Summary: Erebus receives an unbidden invitation to witness memories he didn't ask to recall, and finds himself asking more questions than he's ready to answer.


3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport

"So, what's the word?" Asra asked, leaning on her elbows as Mission took the seat opposite her in the cantina booth. The Twi'lek shrugged, looking none too worried.

Vale watched as the girl assumed a seat beside her Wookiee friend, the bustle of the bar appearing unconcerned with their presence – a refreshing thought after escaping Tatooine.

"There's a Republic Cruiser set for Onderon not too far from here. On a supply run, I think. I organized a pick-up that will make it look like Vale is transporting goods to be delivered to the war effort-"

"The war effort?" Vale barely heard her own words over the din of the bar, and the hood she donned didn't help much. She pilfered one of her brother's spares from his ship as a means of precaution, lest anyone recognize her.

"I'm not square on the politics, but from what I've heard?" Orex started, nursing his drink, "Onderon is plagued by some kind of civil war."

"Royal affairs gone rotten, I take it?" Asra smirked sourly into her cup before taking a sip.

"Something like that," Mission said before looking pointedly at Vale, "Listen, this ship – they're not gonna know who you are, and they shouldn't know you are."

"So who am I supposed to be, exactly?" Vale asked, careful to hide the agitation rising in her throat. With her past aliases out in the open, she'd have to reinvent herself completely to go unnoticed. She regretted the thought, but she had come to like being Vale, and she wasn't ready to start being someone else.

"They're sending over documents now," Mission answered, motioning towards Zaalbar to hand her the datapad in his hand. She drew up a map as she continued, "I'm supposed to pick them up, somewhere around…"

The girl's fingers maneuvered around the map like lightning, zooming in on their location and scanning the nearby areas in search of something familiar.

"Here," she pointed to a warehouse not far from where they had parked Aiden's ship, "You're supposed to be some, I don't know, important diplomat or something. Oh! That reminds me –"

"What?" Vale pressed once Mission failed to elaborate, rummaging through her pockets.

After a moment, the Twi'lek produced a credit chit from her utility belt. She smiled.

"We get to go shopping."


Fingers fumbling over unfamiliar controls, Erebus brought the clumsy vessel he was now masquerading as his own down onto the sorry state Space City seemed to be in these days.

Space City, he scowled, what dolt thought this was a fitting name?

Erebus knew the answer to that, of course, having made it his business to know everything¸ but that didn't mean he approved of it, so to speak.

Space City was also known as the Nespis VIII Spaceport, though no one ever actually called it that. The sprawling city was constructed sometime around the dawn of the Republic, and 25,000 years ago, well, the concept of space was still new to anyone who was lucky enough to venture out into it. Erebus imagined the shocked faces of the ancients if they could witness his annoyance now, inconvenienced by the unfamiliarity of the ship he now piloted despite its ability to grant him the gift of space travel, almost aggravated with the modern metropolis that loomed into view ahead of him, unimpressed the marvel of it all.

Why here?

Erebus' unease mounted as he neared, the spaceport slowly eclipsing any glimpse of space or the planet beyond. The Force was leading him somewhere, but in order to go forward, he first had to go back.

A lifetime ago, Erebus stepped foot on the orbiting city with wide eyes and a heavy heart, afraid he'd never see his mother again. It was his sister who urged him onward, awed by towers that rose high into the azure sky as if their steeples were close enough to prick the nearby planet Nespis. Even with his sister's confident hand in his, he trembled in the shadows of the spires that towered over them. He had never seen anything so tall, and the murals were even worse. Before being assigned to the Dantooine Enclave, the twins were brought before the local Jedi council that sat on this city's temple board, being the closest one to Serroco. But in order to get to the temple, they were first ushered passed the monolithic depictions of the still-recent Great Sith War that snaked their way through the city, as if warning what might become of any prospective Jedi should they stray from the Order's righteous path. Faces resurfaced in his mind. Erebus shuddered as if looking upon them once more - not as himself now, but as the child he once was.

Erebus nearly ignored the comm requesting his ship's credentials. With half a mind, he didn't bother searching for the proper forms and instead reached into the well of his disquiet and persuaded the officer to let him pass. By the time they caught onto the ship's missing data, Erebus would be long gone, and this hurtling mass of garbage would be ownerless once more.

Impatient, he parked the stolen spacecraft in a commercial lot, uninterested in securing a private bay. As soon as he was planet-side, he drew the datapad from his cloak again, tracking the coordinates back to his own ship. It wasn't far, only-

"Mister Aren Valen," a modulated voice rang in his ear once he reached the main hub of the docking area, surrounded on all sides by shop-stalls, monetary exchange stations, and all manner of prostitution milling about in search of a spare credit or a free ride off world.

