Author's Note: Chapters twenty-five and twenty-six have been posted together because one was too long by itself and they needed to go together. Stuff needs to get handled angst-wise and then the plot can move on and we can all get on with our lives. :)Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.

--T

Chapter 25

Macen

Brother…I can't do it. I can't. She is too powerful. I sensed it from the moment I saw her…even before then, when I landed on Manaan, but I was careless. I cannot do it. Even now I wonder that the amulet will protect me from her.

Lirik sent these thoughts to Lanik as he marched along the corridors of Ahto City, surrounded by the Exile's crew. There was no risk in contacting Lanik—the Force bond between them was unbreakable and untouchable—but Lirik was having a hard time concentrating. He hoped Lanik heard but was about to give up for the party had arrived at the hotel, but there came a whisper in his mind and Lirik sighed with relief…until he heard his brother's words.

"You know what the price of failure is, Lirik. You felt the shock more than I and then you warned me. Now it is I who warn you. "

Lirik scowled. You haven't seen Darth Tertius. You don't understand—

"Brother, I will help you as I can, but I am far away and have my own problems, as I tried to speak to you about earlier. It seems we both have a Jedi bitch to deal with and it would be a pity if neither of us proved up to the task. Use your wits, for you are clever. But do not come to me with what you cannot do. Don't shame me with your fear…and don't let that fear ruin all that we have worked for. Find a weakness in her and expose it. Every Jedi who has not embraced the power of the dark side has one…

Lanik was older than he by four minutes and it seemed to Lirik that his brother marked those minutes in years. He was about to return a snide remark but the party had approached the room in which the third Jedi resided and so Lirik ceased his communication. He surreptitiously made sure his amulet—the twin of Lanik's—was safely concealed under his rumpled robes and pasted on a deferential smile for the Exile as she activated the door to old man's room.

The meeting was long and serious, and Lirik thought the Exile had seemed torn between remaining on Manaan and journeying to Coruscant immediately. She and the older Jedi—Jolee Bindo by name and an irritating old coot to Lirik's thinking—planned to work together on something, though both were vague as to what that was. At first, Lirik was curious to know if whatever the two were planning had ramifications for his master and the Sith. He nearly snorted aloud, then, to discover it had to do with healing and nothing more. What a waste of time. Obviously neither of them have learned to appreciate the power and satisfaction that comes with inflicting pain… Lirik flinched when he saw Jolee watching him through narrowed eyes and his hand almost went to the amulet to ensure it was still there. Lirik smiled innocently but he found the old man's eyes on him again and again throughout the meeting. I may have to deal with him, Lirik couldn't help think. Perhaps an accident…

After much blather and talk and planning, Lirik finally heard what he had been waiting to hear—that the Exile would travel to Coruscant in one week's time. This allowed her crew to rest, for her to train the pilot who was—Lirik was slow to discover—a burgeoning Jedi himself, and for the Exile to putter around with the old man. The Twi'lek and the younger Jedi were free to amuse themselves as they liked.

The meeting broke up and Lirik bid a hasty farewell, citing his weariness from the journey to Manaan. No one asked him where he had come from and he didn't offer. Let them think Coruscant. Their ignorance could become a great weapon. This was one of many observations Lirik made over the course of what would have otherwise been a tedious affair and he wanted to be alone to ruminate and plot and plan with his brother. He retreated to his room and locked the door behind him. It was his practice to sit cross-legged on the floor, as though meditating, when contacting Lanik over serious matters, but his recent experiences with Darth Tertius made him less desirous of prone positions and so he sat on the bed and closed his eyes.

The Exile cannot be touched. Master was a fool to think I alone could do the job. Perhaps Darth Tertius, but not me. She is keen and powerful in the Force; she would sense my intentions—amulet or no—instantly. She must fall in the attack on Coruscant if she is to fall at all. She is coming to you in one week's time.

"Interesting," Lanik mused. "Well, that certainly puts things into motion, now doesn't it? However, while I don't doubt you speak the truth regarding your inability to complete you task, I do hope Master feels the same when you tell him."

Lirik grew angry. For your sake as well as mine, I remind you that you'd do better to help me than to threaten, Lanik. If Master does not agree, you will suffer for it as much as I.

