving voice to something he'd long wondered, but had never found the courage to ask. "Where was your soulmark?"
Once again, his mother came to a stop, a distant look shining in her eyes as her mind drifted away from the current moment. He knew she'd had a soulmark before he was born, but he'd never asked her about it because she always looked so sad whenever the topic came up. He didn't want to make her sad. He hated making her sad.
"My right calf," she finally whispered, cuddling him a little bit closer against her chest. "Just below the back of my knee. The letters were...ruby and violet...just like her eyes."
"What did they say?" Alex whispered back, breathlessly awaiting the answer.
"Let me be ta'en. Let me be put to death," she returned, eyes smiling but sad. "I am content, so thou wilt have it so."
"What- what does that mean?" he asked, blinking up at her in confusion.
Blinking several times herself, his mother finally seemed to return to the present, her smile growing warm again. "They're lines from a play. She called out to me...and I answered," she said simply as she coaxed herself back into motion, carrying him into the small back room that was his. When she set him on his feet, he scrambled around to change for bed, asking questions all the while.
"Why did she call you? Why those words?" he asked. He'd heard stories of Kassinian before – fierce, funny, fiery Kass – but he'd never heard the story of how she and Mama had first met...or of how Mama's mark had faded from her pale skin. Rather than fall for it, though, his mama smirked as she looked down at him.
"That, mei-mei, is a story for when you're older. It's not for young ears," she reprimanded him as she tucked him into bed, but when she leaned down to kiss him goodnight, he stopped her.
"Mama...what if my mark goes away?"
Once again, his mother's expression grew sad and guarded. Shaking her head, she reached up a hand to stroke his fair hair from his eyes. "I can't tell you it won't happen, Alex. I know only too well that it does. I hope you never have to experience that pain, but...if that time comes...you should do your best to honor the bond that might've been."
"Honor?" he asked her, not sure what she meant.
"Yes. Live a life you feel would have made your partner happy. That's what it means to honor the bond."
"Amara!" the sharp voice of Mistress Elaris lanced into the tiny room, shattering the quiet moment. "You have a client waiting! You know the rules."
"Uh-oh. Looks like Mama's late," his mother said, smiling tiredly before leaning down once more to drop a kiss on his forehead. "Sleep tight, Alex...my mei-mei."
"Nighty night, Mama," he whispered as she tucked the blankets back over him.
"Amara!"
"I'm coming!" Amara Kallus snapped over her shoulder, but then she offered her son one last loving look before drifting slowly out of the room. "I love you, baby."
"Love you, too," he said before slipping completely under the blankets, looking down to the comforting shimmer of words on his left arm.
"I'm not gonna lose you," he vowed solemnly to his unknown partner, gently kissing the mark. "I'm not gonna lose my partner the way my mama did. I'll show you. I'll show you that I'm worthy."
XxX
"Zeb'aki, come down from there!"
Ears pricking up at the sound of the familiar voice, seven-year-old Garazeb Orrelios glanced down through the tree branches to see the grinning face of his older sister, Ashvyr, looking up at him.
"Ash!" he shouted gleefully, immediately releasing his grip on his perch and letting himself tumble gracelessly from the tree, down into the waiting arms of his big sister, who laughed as she spun him in circles.
"Ah, ni kyra, ni kyra," the twenty-five-year-old half-sang, hugging him tightly against her chest. "You're getting too big. I insist you stop growing right this second."
"What? Afraid I'll get bigger'n you?" he teased as he began to climb all over her.
"Oh, I know you will. That's why you've got to leave off immediately."
"All right," he agreed, taking a moment to playfully chew on her ear. "If you promise not to leave for six months, I'll stop growing. Deal?"
Ash sighed as she peeled him easily from her back, holding him out in her arms like the little ball of fluff and mischief he was. "No deal, unfortunately. The Kashyyyk delegation is needed more than ever these days."
"Guess they could let you go soon enough to get home a week early, though," he pointed out, briefly sticking his tongue out at her. "What about Gav? Does she know you're back?"
"She'll be in tonight."
"But...Mum and Dad-"
"They know," she interrupted with a smile. "They're going to try to get back before we have to leave again."
"We?"
Ash nodded back toward the house and Zeb looked up just in time to see their grandmother emerging onto the balcony with Chaladdik at her side – Ash's Wookiee partner.
The one who had brought her color.
"Nobody told me Chala was comin'!" Zeb cheered as he wriggled out of his sister's grasp, quickly scampering over to the Wookiee and clambering up his tall frame like a tree. The warrior gave the typical chuffed sound of a Wookiee's laugh and started to go on about disrespectful kits who were too big for their tree branches.
Chala play-wrestled with the young Lasat while Ash and Gran got the evening meal set up on the family balcony, and by the time Ash's twin, Zalgavin, arrived for the meal, the Wookiee had suitably worn the boy out.
Zeb didn't pay much attention to what he ate during dinner. He thought he remembered the taste of gantha pig, but by the time the savory scents and tastes of the main meal had been replaced by the sweeter scent of jogan tea, the little Lasat was tired enough to crawl into his sister's lap and cuddle up without shame.
"Ash?" he asked when Gran, Chala, and Gav fell into the topic of the elder twin's latest performance piece. "Can you tell me about green again?"
Ash laughed quietly as she stroked the fur behind his ears, earning herself a pleased purr. No matter how many times she insisted she couldn't explain, he would always ask.
"Green is like racing through the trees with the leaves dancing all around. It's like walking out in the rain when the world smells new. It's rolling around in the pyr patches with the piglets. Green is the color of your eyes," she said, tapping him right between those eyes. "Green is...green is like breathing," she finally settled on, drawing in a deep, contented sigh of her own.
"And blue? Tell me about blue," he pressed eagerly.
