CHAPTER 12

Fury

"Anger and intolerance are enemies of correct understanding."

Fury, 14 BBY

Hyperspace

It had been many years since Trilla had been gifted something.

As her final reward for being tokened the Emperor's Wrath, Palpatine had commissioned her a Razor-Class Imperial Interceptor. While quick, quiet and nimble, it was also made for a crew of six, complete with a captain's quarters, dining area, holomap room and multiple cabins for uses of her own desire.

She could practically live in the ship, especially if she was the only passenger.

Much of her time so far had been spent training; learning to use her newfound powers. If she could say so herself, she felt that her skill with Death Field had increased drastically, even in a short time. Much of it had come natural to her, as opposed to the use of Force Lightning, which had been nigh-impossible to recreate. The energy required, as well as the control…it was beyond her knowledge for now, but she felt she was ready enough to start hunting.

But first, she needed her new blade.

It was mostly symbolic, as she certainly knew, but it was necessary, nonetheless. Her old blade, the one the Second Sister had used to chase down battered and old Jedi across the galaxy, would no longer be able to serve her.

Across her workbench was an array of lightsaber parts, most of them her own, but a few had been provided to her by the Emperor himself. The first things she had removed were the circular tracks that allowed the emitters to spin, but she had learned that relying on such a mechanism made her complacent at times, and not properly prepared for another to exploit the stationary area.

Not to mention the fact that it restricted her movement and dexterity, two things that needed to be impeccable if she were to catch her prey. Beyond that she felt the need for more aesthetic improvements. While what she used to wield got by on its slick design, it was mass-produced, sloppy and most of all, not her. The Emperor's Wrath would need to make a statement whilst also remaining in the shadows, striking and retreating with lethal precision, and her lightsaber was the key.

Before she had a legion of stormtroopers behind her…now she just had herself.

Finally exposing the core of her old blade, the pulsating kyber crystal was emitting what she equated to a scream, its energies sapped with each ignition, resulting in the bleeding red glow it had emitted. Focusing her mind, she gently pulled the crystal from the core, and at last the screaming stopped. Trilla couldn't explain it…but she felt relief from the object, relinquished of its pain that it had suffered at her hand. She let it fall into her glove, and with her touch, she felt it…change.

The sickly purple glow that she conjured transferred itself from her hand and into the crystal…and everything she once felt from the crystal was gone. It had been reborn, its potential realized in the hands of its true master, not abused by an ignorant child.

All the pieces naturally came into place as Trilla closed her eyes, imagining the hilt in her hand as she cut down her enemies, tracked down the last remnant of the Jedi Order…and finally expunged the last piece of her current imbalance.

When she closed her hand, it was there. Her eyes were greeted to a slick yet crude design; its black-green finish embracing the grip of death as it ripped life from all who stood to oppose her.

Gripping each side with a hand, she ignited it, and the purple hue illuminated the room, both blades roaring with power. Giving it a spin, it responded to her commands with a precision she had missed dearly, and she could already feel its increased power.

With a smile, she extinguished it, properly returning it to her left hip, and there was but one more task to complete before her hunt could begin.

Her ears twitched with detection and Trilla whirled around, her new cape flapping behind her as she reached for her hilt.

Looking up at her was a…spherical droid…truthfully unlike anything she had witnessed before. Why it was on her ship was another matter.

"Wrath," the droid greeted in perfect basic, emulated by a low-pitched female voice, its head sliding up its spherical body. "I see you have made yourself acquainted."

Trilla was too confused to react negatively, but also being in a relatively good mood pushed her to be more loquacious than usual. "Um…yes. Did you come with the ship?"

The little droid rotated its head, its singular red optic signifying its gaze. "I believe that is one valid way of describing it. My former master was Admiral Reyna Vorchenko, and I have deducted through my superior processors that I am to serve as a…parting gift."

That must mean she knew their partnership would come to an end now that Trilla had become the Emperor's Wrath. It was too bad, really. In their short time together Trilla had learned much from the enigmatic officer and having a competent ally like herself certainly contributed to her current promotion. By all means, however, Trilla had no intention of severing their relationship, and judging by the presence of the droid, Vorchenko shared that idea.

Trilla scoffed in amusement. "And what makes you believe you have…" she crossed her arms with her eyes panned downwards. "superior processing?"

