[AN: I highly recommend you read Impending, a once-upon-a-oneshot that snuggles right into Constellation here, between parts two and three. Enjoy!]
May the Force be with you.
Standing in the airlock, Aitahea let the echo of Erithon's voice roll over and through her, like she might flow through saber stances during practice. Six syllables, like the spiral of a breath, a last sigh of hope to cling to in her fierce exhaustion and anguished determination.
It was the first time they'd spoken since Alderaan; everything else had been missed calls and quickly dashed-off messages. She'd mentioned her return to Tython, but not her weariness, loneliness, or how since leaving Alderaan, the only dream she'd remembered on waking was of him, humming Star by Star and stroking her hair. As far-flung as they'd been, she had doubted he'd see her injuries in a grainy holo.
Instead, she'd simply listened.
Erithon's mother and sister had given him no end to their questions about the "princess" - as his youngest niece had gleefully declared - having seen their gala appearance splashed across the holonet. He'd explained with proud reticence that he had been harassed into calling to say hello for them, but he hoped she was doing well, of course.
See-Too had whirred politely in the common room entryway, a subtle warning that the other crew had begun stirring in response to their arrival. Aitahea had gently interrupted Erithon a final time, thanking him for calling, but she was needed urgently. He'd nodded, evidently used to the same, and then… "May the Force be with you." She hadn't even had a chance to reply, to wish him the same, before the call had disconnected, and she'd been alone again in the dark.
Minutes later, the Luminous had docked to Vivicar's stolen ship, though Sia had only done so under protest.
"I don't fucking like this, Ai."
"There's no other way, Sia. I trust you to keep the Luminous safe."
"Yeah, me too, but what about you?"
Aitahea had pressed her lips into a tight line and turned away from her friend, unable to offer anything more to assuage Sia's concern or her own guilt. The Progress had made all reports on time, presumably under Lord Vivicar's control, so no one in the wider Republic knew that anything was awry.
Qyzen had refused to let her board alone, though she'd helplessly argued for it. They both knew she was still healing, only maintaining the shielding by a hair's breadth. Vivicar's ruinous intrusion on the ritual had done more damage than Aitahea had been willing to acknowledge. Sia had muttered under her breath something about needing to get a kolto tank installed in the med bay.
The Progress was shrouded in flickering darkness, the black of deep space. The stars still glittered, but coldly, distantly. Aitahea wasn't certain what they'd find on board; there were many lives, but they writhed beneath a shadow grown powerful. Qyzen waited beside her as the airlock cycled to admit them to the hijacked ship.
The first rush of soldiers took her off guard; she flinched at the sight of Republic insignias below fevered eyes and slack faces. A growled warning from Qyzen brought her back to the task of disabling them with as little harm as possible.
It all horrified her, this perversion of so many things she held dear. The horrible stain of the dark side flowed on the ship and everyone aboard. She could barely hold it in check, growing steadily more vulnerable as her shielding was meticulously assaulted.
Vivicar was blessedly silent until Aitahea reached the first computer console. When he finally spoke, it was like being plunged into dark water. The consular reeled, fighting to keep her fingers on the control panel and not digging into her own temples.
I wasn't sure if you'd be foolish enough to come aboard, Aitahea. But I can sense your presence.
Aitahea swallowed hard against a wave of nausea. "And I sense a man tormented by the past."
You are blinded by the light side. You can't understand what you face.
Biting back a sharp retort, Aitahea shoved away from the console – she didn't possess the necessary slicing skill to coax open the blast doors from there. She could cut her way through the thick durasteel with her lightsaber, but time felt too precious.
Nearby were a few barrels, each with a combustion risk label splashed across it. She could fling them into the door using the Force, but it would be violent and destructive.
Oddly, Aitahea found she didn't mind that so much right now and lifted a hand. The explosion was terrific, throwing back her hood. The wave of heat quickly grew so intense Aitahea had to shield herself and Qyzen until it abated.
As they stepped through the hissing, superheated breach, Vivicar's voice echoed in a hateful thrum. Come to me, Jedi. I'll show you how light can be snuffed out.
Aitahea swayed briefly, closing her eyes. There was no part of her that wasn't in anguish. If this wasn't already snuffed out, what could possibly be worse? She felt alarmingly close to knowing exactly what.
May the Force be with you.
It was Erithon's voice this time, no tainted whispers, just her own beautiful memory. A light in the dark. She could follow that through this horrific present; through anything, perhaps. Aitahea opened her eyes, signaled her companion, and forged ahead.
Most of the unwitting fighters in their path could be stopped with a Force wave, tumbling them unconscious but mostly unharmed to the floor; but the squad leaders would be hardier – she knew from experience.