"Blue is wide and big and deep. It's Mirov Lake. It's the petals on a korreh rose when it first blooms. Blue is diving into the ocean and plunging so deep you think you might not have enough air to get back up again. Blue is when you feel the rain in your fur. It's waking up just before the sun does and listening to the light doves sing. Blue is a drink of water."
"Yellow! Do yellow next," he pleaded, tired as he was.
"Yellow is a scoop of Gran's honey cream. It's the doleroff puffs when they drift free in summer, the flash beneath a light dove's wings. It's the sun just before it comes over the horizon and you can't look anymore. It's the moment just before everything's too bright. It's the color of Gav's favorite scarf, even if she doesn't know it," she said, sticking her tongue out at her older twin, receiving a similar gesture right back from the branch dancer. "It's the color of my bo-rifle when it's in staff mode."
"Red! What's red like?" the young Lasat continued on.
"Red is fire," she answered immediately. "It's the line of pain in your fur when you cut yourself on a branch. It's the taste in your mouth when you bite your tongue. Red is hot, burning. It's the dunes of the Or'kyrreh Desert. It's the drop at the heart of a kiru star in full bloom. Red is a beating heart."
"What about purple?" he asked. He asked even though he knew what her answer would be. He always wanted to hear her say it.
"Purple is Lasat," she answered with a grin. "It's the color of every hair on your body, in all its different shades. It's the banner of the royal family, the color of the arrdan blossoms the princess grows in the palace gardens. It's the mists in the depths of the Lirbog Valley. It is far. It is old, and it is strong, and it is fragile. It is sweet and bitter, the skin of a ripe kiru fruit and the juice of it that flows down your chin when you bite into it," she said, chucking him under the chin. Zeb yawned widely as he cuddled up close against his beloved older sister.
"I wanna see them," he said, head drooping in exhaustion. "I wanna see all the colors."
"You will, ni Zeb'aki. One day you will," she crooned, kissing the top of his head. "I have no doubt. You have so much love in your heart. Somewhere out in the galaxy is a being who's made for it – someone who will change your world and make you see everything through different eyes."
"I still have no idea what you're talking about," their gran snipped. "I've never seen the world any differently than the way I did as a kit and I've always been perfectly happy."
While the other three had a laugh over the old matriarch's words, Zeb actually caught himself sniffling as he clung a bit tighter to Ash. "I don't- I don't wanna be like that. You and Chala are so happy...and Mum and Dad...all the time..."
"Well...not all the time, ni kyra. It's more complicated than that. I can explain love to you no better than I can explain color. But you shouldn't fear. I have a feeling...a feeling it will happen for you someday. You only need to be patient."
"But I don't wanna be patient," he groused, yawning as he fought to keep his eyes open.
Ash laughed quietly as she stroked his back, coaxing him ever closer to slumber. "The change will come no sooner for the asking, baby brother. It will happen for you when you are ready. There's no point in forcing it. Just be the best you that you can be and you'll see what the galaxy has in store for you."
"Best...me?" he asked around another long yawn. "What'sat...even mean?"
"Well...that's up to you, isn't it," she teased, nipping lightly at his ear just before he finally drifted off to sleep. "Good night, ni kyra."
XxX
His mother speaking the words of his soulmark were the last time for many years that Alexsandr Kallus heard those words spoken aloud. Years and years came and went after he was taken from her...or she gave him up. It was all a bit hazy in his early memory. A different home and a different school and a different name and even an entirely different galactic government moved through his life in those years.
The Empire was not the sort to encourage leaning on a soul bond. It was Jedi mysticism, nonsense that the illusionists could use to try and prove that they were somehow better than the lesser folk that clung to soul bonds. Why did anyone need to cling to something they'd had no choice in? The Empire was about peace and freedom after all. Better to cast off the old ways, ways that had brought chaos and conflict. And on days when he was feeling strong, Kallus almost managed to make himself believe that. Why should he need to cling to a fate that had been written out for him before he was even born? If he was going to tell the rest of the galaxy to let go of the past, he would have to do so himself.
Even so, he couldn't always quash the memory of his mother's distant smile whenever she talked about the woman she'd loved. Couldn't fully suppress his own memory of comfort at the sight of the faintly shimmering purple letters. He knew he shouldn't have let the words influence him, but he'd studied staff combat extensively in the hope of one day being worthy of the weapon that would some day come into his possession. He'd studied as much of the Lasat warrior culture as was available to him, in spite of the growing mistrust of alien cultures, and he knew it had in some way shaped his own sense of honorable conduct in battle. Even though he tried not to think of it, he still sometimes wondered if the person who would speak his words was a Lasat or just someone as informed about the culture as he'd become.
It wasn't supposed to matter anymore. It really wasn't. He was supposed to forget about it, but he could never fully dismiss the tiny voice in his head and in his heart that incredulously demanded why he would want to forget about his own soulmate. And ultimately, the next time he heard his words spoken aloud, they were in his own voice.
"Only...only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle," he found himself groaning as he struggled to rise to his knees, spitting out a mouthful of blood as he stared down the barrel of a weapon he was only too familiar with.
The mercenary wielding the rifle raised a curious eyebrow at him as he let the weapon prime, but it ultimately remained unfired. The Lasat leered at him as he slowly lowered the bo-rifle.
"It's of interest to me that an Imperial knows even that much about the Lasat. How do you know I'm not Honor Guard?" the Lasat asked him as he came closer.
"A guardsman- would never do what you have done," he insisted, every moment he remained even partially upright a small victory when all he wanted to do was collapse from the pain. "He wouldn't take his opponents from behind with incendiaries, nor pick off the survivors when they were too injured to fight back," he said, struggling to keep his focus on his enemy and not on the dead littering the forest floor all around them – the last of his unit...gone!...he'd failed them. Shaking his head, he shut out the accusing voice in his heart, glaring up at his would-be killer. "If you are, or ever were, a guardsman, then you shame the Honor Guard!"
