AN: Now-AU in which Aitahea, Erithon, and Isme are not the Barsen'thor, Havoc, or Darth Imperious; just your run of the mill galactic heroes.
For Nick. This is your fault.
"Younglings, this way! Hurry!" Jedi Master Faron called, sweeping the children past him into a small classroom. His five – no, four - young charges scampered through the open door and darted into the shadows, feeling their minder's urgency. Master Faron glanced down the hallway before silently closing the door behind him. Children scrambled under tables and behind benches as the Jedi Temple quaked around them.
"M-m-master Faron?" a wavering voice called.
"Hush now, younglings. We must be silent," Faron shushed, reaching out in the Force to brush each young mind reassuringly. In return he felt fear, confusion, and anxiety, though it calmed minutely at his touch. Beyond their tiny study room, there was even worse: pain, anguish, and… death.
"Little ones. Listen to me," the minder whispered, "Search your memories. Find the very happiest one you know, and meditate on it. Live in that memory." Faron closed his eyes, a moment of regret, an instant of concern. Then he detached his lightsaber from his belt.
Master Faron hadn't powered on the weapon in more than twenty years. He carried it as the symbol it was: to demonstrate that he was a member of the Jedi Order. He'd never had to kill, only rarely had to defend himself even at the worst of times. The empath had spent the majority of his time as a Jedi training Initiates like himself, some of the most vulnerable of Force-sensitive children.
He continued to observe his young students, settling into peaceful meditations as he'd asked. He projected one last soothing aura and then left the room in silence, lightsaber gripped tightly in his hand. They were coming. Sith.
Master Faron ignited his lightsaber: green, traditional for a consular. He gazed into the blade's bright glow for a moment, and then the attackers swept around the corner. The sage actually found himself recoiling from the aura of dark side energy surrounding the three Sith who approached.
"Well, well, well, my friends. What is this now?" The closest – a human female - sneered, whipping the ruby blade of her lightsaber around in a lazy circle. Master Faron shifted to a defensive stance and said nothing.
A Zabrak female, her horns tipped in black, sniggered. "It's a minder, isn't it? Like a nursemaid?" She edged up behind the leader, leering. "Obviously he's protecting some little innocent Jedi younglings around here."
Master Faron stiffened, a shock of panic racing up his spine. He felt one of his students falter in his blissful meditation, surprised and curious. The final Sith, a tall human male, lightsaber unlit, pushed past the other two and stood face to face with the consular.
"We aren't here to play games, you two nitwits," he hissed, circling to Faron's left side, away from the classroom door. The Jedi followed his movements closely, keeping his lightsaber as a ward between himself and the Sith, between his charges and the darkness.
"Fine, then, if you're going to be that way about it. He looks too soft for me, anyway," the first replied, shrugging and deactivating her lightsaber with a snap. The Zabrak giggled again, no mirth in the sound at all.
"You can't protect them, you know," the man said, gazing solidly into Faron's eyes. The gaze of the Sith was tinged with red, just the slightest glow marring otherwise perfectly normal human eyes. Faron shook his head.
"It is not whether I can or cannot, Sith. It is what is determined by the Force. You cannot understand."
The young Sith smiled maliciously, his eyes blazing brighter for a moment. "It's not that I cannot, poor Jedi. It's that I simply don't care."
And then he attacked. Master Faron blocked the first two blows easily, but a third seared deep into his shoulder, a jolt of fiery agony that left his weapon hand numb. His lightsaber dropped from nerveless fingers, the blade sizzling out instantly. Moments after, a vast roar sounded, the rumble of stone and mortar breaking apart. Dust fell between the two opponents as they glared into each other's eyes. One of the younglings in the classroom screamed.
"See, Master Jedi? There is nothing you can do. We will tear this temple down atop you; it will be your tomb. The Jedi are finished."
Jedi Master Faron straightened boldly, facing the Sith. "Our work is never finished, young man. The Jedi live on. The galaxy will see peace again." He paused for a moment, reaching out to his Initiates, a final touch of calm and… love. "You cannot win."