"It is a simple reality of my construction, Wrath," the droid answered. "I am not a droid; I am a virtual intelligence with an advanced spherical construction. You will find me quite capable of preforming any task you wish to the highest standard."

"Interesting," Trilla mused. "Could you shake hands?"

The droid seemed to give her what she could best describe as a deadpan, before revealing a small metal prod from inside its body. "I could shake with my shock prod, but I could imagine this is detrimental to organic physiology, although useful if you ever require me for interrogation."

Trilla almost laughed. "You are a smart droid."

"I am not a droid."

"Right, my apologies," Trilla tipped her head. "What about a name?"

The VI readjusted itself to perform a bow with its head. "My designation is Spherical Artificial Virtual Intelligence, model 1, SAVI-1 for short, however I prefer that you refer to me as Rava."

"Rava…and why do you prefer this?"

Rava raised her head and sighed. "Do you organics refer to each other as numbers, or don't you all have your own names? I fail to see the distinction."

Trilla shrugged. "You're speaking to someone once called the Second Sister."

"Yes, yes, I know this, Wrath," Rava shook her head, rolling closer to her feet. "But now that you have grown beyond your birthplace, don't you prefer to be called something else?"

The Emperor's Wrath almost blew her off again, immediately finding an urge to kick the ball-shaped machine away just for reminding her of the Inquisitorious. All those spineless creatures were beneath her now, and Trilla had certainly grown beyond the ignorant and frail inquisitor she once was.

But in that case…Rava was right. Xur Eon wouldn't fear an inquisitor, just as he never feared the Second Sister…if anything he toyed with her. If she was to truly achieve what her Emperor had decreed, to cut herself from her old life, then it began with what Rava entailed. The galaxy, and Xur Eon, would learn to fear her for who she was, not for who she pretended to be.

"Wrath?" Rava asked, cocking her head in an intrigued manner. "Have I said something unsettling?"

Trilla said nothing, and turned to the mirror nearby, which was where the old garments laid sprawled on the floor, the red and black hues that once served her well. What she wore now was not much apart from it, but the red was gone, replaced by that same purple her blade adopted…except this purple was wholesome…dark, but also royal in a sense. The silver imperial insignia just over her right breast stuck out like a serviceman's medal, forged with a layer of blaster-halting beskar armor plating. Her uniform was not afraid to show her curves but maintained a level of discretion that was both captivating and respectful.

There was a mask, of course…brand new and provided to her by her Emperor. It was a near carbon-copy of her old, except with the new color scheme…but she was done hiding from herself. She was the Emperor's Wrath, and she wanted the galaxy to know who she really was.

She wanted Xur to know who she really was.

"Your words, Rava," Trilla finally spoke. "They ring true."

Rava looked up to her new master as she turned back to face her, and there was a shared glance of acceptance for their new partnership. "This pleases me, Wrath."

Trilla smirked. "So, I'd like the tour…"


Ziost, 14 BBY

Estate Outskirts

"Too aggressive," Valeria judged, locking her crimson blade with Xur's as he swung in a flurry, his full strength displayed before her. Instead of easing into this practice session, he had chosen to unleash Form VII from the start, just to get an idea of where it stood in her mind. To his misfortune, she was able to sidestep past an errant swing and blast him with a shock of lightning, dropping him to the rocky surface. "A smart Sith would've killed you with ease for that."

He breathed, rising back to his feet and holding his blade forward. "Do you have to blast me with lightning every time?"

She twirled her blade. "If I deem it necessary for you to learn, then yes."

Xur attacked again, this time incorporating Form II defensive techniques to shore up his open areas, but just found himself unable to attack effectively, and eventually suffered the same result as before. Each blast of lightning took its toll, feeling as if his body was being sapped of copious amounts of energy each time he absorbed it.

After the fifth time being hit by it, his legs would not allow him to rise, struggling to even get air in his lungs. "For the record, you're a shit mother," he wheezed.

"What did I tell you?" she pointed her blade. "Everything I do is for your benefit."

"Yeah?" Xur challenged, looking up. "So what is this supposed to teach me? How to get knocked on my ass consistently?"

Valeria seethed in disappointment, visibly frustrated. "Still, you use your lightsaber to think, instead of your mind. Tell me: whatever will you do when Suduri unleashes a Death Field upon you? Will you fall to your knees and beg for mercy, as you are doing now?"