The Lasat didn't even flinch at his vitriol. When he came to stand before him, he wrapped a large, four-fingered hand around his defenseless throat and lifted him up in the air. Kallus hardly even had the strength to struggle as his oxygen was cut off.
"You make much of the honor of a guardsman, human. You don't know me," he said, sneering as he slammed the weakened Imperial against a half-burnt tree. "So what is it that makes a human, and an Imperial one at that, so obsessed with the Honor Guard? How would you even know what a bo-rifle was unless you...oh...wait. I think I understand."
No...please, no.
The mercenary leaned into him with an unpleasant leer, whispering in his ear, "Where is it?"
"Where's- what?" Kallus choked out when the Lasat allowed him enough breath to answer.
"No games, Imperial dog. You humans have your fate written upon your skin. Tell me where your soulmark is," he demanded, body pressed so uncomfortably close against Kallus' he could feel the excited shiver that ran through him.
"That- that's private," Kallus bit back, glaring up at the mercenary. "It's not for your eyes."
"Your life is literally in my hands, scum. Nothing about you is private to me. Now," he snarled in a strangely quiet voice as he raked the claws of his free hand across the agent's chest, tearing through the fabric of his uniform and into the skin below, "tell me where that kriffing mark is."
Kallus cried out in pain when the claws sliced through his skin, scattering droplets of blood all down his front. Much though it hurt, he was not going to give this creature anything. He would find it eventually if he looked hard enough, granted, but that was far from the point.
"My mark is my own, Lasat. I will die first," he hissed defiantly up at his enemy.
"That shouldn't be too hard. You humans break so easily, after all," the Lasat sneered before ripping through the already tattered fabric and tearing the uniform open, baring his chest to the night air. The mercenary gave an appreciative purr as he ran his fingers delicately over the undamaged skin of his stomach. "Guess they train 'em all right in the Empire. I can think of a few good uses for those muscles."
"Stop it!" he snarled, but even to his own ears, the command had an edge of desperation to it – of pleading.
"You know how to make it stop. Just tell me where the mark is," the Lasat taunted him, sneer growing more feral as he hooked his claws into the right shoulder seam of his jacket.
"No."
"Then we continue," the mercenary said, tone entirely too gleeful as he tore into the sleeve, shredding the fabric before ripping it away completely, leaving the agent's arm bare and bleeding. "Hmm, still nothing. I wonder, is our little Imperial's mark in a more...intimate place," he suggested, drawing a single claw along Kallus' hip, just above his belt.
"Don't- don't do this," Kallus actually found himself pleading. He was only a little ashamed to admit that he really was afraid now. If this beast was going to kill him, why couldn't he just get it over with? Why this show?
At his words, the Lasat gave an angry growl, claws digging into his hip and gouging four ugly red lines into the skin. He waited for Kallus to stop screaming before he continued.
"How many beings have begged for mercy at the feet of your Empire, and you destroyed them anyway? You'll see no mercy from me, dog!" he snarled, digging his claws in below the belt this time and dragging them all the way down the agent's thigh. Then he pushed aside the ribbons of destroyed fabric, reaching inside the pant leg to feel along the skin of his leg, searching for the telltale texture of the mark. But he didn't remove his hand when he found nothing.
He gave several possessive strokes along Kallus' inner thigh, smearing the blood from his injuries along the pale skin. Leaning in close to him once more, he whispered in the agent's ear, "Y'know, humans don't usually do it for me. Just nothing of any substance there. Gotta say, though, there's just something about one so defiant, still trying to be brave even though he's terrified, and you are terrified. I can smell that on you," he said, inhaling deeply from the pulse point in Kallus' neck. "Smells nice."
"You...monster," Kallus snarled weakly, mind not wholly able to process what was happening.
The Lasat's stilted laugh ghosted against the skin of his neck in surprisingly sharp bursts. "Trust me, human, to someone else, you are the monster. If I am a monster, it's because the Empire has made me one," he said, those dangerous fingers brushing just between the agent's legs.
It took every remaining ounce of Kallus' control not to glance toward his left forearm, as he tended to do in times of worry, fear, or stress. Even though he wasn't supposed to cleave to it, the mark still gave him a sense of comfort in dark times. But if he gave it away now, there was no point to any of this. So instead of giving in to despair or panic, he used his adversary's preoccupation to his own advantage.
Knowing he wouldn't get another chance to catch the mercenary off guard, he put all of his strength into a last rush forward, pushing away from the tree and driving his uninjured shoulder into the Lasat's chest. He attempted to duck free when the Lasat howled in pain, but he wasn't quick enough. The injuries he'd already sustained slowed him down, giving his opponent the chance to take hold of him again.
Roaring in rage, the mercenary seized his uninjured arm and twisted it painfully behind his back. Kallus heard more than felt something snap out of place as he was forced face-first back against the tree.
"Ooh, you're gonna pay for that one, you are. If you thought...oh, wait. What's this here?"
No!
He couldn't see what the Lasat was doing, but he could feel his grip on his forearm from where he held him immobilized. The sleeve must have torn at some point during the scuffle, because he could hear his enemy ripping the fabric further, revealing the faintly shimmering lines of his soulmark. When the mercenary leaned in close to examine the words, Kallus could once again feel that heavy, unsettling breath against his skin, violating the most sacred part of his body.
"How precious," the Lasat mocked as he pressed his body back against Kallus', pinning him fully to the tree. "Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle. Had you thought your lover might be a Lasat?"
"Kill me...kill me...just kill me." Kallus was pleading now. If this beast was going to follow his threats through to their inevitable conclusion...
"You're not getting off that easy, dog. Let me crush your hopes now and say that no self-respecting Lasat would ever look twice at an Imperial. The only thing you shall receive from a Lasat is pain," the mercenary hissed in his ear before pulling back, taking a moment to savor the agent's pain before raking his claws directly through the soulmark.