"Perhaps," Lanik said, his voice sounding cold and hard in Lirik's mind. The part of Lirik that had once been good and had loved his brother stirred like a dead thing brought to life for a moment and then stilled again. Lirik and Lanik were nearly identical down to the last detail, but for one aspect—both brothers would destroy the other if the count required it, and Lanik would not hesitate. Lirik would. And it was that hesitation, a momentary and minute thing that would come and go without notice to anyone else, that was the lone difference in the brothers…and it separated them by light years.

"I suppose Master might not be too angry at your failure," Lanik continued. "It is doubtful Bastila would convene the Council at all if the Exile turned up murdered. That woman is jumpy enough as it is. You may have inadvertently saved yourself, brother, from the count's wrath. Hmm, I will think on it and perhaps craft a report to Master that will save both our skins. A new plan is in order, one that wipes out every last Jedi Master in one fell swoop. All right, what else?"

Lirik couldn't help but feel thankful that his brother would make the report to Master and not he, but he suppressed it quickly. Lanik would be impossible to live with he suspected Lirik owed him anything.

Lirik continued his report. The old Jedi is a gray if I ever saw one. I think he suspects me, which I I don't care for, and he has the Exile's ear. He may prove to be quite a nuisance.

"Kill him, then, and be done with it."

Lirik smirked. Bold words from you, brother. Last time I checked, the body count of Jedis on Coruscant has remained a steady and constant…zero.

Lanik chuckled and Lirik couldn't help but grin. Baiting one another as to who more faithfully nourished and gave succor to the dark side of the Force was a favorite pastime between them.

"I play a different game than you, brother," Lanik said. "But let us not bicker…tell me more."

There is a young Jedi…a trifle, really. He is strong in the Force but I sense subtlety is not his strong suit. In wielding the Force, he would shout when a whisper would do. He has not yet mastered the intricacies of his ability. There are strong emotions in him as well—I felt them though he hardly said a word.

"Can he be turned?"

Lirik shrugged as though Lanik was sitting beside him instead of half a galaxy away. Maybe. But he is not who I am interested in. The Exile has a lover…

"Do tell."

Lirik leaned back on his bed and laced his fingers behind his head. I have thought of a game of my own to play.

"I sense relief in you, brother…"

Lirik smiled at his own cleverness. Lanik had his polish and his intellect—Lirik had his wits. Yes, brother. I'm smart enough to know that acting against the Exile would be stupid and my life would be forfeit…Of course, I would be sure to expire in the most excruciatingly painful manner so you'd have something to remember me by--

"I would expect nothing less," Lanik put in jovially.

But, Lirik continued, a slow, satisfied smile spreading over his lips, there is another way to fulfill Master's commands besides whatever plans you will concoct. A way that I think will prove to be much more gratifying… and loads more fun…

Atton didn't like the meeting that went on for too long. He didn't like that they were going to Coruscant in a week. He didn't like Jolee who wanted to monopolize Dane's time with some project of his own, and he didn't like that Macen was still on the planet somewhere, no doubt readying for his private time with her. Atton was hungry, too, and the small amount of liquor he had consumed on an empty stomach was giving him a headache. His one small comfort was that Lirik Thrakill looked just as miserable as Atton felt and he exchanged commiserating glances with the Jedi more than once. He is like no Jedi I have ever met, Atton thought and when the meeting was over and Lirik muttered an offer to join him sometime in the cantina so that they might be "reunited with the alcohol they had so abruptly abandoned," Atton agreed.

Dane bid farewell to Jolee and then she and Atton returned to their room.

"So…Coruscant, eh?" Atton asked when they were alone again and the door shut. He threw himself on the bed and tucked his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling. "What happens then?"

"Then a Jedi Council convenes, I suppose," Dane replied. "That doesn't interest me as much as speaking with Bastila Shan and Carth Onasi. Between the two of them, I hope to learn as much as I can of Revan so that when I go, I am prepared."

"Uh huh," Atton remarked, trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of his tone and failing miserably. "So, to recap, you have the Council and then you meet with Revan's old pals and then you go, right? How much time we talkin' here, total? Two weeks? Three?"

"Atton—"

"I just want to know how much time we have before—" he bit off his words and sighed heavily. "I want to be prepared too," he finished, his eyes still on the ceiling.

"I don't know how much time," Dane said softly. Atton wasn't looking at her but he could feel her eyes on him. "But I had thought that we had agreed—"

"I didn't agree to anything," Atton said harshly, surprised by the force of his anger.

