—Chapter 20: In Bondage—

It had taken a solid day of travel.

Arguably, one of the worst trips of his entire existence. Even as a young boy, Sheev Palpatine had enjoyed the luxuries provided by his influential family. Now that he'd assumed occupancy of the Skywalker heir, he had to suffer the beggarly accommodations cultivated by that lifestyle. That the heir to the Skywalker legacy should be gallivanting around the galaxy in such mediocre shuttles was an abomination—a consequence of poor decision-making on the part of his host.

But those days would soon be at an end. If the young Skywalker hadn't been relegated to occupying such a small part of his own subconscious, the Dark Lord might have demanded thanks from him. Soon he would be liberated from his poverty, and would occupy a position of tremendous wealth and influence.

At last, Darth Sidious would be able to put this tedious, shabby experience behind him. Malachor was calling.

The enormous kyber thrust out from the planet's frozen carbonite plains, and the Emperor piloted the shoddy Republic vessel towards it, setting down just a klick or so from the great spire. Rising from the pilot's seat, the Emperor was all too happy to stretch his host's legs—his legs.

He craned his neck a bit to loosen up the muscles that had grown stiff from sitting and staring at the console. He had spent so long in ethereal form that having a body again was an almost foreign sensation. It had been ages since he'd experienced sore muscles or any other sort of fatigue.

His previous corporeal form had been haggard. However, the Dark Side of the Force had so thoroughly penetrated that vessel that the normal rules of physical maintenance and bodily discomfort didn't really apply. In his previous body, his essence was in control of his flesh, not the other way around. Once this new body was truly his, he could mold it into something more—something that was unbound by the inconvenient trappings of the mortal coil. He could once again experience the freedom that a complete integration with the Dark Side of the Force would allow.

With a grinding of gears, the door to the shuttle slid upwards and the cold air of Malachor poured in. Darth Sidious stood in the doorway and felt the air rush across his new skin. With it, tendrils of Dark energy caressed his very soul.

Stepping confidently down to the surface, Sidious bid good riddance to the ramshackle vessel that had brought him here. Taking a moment to immerse himself fully in the aura of the planet, he looked ahead to where the ground sloped gently enough down into the chasm, to where he could access the subterranean caverns of Malachor. At the bottom of the crevasse, waiting to greet him, was the Great Sith Temple of Malachor, and the heart of the planet's massive kyber crystal. The purest, most concentrated font of Dark energy in the galaxy, and the catalyst that would make permanent his occupancy of this powerful host body.

—

"Malfi. Malfi, wake up."

The voice landed like a ribbon floating to the ground from a tall building on a breezy day. She thought at first she might have dreamt it. It sounded in Malfi's head like an echo of past thoughts. Ideas that had never been given utterance. Feelings left unconveyed. She shook her head to clear them out.

"Malfi, are you alright? I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

Groaning, Malfi lifted her head from whatever this hard surface was that had carved its imprint into the left side of her face. She tried to open her eyes, but they felt glued shut. Pressing the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, she tried to make her lids obey. With a last burst of effort, she was able to pry them loose, and sought out the source of the voice.

It was too dark, and what light there was, emanated from behind him. All she could see of the person in front of her was a shadow. A figure hooded and cloaked, as though shielding itself from the meager light that threatened to cast its glow upon his face, allowing her to really see who it was that knelt in front of her.

"Te—Temiri?" she uttered tremulously. Could this really be him?

"As you say," he replied.

"Temiri, what's going on? I feel like I've been hit by lightning."

"I apologize. In my fervor, I lost some… control. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"Temiri, where is everyone?"

"Please," he said, holding up a hand, "please… don't call me that. Just… don't."

"Huh?" she replied, totally confused. "I don't understand…"

"The others are in separate cells," he said, answering the question she'd asked a moment ago. "They're not your friends. The Republic… they lied to us."

"What? What are you talking about? Temiri—"

"Silence!" he shouted, but immediately regretted his tone. "Please, don't call me that. I'll make you understand, just give it some time. I know you're confused, but don't worry. It will be alright." He laid his hand briefly to her shoulder, then stood up all the way, leaving her where she lay on the cold stone floor.