On the level of logic, Kallus knew it wasn't possible for this fresh wound to hurt more than the others that had come before it, but something inside of him still crumbled in unbearable agony as the Lasat's sharp claws slashed through his skin, leaving his precious soulmark to bleed. He never would've recognized the scream that was torn from his throat as anything human, just some pathetic creature that needed to be put out of its misery. He would suffer worse injuries in the years to come, but in that moment it felt to him as if his very soul were bleeding. The threads of agony emanated outward from the beloved lines of the mark, reverberating throughout his entire being in a hideous feedback loop of pain. The Lasat actually waited for his screams to die down before continuing.
"You know," he started in close at Kallus' ear again, deeply inhaling the scent of him, "if you still want a Lasat for your lover, I can always oblige you. Let's see if this dear mate of yours still wants you after I'm done with you."
"Do whatever you want," Kallus hissed in defiance, undone by the harm inflicted on the heart of him. "I promise you, you can defile me no worse than you already have."
"We'll see about that," the Lasat breathed in his ear, blood-tipped fingers dropping slowly to his hip, the fur on them disconcertingly soft as they traced his skin.
His mind shut down after that, either unable or unwilling to absorb what was happening. It was some combination of the physical and mental trauma he'd already suffered, was what they told him later. They also told him that reinforcements had arrived in time to prevent anything...unseemly from happening, but that knowledge didn't stop the nightmares.
No.
For many years, those were just as constant companions as the scars that now adorned his body.
XxX
Like many of his people during the wars, Garazeb Orrelios ceased to think about whether his world would ever look any different than it did now. With realities like disease, conflict, and death, was it any wonder that people forgot about the notion of color?
Though Lasan had never been part of the Galactic Republic or the Confederacy of Independent Systems, they had always been fierce allies of Kashyyyk. When the Wookiees had pledged aid and loyalty to the Republic at the onset of the Clone Wars, Queen Astyrialle had had every intention of standing to fight with their allies.
But all of those intentions had changed when their home had been swept by plague.
Lasat perished in droves from the deadly spread of pestilence. It wasn't difficult to convince both sides of the conflict to steer clear of the stricken planet. Even Zeb himself was hit by the disease, emerging from his fever to find the High Honor Guard cut nearly in half, along with his own family. His parents, Gav, and her wife had all succumbed to the illness, leaving just Gran and himself alive. Ash and Chala were only spared because they were offworld fighting, Ash at the head of an Honor Guard contingent that had been leant to the defense of Kashyyyk.
Lasan recovered gradually from the horrific sickness, but the wars came to an end just as they were barely recovered from those trying times, and in the wake of the wars came the Empire.
The Imperials blocked communications between the two allies and Lasan did not learn of the subjugation of Kashyyyk until it was far too late to do anything about it. Those Wookiees who remained free fled their home with the assistance of their Honor Guard allies, bringing word of the deaths of Ashvyr Orrelios and Chaladdik with them to Lasan. And when the Empire came for those survivors, Lasan rose up in open revolt against the young regime. Fragile though they still were, no Lasat would willingly stand by while a friend was suffering.
The Empire offered to spare Lasan if Astyrialle would willingly surrender the refugees from Kashyyyk, but the Lasat queen had glared regally down at the Imperial emissary and flat out refused him.
"No child of Lasan would ever betray a sworn friendship," she informed the human cowering on the floor of her throne room, and pathetic piglet though he was, the Imperial still sneered as he looked up at her.
"Then every child of Lasan will die."
The Imperial siege had lasted for weeks, with their forces gradually whittling down Lasan's planetary defenses, until it finally came down to ground assault. The Lasat would have had a distinct advantage over the Imperials in direct combat...
...were it not for the treacherous creatures coming at them with the ion disruptors.
Zeb observed the first volley from a distance, having just emerged from the war room after reports of a night attack had disrupted the meeting of the high command. The beams from the Imperial weapons had bathed the city streets in light, cleansing them of everything living in only a few horrific minutes.
Planetwide reports quickly started to pour in. These weapons were everywhere, and their enemies were quickly and efficiently erasing them from existence. By the time the sun rose upon their beleaguered world, comms had fallen silent. The city centers were either on their own...or completely destroyed.
There was little they could do against the monstrous weapons. They could do nothing but hold the palace against the Empire – the very last stronghold for their people. When Zeb led the Honor Guard out from the palace, it was with the expectation that this battle was to be his last, so he was going to have the Guard make a last stand that would be remembered, taking no small number of Imperials with them.
Before the battle had begun, he'd given the order that there would be no retreat, but that anyone who chose to would not be thought less of. One could hardly argue with wanting to die in a way that seemed best to you. It was beginning to happen as more and more of his warriors fell before the blazing light of the disruptor fire, seizing up in agony for a brief moment before vanishing in smoke and ash.
The captain had just swept down a line of stormtroopers with his bo-rifle, preventing at least one more round of disruptor fire, when he looked down to see the latest wave of Imperials moving up from the city below, catching sight of one Imperial in particular.
The young man had all the signs of one who was weary of battle, but Zeb didn't let himself see that. Instead, he focused on the bo-rifle the man had strapped to his back. This stinking piece of filth had taken a bo-rifle off the dead body of one of his men! There was no way he was going to let that stand. Sweeping his own rifle out in a challenging stance, he was just about to issue a call down to the soldier.
But then he looked into the Imperial's eyes and everything changed all in an instant.
When he had time to think about it later, he would say that the color of the human's eyes was soft and gentle, a warm color that he didn't yet have a name for. But in that moment, seeing the color for the first time amid a sea of blacks and whites and grays, that color was the sharpest, most intense thing he'd ever beheld in his life.
"Ashla, have mercy," he whispered in shocked horror, stumbling back a few steps. Then, all in an instant, that single point of color burst violently outward, consuming everything around it in a wash of light and color that literally transformed the world before his eyes.
He had never truly seen the city around him before. What had once existed as a gray scale was suddenly an infinite palette of form and color that he never could've imagined existing before this moment. How right his sister had been.