The first squad leader, a hulking being of indeterminate origin, was waiting for them at the first intersection, alone. The soldier didn't fall for Qyzen's feint and instead hoisted his cannon toward Aitahea, spraying cryogenic fluid. She flicked it away, readying her lightsaber to deflect any shots from the holdout blaster she knew he'd be hiding.
Qyzen shifted into an effortless and decisive strike, taking advantage of a seam in the trooper's armor. Aitahea shuddered, feeling the soldier's perception flare out, leaving nothing but gleeful darkness seething in every shadow.
"Herald?"
"I'm fine," she bit out. "Let's proceed."
After navigating a few more hallways, they located the secondary computer terminal. She'd barely set her fingers to the keypad when Vivicar splintered her thoughts.
Tell me, Aitahea, what was it like? Letting your life force drain away to shield a stranger from me - how did it feel?
Aitahea frowned at her suddenly balled-up fists, unclenching and resettling her fingers on the keys before replying. "Painful, but I endured it."
Pain makes us stronger. And the pain I have endured is beyond your comprehension.
That is why I have won.
Her throat seized, but even after swallowing hard, no words came to her, all her skillful, diplomatic platitudes absent.
"Hunt is not over until beast is skinned, dark thing," Qyzen rumbled. The console began blaring a klaxon warning, and droids began pouring into the room.
You will understand soon. If you live that long.
"Your power and tactics have brought you this far, but no further."
Until now, Aitahea had imagined Parkanas Tark as a youth, bright with potential and the Force. But the being that turned to face her as she dragged herself toward the bridge was aged, wretched, and twisted by the dark side.
"This battle was decided before you stepped aboard."
"I'm tired of your delusions," Aitahea hissed, past exhaustion and numb with pain. "Explain yourself."
Vivicar gave her a mocking bow. "As you wish. My plague isn't just a disease; it siphons power from its victims. With the proper rituals, that power can be channeled. Soon, the combined strength of your Masters will make me the most powerful Force adept who has ever lived."
The pressure against her shielding intensified, thousands of threads – lives, she realized – suddenly pulled taut. Trembling with the strain, Aitahea took a step forward. She hadn't come here to bicker; she'd come here to help.
"Turn away from this path, Parkanas. The Order can help you."
Vivicar laughed.
"Oh, Aitahea." This time, she visibly flinched when he used her name. "Parkanas Tark died long ago. Even 'Vivicar' is merely a skin to be shed. Parkanas offered himself to me on Malachor Three, to crush the Order that destroyed us. He embodied my spirit." He lifted his hands, a seething glow thick with the dark side writhing around him. "I am no lost Jedi, no ordinary Sith Lord. I am Terrak Morrhage."
"You can turn away from this path, Parkanas," she beseeched, fumbling for words while he stalked toward her. "The Order can help you. Just… just come home."
"No one can oppose me, certainly no child, barely more than a Padawan." He grinned, ghoulish and without remorse as he ignited his lightsaber. "I am beyond flesh… beyond death!"
Aitahea realized tears were slipping from her eyes, her vision blurring. She was so tired. "No one is beyond the will of the Force," she whispered, uncertain who the platitude was meant for.
Morrhage laughed again, a sound like plasteel shredding. "I will crush you, Aitahea, and your shattered body will fuel my rebirth!"
For a fleeting moment, she thought of running. Simply turning about, dashing to the safety of the Luminous. She questioned the choice she'd made on Tython, to come here carrying so many injuries, so much guilt and fear. Should she have stayed to heal? She remembered what the Noetikon of Secrets had explained, that the Jedi Master who had created the shielding technique had given his life to end Morrhage's first plague. Was Morrhage right? Had the light blinded her?
Aitahea took a breath.
The light didn't blind. Light revealed, left no shadows to hide in. Light nourished; light gave everything yet lost nothing. Light was right now in this moment, not in the past, and would always be in reach in the future. If light called, light would answer.
Aitahea called out.
"Parkanas! I know you are there; I sense you!" Morrhage ignored her outcry, continuing to advance. Aitahea sucked in a breath, ignited her lightsaber, and took a defensive stance. "Help me stop this monster, Parkanas, please!"
Morrhage attacked with spectacular brutality, thousands of years of rage and hatred against Aitahea's weakened shielding, against her physical self. The Jedi parried and dodged, evading strikes she couldn't hope to block. Qyzen Fess did what he could to aid her, but Morrhage was fixated on Aitahea. Her body quailed under the assault, shredding her determination. There must be another way…
Morrhage's next attack struck true, and Aitahea lost a few moments to fiery agony searing across her left side. Reckless with pain, she flung out a wild, violent Force wave that sent Morrhage to the floor and left several nearby panels crushed beyond recognition. A few precious seconds passed while she waited, panting, for her vision to clear.
The fallen Jedi, the false Sith lord, struggled to his knees, glaring death toward Aitahea as she approached.
