Nahila stood before the bacta tank looking at Ythros who hung there in a deep, drugged sleep. The medical staff pumped him full of anaesthetics and narcotics the minute he woke up, not to control his pain but to control him. It would not do to have him tearing at himself in order to attack his caretakers and Nahila had sent orders that under no circumstances was he to be released from the tank until she was there to deal with him. His chart indicated that, even though his wounds were healing, he was badly malnourished and dehydrated, so they didn't really need the excuse to keep him there, but it was best to be overcautious where Ythros was concerned.

"Great Force, boy," she sighed, "what have you done?"

The irony was that she'd been away when everything happened because of him. The Jedi Council and several senators were concerned with Nahila's penchant for harboring servants of the Dark Side. Ythros had appeared, half-dead and half-mad, at her doorstep and she had taken him in. She'd fought for him, arguing for her hope that he might be healed, and finally winning with their fear at the thought of him let loose in the Republic or a weapon of the Sith. She'd fought again for Cain, again making the same argument and winning with the same tactic. Cain was immature, uncontrolled, and a dangerously powerful telekinetic. The last thing she wanted to hear was that he had rejoined the war on the opposing side. In both cases, she'd been forced into the concession that neither one should be allowed the full liberties of a Jedi. And now she had taken in this Erzabet, Darth Erzabet. Who would she take next? Revan? Darth Malak? She'd nearly snapped back yes, yes she would if they wanted to return to the Light.

Did Erzabet truly wish to return? Ketan was still in no shape to think clearly and Cain would certainly defend the woman with his last breath, which he had very nearly done. She needed to talk to Corev, but she needed to talk to someone else first.

She needed to talk to Erzabet.

Corev let her in when she knocked. Erzabet was again sitting at the edge of her bed, immobilized by some internal mechanism that only released her with the clock.

"Thank you, Corev. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with Erzabet alone."

Corev looked doubtfully from the rigid Erzabet to Nahila, but bowed and left the room.

She took a seat on a stool opposite the other woman. "You will note," she said with a slight edge of irritation to her voice, "that I said speak with, not talk at. I think you can hear me, in fact, I have no doubt of it. Please show me the respect of not ignoring me." Erzabet did not move. Nahila sighed and looked at the clock. Forty-five minutes until it rang the next hour. She had no intention of waiting for this woman's next scheduled round of consciousness.

She focused her will on her, speaking into her mind and well as her ears.

"Wake! UP!"

Nahila wasn't known to be a particularly powerful Jedi, but she had her strengths, and making herself heard through any number of barriers, physical or otherwise, was one of them. But this was...very strange. She had expected a defense of some kind, but Erzabet resisted not at all and Nahila heard her words ring and echo in the other woman's mind. Nevertheless, Erzabet blinked once and focused. She looked at Nahila and said nothing.

No resistance. She does exactly what she must and nothing else. "Thank you. Now, please tell me what happened between you and Ythros."

"He went mad and attacked Ketan, I stopped him."

"So I've heard," Nahila answered dryly. "But that is not what I asked, is it? Please tell me," her voice grew steely, "what happened between you and Ythros."

Erzabet appeared to consider this. "I have the ability to...calm the mind. My own. The minds of others."

Interesting. "So you calmed him. And healed him too, it would appear." This was not phrased in the form of a question, so Erzabet said nothing. Nahila asked again. "You healed Ythros' wounds--why didn't you tell us you had such an ability?"

"You did not ask."

Oh, well of course. Silly question.

"Well, then, I will ask now: what are your Force abilities?"

Erzabet hesitated slightly in her reply. "I can Heal. I can calm others."

She wasn't about to be satisfied with answers she already knew. She pushed with her will against the other woman's mind and again felt no resistance, felt nothing at all. "Yes, I'm aware of that. What other Force abilities do you have?"

Erzabet's gaze flickered slightly. "I can make others agree with me--"

"Force Persuasion? Hm. Go on--what else?"

"I can draw strength in the Force from others, and as I can calm their minds, I can also...disturb them."

"Is that what you did to Ythros?"

"No. I did not attack him or seek to bend him to my will in any way."

Nahila sat regarding Erzabet's blank face for a moment. Force Healing and Drain Force--those rarely appeared together. Indeed, they were widely regarded to be psychologically and spiritually incompatible. Interesting. The inflicting of mental distress was a very common Sith attack, so that was not particularly remarkable. This calming ability was unusual--a variant of the Beast Trick, perhaps, that worked on sentient minds? She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that, but it also did not seem to be a particularly dangerous ability. She would need to consult the archives and see if there was mention of something similar.

She stood to leave and Erzabet asked, "And what are your Force abilities, Jedi?"