Erebus stopped mid-stride.

"Excuse me?"

Normally, he would never stop for a droid, let alone anyone. But that name…

"Mister Aren Valen, your ship is ready."

Giving it a good look now, Erebus looked the outdated protocol droid in the eye, reaching out with his senses to see if it was somehow prompted to address him as such. The droid stood expectantly, seemingly untampered with. It flexed its joints, impatient, as if avoiding the need for an oil bath while waiting for his reply, anxious that Erebus agree to follow it.

Whoever programmed this droid did so the old-fashioned way, but even then, there was only one person Erebus knew with such a knack for droids.

"Right this way, sir."

Aren Valen. Erebus had not heard that name in years. In fact, he had only ever heard the name maybe twice in his life. Aren Valen was his father, though the man had disappeared before he could rightly form memories. Erebus was almost named after him, but was instead named after his grandfather, Aiden. The names were not dissimilar, but the blow had been an obvious one, or so he had overheard once upon a time.

The droid ambled onward, looking back periodically to make sure that Erebus followed. Still eyeing the readout of his datapad, Erebus watched as the droid drew him nearer to his ship's location. Aren Valen, Aren Valen, Aren Valen. Another clue. Another step back bringing him forward.

It had to be her, it just had to be. Only Eden would know.

The droid led Erebus to a closed landing pad on the far side of the starport, turning around as they approached the gate. Bowing with the typical flair of protocol ceremony, the droid thanked Mister Aren Valen as the gate opened and allowed him access. Just as soon as Erebus muttered a reply, the doors shut swiftly at his back, leaving him alone with his ship.

The hangar was far too large for the vessel, but there it stood, pristine and perfect as if it had been churned out of the Star Forge anew, not salvaged from the wreckage at Malachor V. A soft chiming emanated from his datapad, bringing Erebus out of his reverie. He had reached his destination, and if the melodic alert wasn't enough, the screen also glowed a soft green, pulsing gently. If it weren't for the readout, he may have actually questioned whether this was, in fact, his ship. It was as if it were brought back from the dead.

Erebus knew better, though. With enough credits, the thing could have been fixed up good and proper. The only reason he hadn't done it himself was because of where the ship had come from and he couldn't afford anyone asking too many questions. Plus, he had no use for money other than to fuel his research, so why bother? Especially when he could take his pick of the moon's wreckage. Thousands of flightworthy ships remained abandoned on Malachor's surface or forever hanging in its orbit. Not to mention, Erebus was too busy to concern himself with such things. His work-

My research.

Snapping back to his senses, Erebus rushed aboard the ship, careful to check its every crevice and corner for a sign of something stolen. He raced to the cargo bay and the desk he had there, his notes now neatly piled and stacked alongside his collection of datapads and holocrons. They had been scattered haphazard before. Someone had surely been rifling through his things, and even at a glance Erebus could tell it wasn't all there, but then - there it was.

Approaching the surface of his workstation, he saw it: a small onyx pyramid, like the one in his sketches. There had been pieces of a broken few on Malachor, no explanation or means of origin attached to their remains. The records there were vague but had detailed the location of several settlements where the artifacts might be found - Tatooine being one of them.

This was it, this was what he had been looking for. Or at least, partly.

Erebus' skin grew cold as the realization struck him. This is it, he thought, this is what the Force wants to show me. It began with his work, leading him to his sister, and yet… his sister drew him right back. It was all connected… somehow.

He extended a hand, gently laying a finger on the smooth surface of the object, so small and unassuming, and yet the moment he made contact, everything went dark. His senses blinded, his limbs stiff, and his eyes rolled back into his head. And out of the darkness, a voice spoke as images dredged up from the depths of his memory.

We feed the Force and Force feeds us.