"I'm not going to have this argument with you again," Dane said quietly. "You promised me you would let me go and now you are breaking that promise."

"There was never a promise to break," Atton spat. He sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. "I try to go along with this fool plan of yours but every time I get two minutes to rub together I think about it and realize just how damn stupid it is, Dane! You're going to listen to that old dead hag? Why? You're going to follow Revan to the middle of nowhere, and for what? Because the Sith are lurking?" She flinched at his words but did not speak and Atton was unable to stop himself anyway. "Guess what, Dane? The Sith are always out there. It makes no damn difference if you go chasing after them or not. And if they are so dangerous then let Revan deal with them. Maybe she already is. Maybe she's already won. Or maybe she's fallen and you're going to walk right into her trap. No matter which way you play those cards, sweets, they're never going to equal twenty."

Dane said nothing for long moments and the expression on her face was unreadable. Atton expected her to rage at him and call him a liar and an ass, but she didn't. He expected she might cry and profess her love and say she was sorry but she had to do what she had to do…but she didn't. Atton's anger fled and he suddenly felt deflated and empty. This is not how this is supposed to go, came the thought. He watched her warily, wondering mightily what she was thinking. Maybe she'll just slap me good and hard and that will be the end of it.

Finally, Dane nodded slowly, as though she had come to some sort of decision.

"What?" Atton demanded. "Say something, will you?"

"All right, Atton," she said, her voice emotionless. "You can go, if you want. Maybe it's better that you do, because we can't keep doing this."

Atton felt as if she had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. "Doing what?" he asked, and cleared his throat that had somehow gone and closed on him.

"I have never once, lied to you," she said, still with that emotionless tone that set Atton's nerves on edge almost more that her words. "From the beginning, since the day we destroyed Malachor V, I have made my intentions clear. I go to Revan, and I go alone, and that's the last time I'm going to say it. If you can't abide that, then I think it best if you leave."

She stood still as a statue, watching him and Atton saw, for the first time since they had defeated Kreia, not Dane standing before him, but General Koren.

Atton tried to look away but she held his gaze with a penetrating stare. "Fine," he said finally, his voice gone dry. "If that's what you want—"

"No, it is not at all what I want," she cut in, "but what I want and what is best, I'm coming to see, are two very distinct notions. You and me, we're riding a turbolift, up and down, up and down. It can't be this way. It was only yesterday you promised to resume your training and today you abandoned it for the cantina."

She was right and so Atton's anger fired up again, fueled by the need to defend himself. "Yeah, I wanted a drink, and you know why? Because the last week and a half I was out of my damned mind with worry for you. You're not the only one who is afraid… You talk all day about not 'dooming' me to some kind of pain and misery if I were to go with you. Well, if you leave to find Revan then that's exactly what you'll do anyway." Atton hated to say it, hated to admit, even to himself that he loved her that much. When did I turn into such a sap? he wondered. The exact moment you laid eyes on her, came the reply and he angrily brushed it away. He saw his words had an effect on her, a small softening of her eyes, there and quickly gone again.

"I know and I am sorry for that," she said, "but the only reason I can go ahead is because I know that the path I will walk is much darker than the one you will in my absence."

"Says you," Atton said petulantly. "I'd much rather fight whatever fight there is out there than sit around pining for you like some puppy. You think I'm afraid of the Sith? Is that it? Sweets, I was a Sith, and there isn't anything they can do to me now that I haven't already done." Atton caught his breath as tidal waves of memories and emotions, long repressed, broiled to the surface. He buried them quickly with practiced ease, for he had long ago mastered their concealment. He shot a glance at Dane, wondering if she had felt them in him, but her expression didn't change.

"I have no doubts about your bravery, Atton. Your willingness to do what is needed, selflessly and completely, is one of the reasons I love you as much as I do. And the fact that you have overcome the trials of your past doesn't frighten me, as you might think it would. On the contrary, I love you all the more for it. But what I'm doing is not about you. Why I won't take you with me is not because of a failing or weakness in you. Never doubt that, Atton."

"But you'll still go," Atton said simply. I thought it would be so easy, he thought. Just love her and everything will work itself out…what a crock.