"Te—" she started to say his name, but caught herself. "Are they okay?" she asked.

He hesitated, but eventually answered. "Yes." Without elaborating, he turned from her and headed for the cell door, a lattice of durasteel bars criss-crossing the wide opening in the stone wall. After opening the door, he turned his head slightly to look back at her. From his silhouette, and what new light reflected off of him from the hall, she could recognize the familiar shape of his face. "I will be back. Please… stay calm until I return."

Malfi's heart was in her throat, and tears burned her eyes. Blinking them away, she focused on the feeling of her legs folded up underneath her. Shifting her weight, her fingers and eyes explored the subtle details of her cell. The cold of the stone. The small cracks in the mortar. The echo of the footfalls as the one making them became more and more distant.

—

"It is foolish to wait, Lonâm. We should just kill them now."

Lonâm sat at his desk, his back turned from the acolyte who dared to offer his opinion. Lonâm smiled, tracing the runes carved along the blade's edge with the index finger on his one hand. The very blade he'd used to stab the Skywalker. The deed had cost him his arm and his protégé, but it was all in service to his lord. In spite of what it had cost him, he was proud of how things had turned out.

"No," he replied. "The boy must do it. He has already killed his master. The transformation is nearly complete."

"You run a terrible risk, Lonâm. What if he fails?"

"Then he fails, and we kill him, along with the others. But every deed he commits against them brings him more into our flock."

"He's a fool, Lonâm."

"In that, you are certainly correct. I hardly had to lie to him at all. The truth alone, presented in the right way, was nearly all it took to persuade him—he chose this," said Lonâm, chuckling deeply. "Worry not, Mudâr. Our fool is a useful fool. It has already gone too far for them to recover—whatever happens now, they are finished."

Lonâm remained facing away, so he could not see the skeptical grimace Mudâr wore. Mudâr did not understand the reason for his master's insistence on stringing along the fallen Jedi—it was a needless risk. However, not since Zrirus's death had Lonâm been acting rationally. Regardless, there would be no persuading his master. Having voiced his objections, Mudâr could only bow his head and take his leave. "Yes, my lord."

—

Ren awoke in the darkness, cold and frightened. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he could make out a door of thick metal bars, but little else. There was nothing else to see—his cell was utterly bare.

He crawled to the door and peeked out as far as he could. His head was small enough that he could fit it between the bars in the door, but only barely—his ears pressed painfully into the metal as he pushed through. Looking left, then right, he could see that his cell was one of several lining this hallway. The sconces on the hallway walls flickered, giving the illusion of movement throughout the narrow hallway—but illusion it was. In truth, everything was still.

He dared a whisper into the unknown reaches beyond. "Is anyone there?"

Immediately following his question was a scurrying sound from nearby. He saw a man's hands grip the bars of the cell door on his left, and a nose poke out. "Ren, is that you?" It was Poe.

"Uncle Poe!" Ren exclaimed, relieved to hear the familiar voice. "Yes, it's me! What happened?"

"I'm not sure, kiddo. I think we found Temiri, but… well… I hope we didn't."

"Where are the others?" Ren asked.

"I'm here," called a voice to his right. It was Finnie's. "Malfi's cell is next to mine. Where's dad?"

Everyone got quiet, waiting for Finn to answer. When he didn't, Poe followed up, "Finn? Buddy? You there?"

To Poe's left, there was a groaning noise.

"Finn!?" shouted Poe. "That you?"

There was more groaning. "…Yeah… 'm here…"

"You okay pal?" asked Poe.

"Mmm… I think I hit my head. It's pounding…"

"Just hold tight, buddy, we'll take care of it. Just gotta get out of here first. Does anyone know how we might get these doors open?"

"They're durasteel," said Finnie. "They don't appear to be locked electronically, but I don't see a mechanical lock either."

"It's the Force," said Malfi. "There are physical bars holding the door shut, but they're held there by the Force. Something powerful is holding them in place—I can't release it."