The Sith smiled bleakly, shook his head, and raised his lightsaber. "On the contrary." His blade struck-
Aitahea shot upright, grasping the sheets to her throat. The outcry was trapped in her chest, binding her heart into a knot, painful and tight.
"Lights!" she gasped, waiting agonizing seconds until the room slowly brightened. She looked to her left, eyes automatically seeking out the silver cylinder of her lightsaber hilt on the stand next to the bed. It lay there looking solid and real, and she reached out with a trembling hand to touch it, to feel the reassurance of cool metal and crystal.
More than ten years later, and the Sacking of Coruscant still haunted the young Jedi Master. She had been only a child, an Initiate, when the tenuous peace began in the wake of the Sith Empire's attack – Aitahea now held the power and prestige that could have saved them all. Her fellow younglings and Master Faron, all murdered, and only she remained.
Wakeful but now calm, Aitahea considered the dream, taking it to pieces and examining each part without emotion. Part dream, part memories that were not her own, shared through the Force. She hadn't been in the Jedi Temple at the time it was attacked and couldn't know of this specific event. Saved by a twist a fate, a simple scheduling occurrence that placed her safely elsewhere on Coruscant as the temple was razed. She was the fifth youngling, the unaccounted-for child.
As a strong empath, Aitahea hadn't needed to be near the temple to feel the suffering of her friends and teachers. Seated next to her younger sister, Tember, and their father as they watched their mother and wife being honored for her work as a teacher, Aitahea had gone rigid and white as snow when the Sith attack on the Temple began. The young Initiate gasped like one drowning, and in the same instant the doors crashed in. Imperial troopers flooded into the school, weapons aimed and ready.
Though not Jedi, it was Aitahea's parents who saved everyone that day. After calming the audience, Aitahea's mother negotiated a detainment period for the faculty and attendees of the school and the other visitors who were in attendance that evening. Rather than the devastation that could have occurred, the Daviin family kept their precious community calm, and two days later when the Treaty of Coruscant was passed, all the captives were released unharmed… including Aitahea, her Force-sensitivity and early Jedi training carefully hidden.
And she knew she owed everything to them. Her parents, who continued to teach. The remaining Jedi who whisked her off Courscant and continued her training. Her master, her friends, and those who had perished at the hands of the Sith.
When Aitahea dreamed of the Jedi Temple, all her trials, all her knowledge, all her triumphs against the Sith felt small next to the sacrifices of those who came before her.
There was no point in lingering on the sadness of the past; that way lay the dark side. With a sigh, the consular rose from her bed, dressing silently in the earthtone robes of the Order. She wore almost no armor, relying instead on more peaceful methods of interaction. When diplomacy failed to diffuse a dangerous situation, the light tunic and robes allowed for the agility and speed she preferred. She'd just slipped into the subtly-patterned chestnut cloak when the comm in her private quarters pinged.
"Master, are you awake?" A robotic voice called across the connection. It was C2-N2, the ship's droid. "I'm deeply sorry to disturb your rest, Master Daviin, but there's an urgent comm for you from Tython. Shall I send it to your quarters?"
"No, thank you, C2, I'll be out in a moment."
"Of course, Master." Aitahea smiled at the earnest voice, then ran a hand lightly over her pale hair, smoothing a few flyaways back into the neatly woven braid coiled around her head. She left the hood of her cloak down and clipped her lightsaber to her belt before exiting her quarters. Her ship, the Luminous, hosted not only herself and the fretful protocol droid, but her friend and pilot, Prelsiava Tern, as well as several ambassadors from the Outer Rim. Already on their way to Coruscant to deliver the ambassadors, Aitahea was surprised to hear from the ancestral home of the Jedi.
In the main room, Aitahea activated the holocomm and stepped back to see Grand Master Satele Shan flicker into existence. Aitahea straightened; while she had known Master Shan since she herself was a youngling, being called upon directly by the heart of the Jedi Order was a significant occasion. The Grand Master's features, mature but still sharply beautiful, regarded the young Jedi with approval.
"Grand Master, it's an honor," Aitahea acknowledged and offered a respectful bow.