Dane watched him but he still could not read her thoughts by her expression. There was a long silence between them and then she said finally, "I wish that you would pick up your Jedi training again. Perhaps if you felt what I feel in the Force, you would understand. Perhaps the Force could show you what I haven't the words to say." She took a step towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Atton demanded.

"To meet with Macen," she replied, activating the door. "I told him I would."

Atton glowered. "That's just perfect, Dane. And what I am supposed to do?"

She sighed and Atton saw General Koren retreat and his Dane return. She stopped and before she stepped outside of their room, she smiled at him gently, her eyes full of hope and love for him.

"Trust me."

Dane took a long shaking breath as the door closed behind her. She wondered if, when she returned, he would still be there, or if she would come back to an empty room and find Atton gone. The thought made her heart thud dully against her chest but she pushed herself away from the door and headed to the turbolift. If he does go, then he will be safe. That is all I have ever wanted for him. But the thought brought little comfort. She had not revealed to him how close she had come to agreeing with him to stay, to not continue on her path, but she knew the joy that she would have with him would be tainted by the emptiness in her. I have to go seek Revan. That is the only truth I have left, she thought. I have to fill this void, this wound in me, for I feel the echo still…

Dane was so preoccupied that when stepped out of the turbolift, she crashed right into Macen Vorn who was stepping in.

"Sorry," he said and caught her by the shoulders to steady her. He looked down at her, concern in his blue eyes. "You all right? You don't look so good. I mean, you look fine—really pretty, actually—but also kind of…"

Scared? she thought and almost said aloud, but caught herself and said, "Sick?" instead.

"I was going to say 'pale,'" Macen returned her smile. "You aren't sick, are you?"

"No, I'm…fine. I was coming to find you," she said. "You said you wished to speak to me in private?"

Macen nodded. "You want to get something to drink? I don't know about you, but I am still celebrating our liberation from O'Bannon."

Dane smiled thinly and followed him to the cantina. She had forgotten that Macen had been imprisoned for nearly a year on the barge. My five days were a nightmare…I can't imagine a year. He has every right to celebrate. But she declined his offer of a bourbon and water.

"I'm not drinking," she said and ordered from the bartender a juma juice.

"Doesn't that have alcohol in it?" Macen asked her dubiously, gesturing at the orange-ish pink concoction the bartender placed in front of her.

"No, it doesn't. I thought it did once, but…no," Dane replied.

Macen shrugged. "Learn something new every day." He raised his own glass in a toast and Dane clinked hers against it. "To us, for getting off that blasted bastard's boat." He studied her for a moment, his eyes soft and with a hint of sadness in them. He added in a low tone, "To Atton, for getting us off that blasted bastard's boat. Heh. Say that five times fast."

Dane looked at him. "You are very kind."

Macen shook his head. "Well, it's true," he said simply. "And I'm not as kind as you think. He got us off that ship but I have to admit there's a part of me…Well, never mind. It's not important." He met her eyes and Dane sensed the emotions behind them. "Where is he?" he asked.

"In the room," Dane replied.

"You aren't worried that he might see us here, together?"

Dane shook her head. "No, I'm not."

Macen bowed his head in defeat, a rueful smile on his face. "You're not worried because you aren't hiding anything from him," he said slowly. "You and I…there is nothing between us, is there?"

Dane nodded gently. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I would not say there is nothing between us. You helped me on that ship more than you realize. It may not seem like much to you and I don't mean to sound patronizing, but I consider you a great friend."

"A friend." He sighed. "Well, so be it. You can't blame me for trying, right?" he said. "And I can't begrudge Atton for…well, for anything really." He turned and looked at her. "I'm real glad he's okay… for your sake."

"Me too," Dane replied and studied her drink.

"Okay, we won't talk about that anymore," Macen said quietly after a moment. "Let's talk about what we're going to do now. It looks as though your plate is full." He pulled out a pack of cigarras. "You don't mind if I smoke, do you?"

"No," Dane said.

"Haven't had one of these in almost a year," Macen said, lighting it and taking a deep drag. "Suppose I should have kept quit of them, but it's just one of the small pleasures I missed." He took another drag and then looked at her. "So, you'll be leaving soon, I guess."

"Yes, we will be leaving here soon to…" Dane floundered. She didn't want to be rude but she didn't want to talk about such a confidential topic in the cantina. There was a good afternoon crowd of merchants, smugglers, and colorful swoop racers milling about and while none of them were paying too much attention to the pair, Dane caught a few staring at her. A Jedi was a rare sight and so she let her words trail.