"Dammit," cursed Poe. "Why the hell are we even in here? Why did Temiri attack us?"

"Temiri attacked us?" asked Ren, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"That was him, wasn't it?" asked Poe. I thought we saw him in that big room, before we got zapped and ended up in here…"

"No way," said Ren, utterly disbelieving. "There must be a mistake…"

The prisoners thought hard about their circumstances, trying to make sense of the facts. As Poe tried to wrap his head around what he thought had happened, he heard crying.

Finnie must have heard it too. "Malfi? Are you okay?"

At Finnie's question, Malfi quit trying to keep her agony hidden from her friends. She cried openly as she revealed what she knew. "There's something wrong with him… He did attack us… He did throw us in here. He says the Republic lied to us. He won't let me call him… his name…" she sobbed, dropping her head into her hands. "I don't understand."

Though he and Malfi were two rooms apart, Ren laid his hand on the stone barrier on his right and tried to imagine he was comforting his dear friend. His own eyes were wet with silent tears, but he knew his fear and his pain were nothing compared to what he could feel coming off of Malfi.

—

Lonâm felt the approach of his fledgling acolyte, and opened his study door in anticipation of his arrival. He turned in his seat so that Whuhai would see him, fully aware of him and awaiting his information as soon as he looked through the door.

The sound of footfalls slowed, and, as anticipated, Whuhai stood in the doorway, looking inward. He met his master's eyes, but did not speak.

"Enter," instructed Lonâm. As his apprentice stepped through the door, Lonâm pushed out with the Force to shut it behind him. He waited for Whuhai to speak. To his dismay, he felt hesitance from his charge. "Whuhai?" he prompted.

"The prisoners are secured," he offered in reply.

There was another pause, and Lonâm sensed Whuhai's reluctance to be forthcoming. The corners of Lonâm's mouth curled subtly downward. "And what are your plans for them?" he prodded.

"I would like to… keep the girl. To turn her. She was a friend…"

"Your attachments betray you. The girl was friend to the slave Temiri, not the proud Sith acolyte Whuhai."

"I understand, my lord, but if she could be made to see…" he paused, considering how best to present his proposal. "She values freedom. She could be a strong advocate for our philosophy."

"She is weak," countered Lonâm. "Her signature in the Force is but a flicker. Good for little more than moving furniture…"

Whuhai's expression faltered, and Lonâm could feel his conflict. Lonâm knew how persuasive attachments could be—they could make you act irrationally. He tread lightly…

"I would never force you to do anything you did not feel comfortable doing, my son," said Lonâm, in a fatherly voice. "If this girl means so much to you, perhaps it is a sign. She may yet have more strength than it would first appear. Indeed, the Force can be coy. If she could turn, then perhaps… perhaps she could find a home here, with you. With us. If she would turn from the others…" Lonâm let these words dangle in the air for a bit. He watched Whuhai carefully to gauge his reaction.

"The others…?" said Whuhai.

"Yes, the others… If she could demonstrate her understanding… Show us she knows the lie that the others have perpetrated upon her. If she could break her own chains…"

Whuhai's face hardened, but he looked hopeful. All Lonâm had done was to tease the idea to his apprentice, and his apprentice understood what was required—he could see the path forward to what he wanted.

Lonâm didn't have to plant the Darkness, it was already there. All it needed was cultivation.

Now, Lonâm would see just how far his apprentice could be pushed. This was all turning out better than he had dreamed possible. In the end, Lonâm would either have two new acolytes or one very committed acolyte. Either way, he will have destroyed his enemies more deeply and permanently than he could ever have imagined.

—

It didn't feel like Malfi would ever stop crying. Finnie had felt intense sadness before. A year ago, after the death of her mother, Finnie carried around a sadness that dragged on her like a lead weight. As bad as it had been, though, it had been worse for her father—his grief had nearly crippled him. However, with his naked despair on full display, caring for him had been a much needed distraction for Finnie. As long as he had needed her, and as long as she had been needed, then her own grief was more manageable.