The voice was singular yet multiplicitous at once, and all together unfamiliar - but the images it showed him were not: a man, woman, and a child looked over what appeared to be the edge of a crib at him and Eden - his mother and who he assumed was his father watched on, but the child was unfamiliar and open-mouthed under a mop of messy hair. The moment dissolved until only the jungle remained, the already-warm air hot with blaster fire as the fighting drew nearer, his mother's comforting embrace pulling his young body from the danger as two strangers approached them and extended welcome hands from beneath heavy robes. And then Erebus was eight again and crying in his dorm on Dantooine, his sister holding the projected holovid of their mother in her trembling hands as she told them their grandparents had perished in a raid, tears streaming down her face. He blinked and he was older now, wandering amid the white-blue glow of the datapads that populated the Jedi Library on Coruscant, his eyes watching sidelong as Master Kavar approached Master Atris, speaking in hushed tones, their faces pale, blanched as if they'd seen a ghost. He turned to put a datapad away, only to find the library gone and his hands bloodied, his knuckles bruised and throbbing as a man with a wicked smile circled him in a dark alley, begging that he hit him again, and again, and again, a crimson crag of blood running down the side of his mouth like a wound. Erebus wound his arm back and readied a swing but darkness descended and all that remained was the space between stars and the feeling of Nihilus, the hunger that persisted, the pulsing energy that filled the room when he entered, as if all those present were plunged into the hollow stomach of a ravenous beast.

We control the seeds and tell the roots where to grow.

The stars dissolved, Nihilus' yearning making way for something Erebus had no words for, something somehow less than nothingness. He was weightless without concept of weight or being, as if he simply just were - and then the universe blossomed before his eyes, atoms bursting from an unseen bud, collapsing and colliding in a kaleidoscope of chaos.

Feed our Empire and you may live on forever.

Erebus' eyes shot open.

He stumbled back and shut his eyes once more, beckoning that the images, the feeling, anything, return.

A flicker of an image – grey eyes set in stone, reflecting the sky and the stars above – and then nothing.

Breathe, he reminded himself. Just breathe.

Inhaling, he counted to ten, and exhaled. He felt like a child again, overcome with emotion and told to control himself. He could hear Master Atris repeat the exercise in his head, though now it was difficult not the hear the hypocrisy in her voice. When Erebus regained control, the anger remained, but it was welcome. At least some emotions were good for something, now.

Vexed, violated, and indignant, Erebus drew himself up, his back straight.

As the anger coursed through him, something told him to seek out fear - specifically, the fear that still lingered here. Grey eyes set in stone…

He was Nihilus' no longer. Erebus was his own man and if he had a death wish, well, so be it.

He left his ship alone in the hangar, and if his Master sought to claim it, he'd be waiting.


"Thank the Maker, that robe was awful," Asra whistled, surveying Vale as she stepped out of a makeshift dressing room in the din of the motel suite they shared for the time-being.

"I feel… weird," was all Vale could say, pulling at the fabric clinging to her legs. She was used to tight-woven clothing, anything that would keep the sun and sand out. But Mission's contact had already chosen the regalia of some nearby Outer Rim world for her faux-diplomatic jaunt to Telos IV. Vale recognized the styling, too – it was common to see travelers from the Anoat Sector sporting cloth of maroon, blue or gold, colors also often found in gambling sectors as the shopkeeper affirmed. The fact that the garb was easily recognizable would allow anyone noticing her to instantly make an inference and look no further. That was the idea, at least.

"Not looking bad yourself," Vale finally said after adjusting the sleeveless cape that accented her outfit, still unused to her skin's ability to breath when clothed.

Asra turned around, smirking, putting on a show.

"I'm a doll, aren't I?"

Asra sported outdated Republic fatigues, not uncommon for this part of the galaxy. Now that Asra and the others had been seen with Vale, there was no knowing who might recognize them.

"I don't envy you, though," the Togruta admitted, slipping her headdress off and placing it in her pocket. "A pantsuit would not have been my first choice."

"I didn't even have a choice!" Vale countered, unable to keep the smile from her voice.

She punched Asra playfully in the arm before ducking back into the adjoining room. Vale sighed, still anxious as she secured her old clothes and her brother's cloak in a rucksack. She had no use for any of this, though she imagined she'd ditch most of it when she got the chance. Her boots and her utility belts could come in handy, especially once she shook the sand out of them, and part of her wanted to keep Aiden's cloak for reasons that were not exactly practical.

"Hey," Asra's voice came from the other side of the door after a few moments, "You okay in there?"

Vale sighed, still holding the cloak in her hands, feeling the texture of the fabric under her fingertips as if it might tell her something reassuring.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

The door opened, the air hitting her back softly as Asra entered.

"You don't sound alright," she said, taking a seat on the bed beside Vale's bag, "I mean, I don't expect you to, but…"

"Are you alright?" Vale asked, looking up at Asra until their eyes met. The Togruta met her gaze before looking away, watching her feet shuffle on the cheap rug as she sat on her hands uncertainly.

"Not really. Not that Anchorhead is any sort of ideal location or anything, but I was getting comfortable there. I liked the work I was getting," Asra explained, her honey-yellow eyes surveying the room and looking anywhere but straight at Vale, "It was… I don't know, nice having a routine for once."