Macen, apparently, understood for he said in a low voice, "It's all right if you can't talk about all that secret, Jedi stuff." He smiled that quiet smile of his. "I knew, when we were on that barge, that you were important somehow, that you had bigger things to do than that asshole O'Bannon could ever dream up. Pardon my language," he added with a wink.

Dane smiled. "Yes, well, I don't know that I'm important, I just know what I have to do."

"Well, whatever it is, I wish you the best of luck."

"Are you leaving soon?" Dane asked, alarmed. "You sound as if you are saying good bye."

"No, no, I'm not leaving yet," Macen said. "I need credits to buy a ride off this planet and Lirik has offered to sponsor me in a couple of swoop races to earn it. He's a good guy, that Lirik. Funny though, I think, for a Jedi."

Dane nodded. "I think so too." She didn't add that Lirik Thrakill reminded her of a broken jack-in-the-box game she had had once as a child. The hologram of a foppishly dressed man popped out after the music stopped but would not shut off to start the game again. The cackling, bobbing image just hung in the air, cackling and bobbing and giving her shivers until she finally threw it away. She shuddered at the memory now but decided she was being silly. Bastila sent him and Dustil knows his brother. And besides, I sense nothing untoward about him, she reminded herself. She drew her attention back to Macen.

"No, I just wanted to say good luck to you because I don't know that I'm going to get another chance," he was saying.

"Where will you go?" Dane asked, suddenly realizing she knew nothing of Macen; where he was from or if he had family somewhere that was missing him. She suspected his past was not entirely clean, but that he wasn't a criminal either. A smuggler, maybe, or a soldier. But she didn't ask. If he was a soldier, he clearly didn't want to talk about the war, and one didn't just go and ask another straight out if they smuggled contraband for a living.

"I don't know," Macen replied. "You're wondering what I did in my…other life, aren't you?" he asked with a smile.

Dane blushed. "Yes, how did you know?"

Macen leaned forward. "Because you get this look on your face when you want to say something but you're afraid it's gonna sound rude."

"Oh, I do, do I?" Dane said with a laugh.

"Yep. You wore it when you started to tell me about your plans with the other Jedi, and you wore it before that, while you were telling me that I am only to be your friend…like Bao-Dur."

Dane nearly choked on her juma juice. "How did you know—?"

Macen chuckled. "His name? You told me. On the barge. You said, 'if only you knew what a compliment it is that you remind me of Bao-Dur'."

Dane's eyes widened. "You remember that?"

Macen nodded and cast his eyes to his drink. "I remember everything you've ever said to me." There was a pause where Dane didn't quite know what to say. Macen caught her looking at him and he laughed ruefully.

"It's not just things you've said. I have this really, really good memory," he said dryly. "In my pre-O'Bannon days I was a programmer for the Czerka Corporation. I set up and installed a lot of their systems…until they landed on Kashyyyk and wanted me to set up the programs that would track their 'sales' and profits. Then I quit. Of course, Czerka didn't like that at all—I didn't realize an entire corporation could get offended, but they did. They made it very difficult for me to find other work. So, I wound up working for the Exchange." Macen glanced at her quickly. "As a treasurer, of sorts."

Dane blushed, thinking of how she had underestimated him so terribly. "That's not at all…"

"You thought I was a smuggler, right?" Macen laughed.

"Or maybe a soldier," Dane admitted.

"I was in the war," Macen said, stubbing out his cigarra, "but not as a soldier. Again, I worked in setting up computer systems—for the fleet, for the bases. After the war came Czerka, and after Czerka…" He shook his head ruefully. "The only work I could find was for the Exchange. Turns out that crimelords think it a very great talent to be able to remember every single item on a manifest, how much the items cost, and who paid what and when. I went from refusing to count profits on Wookie slaving to willingly counting profits on spice smuggling and various other things I'd rather not relay, for a crime boss who also happened to be an enemy of Raff O'Bannon." Macen shrugged. "You know the rest."

"Where did you learn how to fight?" Dane asked, remembering that it was his skill in combat that kept him alive on O'Bannon's barge and nothing else.

"Even techs have to go through basic," Macen said. "Turned out, I remembered a lot of it."