The zabrak's teeth grit, and he tried to rise. "I'm not begging for-."

"Yes, you are!" Valeria bellowed and hit him with another blast, this one leaving him gasping for air. "Go on, beg! Beg her to spare you! Give her what she's always wanted: to see you writhe in agony before her, just as she drains the last of your pathetic life away!"

Xur roared and outstretched both hands, casting bolts of lightning from his fingers. Each of his digits felt as if they had been dipped in molten carbonite, and the pain became far too much to bear. In agony, he ended the flow, screaming as his searing hands burned worse than ever before.

Valeria had absorbed his attack into her single outstretched hand, and she only looked down upon him as the pain eventually ebbed away, leaving him to desperate gasps of breath. She knelt, her voice imploring his attention. "If you view the Force as only a method of attack, then you will fall prey to those you do not fully understand," she said, reaching for his hand, still ravaged with pain. Unsure as to why, he allowed her to take it, and she proceeded to gently massage it with her own. "What you feel as pain is your misunderstanding of this power you wield. You try to force it to obey your commands, and it fights back. Lightning is like a dragon, as it cannot be tamed by merely your talent or potential. It requires respect, and you must earn the right to wield it."

Xur couldn't understand it, but his mother was proving to be perhaps the most masterful deceiver he had ever encountered. She could electrocute him a thousand times, and in the end, he'd still forgive her. The harshness she had given him was placated by the love he felt for her, and it was almost embarrassing that he continued to allow her to torment him this way…winning his heart just to break it over and over.

Just like Trilla.

It was so pathetic and demeaning, to fall for it.

No more.

"Hit me again then," he said, pulling his hand away.

His mother gave him a concerned look. "I have no plans on killing you."

"No," he shook his head. "No, I'm done with this half-mother, half-teacher shit. Hit me again."

"Xur, I cannot-."

"Hit me again!"

"You do not give commands to me!" she shouted and unleashed a torrent with both hands, in which he took to the fullest. "If you cannot learn respect, then I will make you learn!"

Xur pooled the destructive energies, embracing the pain as it was…accepting its place within him. His hands gripped the dirt beneath him, and he felt that power grow, expanding within his core, threatening to spill out and end his life.

In that moment, he felt anger in his every connection to the Force. Anger at this father for leaving him behind, and at his mother for deceiving him. He felt it with the Jedi Order; to the Council that allowed Darth Sidious to rise from beneath their notice, to his Master, who had been foolish enough to allow himself to be killed. To Ahsoka, who had chosen another and subsequently abandoned him. To Kaidan, who had allowed Xur to kill him on Iridonia. To Effa, who only fueled the hatred and anger within him. To Cere, who had broken and given Trilla to the Empire. To Cal, who had been ignorant enough to allow another to shake his faith with him. To Trilla, who had betrayed him.

But most of all, beyond anything else, his hatred burned for Anakin Skywalker. That weak-willed and pathetic degenerate who had allowed his fear to control him, and then dared to justify the rest of his worthless existence behind a mask, torturing Jedi, murdering innocents…all because he had been too weak to look beyond his nightmares.

Every fiber in his body wanted nothing more than to squeeze the life out of that man, to watch his eyes fade into the cold embrace of death…and to know that he, Xur Eon, had been the one who finally ended his miserable existence.

He wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill him more than anything in the galaxy.

He felt it…this was the Dark Side.

Xur looked up, still engulfed in lightning, and raised his hand. His eyes seared yellow as he pooled the energy, collapsing the torrent into a sphere before him, letting the energies fuel his own. Once free of his body, he stood, and Valeria ceased her attack. She was in shock, realizing that she had lost all control, but also in awe, as he had achieved what she set out to teach him.

Closing his fist and dispersing the energy back into the Force itself, his legs gave out, and his vision tunneled to black.


Telos, 14 BBY

Outskirts

At last, Brutis had a quality drink in his canteen…whiskey, mixed with cinnamon from the fields of Kiros. He'd have killed to get a shot of this on Zeffo, and ever since he told the Second Sister to eat shit and die slow, it had been on his mind. It was beginning to affect his mood, meaning a lot more people along the way from Rhen Var had their head split open just for looking at him funny.