"Impressive, Aitahea, but my victory is already complete. My plague has spread farther than you can imagine. Jedi Masters across the galaxy are succumbing to it as I speak. The plague binds these Masters to me. Hundreds of them… the heart and soul of your order.
"You feel it, do you not, Aitahea?"
No lies this time; Aitahea could indeed feel the mingled torment of hundreds more Jedi as Morrhage siphoned their lives for strength. Every crack in her shielding, down to the smallest hairline fracture, screamed in agony.
"Kill me, and you will kill every Master I have ever infected. Every one! Shielded or not, they are still bound to me."
Aitahea dispassionately placed the blade of her lightsaber at his throat. It felt like someone else doing it. She spoke in clipped tones, her voice unrecognizable in her own ears. "Free those Jedi, Morrhage. Now."
"And if I refuse? Will you cut us down? What choice do you have? You cannot let me live, and I am deathless." Morrhage leered, his dark victory seemingly assured, and took one more jab: "Your shielding talent cannot harm me. You've lost!"
Everything went silent and impossibly still. Your shielding talent cannot harm me. Of course not. It was never meant to harm, only to heal, to offer a path toward the light that anyone could take at any time, without judgement, without conditions, just… a welcome home. The path that she'd longed for, that she'd tried to circumvent over and over, a path she could not offer until she, too, chose it.
Aitahea lowered her arm and deactivated her lightsaber. "I can save you, Parkanas."
Morrhage reeled back as Aitahea drew the Force around her. The effort would not be without risk, but it was the path that lay before her. Another stillness enfolded her, this time of peace, willingness, and release. Fighting had never been her forte or focus; she was a healer, with words and hands and her lightsaber only when absolutely, undeniably necessary.
Now, she isn't simply performing the shielding ritual; she is part of it, wholly within and throughout, a numinous space that feels like a Coruscant ocean, like the forests of Tython, like warm sun and a hand to hold on Brentaal, all at once.
Now, she realizes how to bring it full circle; she must allow the Force its will, stop trying to control it, and just let go. Light spills through the cracks in her shielding, and everything is suddenly and wonderfully illuminated.
May the Force be with you.
Parkanas – and it was with every certainty him; the sudden burst of hope where none had been the moment before was unmistakable – went flying backwards, away from Aitahea and leaving the vulnerable spirit of Morrhage isolated before her.
The spirit howled in fury. "No, this body is mine! Damn you, Jedi!"
Aitahea noted with detached amusement that she was levitating, Morrhage's furious tirade a soft rumble in the background. She felt untethered, undefinably light. Closing her eyes, Aitahea exhaled a long breath and stepped softly down to the floor.
"When my strength returns, no matter the years – I will destroy you," Morrhage snarled, but Aitahea was already walking toward Parkanas, feeling her own strength returning. She brushed past the raging specter, and in a few more moments, it had disappeared.
Qyzen had already lifted Parkanas Tark to his feet. He had a hand to his head, and Aitahea allowed a thread of sympathy to unwind, a guide to the path she hoped he would be able to take, too.
Parkanas Tark stared at her with open disbelief. "I'm… still alive. You spared me."
She half-smiled. "Healed you."
"My mind is…" Parkanas shook his head again. "Clearer now. But – it was your duty to kill me and destroy Morrhage." His eyes – still smoldering amber, revealing a bitter internal strife – begged for an answer. Why?
"Too many Jedi have been lost already." Aitahea lowered her gaze, the barest of brief moments to grieve for those lost. "Including Parkanas Tark."
"Perhaps he deserves another chance, but…" Parkanas' voice trailed off, adding in a pained whisper, "I cannot return to the Order."
Swallowing hard against the lump in her own throat, Aitahea pressed. "Tython has its hidden places. Its forests." That half-smile danced across her lips again, and for a flickering moment, she was light years away. "You could find peace there."
"I could… go home." Parkanas grew still, eyes distant and filled with evergreen leaves and rushing water. After a moment, he startled, reaching out to grasp her hands. "But first, Jedi, listen. Take this warning in exchange for my life: You can't trust the Order. Or the Republic." Aitahea drew breath to contradict, but he continued. "You may be their heroine now, but they will abandon you, too."
Aitahea pulled away from Parkanas' frantic grip, shaking her head while she scrabbled for a coherent thought. "Why…What do you-" Nothing coalesced, leaving her once again a diplomat with no words.
Parkanas held her gaze. "Remember that."
"We felt it! A massive shift in the Force. The Masters you saved have reported a sudden improvement in their condition. The plague is over, thanks to you.
"And… I sense Parkanas Tark. For the first time in many years. How can that be?"
Aitahea nodded at Master Syo and glanced sidelong toward Parkanas, who was being assessed by Tharan and Holiday. "You can ask him yourself, Master. When he returns to Tython, he can answer all your questions."