Dane smiled. "That is quite a talent you have."

Macen shrugged again and lit another cigarra. "I suppose. It just means that every second I was on that barge is forever stuck in my brain…as is every conversation you and I ever had." He looked at her then, and Dane couldn't help but look away.

"Sorry," Macen said. "I should lay off the bourbon. It's making me honest."

"Were you ever married?" Dane asked quietly. "I don't mean to pry—"

Macen laughed. "I know you don't, you're wearing that face again. Hey, it's all right," he said, seeing her discomfort. "No, I haven't married. Almost. Twice. But…" he smiled mischievously, "it's hard for a woman to win a fight when you remember every single word she's ever said."

Dane punched Macen in the arm, laughing. "Is that so?"

He grinned. "Yeah, apparently women like to be right all the time and you know, that was the one thing I just couldn't remember."

Dane laughed harder. "Aren't you hilarious," she said, shaking her head at him.

"Hey," he said, holding his hands out. "You want another juma juice or have you reached your limit?"

Dane shook her head. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered that she may or may not have an empty room to return to. The levity she had felt slipped away. "I should go," she said.

Macen only nodded.

"Will I see you again before you leave?"

He glanced up. "You might. It's likely you'll jump off this planet before me. I still have some money to earn."

"Macen, I have credits—"

"I'm not taking any money from you, Dane," he said sternly. "Thanks, but no. You've done enough for me that I can't repay. I'd rather not start asking for handouts too."

"Macen, you and I are square," Dane said, catching his gaze and holding it. "I would not have survived O'Bannon if it wasn't for you."

"That's not true," Macen said and smiled at her. He raised a hand, as though he was going to touch her face, but dropped it again abruptly when he realized what he was doing. "You're a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for," he said quickly, his eyes on his drink. "Now, go on and get back to Atton before he has a tantrum. I don't even mean that in a bad way. Hell, if you were mine, I wouldn't let you out of my sight."

Dane bowed her head, again at a loss for words.

"There I go again, being honest," Macen said. "Go on, Dane. Go. And take care of yourself."

"I'll be here another week," Dane protested. "This probably isn't going to be the last time we speak."

"No," Macen said, meeting her eyes. "But it probably should be, for my sake at least."

Dane nodded. He is a good man. In another time, another place, I could have loved him. It would have been so easy. She wanted to embrace him or kiss him on the cheek but she knew that wouldn't be fair. Instead, she offered her hand and he shook it.

"Good bye, Macen," she said. "I'll see you later," she insisted.

"'Bye, Dane," he said.

Dane turned and left, surprised that hot tears were springing to her eyes. This is silly, I'll see him again, she thought. But not like this, came another thought. Things are going to get complicated and rushed and… She turned around and saw Macen watching her go. He raised a hand to her and suddenly she was back on the barge, being dragged away by O'Bannon's men, and looking back and seeing him, in his cell, raising his hand to her…

Dane dashed back into the bar and threw her arms around Macen's neck. "Thank you, my friend," she said, her face buried against his shoulder. She felt his arms go around her and he held her tight.

"You're welcome, Dane," he whispered. After a few moments he pulled her to arm's length and they both looked at each other's forlorn expressions and laughed. "It's only the bourbon, I swear," he said.

Dane smiled through her tears. "I won't forget you, Macen."

He returned her smile and then he did touch his fingers to her cheek. "I can live with that."

Lirik Thrakill watched as Macen touched Dane's face and said something to her the Sith couldn't hear. Dane then reluctantly left the cantina, leaving Macen alone with his bourbon and cigarras. Lirik smiled to himself. He had overheard most of their conversation from his position at a table behind them, huddled deep in an old cowled robe instead of his Jedi disguise.

"I have a pretty good memory too," Lirik murmured to himself, "and I think, with the proper embellishments, I can repeat their conversation in its entirety." A slow smile spread over Lirik's face and he slipped out of the cantina, quite pleased with himself. Causing trouble between lovers, Lirik was hardly at his evil best…But great emotions pave dark paths, he thought with satisfaction. Lirik whistled brightly as he made his way through Ahto City and back towards his hotel room.

He passed Dane and Atton's room on the way to his own. Lirik paused outside the door, grinning wickedly.

Let us see, Atton Rand, how deep your emotions run, and just how far you can fall…