Freedom, however brief it was, was serving him well, and his ears certainly appreciated the lack of tortured screaming every night. He'd happily deal with Imperial retaliation than put up with any more of those scumbags strapping kids to lightning rods. Knowing that really did make killing them unapologetic and easy work, almost like watching a helpless man be beaten to death, but then know that they had a hobby for throwing little girls in a dungeon. Then, even the most self-righteous shit-cunt would just stand there and nod, saying: "yeah, that fucker deserves it."

Making life simple was his specialty.

"Ow! Dammit!" Petro yelped, twirling around with a stick in his hand.

Spending his time with a Jedi kid he just happened to stumble across was making it far less than simple. Brutis asked himself every day, around mid-sunrise, why the fuck he gave a shit about him. It would be so much easier to just go off alone, but part of him figured the kid could be a bargaining chip should he need an out…and also possibly a powerful sidekick he could groom up. The only issue was he didn't know jack shit about the Force…only that it could be used to either make people scream or…that's about it.

The Second Sister was probably a bad example. While annoying, the bitch sure was good at getting information out of cowardly slimes…almost impressive even.

Fuck her. Fuck them all.

All of them were a bunch of swineherds, a mob of peasants in fancy armor. He could recall the time he had to work under the real Second Brother, who…for all he knew was a rotting corpse in some Iridonian refinery…ah…that was a comforting thought. Xur Eon snapping the Third Sister's leg was also quite satisfying. Of all the annoying ones, she certainly was the worst, and to see that prissy smile wiped from her face was sweet bliss that accompanied each drink of whisky.

Petro hit himself in the leg again, the stick falling from his grip after the impact. From the log he was sitting on, Brutis only observed the boy continue to twirl it in a confusing motion…until all of it finally annoyed the former purge trooper enough for him to rise.

The kid twirled the stick around until his eyes caught Brutis approaching.

"The hell are you doing?" Brutis asked.

Petro paid him no mind, continuing to twirl in a confusing combative motion. "Practicing," he huffed, maintaining his breath.

"Practicing what?" he asked. "Ways to get yourself killed? That's no way to fight."

"It's not fighting…really…it's lightsaber forms," Petro explained, now holding the stick in blocking forms. Scoffing, Brutis stepped forward and pushed him over with ease, watching him fall to his rear.

"Might as well put on a dress," Brutis mocked. "Who taught you this shit?"

Petro defiantly rose to his feet. "The greatest Jedi General who ever lived."

"Jedi General…" Brutis mocked, beginning to laugh.

Petro stopped, suddenly standing up to him as his emotions rose to a fever pitch. "What do you know about Jedi?!"

"I'll bet his hair is greasier than the Emperor's cunt."

"It was not!"

"Was? He's dead?"

"Yes!"

"How?"

"He was killed!"

"Who by?"

Petro swallowed, looking as if he was forced to relieve a painful memory. "An inquisitor! The Second Brother!"

Brutis almost laughed out loud. "This great Jedi General was killed by the Second fucking Brother?"

"He was caught by surprise!"

"Any boy-whore with a laser-sword could beat five Second Brothers."

"Xur fought on his own! They laid a trap-."

Brutis raised his massive finger, silencing Petro in an instant. "You mean to tell me that the man who made two of the most lethal, sadistic harpies look like underpaid strippers from Nar Shaddaa…taught you this?!"

Petro seethed with the typical frustration of an unstable teenager. "Xur Eon was a hero! He died fighting for the Jedi!"

"He's not dead you little shit," Brutis shut him down, suppressing an urge to smack the kid back on the dirt. "I just told you that."

The boy's eyes widened in realization, and Brutis suppressed an annoyed grumble at the slowness of his piecing together. He could've sworn Jedi were better at perception, even the kids.

"Wh…we gotta go find him!" Petro jumped, stepping forward. "He needs help-," he was smacked onto his rear by Brutis once again, landing in a heap.

"I can guarantee you he doesn't need your help," Brutis spat. "Do you have any idea who's after him? They'll cut you to pieces and strap you to electric chairs just for showing your face."

"Xur wouldn't give up!" Petro protested, this time thinking better than to rise. "He'd fight until the last man, he always did!"

"And where has that got him?" Brutis challenged. "Now he runs and hides like a scared whomp rat, just like you."

"I do not!"

"Really? Is that how I found you? Fighting off those purge troopers like some valiant hero?" Brutis laughed in mockery. "No, you were like all the rest of the Jedi, desperate and helpless, begging for them to spare your life."