Raising one eyebrow slightly, Nahila answered, "As you know, I have some skill in telepathy, and I can Heal a little. Beyond that, my abilities are fairly conventional, I can move objects, shield myself from attacks mental and physical. I suppose my only notable skill is one called Shatterpoint."

Erzabet seemed slightly surprised at this, but said nothing.

"Don't be too impressed. I can't determine the single point of weakness in an enemy's line of battle, or determine whose actions will change the course of history. You have heard the phrase, "Don't sweat the little stuff?" Well, it helps me distinguish the big stuff from the little stuff." She rose to leave but took one last, hard look at Erzabet. "You," she muttered half to herself, "are not little stuff."

...

There was a light.

It was moving. Back and forth, as if attached to a rubber string... or a twitching tendon. No wait... he was moving not the light.... Bob, bob, bob along goes the scarecrow in his water-egg. Like a little ship of worries in a sea of ignorance...

He knew.

He knew and nobody else did.

Not that this merry sailor could whistle it, no... They would not hear his tune of warning. They had built a shoal and now this floating klaxon was unable to warn them of being dashed upon it. They were too close to it now, too close to what even he had only just managed to see before he was broken upon it.

There was a Siren in their midst and the man overboard was the only one who recognized the song... even as it gripped him...

The man overboard breathed deep and relaxed as he drowned... the sedatives were an odd mix, designed to dampen impulse and control. They were designed to stop a Force user hurting himself as he hung there... hahahaha... oh the irony... He'd laugh if he could move his mouth.

They came, on occasion, those who sought to find out why he had fallen overboard, but he didn't need to talk to them. They were all deeper in their private seas than he was inside the bacta! Ketan wanted to calm an already still pool, Erzabet to stare at him as he had stared at her, Cain to unravel this new threat, and Corev with Erzabet... there was a man he didn't understand, and what he wanted was a mystery. That was when he was dragged from sedation and into the pain of memory.

Cain, Cain Ythros liked. The boy knew a threat when he saw it and took the appropriate action. He was hard outside and hardening on the inside with every passing day. Yes, Ythros liked Cain as much as misery loves company. Would he be able to save himself before he was like the scarecrow? If not, Ythros almost pitied the fact that he would have no scars to hide behind and curse at, come his fall.

And then there was Nahila. He hadn't spoken to her yet, and he would avoid it if he could. He cared for her opinions and her scorn would be unbearable if she chose to give it, her pity a thousand times worse. She had been here, Ythros could feel her presence in the temple by those that walked by, they were hurried and purposeful, they had direction only the walking lecture could instill.

Walking lecture, he needed to remember that one for later... if he could.

Another dose of sedative arrived and all he had just thought was forgotten... only to be thought again a few minutes later...

There was a light. It was moving.

...

The Battle of Malachor V changed them all.

Cain, thank the Force, had been lucky enough to be far back on the General's flagship, amongst the others loyal to Revan. But even that far back, he felt it. Ships crushed, wrecked, burned - Jedi and Mandalorians alike snuffed out in an instant. Such was the Mass Shadow Generator, an atrocity that tore through Malachor V in to its very core. So much loss of life in such a short span was a 'disturbance' that shook the mind of every Force-sensitive there. Many went mad, and Cain did not blame them. To peer into death itself, to witness an abomination as horrific as that weapon...when reality is horrific to behold, the only appropriate response to it is to become insane.

Cain, however, did not. He got close to it, as the flagship passed what was now a massive graveyard, and it left him weak, crippled inside his mind. Malachor V had changed them all.

Cain considered himself a master of Force Telekinesis. He could take his body, less physically conditioned than many Jedi, and turn it into a living weapon. He had torn through solid metal, swept aside the enemy several soldiers at a time, and moved so fast that even the incoming horizon became a complete blur.

That was before Malachor V.

Cain was usually too arrogant to train, too self-confident to believe he had anything less than complete control over his abilities, but that insane freak had certainly taken his toll on Cain before Erzabet resolved the situation. Therefore, shaken and feeling more than vulnerable, Cain had spent the day meditating, and now that night had come, he thrust away any need for sleep, and trained.

Training was the wrong word, however - what Cain did was more akin to showing off. A form of self-affirmation, Cain Erelen, self proclaimed master of telekinesis, stood in the center of the training room as a combat droid fired frequent, methodical, live rounds from its blaster. Every round fired was deflected before it hit the young Jedi, a mix of Force Speed and Repulse, easily intercepted and thrust aside by a small, powerful wave of energy. Combat, even combat as slow and repetitive as this, gave Cain a clarity of mind meditation could not, and thus, with this clarity of mind, he came to a simple conclusion;

Ythros was filled with hate.