"I never thought to ask before, but, " Vale began, already unsure of whether she should even broach the subject given her own feelings about such questions, "What did you do before? Where were you?"

Asra shrugged and sighed, not as if she were dodging the question but looking as if she weren't sure where to start. She narrowed her eyes, still looking about the room as if the answer might be written on a panel somewhere.

"Well, not to say that I didn't wonder, but I had a mind that it might be a sensitive subject – " Vale explained herself further after a few moments of silence.

To fill the quiet, Vale began folding and unfolding her clothes, separating what she wanted to keep and what she was to get rid of in two separate piles as Asra gathered her words.

"You notice how often Orex uses the word displaced?" Asra eventually began, "I prefer uprooted. The Outer Rim was a mess...still is. Hell, it probably always will be. But back then, before the Jedi joined the war, it was even worse. We-"

She paused, looking at Vale this time. Vale held her gaze and did not waver, waiting. Asra continued.

"We kept moving, from place to place, from planet to planet. It was weird not having a home at first, but then it just became… the norm. It got to the point where sticking around became the strange part, and we itched to get moving again. Word of the war spreading only set the fire to our-"

Asra stopped again. We. Our. Asra had a family once. Vale only had an inkling of what that might have been like, but more so what it would have been like to lose.

"It doesn't matter now, just…" the Togruta looked at her now, a bittersweet smirk crossing her face, "I was getting used to sticking around again."

"Me too."

The words were new to her, though Vale had known it for some time, and they felt natural as she spoke them. She had settled on Tatooine. She had a shop, she had a clientele, she had… friends. She had Asra.

"Y'know, I think you're the first friend I've had since…" Vale paused, combing through her memory, "Actually, I'm not sure I've ever had any friends."

"Oh, come on," Asra argued, "I'm sure everyone you've ever helped out here would consider you a friend. Friends aren't always pen pals, y'know."

"So how many friends do you have?" Vale challenged, leaning over and nudging Asra in the shoulder. She smiled.

"This isn't a contest!" she stifled a laugh, "But I mean it. I've heard people talk about you, about how you cut them a deal when the seasons were rough, or how lenient you are with payment installments-"

"Oh stop, you know I'm not in it for the money."

"Hello?!" Asra raised her arms, indicating at nothing and everything at once, "That's all anyone's after. Just look at-"

"The price on my head?" Vale finished. Asra's expression soured, her smile fading and her arms descending to thunk mutely on the old mattress beneath her.

"Well, there's that."

When she saw the leak, Vale knew Atris had been behind it. She wasn't exactly sure how or why, but she knew. As for the money, though… what would Atris need with credits? She was frugal, like any Jedi, uncommitted to things of material value. So where did the 50 million credits factor in? Perhaps it was just incentive, and yet-

"Listen, you have more friends than you know. Or at least, not everyone in this galaxy wants to kill you."

"Because 'friends' and 'people who don't want to kill you' are synonymous, right?" Vale joked darkly.

"In some circles, yes!" Asra sighed, pushing herself off the bed so she could pace around the room. "The Outer Rim's a rough place."

"I was born here, y'know," Vale said defensively.

"You're gonna die here, y'know. Convenient." Asra laughed.

"Aren't we all."

Asra cocked her head, confused, as if the line of hypothetical joking ended there.

"It's all Revan's fault," Vale continued, "She brought the fight the Mandalorians wanted and never finished it."

Asra shrugged, agreeing, still pacing around the room.

"I take it you knew her well."

"Oh, I knew her. Or at least," Vale swallowed, "I thought I did."

The pack before her was now overstuffed, and hardly any of her old belongings laid on the bed beside her to be discarded. She upeneded her duffel and started over.

"Then again, I'm not the only one."

"I guess that's not uncommon," Asra said, "I've met plenty of spacers disillusioned with her. And Malak,"

Asra stilled, looking at Vale for a reaction.

"I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"What?"

"I don't know, you just-" Asra crossed her arms over her chest, "Didn't sound like you had the best relationship with Malak either, when we were back on the crawler."

"What were you saying about all those friends I have?" Vale managed a smile.

"Oh, come on. I meant that."

Asra continued pacing again, and more aggressively this time, her step quickening and her stride lengthening with every rotation.

"I know you did," Vale admitted, "But I can't say anyone I believed to be my friend didn't turn on me at one point or another."

She was tempted to use the word 'betray' but something didn't feel right about it. Everything that had ever gone wrong with someone in Vale's life felt like some huge misunderstanding, a miscommunication of enormous proportion

"Well, except for you."