Petro rose, but Brutis smacked him hard enough to draw blood.

"They're weak! All of them!" he growled. "How many Jedi does the Empire have to kill before you figure it out?"

The young Jedi didn't get up this time, wiping the crimson blood from his face. Instead, he rolled over and sat cross-legged, looking in more control of his emotions. "You have no idea how many of my friends I've seen die."

Brutis tried to shake it off, but he began to feel undeniable pity for him…but no tears had dropped from the boy. He'd seen Jedi cry over much less, so at least the kid seemed to have a backbone.

"So tell me this…why did you help me?" Petro asked.

He knew that damn question was coming, and he had done his best to keep him from asking it. The simple fact of the matter was that Brutis had no idea…it was like some feigned pity for a group of people he'd helped kill or ruin. Since its inception, he had served the Empire, and not even then did he have an honest answer as to why. Brutis never had anything against Jedi, aside from petty jealousies of watching men much scrawnier than he achieve so much more. Most of them were…inspiring almost, and Xur Eon had been the prime example.

Watching him tear to shreds a squad that had been invincible for so many years reminded him that he hadn't joined the Inquisitorious for sport, or his own accord. The screams of that girl had shocked him straight…mindless obedience at the fear that that could be him in that machine. So he'd stayed…fought through her screams until she screamed no more…until she donned that helmet and lead him on the hunt for people he didn't even hate.

If he hated anything, it was the sick bastard who had invented that machine, and the spineless coward who used it. In spite of that, he felt an obligation to watch after that girl…because for some reason he felt he owed her that much. And then she started torturing…and he knew it was only a matter of time until he was next.

Until that day…until Xur Eon showed him what the Empire truly was: a cesspool of broken cowards who were better at electrocuting little girls than fighting true champions. Captain George was just the first to realize that, right as Brutis shoved the man's own knife into his throat. When it was all over, and he saw Petro's eyes…they were the same eyes of that frightened girl who he'd let the Empire hurt.

What he had in mind…it was poetic justice of the most beautiful kind.

"Pick up that stick," Brutis flicked his hand, and Petro gave him a dumbfounded look. "I'm not going to teach you how to fight, not like the Jedi,

"I'm going to teach you how to win."


Dathomir, 14 BBY

Highlands

Another night around the fire, alone, for Cal Kestis.

A week scouring Dathomir and he still felt no closer to the Tomb of Kujet, the last destination in his journey to unlock Cordova's holocron…a journey that has proven to evolve far beyond what it originally entailed.

Since the disaster that was Zakuul, Cal's mindset had morphed from survival to a gross desire for understanding. Trilla had been so beyond him power-wise that he worried if he ever ran into her again, it would be the last time…even if part of him felt for her after witnessing everything she had gone through. When she unleashed that…death field, as Cere called it…it had been the worst feeling he had ever experienced. To have your very soul ripped from your body…it's an experience that can't be described properly with words…and since, he'd made it his mission to understand how it all happened.

Not only that, but how to subsequentially prevent it from happening to him.

Cere was good at hiding it, but Cal knew she was struggling with something, and to have seen it all play out before his eyes, he knew it was the Dark Side calling back to her. Part of him took Trilla's initial words to heart, even if he didn't want to.

How long until she cracks and betrays you too?

It was all blatant manipulation, but by the Force was she good at it. He'd only had one proper conversation with the inquisitor, but he remembered her every word to the letter. The worst part was…everything she had said was true. Cere, whether he liked it or not, was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode…and perhaps it was only a matter of time until broke and sold him out to the Empire, just like she did Trilla.

Cal packed those thoughts away. What was he thinking? This doubt that had plagued him was crippling, and he'd be damned if he let that lunatic get into his head…even if Xur had described her as…

Him.

Damn Greez for being right. Xur Eon, the gold-armored shining hero he looked up to had tucked tail and run from Zakuul, leaving behind a droid that wasn't even programmed to protect him. If anything, it had been programmed to protect the very woman chasing his whereabouts as he sat around his fire. Cal even had the decency to try and save the woman he so painfully and obviously was in love with, only to watch her almost kill both him and Cere in the process.