Ythros had turned this hate on Ketan.

Ythros had attacked Ketan.

Ythros' hate for Erzabet was clear, even as he hung suspended in that tank.

Ythros would attack Erzabet.

Cain would see Ythros dead.

Cain focused on the droid, and smiled to himself as its head collapsed into itself, crushed beneath his will. The droid was thrust back, denting the wall of the training room as it buckled against the first barrier it found.

Malachor V had changed them all.

Cain had no complaints.

Corev sat on the couch he slept on in Erzabet's room. He was fatigued but for some reason he couldn't sleep. It had been happening a lot lately it seemed, but tonight was different, as if something was wrong, but he couldn't place why. He just had a feeling.

He occasionally glanced over in Erzabet's direction, where she sat in her meditative substitute for sleep. She had been that way for awhile now, ever since they had returned from her lesson with Ketan. His head fell back to rest on the arm of the couch as he stared at the ceiling trying to calm himself enough to get at least a little sleep, but his thoughts slipped to Ythros and the scene that circled restlessly in his exhausted mind.

Ketan crawled across the ground, blood dripping from his wounds as Erzabet walked past him towards a figure in the middle. Corev tore his eyes from the bloody Ketan and focused on the one Erzabet strode to meet, realizing too late the figure was Ythros, dripping blood from many wounds. and there appeared to be bite marks all over his arms. The wounds on Ythros were in the same place as those on Ketan, so Corev could only assume that Ythros was the source of all of this.

Before he could do anything, Erzabet reached Ythros and extended her hand. He did not know what she did next, no matter how hard he thought back on it later. All he knew was that somehow she had placed her hand on Ythros' chest and brought the madman to a standstill.

The next day, Corev stood beside Erzabet in the med bay, facing away from Ythros' cell, still trying to puzzle out the events of the other night. Corev had wanted to step in but he had not had time, and in truth, he was not needed. Ythros had become a beast and Erzabet calmed him with simply a touch...

He saw a shadow move around the entrance to the med-bay and stiffened as Cain walked in, his face burning with rage. The young Jedi was clearly on a mission of revenge and no matter how Ythros had acted or what he had done, Corev could not let him come to any harm.

He stepped into Cain's path and drew the blaster pistol from his side, not entirely sure he would have to fire. He didn't want to if he could help it, but Cain did not even seem to see him. Before he could do anything to stop him, Erzabet turned to Corev and simply said, "No." He hesitated and looked towards her and that was all Cain needed to take him by surprise. Before he could react he was flung through the air and his last conscious thoughts before he collided with the wall were muddled by surprise.

...

When Cain approached Ythros' bacta tank, it was clear murder was on his mind. He drew no weapons, but it was evident from his walk, in his eyes, through his cold focus on Ythros that he planned nothing short of ending his life.

Corev drew his blaster, and, had Erzabet not stopped this, he might have put a bolt through Cain then and there. However, all it took was a singular syllable, a firm "No!" was enough to make Corev hesitate, for the soldier to momentarily lower his weapon, and for Cain to lose his focus, to turn to that one syllable, and make one fleeting gesture.

Catapulted through two tables and into the far wall behind him, Corev was buried under medical equipment, unconscious after his head collided with the wall.

This was Cain in his fury - unrestrained by the weak, haunting emotions that plagued his mind. This was the warrior that had matured on the battlefield, focused and adamant in his belief that any foe he met would be struck down. Forceful strides, a terrible presence and a mind bent on murder replaced that of a shattered, broken and vulnerable boy, as Cain visibly prepared another blast, approaching the bacta Tank.

A warrior approached the tank, but the fear of the boy began to seep in as Erzabet intercepted him, stood between him and the tank, and gave him a look Cain would reminisce on many times in the future.

It was nothing like a scowl. Her face remained expressionless, as it often did, but whereas normally she gave the impression of being immovably serene, to Cain she seemed simply...empty, incapable of compassion or sympathy, no purpose or emotion in those eyes, just a cold abyss. The difference, although subtle, terrified Cain and he found that as he built that telekinetic wave, the fear grew.

The more aggressive he became, the more the child in Cain crept into his head, made him anxious, whittled away his focus, and filled him with a horrible dread - everything he could not allow whilst trying to build up a huge wave of living energy.

The energy dissipated as his aggression wasted itself on that cold abyss, thrusting itself outwards as he lost control. He was able to send it out to the sides, avoiding the woman he almost worshipped, but throwing any object in its path across the room.

Cain shuddered, a mixture of rage and effort as the last of the wave fell from his control, but Erzabet remained empty, remained calm and collected. The Force rippling and pulsing around her, the woman somehow remained completely still, as if Cain was not even there.