As she leaned against the bars of her cage, listening to Malfi's sobs, her memories of that time returned. Closing her eyes, she visualized herself back in that role again. With a resolute intake of breath, she prepared a reprise.

"Tell me about the Force, Malfi," she said.

For a moment, Finnie wasn't sure Malfi had even heard her over her choked keening, but finally, Malfi responded. "The—Force?" she hiccuped.

"Yeah. How do you make people… do what you tell them?" she asked.

"That's a—Force suggestion…" she sputtered. "It's when you—you… Finnie, do we have to talk about this—now?"

"Yes, please, I want to know," said Finnie, calmly, encouragingly, leaning into the part she was playing. "I think it's amazing, what you can do. Please, tell me."

Malfi sighed, and tried to get a hold of her breath. Finnie could hear her straightening her legs as she sat up. "It's hard to explain…" she began.

"Can you try?"

"You just… When you can feel the Force running through you… you can feel the way it connects you to other people," she said, pausing to wipe her nose. "It's like, you're not really a different person from everyone else… You're just… a part of the whole that happens to be kept inside your own body. Does that make any sense?"

It only sort of made sense to Finnie, but Malfi was thinking about something other than her own grief, and Finnie would say anything to keep that up. "Yes, it does, a little," she said. "Keep going."

"So, since you're not really a different person, getting them to do what you want them to do is really only as hard as convincing yourself. You just sort of… put yourself in their head and say, 'yeah, this is a good idea—I totally want to do this'." Malfi sniffled a little more, but she'd gotten control of herself. "And then, just like that, they think it was their idea all along."

"I think I get it," said Finnie. "And how does the Force let you move things around?"

Malfi took a moment to consider. "Basically it's the same idea, except… except you're not in another person's head. You sort of have to… focus on how the Force feels all around you. Kind of like it's a blanket you wear… Well, I don't know if that's the right analogy. I'm not sure I can explain this," she said, shaking her head.

"Don't stop. Keep trying," urged Finnie.

Malfi took a long breath. "So you feel the Force around you, and… you just sort of… pull on it. Maybe like a thread? The Force connects you to everything, in a way, so… Oh! It's like a wave!" she cried, finally finding the metaphor that felt right. "You feel the Force flowing through you, like it's a wave in the ocean you're floating in, and you just sort of visualize the thing you want to move as being on that wave. Waves move toward you, and waves move away from you… As someone who interacts with the Force, you just get good at… well, at pushing it around, I guess. At making it flow in the direction you want it to."

Finnie thought she could visualize what Malfi was talking about. She was staring at the back wall of her cell, shrouded in darkness. There was nothing on it to see, no details to cloud her vision. In their absence, she tried to imagine that she could see the Force moving in the empty space before her.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Hurriedly, she crawled forward, away from the bars, stood up and turned herself around. In spite of the impotence of her situation, she adopted a defensive posture, knees bent and arms raised.

But the footsteps didn't reach her. They stopped in front of Malfi's cell, and Finnie overheard the distinct scraping sound of metal on metal as the bars sealing Malfi's cell slid open. Finnie rushed to the door and looked out to her right, but the visitor was already in Malfi's cell.

"Who's there?!" Finnie shouted into hall.

"Please come with me," she heard a voice say. "We need to talk." It sounded like Temiri, but his affect was off. He sounded hollow.

"Te—" Malfi stuttered, "Where are we going?"

"To my room. Please don't be afraid, Malfi. Come with me."

The others had been listening in as well. "Temiri, is that you?" shouted Poe. "What the hell is going on, kid? Where are you taking her?" Ren listened frightfully from the far wall of his own cell.

Whuhai ignored the shouts of the other prisoners, and held his hand out to Malfi, shivering at the back of her jail cell.

She was glued to the wall, uncertain whether she could still trust the man before her. He was not himself. He was not… Temiri. "Are you going to hurt them?" she asked, in a tiny voice.

"Please come with me," he repeated.

Malfi's lower lip quivered, but she took his hand and followed him as he led her out of the cell. His hand was cold, but his touch was gentle.

"This way," he said, and the two departed, leaving barely an echo in their wake.