Trilla wasn't beyond saving, he knew it, but she was certainly beyond his saving. Everything that played out on Zeffo was evidence enough. After she removed that mask, he saw a confident hunter who looked down upon him in condescension, so sure that either he would fall into her grasp, or Cere would do it for her. Even on Zakuul, she chased him down and beat him like he was a youngling with a practice blade, and he would've never stood a chance without HK's sonic blasts.

But Xur…he could do it. When she saw him…all her superior confidence faded in an instant, and all she had was rage and denial. He had sensed that within her as soon as she realized he wasn't dead…a spark of relief that was immediately snuffed out by blinding hatred that may very well be superficial.

Cal wondered…since he had nothing but time on his hands now…why did Trilla hate Xur? After touching her hilt and hearing the stories Xur had told him, if anything she had always been enamored by him…vying for his attention when he didn't always grant it to her. Even as the Second Sister, she had gone on over and over on how badly she had wanted to kill him, but with her interrogation, Cal never found any reason…

You are mine.

Those words…they were three words that slithered down his spine every time Cal was reminded of them, and he felt the fear that came with them through Trilla. She had been made afraid to love, established that if she ever let it in her heart again…it would mean death.

Did she hate Xur…because she still loved him?

Perhaps…but Cal knew it was beyond his power. If Trilla was to be saved, all of it rested on Xur's shoulders…and Xur's alone.

Cal had more immediate concerns, anyhow, like watching for the bane back spiders that prowled around his camp. The nightmarish creatures didn't like fire, which was his saving grace, but that hadn't stopped them from lobbing wads of venomous liquid his way. After a few days of warding them off by slicing up some of their counterparts, they had backed off for now, to his relief. He couldn't sense them out there tonight.

Doo-oop.

"I thought so. Thanks for checking, BD," Cal said.

BD-1 was camped out beside him, waddling around as he scanned the surrounding area. It helped to have such a vigilant droid to scan for the less prominent dangers in the Force. At first the nighttime sounds were unsettling, but Cal was able to adjust quickly, focusing himself each night to drown out the excess noise.

BD shivered and let out an uneasy whooo.

"Maybe…but still…there's something familiar about this place…"

Bo-preep?

"I don't know…" Cal trailed off, shaking off a feeling. "I feel like…"

"Feel like what?"

Cal vaulted to his feet and ignited his blue blade at the sound of an echoing female voice, his eyes locking on a manifesting figure via green energy he had never before witnessed.

"Like we're being watched," Cal finished, holding his blade at the ready.

Before him appeared a woman with silver-white skin, her gray tattoos her most prominent feature present on her face, as well as her white hair that hung over one side of her face, the rest tied in a bun behind her head. She was dressed in mostly red…similar drapes of a Jedi, but…darker…mystical almost.

"I'd steady that blade if I were you, Jedi," she warned with a pointed finger, her hand emanating that green energy.

Cal calmed himself, warding off the initial reaction, choosing to analyze the situation instead of swinging his lightsaber. "You…you must be a nightsister," he recognized to the best of his ability, based off descriptions from Cere.

She was…more attractive than he envisioned, and that realization steadied his hand, extinguishing his blade as he sensed no malintent present.

"Indeed," she confirmed, although showing no signs of backing down. "I have been watching you since you arrived. Why are you here…Jedi?"

The way she spat Jedi was unsettling to say the least, not to mention the confrontational attitude she had stuck with, even after he extinguished his blade.

"Look…" he began, holstering his hilt with his hands raised. "I'm not here to fight anyone. I'm just looking for something."

"Looking for something to steal?" she retorted, maintaining her stance.

"No, of course not," Cal assured. "I'm looking for answers…for a way to…" he then remembered what Cere had told him…how all the nightsisters had been wiped out in a massacre, and yet here one was…meaning she could very well be the only one. "…a way to bring back my people."

She wavered momentarily, and that's when Cal tried to sink the hole. "Maybe we could…work together?"

Her hand remained out in front in a warning pose, crackling with energy. "The last time I saw one of those blades, it was used to bring an end to my people," she stepped forward, reassuming her confrontational stance. "So tell me this, Jedi. Why should I believe a word you say?"

There was something she believed about the Jedi that made her this way, Cal knew, and he felt his life relying on his ability to convince this woman that he was not her enemy. Since Bracca, he had been very bad at making friends, especially with most everyone wanting to get a piece of him one way or another, leading to countless fights and battles.