He had never seen his own hands before, and now there they were in a regal transformation from their previous pale gray, tinged with the blood of his enemies.
Red, he remembered Ash saying. Blood is red. This is red.
There was simply too much to process, too much to see. Too many endless shades and variations of color that he had absolutely no name for. And as it all came descending down on him, Garazeb Orrelios remembered that this had all happened because of the Imperial.
No! No, no, no, no, NO!
"Can't be...it can't be," he breathed in horror, stumbling back until he actually fell, just barely missing being incinerated by a brilliant ray of light he could no longer describe in terms he understood. It just couldn't be! There was no way his soulmate was a kriffing piece of Imperial scum! He couldn't be bound by destiny to a man who was taking part in the slaughter of his people.
But then, just when the captain thought he actually might go mad, he looked back at the man who had brought color into his world, seeing a look of torn anguish in those eyes that had changed everything as he drew the stolen bo-rifle. For a moment that seemed to last forever, he aimed the weapon at Zeb, and for the life of him, the captain of the High Honor Guard couldn't bring himself to raise his own rifle. Was this really his fate? To be killed by the being that destiny had marked out for him?
However, when he remained in his downed position, made no move to attack, the Imperial tore his gaze away from the captain, crying out in frustrated anguish as he dropped to his knees.
Is this...not who you are?
"Captain! Come on!" one of the remaining guards was suddenly shouting in his ear, probably thinking him injured – and in a way, he was, just not to a point that he needed her to wrap an arm around his shoulders and bodily drag him back in the direction of the palace the way she did. Either way, he was still too much in shock to resist. All he could manage to do was stare back at the human. In spite of it all, in spite of everything he had endured and everything he had lost, he still cared about what it was this supposed partner of his actually felt.
But then, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of another guardsman caught in a disruptor beam, and when he saw this Lasat he had known vanish into ashes, he focused on the stark color of the particles.
Ash. Ash is still black. Ash will always be black.
Turning a newly enraged glare down upon the Imperials, he suddenly realized something he hadn't before.
Their enemies weren't actually pursuing them. They were watching them flee to the supposed safety of their fortress.
"NO! STOP!" he tried to warn the few remaining guards, but that was the moment his world vanished in white and red before releasing him into the sweet relief of black. And when he awoke again, there was nothing left.
His gran had swept in with her personal starship to save the few members of the Guard who had survived the bombing. Though he could hardly say as much to her, he knew he would've preferred to leave his life before the gates of the palace, as so many others had. Not only did he have the guilt of surviving when he shouldn't have, but the added guilt of the bloom of color that now stained his reality – the guilt of who that color belonged to. He couldn't bring himself to tell anyone about the shift. On top of everything else that had happened, he didn't think he could also bear the shame of being soulbound to an Imperial, no matter who that Imperial was. The worst of the new colors came when he caught a glimpse of his eyes in the 'fresher mirror.
He'd thought maybe to try and see what this new face of his looked like, but the very first thing he'd fixated on were his eyes, round, luminous, and wide open in shock. Ash had once told him they were green.
But green...it was the same color as disruptor fire...it was the color of the end of the world he'd witnessed before the palace on that last day.
"Not this...not this!" he'd sobbed pitifully, squeezing those abhorrent eyes shut as he stumbled back against the 'fresher door. If he had to endure this every time he looked at himself – to relive the death of his world, the ignoble end of his fellow guards...his own shame – if this was his fate, he might as well die here, because he couldn't bear it.
And then, as if some merciful goddess had heard his despair, he looked up at his reflection to see the color slowly bleeding from his eyes, leaving them bare and blessedly gray.
All of the colors faded away after that day, slowly, down through the years, as he gradually became the only survivor from Gran's ship and, so far as he knew, the only Lasat. All of the colors faded back into comforting gray. All of them.
Except one.
That very first color. That hue that was caught somewhere between light brown and pale yellow.
The color of the human's eyes.
It was a rare color, he found. Rare enough that it was almost like being colorblind again. But every now and then, it would appear – the turn of a stone or the shine of a valuable metal – and every time it did, he was reminded of his ugly fate. He didn't know the color's name. Had never bothered to try and find out. But even so, those eyes still haunted his dreams, never allowing him peace. Kanan and Hera tried not to ask him about those moments after he'd become a member of the Ghost crew, and he appreciated the attempt, but there came a day when even they couldn't ignore it.
The color appeared twice during a run – the sands of some nameless slaver outpost, as well as the ancient, heavy chains used by the gang. Zeb had seen the chains before, having once been held captive by something similar, but it hadn't been the chains themselves that had shattered his composure.
No.
It was that kriffing color!
Kanan came after him once all the fighting was over. By all accounts, it had been a successful run. The gang was out of business for good and all of their merchandise set free. It should've been a time for celebration, but all the Lasat could manage to do was crouch in the colored sand a ways off from the Ghost, letting handfuls of the stuff flow out through his fingers as he stared at it.
"Doin' all right, big guy?" the former padawan asked as he sat beside him on the sand.
Zeb just grunted in response, never once tearing his gaze from the shifting grains of sand.
"Right. Good talk," Kanan said. "Guess you're- gonna be relieved to be away from here. Must bring up some pretty ugly memories."
Oh, much more than the man knew, and not even in the way he was probably thinking.
"Kanan?" Zeb found himself asking just as the Jedi was shifting to rise to his feet. Holding up another handful of sand, he asked, "What color is this?"
"Color?" Kanan returned with a look of surprise. "You want to know about color? I thought you- couldn't see it."
"Can't...mostly," he responded, only looking at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "Just the one. Never really- known what it's called."
"Amber," the Jedi said gently. "I'd say that color is amber."
Amber. His soulmate's eyes were amber.
"And it- it's the only color you can..." Kanan's voice slowly trailed off as he came to the realization of exactly what that meant. "Oh, man. Can...can I ask what happened?"