"Aitahea Daviin, it's wonderful to see you. You've been making an exceptional impression on the Council of late." The Grand Master's warm smile crinkled the corners of her dark eyes. "Even when you were a child, I knew you would do great things."
Aitahea felt a blush spread across her cheeks but simply nodded her appreciation of the praise. "I only seek to follow the Force, Grand Master. How can I be of service to the Order?"
"Gracious as always, Master Daviin. Your willingness is appreciated. We need you now to attend to an important mission. We have recently received some disturbing intelligence that a Sith apprentice has been hunting down Rakata artifacts in the Outer Rim."
Aitahea nodded gravely, her delicate features drawn. "I've had firsthand experience with some of these relics. They can be exceptionally dangerous."
"Just so, Master Daviin. Both the Jedi and the Sith have made extreme efforts to locate and retrieve these ancient technologies, but this artifact's powers are distinctly troubling: the Sith are seeking a generator or focus of some kind that can – through a gruesome ritual sacrifice – empower a single Force-user to epic proportions. Invincibility, even immortality, or so the rumors state."
An icy shiver raced up the consular's spine as she listened to the Grand Master. "That is without a doubt a tool of the dark side, Master."
"Which is why we must locate and secure it first. Allowing the Sith to use this technology to create such a living Force weapon is unacceptable." Master Shan appeared to pace restlessly in the holo, arms folded and posture tense. "You've proven to be an exceptional investigator when it comes to relics like this one, and in the case of it being found by this Sith apprentice first, we trust in your diplomatic skills to sway her to give the generator up. And as a last resort…"
"Of course, Grand Master." Aitahea nodded, reluctance in her voice. As a consular, she was a gentle voice of reason first, a warrior second – though she was as equally accomplished with her lightsaber as she was in diplomacy. She regretted the few lives she'd been compelled to take, but lived in the solace that it was for the benefit of the Republic and the galaxy… she hoped.
"In addition to the focusing artifact, we suspect there will also be a Rakata-Sith holocron with instructions on how to use it. They may be found in the same location, but it's more likely they were separated and lost at some point, whether by accident or with intention."
Aitahea confirmed, sending a brief message detailing the change of course to Prelsiava over her datapad. "I'll start the search immediately, Grand Master Shan."
"Thank you, Aitahea. I'm sending the intelligence we've already gathered to you now." Aitahea's datapad chimed, and she spared a glance to the information that began scrolling across the screen. "And we aren't sending you alone."
Aitahea's head shot up, eyes surprised. "I expected this to be a solo mission if it requires such strident confidentiality, Master."
Grand Master Shan gave a brief smile before retreating to her typical stoic expression. "The Republic military has a vested interest in this artifact being recovered and secured and has extended their own offer of assistance on this mission."
Aitahea had genuinely appreciated the skills and efforts put forth by the Republic military in several of her recent assignments. She had been sent frequently in the past to add the support and expertise of the Jedi to particularly troubling or unusual missions, and for the most part had seen nothing less than the fiercest and most selfless of warriors, sacrificing much for the good of the Republic.
Nevertheless, even in the years after the Sacking of Coruscant, the Jedi still found themselves mistrusted and even despised by certain factions in the Senate, and distrust and distance from the military forces as well. While military members seldom shared the ire of those in high places on Coruscant, the Order was considered more of a convenient and powerful tool than the wise council it had been.
"Of course, Grand Master. Any help is welcome." Aitahea meant it wholeheartedly. An investigation of this sort always benefited from extra sets of eyes.
"Excellent. You'll be rendezvousing with Major…" Satele's eyes ran over a datapad briefly handed to her from outside the holo, "Erithon Zale. He'll meet you at Aurek Base on Hoth. Our last piece of intelligence indicated that the Sith apprentice is headed there. She may already be planetside, so you'll have to hurry."
"I'll have Prelsiava drop me at the orbital station; she can continue on to Coruscant with the ambassadors we have on board."
"Very well, Master Daviin. Your companion is already en route; you'll meet him on the surface." Master Shan paused meaningfully, tilting her head with a brief but amused smirk at Aitahea. "Wear layers, Master Jedi."