That's it.

"You can feel the Force…can't you?" he asked, maintaining an easing posture.

The nightsister cocked her head in curiosity.

"Go on. Read my mind," Cal offered, purposefully projecting his thoughts. "I'm not here to hurt you. I didn't come here to loot your planet…I promise."

It took her a moment, but eventually Cal felt her probing his mind. The power she used was unlike anything he had seen, and he could tell as soon as she touched his mind. To use the Force this way…it really showed him how little he truly knew about it.

When he finally felt her presence leave his mind, her arms lowered, losing her defensive stance.

"You speak the truth," she admitted. "That is…not what I expected…from a Jedi."

Cal bowed with respect, lowering his hands. "I'm Cal Kestis. Do you have a name?"

She continued to probe him, but she at least did so without her hands raised, prepared for a fight. "You may call me Merrin," she answered. "What are you really doing here Cal Kestis?"

Now with her momentary trust, Cal felt the necessity to show his own, in hopes she could return it back to him. "There's a tomb here, on Dathomir, that was built by an ancient race called the Zeffo. Inside is an object called the Astrium, which opens a vault on a distant planet. Within that vault is a list of Force-sensitive children across the galaxy…but the Empire is after it too."

Merrin looked on in confusion. "What Empire?"

Well, that explains a lot.

"The Empire," Cal answered. "The one bent on exterminating Force-sensitives so no one can stand against it."

With that, Merrin paused, and she looked as if a stunning realization had reached her. "Then it will come for Dathomir before long…" she said, her voice turning somber and bitter. "…as the war did."

Cal stepped forward, offering condolences, but she slightly stepped away. "Merrin…I don't know what happened to your people, but I'm sorry. All I know is that a Sith Lord was responsible…not the Jedi."

Merrin shook her head, waving off his words. "Don't try to understand my pain, Cal Kestis," she warned. "I do not need your pity."

He said nothing, and he could sense her sorrow building the more they stuck to the subject…until she finally turned away, walking into the darkness.

"I will consider your words," she accepted, before disappearing in a green mist…leaving Cal alone in the night.

"There she goes," Cal huffed, returning to his seat on the ground.

Boop-doop-pree?

"I hope so, BD," he answered, shutting his eyes. "I hope so."


ISD Valkyrie, 14 BBY

Hyperspace

"You must not become complacent, Admiral," Tarkin warned, projected via Admiral Vorchenko's personal holocam in her work quarters. "While your previous works have done you credit, the Emperor has not forgotten that Xur Eon still lives."

She tipped her head, maintaining her straightened posture. "I can assure you, Governor, I will remain vigilant, and I will find Eon once again."

Tarkin let his gaze slant downwards. "Be sure that you do. There are rumors in the higher circles that Admiral Slovis will begin his own search for him, and you must not allow him to succeed. It is a race now, Admiral…and your continued service may rely on your success."

"I understand."

"Good," Tarkin nodded. "Show no mercy and leave nothing of him left."

The transmission ended there as Tarkin's head disappeared, and she allowed herself to slouch in her chair. There was certainly anxiety within her, but not so much because of her current debacle. In her hand was something far more important…a data drive that Xur had given to her when he still posed as the Second Brother. While the Second Sister's services had been plenty helpful…as well as Vorchenko's subtle nudges for Trilla Suduri to embrace her own individuality…she never had the chance to open the drive without the inquisitor discovering.

With what she deducted about this Greater Imperium…it could be the key to her ultimate goal: to place Xur Eon at the head of an invincible insurgency that would eventually burn the Empire to the ground.

Locking her door, she inserted the drive…and took her first steps.


So yeah…we went everywhere in that chapter, touching bases with everyone just to catch up, but the next series of chapters will be more focused on individual stories. Xur and Trilla are still the forefront of the narrative, so expect plenty of them, but believe me, I understand that Brutis is one of the favorites, so I intend on giving him some more time to shine.

And Merrin has finally made it! I plan on giving her a completely different story (her and Cal truthfully), so don't expect the same Dathomir arc from the game.

Thanks for all the support thus far. In two months, this story has already reached 5000 views (3000 in the month of January!). For me, that's more than I've ever received in such a short time, and I cannot thank you all enough for sharing this journey with me.

Thanks for reading! Next up: the full power of the Dark Side!