Zeb gave a pained laugh at that. "You can ask. Doesn't mean I'll tell you, but you can ask."
"So...?"
"It was a long time ago. When the shift first happened, I could see all the colors...but the others all disappeared over time...all except this one," he said, looking down at the small bit of amber-colored sand still sitting in his palm.
"Did...did you actually meet them?" Kanan pressed.
"Not...exactly. Locked eyes for just a moment. Then it was done," he answered, remembering the anguish in the Imperial's gaze with a pained swallow. Who was he? Whoever he was, he was still alive. Zeb was reminded of that fact every time he caught a glimpse of the color...of amber. But he still hadn't decided if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Well...have you ever tried to find them?"
"No," Zeb snarled in a voice that did not invite debate, fixing his gaze on the sunset instead of his friend. What good would that do? There were only two outcomes, really. Either he would learn that this man had been suffering like him all this time...or that he really was just a cruel, murderous Imperial and Zeb's fate truly was as despicable as he'd first known in the moments when color had first washed into his life. "It's...no. Trust me, Kanan, no good can come a' that. Let it be."
"But if this person's your soulm-"
"Don't say it!" he snarled at the human. "I told you to let it be. It's not as simple as you're makin' out. Not everybody gets a fairytale love story like you'n Hera."
"Like me and..." Again, Kanan's voice trailed off, his cheeks becoming a darker shade of gray as he blushed lightly.
"Well, you are, aren't you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. He'd never asked, but he'd always assumed...had he thought wrong?
"We are," Kanan confirmed with a nod.
"How's that work then?" Zeb asked, latching onto something, anything, that would turn the conversation away from him. "With you bein' a sorta Jedi? Thought they weren't supposed to have attachments. A soulmate's just about the biggest sort of attachment there is."
"You're not wrong," the human returned with a sigh. "How it worked was...when a padawan reached a certain point in their trials of knighthood, they came to a moment when they would be required to surrender the soul bond back to the Force – the ultimate sign of commitment to the Jedi way. To be selfless enough to surrender that kind of connection..."
"Not sure the soulmate would see it that way," Zeb couldn't help commenting. "Might seem a bit more selfish to the person on the other end."
"Maybe...but for all they would know, their soulmate had simply died. It was another reason training started so young. Less likely you would've met your fated partner as a child. Either way, though...I didn't progress far enough in my training to reach a point where I was required to surrender my mark. I still have it," he said, carefully stripping off the armor that protected his right shoulder. Then he shifted aside a slit in the fabric of the shirt to reveal a string of words inscribed on his chest. It was the first time Zeb had seen a human soulmark, and he could see how it shimmered in the sunlight, but the color of it was a mystery to the Lasat.
'Excuse me! Where can I find the repulsorlift entrance to Moonglow?'
"Doesn't look like much, does it," Kanan said with a tender smile, fingers briefly stroking the words before he covered them up again. "Doesn't mean much...but it was more than the words. I was enthralled from the moment I heard her voice. I was a stupid kid, but I would've followed her anywhere."
"And...what do you think you would've done...if you had gone far enough in your trainin' to give up the bond?" Zeb found himself asking, not really sure why it mattered, or if it even did, but curious nonetheless. Could you just give up something like that?
Kanan shrugged. "I don't know. Were that the case, it would mean that the Clone Wars played out a different way and we might not have even had a chance to meet. But they didn't, we did, and here we are."
"How long'd it take her to figure it out?" Zeb continued to ask. He knew Twi'leks didn't have soulmarks, but he didn't know what it was they did have.
"Not long. First time she heard me singing a drinking song. Twi'leks hear the voices of their partners singing to them in their dreams. I didn't know that back when we first met. I couldn't exactly say anything when she didn't react at all to my first words to her. Figured I'd have to earn it another way. But I was pretty deep in my alcohol back in the day. Didn't take much to get me singing, and then she was looking at me like I'd grown a second head and I knew...I just knew."
It was them. It was very much them. And as awkward and fumblingly romantic as it was, it also introduced some notions to Zeb that he hadn't considered before. On the level of logic, he was aware that different races had different soul bond identifiers, but it wasn't something he'd ever really considered in the thousands of times he'd relived that first moment in his head. That man, whoever he was, hadn't been despairing over seeing color for the first time. Color was as much a part of his vision as gray was a part of Zeb's. His partner – his soulmate – had a soulmark...like Kanan's. Somewhere on his body were inscribed the first words Zeb would ever speak to him...and they hadn't spoken. Did this human even know...what they were...what they could be to each other? Would anything change if he knew?
And why was he even still beating himself up over it all? All these years, he'd tried to dismiss it, tried to tell himself it didn't matter, that it didn't both heal and harm him each time another color faded away...that he didn't both need and fear to finally lose amber, too. Bogan's teeth, he wanted to be free of it...but...did he? Really?
Who are you? What's your name? What will it take to make you leave me in peace?
XxX
Alexsandr Kallus wished he could say he was proud of the work he did on Lasan, but whenever he was alone with his own thoughts, whenever he allowed memory to creep up on him in the darkest hours of the night cycle, he knew he wasn't. He had done what was asked of him – done his duty. He had given up what he believed to be right for the sake of something higher that he believed in. The system was broken. The Emperor knew how to fix it. The Empire was about fixing what was broken...
...wasn't it?
Lasan had threatened that stability when it had chosen to throw in its lot with that handful of Wookiee insurgents. Surely they would yield to the Empire when they understood what it was truly about.
Honestly, Alexsandr, it's like you haven't spent your entire life studying them.
What he thought was right didn't matter. It could be given up. He had witnessed firsthand just how broken the Republic was. He had given his loyalty to the Empire because it had promised change. His own petty life could be given in exchange for an ideal like that.
But even he couldn't fully make himself obey when he saw just what kind of damage the T-7 ion disruptors were capable of.