She spoke in the same fashion, not to him but rather through him. "Do not kill him. Death would be a mercy and he does not wish for mercy from anyone."

It seemed as if Cain was ready to begin again, to bring back the part of him that could very easily kill, but rather than this, he sighed, his regard for her overcoming his blood-lust. He was far from calm, however, and when he spoke, his tone was uneven, strained, with barely concealed anger.

"If he lives, one of us dies. How long before this rabid dog turns on you, or comes back for Ketan?"

Assured that she had Cain under control, she regained her usual serenity, "Dog? You underestimate him, I think. And me. But this dog, as you call him, has been leashed, and will stay so."

Cain tentatively began to adopt a tone of concern, rather than anger. "You are too trusting. One such as him is too psychotic to be 'leashed.' He can barely control himself, how can you be at all sure you can do any better? If I put him down now, he will never get the chance to hurt anyone again. He will never get the chance to hurt you."

"I do not trust the man, I trust the psychosis. It seeks to consume him. He will not fight the leash, he will cling to it because it keeps the madness at bay."

His concern grew at this. This was a dangerous game for her to play. "What if you are wrong? What comprehension can you possibly claim of such a degraded, self-destructive mind? The man ate himself! What possible understanding could anyone have of that, let alone the ability to control such a mind?"

"I comprehend him very well. He is not an animal, he is a man badly broken and badly reassembled. You cannot understand what that means, but I can. I do. I control my thoughts and he knows that. He craves control but he cannot control himself, and so he allows me to do it. I am necessary to him. He will not harm me."

Cain was not assured, and he was growing impatient - he did not know whether Ythros was conscious or not in that tank, and could hear this, but the fact that he still breathed was a mockery, a sign that Cain was too weak to do what had to be done. "Why? What assurance do you have?"

"That which assures you that I am in danger assures me that I am not."

Inside, Cain raged at this riddle, the flippant way in which Erzabet discarded his concern, but he was not so broken that he could not keep control of his anger towards her. "Mind games and doublespeak will not make me leave this room, I need to know why you are safe with him. Why he will not cut your throat the first chance he gets."

Erzabet turned to the tank, considering the patchwork man within. When she spoke, it was to Ythros, in an intimate manner, and this managed to add to Cain's inner rage.

"I know who did this," she murmured to the monster, "I have seen him. He was as a god to you, was he not? And now you think you have become an apostate, but every wound you inflict, on yourself, on others, is an offering to him."

"I am getting impatient, Erzabet - I just want to keep you safe, how can I even have a chance of that if I don't understand what is going on?"

She still refused to face him, and kept her eyes on Ythros, approaching the tank and resting one hand upon it, speaking to him as if there was no one else in the room, no one else in the world. "Could you explain it to them, what happened? Can you explain it to yourself? You can only show them, again and again you show them, but they do not understand how it was, how it is. Do you sleep? I think you do, but only in blood. You must satisfy him before he lets you rest. He follows you in your waking hours. Mine follows me in my sleep. We resist, but in the end, they exact their tribute."

By this time, Cain had calmed, the blood-lust gone, and when he spoke it was with the same mix of concern and intrigue that he often addressed her with. "What do you see in your sleep, Erzabet?"

She answered his question but ignored him. "Water. Fire. Scalpels and clamps. The box. The tank. The records of those who came before me. The electrodes. Myself before the mirror, not only subject but audience to him as he went about his work."

"Wh-Who is he? And why? Why is this being done to you?"

Still she spoke to Ythros, and still she did not seem to want to acknowledge Cain.

"You were a plaything, were you not? I think you were. Did you try to amuse him? Bore him? Did you cease to try? Did you seek the exit, however it might be found? I was the subject of an experiment, the last of many. My purpose was not to amuse him but to satisfy his terrible curiosity. He was very pleased with me, you know, but it only made him more curious, more inventive in his experiments. I did not seek an exit but I found it nevertheless. It is still there, that door. You escaped. You are escaping still, you will spend your entire life escaping. You never found the exit though. You still search for it, but your are looking in the wrong place."

Cain felt sickened, and this time his anger was not focused at anyone he could name, it was at this unknown assailant, this torturer and experimenter.

"What experiment? And what exit? You escaped?"

She lost focus on even the tank in front of her. "An inquiry into the limits of endurance. I did not escape. I merely left. Through the door. This door." She sat, with no sigh of awareness, completely unresponsive. Cain had seen this before, and it meant nothing more was to be said on the matter.

He looked at the bacta tank before him, looked into Ythros' eyes. He hoped those eyes were looking back, would remember that he could have struck, could have taken his life whilst he lay drugged in the tank.

Turning on his heel, Cain left the cluttered mess of a room.