3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility
Eden
Eden Valen had grown to live without the Force.
She'd reach for it here and there, less so as the years went on. In the Force's absence, her gut took over, her intuition filling the gaps and hoping everything made sense once the pieces were put together.
Now her gut was wrenching in agonizing pain, and the Force, for the first time in her life, was dialed to eleven.
Eden lay sprawled on the floor of an unfamiliar room, lights flashing, siren wailing. Her memory was blank, knowing vaguely of who she was but none of how she got here. The last she'd known, she had been asleep. Before that, Tatooine. But only bits and pieces, nothing concrete: she recalled the name Vale, the texture of droid-oil caking her fingers, the almost permanent feeling of sand in the heels of her boots, and the ever-pervasive heat of the planet's suns on the back of her neck. But after Tatooine… she was here, wherever this was, her face streaked with tears as her throat retched her awake, emptying her stomach of liquid as the palms of her hands dug into the countless shards of duraglass that scattered the floor of the unfamiliar medbay that now housed her.
She reached a hand to her aching mouth, her fingers coming away bloody. Amid the metallic tang of blood, there was a sweet salinity, a viscous softness coating her mouth that said only: kolto.
Looking over her shoulder with effort, still sprawled belly-first to the floor, Eden glimpsed the broken kolto tank behind her, a memory flashing as she saw it – a medbay, but not this one, an HK droid at her side, the overwhelming sense of dread eating away at her stomach as she worried about her luggage, about a black pyramid set atop a desk she did not recognize but somehow knew to be important.
Whatever had happened, she'd been brought from one medical facility to another, though this one was entirely unfamiliar from the first. Unlike the medbay from her most recent memory, this room was circular, not long and rectangular like the last, boasting only seven tanks compared to the last room's twenty, give or take.
She tried to stand, her limbs jelly though they coursed with energy, adrenaline running in her veins like powered battery acid. The Force flowed through her tenfold, but to the point where it was blinding. She felt every molecule in her body weigh against one another, working as one to make her broken form move with superhuman strength despite the pins and needles.
She should be dead. She felt it. Her stomach retched something other than kolto, as if it were trying to digest itself from the inside out.
Eden coughed until her throat was raw, surprised there was no blood from within, her only wound contained to a broken lip alone. She licked her bloodied mouth, feeling her lower lip begin to swell from where it had cut the glass now shattered beneath her in an unplanned escape. A memory echoed, a voice speaking in her head though it was not her own - Awaken, it had said, soft and soothing, the voice unfamiliar.
Eden Valen had woken, yes, but not just to consciousness. Among her usual senses, she felt it again – the Force – and through it she could tell that she shared the room with six dead, and many more on the floor beyond. Eden still did not know where she was, but this place…
This place was death.
3951 BBY, Telos
Atris
"Mistress, are you sure? We can go out and fetch it, bring it back here for your approval," Orenna urged her, "Tell us where to find it and—"
"No."
She hadn't yelled the word, but Atris' voice echoed through the chamber as if she had, each of her Handmaidens quiet, eyes wide like Orenna's. Atris shouldered on her cloak for the first time in what felt like ages, both enthralled and anxious to step foot onto the mountainside.
"It is of the utmost importance that I do this alone," Atris said after a moment, her words assuming their usual authoritative calm, "What you can do for me is guard the Academy."
Other than answering to Atris' orders, the Handmaidens' only other eternal duty was guarding their sanctuary. Though she was only stating the obvious, simply saying this fact seemed to set the girls at ease.
"And keep a close eye," she added, pulling her cloak tighter as she adjusted the white-gold clasp at her throat, "We need to be just as careful as we always are, if not more so."
"Of course, Mistress," Ursa said, Orenna nodding in unison. Behind them, Arianna stood at attention while Irena walked to her station by the causeway entrance, opening the airlock to where Atris' personal ship was stored. And beyond them all, almost out of sight, was Brianna, watching on attentively. She made eye contact with Atris, her gaze wavering for a moment as if she had not meant for Atris to notice her before she swallowed all doubt and held her stare.