He had given permission to the platoons under his command to use the new weapons, but only at the utmost end of need – when faced with an enemy who absolutely refused to surrender.
But you knew it would come to that...didn't you, Kallus. You know the mind of a Lasat. To surrender is to die.
Probably he had known what it would come to. No Lasat warrior would surrender, but perhaps enough concession could be made for civilians? Perhaps the small but proud Outer Rim world could be left in peace as a colony world with its military dismantled? He had hoped for some sort of compromise...
...but then he had blown away a street of unarmed civilians in addition to the guardsman who had been the focus of his attack.
They couldn't have known. It just wasn't possible. The disruptors were experimental. There was no way their superiors could've known what sort of damage they would do. He had to believe that. Otherwise he would go mad. He had ripped the power core from his own weapon in a moment of horrified shock (though he had held onto it, because surely there would be an inquiry once this was all over...surely), but rather than use the standard issue blaster that was part of his sergeant's kit, he had activated the collapsible bo staff that was his preferred close quarter weapon. If he was expected to help lead this final attack, he would have to do it his own way. So he had rescinded permission for his own commands to use the disruptors, leaping back into the fight without waiting to learn if any of the other commanders had done the same.
He had become lost in the mesmeric dance of combat with the city's small time militia by the time the Guardsman had stepped up to challenge him.
"You! Imperial!" the Lasat had called out, taking a firm stance in the middle of the rubble-filled street before deploying his bo-rifle in the staff configuration. "Face me!"
Kallus quickly fell into a proper dueling pose, saluting his opponent before the two of them began to circle each other.
"You're not like them," the Guardsman declared after several moments of silent observation, moving forward with an experimental jab to his head. Kallus ducked low enough to let the blow pass overhead, moving in with a sweep from below, which the Lasat easily avoided.
"Maybe. Or maybe you don't know the Empire as well as you think you do," he fired back, raising the end of his staff in a feint toward his opponent's mid section. Unfortunately, the Guardsman recognized it for the tactic it was and not an amateur mistake, coming around to meet the real blow when Kallus sent the opposite end of the staff whirling toward his head.
With the sudden disadvantage of his opponent's weight pressing against the end of the staff, Kallus found himself thrown back by the Lasat's sheer strength. He barely managed to keep his feet, moving into a low crouch with his staff swung wide in order to maintain his balance. He was not going to win like this, not against an opponent who was not only larger, stronger, and faster, but also vastly more experienced than he was. No. If he was to triumph, it would have to be by fighting smarter, not harder.
"Heh, believe me, young one, it is impossible to know your enemy as well as you ever think you do," the older warrior told him, their staffs tangling together. "If you knew them that well, you would not be fighting so hard against them."
"Sound advice," Kallus growled low in his throat before cleanly disengaging from the deadlock, collapsing his staff to execute a quick roll backwards before reengaging it as he dropped into a defensive crouch. "Does your statement apply to the Empire?"
The Guardsman actually laughed at that one. "Much as I might not like to concede the point at this exact moment, far be it from me to contradict myself," he said before flipping his staff back to the rifle configuration and firing a shot into a nearby building. Kallus half fell for the trick, gaze flicking back over his shoulder in distraction. The next moment, he found himself pinned to the ground by the Guardsman's reconfigured bo-staff.
He didn't have the strength to hold his opponent back for long, so instead of waiting for the electrified tip to come into contact with his skin, he redirected the force of his enemy's attack so that the tip of the staff ground into the street instead, causing the Guardsman to slip and affording him the chance to slip away.
"You're awfully amused for someone whose world is coming down around their ears," Kallus noted, thinking perhaps to get a rise out of the older warrior, but the Lasat simply offered him a weary, saddened smile as they turned back to one another.
"No better day to laugh than the last one of your life. For now, let's just say that my comfort is revived by the fact that there are some true warriors among you," he said, launching into a series of quick-stepped blows, forcing Kallus to keep on the defensive, but the Imperial managed to maneuver his way out of the retreat with another low move, slipping around behind the Lasat.
"So does that mean you will surrender?" Kallus asked as his enemy came around to face him once more, and in that moment he honestly wasn't sure if he'd meant it to be a joke.
"You misunderstand me, boy," the Guardsman said with a snarl, though there was still amusement in his luminous eyes as he held his bo-staff out in challenge. "I commend the fact that you have strength in you. I didn't say I wouldn't fight."
And so they fought. They moved back and forth against one another, ranging all across the shattered street while the battle raged around them, gradually becoming more of a retreat. Both warriors gave this fight everything they had, with the Lasat unleashing his full strength and range of motion and Kallus keeping low and out of his opponent's range, forcing him to expend his energy and reach, gradually wearing him down without him noticing. Until, ultimately, it was Kallus who delivered the decisive crack to the Guardsman's head, sending him sprawling to the dusty street with blood seeping from the split skin at his temple.
The Guardsman choked out one last laugh, gazing blearily up at the sky as Kallus stood over him, staff held just above his head in the victor's pose. "A glorious battle, young one. Truly...worthy of a warrior's last. You fight- very well. And yet...I believe I am the one who comes out the better."
"And why is that?" Kallus spat out, unable to say how it was he actually felt in this moment.
"Because I may go in peace. But you...you will have to live with yourself."
Kallus took an involuntary step back at that, inhaling sharply. It was such a strange experience for him. Why should this warrior care what he feels, especially since Kallus is the one who's killed him?
Grunting in pain, the Lasat slowly reached out for his fallen weapon. For a moment, Kallus thought to kick it out of reach, but ultimately couldn't bring himself to. He simply remained wary as the Guardsman drew the bo-rifle against his chest, making a sort of clumsy half-salute with it.
"What...what is your name, human?" the Guardsman asked him, voice thick with pain.
Kallus regarded him for a moment before answering, "Kallus. My name is Alexsandr Kallus."