Her companions had dashed through the ship as soon as she'd signaled their safety. Bringing medical equipment to help with the injured and traumatized crew, Prelsiava Tern had even dragged along a protesting See-Two.
"I told you there'd be plenty for you to do; look at that console! It's completely trashed! Go on, get on it," Sia had ordered, and the affronted droid had conceded, tottering over to examine one of the smashed panels.
With the logistics managed, and a scant few moments to tuck away the memory of Parkanas' unsettling words, Aitahea had commed the Council, Master Syo answering with his victorious statement: We felt it!
"Well done, Aitahea. The Jedi Order owes its survival to you."
Relief swept over her like a wave. "It's my privilege to serve."
"Hurry home. We're waiting for you."
Aitahea felt nearly presentable again by the time they arrived on Tython. She'd had her injuries treated. She'd eaten and bathed. She'd slept, mostly dreamless but for dappled sunlight and burbling water.
As they touched down on Tython, Aitahea marveled at the incandescent radiance of the Force within the hallowed walls of the Jedi Temple. Each Jedi shone like a bright star, a constellation she'd missed terribly beneath the weight of the shielding. Even Qyzen shimmered, kindling with satisfaction and pride. Beneath all, the grand symphony of Tython itself soared.
In the Council chamber, Master Yuon, Master Syo, Master Satele, and Master Jaric were waiting. Schooling her expression into practiced serenity, Aitahea dropped into a bow, only lifting her gaze when Yuon spoke.
"You have saved untold lives through your defeat of Lord Vivicar and destruction of the plague." Aitahea felt Yuon's pride in every syllable.
Even Master Jaric was smiling. "There's a title reserved for the most prestigious among us, whose wisdom and skill safeguard the galaxy. It hasn't been bestowed in thousands of years."
Aitahea became keenly aware of her flushed cheeks, suspended between delight and disbelief, and nodded in vague acknowledgment.
"You have proved worthy," Master Syo declared. "Now, the Council names you Barsen'thor, warden of the Order."
Absurdly, Aitahea's thoughts turned to how much she'd enjoy reading about the other Barsen'thor that had preceded her. Would the archive even contain that knowledge? How many thousands of years? Who were they, who had they set out to be, and what had they done to arrive where Aitahea herself now stood? The Force bloomed with assurance. "I will do all I can to live up to this honor." Aitahea clasped her hands, sweeping into a low obeisance.
"I never imagined your potential would take you so far." Yuon beamed, and Aitahea returned the expression as she lifted her head.
Yet concern laced Master Syo's next words: "And not a moment too soon. We have need of you. The Council has received word that the Republic is facing a new threat."
"We need time to prepare a war council," Satele clarified, much to Aitahea's unspoken relief. "The Supreme Chancellor himself will be attending."
"I stand ready, Master," Aitahea assured.
Accepting her pledge with a nod, Syo nodded towards the doors. "Take time to record your journey in the Jedi archives. History must know of your actions."
Aitahea blinked, more surprised at her own surprise than anything – of course there should be a record of the current Barsen'thor as well; that's the first place to start, obviously – and almost missed Master Syo's final words. "We will contact you when the war council is ready. For now, the entire Order will know that there is a new Barsen'thor among us."
After a round of congratulations from each of the Masters, Aitahea and Qyzen left the Council chamber, ostensibly to bring her story to the archives.
"Scorekeeper smiles, Herald. Is great honor your people give you." He gestured broadly, sending a few initiates scurrying out of the way. "Points beyond measure!"
Her heart sang with gratitude. She'd trusted him as her ally, her second, her friend; and he'd returned that trust hundredfold. Questioned and advised her, criticized and coddled her, but never judged her. Steadfast and patient, always. If what they had done brought points-beyond-measure to her, he'd have the larger portion by far. "We hunt together, my friend. Whatever my score, you share it."
Qyzen paused, abruptly turning to face her. Traffic streamed around them; Temple life carried on. "Is… a noble thing you say. My thanks, Herald."
"My thanks to you as well, Qyzen. Thank you for…" For protecting me? For challenging me? For warning and guiding and validating me? For seeing me when even I could not? "…for everything."
"Must share the story of this hunt with your Order. It is good to share knowledge."
Aitahea thought of the Noetikons, the immense value of them for so much beyond the lore and history of the Jedi. Even after becoming one with the Force, they had set alight a path for so many Jedi after, herself included. Like she might, generations from now.
Blinking back tears and knowing full well she couldn't have hidden them if she'd wanted to, Aitahea smiled. "Then I must make yet another request of you: that you tell the story with me."
Qyzen regarded her for a long moment, long enough that she began to fret that she'd somehow stumbled into an insult. "You are Scorekeeper's Herald," he said solemnly, "and you are true Jedi."
Aitahea nodded, feeling and breathing and illuminating the Force around them.
"I'm home."