"There's time yet," Asra chimed, joking, "Everyone's bound to disappoint at one point or another."

"That's not the same thing…"

Asra laughed.

"Maybe I need to redefine 'disappoint' in my own personal vernacular."

"I think I need to redefine a lot of things," Vale admitted, looking at her sorry excuse for luggage as an endless barrage of questions circled in her mind, unanswered, "But first, I intend to find whoever invented the pantsuit and ask 'why?'"

Asra's eyes did not meet hers this time. Her eyes glazed over in thought, staring at some indiscriminate corner of the room, but she smiled, already looking rather comfortable in her Republic fatigues.

"I expect a full report, agent."

She looked at her now, and Vale could tell the smile did not meet her eyes, a certain unspoken sadness muting their usual warmth. Vale smiled back at her, but she expected she looked the same.


Erebus' memory served him well. Passersby slipped by him in a blur, until there were none to pass him at all. As the temple neared, the crowd thinned, and Erebus was alone.

As it should be, he thought, the district near derelict. The temple would be deserted, with most of the Jedi gone. This place was as good as cursed and the ghosts of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma watched over the Order they helped put to rest.

The mural was just as large as he remembered, if not even more monolithic. Once-noble knights, Kun and Qel-Droma, stood down as if they were facing Erebus and his eager eyes, answering to him and him alone, not the Jedi Council of old. It was near some fifty years ago, now. Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma turned from the Jedi and waged war upon them, just as Revan and Malak would not long after. Erebus knew their story and its every detail, if not for his obsession with facts but for Master Atris' obsession with righteousness. They were the reason Revan and Malak's plea for action was ignored. They were the reason the Code was rewritten and kept straight to the tee. It was because of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma that Erebus was even ever interested in history, in fact. As much as their visages haunted his younger memories, he was endlessly fascinated with their story, with the idea that they could commune with a spirit through the Force, that they could carry a conversation with the dead at all. And it was when Erebus fell that he began to wonder how Freedon Nadd managed to live so long and inspire those even after he was dead. And it was an interest in Sith artifacts that led him here now, were it not also for the urging of the agent who turned him to his dark path.

The temple stood beyond, quiet and seemingly abandoned. What happened at Katarr likely wiped out what remained of the Jedi - those fools. Yet still, Erebus wondered what remained.

Erebus looked up into the spectral eyes of Exar Kun, his lightsaber raised in defiance of the Jedi, who were now as good as extinct for all eternity. Grey eyes set in stone.

A childhood fear took root again, emerging from memory and welling at the base of his chest. He thought of those same grey eyes the night they came here all those years ago, and for many nights after. He was almost terrified to become a Jedi, fearful of the man made from glass, the man from the mural. Erebus did not recall when the nightmares ceased and Exar Kun let him rest. Kun may have been dead, and Erebus may have slept soundly, but Sion knew his horrors more intimately than that. Darth Sion was borne of Kun and Qel-Droma's war, fueled only by rage and pure hatred, his skin and his soul first ravaged by the Great Sith War and every battle he waged after, long after those dark disciples perished.

There were echoes of Kun and Qel-Droma even now, though dead some twenty years. The Jedi knights before him had learned all they knew of the Dark Side from a ghost, after all. There was nothing to say that their spirits did not dictate the fate of the galaxy still.

Erebus shivered, ice traveling the length of his spine and back again. And then his senses prickled. Movement behind him, eyes watching, a finger held precariously over a trigger as it was pressed gently to his neck.

Electricity sprung to Erebus' fingertips, his adrenaline returning.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

A hand grabbed his, immune to the energy coursing over his skin, and twisted it back.

"We just have a few questions, if you don't mind," the voice drawled casually, "If you would just follow me."

His unseen assailant pushed him forward, sending Erebus stumbling onto the crumbling steps of the Jedi temple. He dared a glance backward, but only found a hooded figure swathed in white.

He thought of the white-haired girl from Anchorhead and how she had blocked his ability to use the Force, how she had unwittingly used it without realizing. But the woman behind him now was too reliant on her blaster pistol, her fingers too poised, her body tense and ready to react. She didn't have what the girl had – yet like her, she was Echani. That much was clear. But who she was and why she was here…

Erebus raised his hands in surrender, complying. The hooded woman nodded and urged him onward, up the steps, and for what purpose? Erebus would soon find out.


Notes: So it seems that getting to the Harbinger is taking more time than I ever anticipated. I feel like for where I want this story to go, that this buildup is necessary, and that might become more apparent in the next chapter especially. But as usual, any comments, corrections/criticisms are more than welcome! Thanks to those of you that have read and commented so far :)