"Then...you have the heart of a warrior...Alexsandr Kallus. Do not let them take it from you," he said, offering up his weapon in as firm a motion as he was able.
For a moment, all Kallus could do was stare at the offered weapon in shock. This...this was this. This was why... Briefly, his gaze flicked between the bo-rifle and his concealed left forearm. Ever since the campaign had begun, he'd been terrified of what he would find beneath his uniform at the close of each day. The now familiar sight of his scarred, battered soulmark...or bare skin, marred only by the rage of the Lasat mercenary's claws. He'd known going into this...that it might be so...that he might be signing on to assist in the death of his own soulmate, but he'd already decided that he couldn't allow himself to cleave to the mark. What he felt didn't matter. His own little life was insignificant. What mattered was bringing peace to a galaxy gone mad – preventing even one more innocent from suffering needlessly. He had sworn to give everything he was to that cause...
...but...even enemies could show respect to one another. As much as it would pain him to accept this gesture of his foe's esteem, couldn't he at least grant an honorable warrior this in his final moments? So, as the Guardsman's arm was beginning to shake with the weight of the weapon, Kallus nodded, collapsing his own staff and accepting the bo-rifle.
The Lasat offered up a relieved smile as he let himself collapse back against the street. Then, eyes closed, he began to chant what sounded like some sort of prayer.
"Ashla praise...for her child that dies and lives again. The circle moves...ever onward...all things in balance in their time. For this guardian, there is no end. The fight continues on in stronger hands...stronger...weaker...different and the same...ever the same...Ashla na silir...Ashla na rever...na velenir sir an..."
His voice fell into Lasana at the last, the words whispered upon fading sighs as his chest rose and fell...then one last time before it did not resume.
Kallus slowly fell to his knees beside his fallen opponent, the bo-rifle clutched in tight, pale fingers. He now knew the reason for his soulmate's anger, and with the thought of that bond curdling maddeningly in his brain, the agent was seized by a kind of insane desperation.
Slinging the rifle onto his back, Kallus tore off his glove and ripped up his sleeve, exhaling a tiny cry of relief when he saw the words, still shimmering upon his arm. Unless he was imagining it, they might've actually been glowing brighter.
'Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!'
Only the Honor Guard...and here he was with a dead Guardsman beside him, and the ashes of Lasan's dead filling the air he breathed. Even though he wasn't supposed to care, wasn't supposed to let it shape his life in any way, here in this moment, Alexsandr Kallus couldn't help but hate himself. Drawing in several shuddered breaths, he pressed a trembling kiss to the mark.
Forgive me. Forgive me. I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?
Kallus just wasn't fully engaged in what was left of the battle after that. He followed vaguely where the fray led. He once found himself locking eyes with a downed Lasat, just within his range from where he found himself standing below the royal palace. Out of habit, he went for his weapon, aiming unsteadily up at the being who was supposed to be his enemy, but the Lasat made no move to return fire or even to flee. He just lay there, the look of horror in his eyes so complete Kallus couldn't bear it. He tore his gaze away, crying out as he dropped to his knees once more.
He was lucky enough to be looking away when the final cluster of proton bombs went off, taking out the palace.
Kallus didn't remember much of the following days. He attended command briefings when summoned, made his reports, but didn't hear much of what was said. He would lie down, but he wouldn't sleep. He would tear open a ration bar, but suddenly find himself sick at the thought of eating it. Some distant part of his brain was aware of just how kriffed up he was after everything, but he couldn't let himself acknowledge it. He didn't acknowledge much of anything until at least three days after the siege had ended – when he caught a glimpse of his soulmark in the 'fresher.
At first, he thought he was imagining it, but when he actually stopped to look at the water trickling over the mark, he found that he wasn't just seeing things. The letters upon his skin were fading, gradually becoming lighter and lighter.
"No," he whispered in horror, fingers tracing desperately along what little of the mark was still there. "Stars, please...no!"
Not this. Not this. Anything but this!
But the mark could not be bargained with. It could not be persuaded by the trembling of his body or the tears pouring down his face as he collapsed to the 'fresher floor. It only continued to fade.
"Please...please don't go...not now," he begged, cradling his arm against his chest as if it weren't part of his own body.
If I lose you now...I will have nothing left.
"Please," he tried one last time, suddenly feeling pain in the scars that crisscrossed his arm. "Don't leave me alone with him. Please."
And with that, just when it seemed it might really be over, the fading stopped. The words were barely there, unbearably light in their new lavender color, but they were not gone. His partner wasn't dead, but something horrible must have happened to them – something that brought them close to death or made them want to give up on living.
There could be no doubt about it anymore. For this to happen now...his soulmate was a Lasat. His soulmate was a Lasat and what he had done to their home, to their people, was unforgivable. This was the end of their journey together, before it had even really had a chance to begin. He couldn't say how long he sat there in the refresher, mourning that bond he'd never really had the chance to experience – long enough for the water to shut down on its own, at least.
Live a life you feel would have made your partner happy.
Kallus laughed bitterly at the memory of his mother's words, a cruel joke in his mind as the tears continued to flow down his face. He was quite certain that what would have made his soulmate happy would have been to have their home world left in peace.
"I had no choice. I had no choice," he choked out, fingers digging desperately into the faded mark, wishing for claws sharp enough to pierce his own skin with.
Didn't you?
"No," he told himself firmly, wiping the tears from his face with a shaking fist. He had made a choice. The galaxy was still in chaos. Only the strict rule of the Empire could succeed where the Republic had failed. No matter how painful this was, he had to see it through. He didn't matter. Probably his partner was better off never meeting him anyway. Maybe...it was better to just leave these things that might've been in the past?
The only way to honor their bond was to make sure that the things he'd done hadn't been for nothing.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, merely pressing his forehead against the mark, not daring to defile the shattered bond with a kiss. He didn't ask for forgiveness this time.
There was no forgiveness.