Doubt is good for her, Atris thought, betraying none of her inner judgements on her face as she tore her eyes away from the Last Handmaiden. As long as it does not stray into fear.
"Ready the ship, Irena," Atris sighed, "It's not a long journey but I will need to be quick about it."
Irena nodded before disappearing into the makeshift docking area. To the untrained eye, the dock was just an exhaust port leading to nowhere, hiding the better part of the unused irrigation system installed on this planet ages ago, though Atris wondered how long she had before the Ithorians stumbled upon her hiding place. She'd assign Arianna to the task as soon as she returned.
"Mistress?" Ursa said, interrupting her thoughts, "Will you be needing your lightsaber?"
Atris instinctively palmed her hip as she shook her head, calmed by the metal protrusion she felt beneath her robes. While her personal saber was kept safe within the wells of the Academy, there was always another by her side. It was out of an abundance of caution - not that harm might come to her and she would have need of it, but for her own peace of mind, a constant reminder of the worst that might happen should she fail.
"Not for the moment," Atris said, more for the assurance of her Handmaidens. After what the girls had experienced on Nespis, Atris' predictions come to fruition, she needed to remain calm. She needed to ease their worry as she readied her next steps. "I'll be back shortly."
It was nice to be back in her ship as Irena readied it, the engines already running by the time she eased into the pilot's chair. Even the landscape calmed her, despite how anxious she was to be outside the Academy, out in the open and alone. She'd made a promise before Katarr that she would not surface again, afraid of who or what might sense her, and with her theories proven correct she felt stupid for ignoring her own advice. But she also knew that she did not trust another living soul with her current task, let alone with where the directive had come from. Atris was not sure of the origin herself, only knowing it to be true.
Within moments of clearing the plateau, Atris saw it - billowing smoke, already a wispy grey. It had likely been a deep dark black upon impact, so she didn't have much time if anyone surveying the Telos surface had already spotted the crash and sought to investigate. As if accessing a seventh sense, Atris eased the controls around and downwards, landing her craft as silently as snowfall. Her engine still purred warmly as she exited the craft, the cold wind a harsh slap to the face as her hood swept back over her bun, her pale hair whipping wildly about her head.
But there it was, a crashed Republic escape pod, half encased in a snowbank on the side of the mountain. Most of its hull had melted upon entering Telos' atmosphere after having hurtled here from Maker knew how far. Atris' memory was hazy, but the Force assured her that this was all according to plan.
Summoning energy, Atris tore open the hull of the pod with her mind, the metal prying open for her like butter parting when met with a hot knife. The inner chamber was intact, as the pod was designed, and sitting idly in the space meant to house a humanoid person or two was a solitary crystal.
It was black, but bright, an inner light shining from within its rough-hewn frame, its shape a clear prototype for what would later be classified as a Sith holocron. But this… this was unlike anything Atris had ever seen before.
The crystal was ancient, its surface somehow betraying its age in how it contrasted with the cheap vinyl lining of the pod it lay in.
"This is pre-Hyperspace War," she uttered to no one, her voice reverent as her breath hung in the air. The object warmed to her voice, a faint whisper joining the whistling of the wind as it glowed faintly, sighing almost, a swirl of stars in the miniature universe now churning beneath its surface, as if answering to her call.
As Atris neared, she saw it - the multitude of worlds within the crystal, glittering with some unknown substance she could only compare to spacedust, the stuff of a planet's rings or luminous clouds of ephemeral luminescence that hung between stars, a swirling rose, ember and gold not unlike a sunset. Against her better judgment, her fingers reached for it, aching. Atris' fingertips met the cool of the crystal, and her eyes rolled back in her head.
At first she saw nothing. Felt nothing… was nothing.
And then… starburst. Gas and dust and debris and matter and gravity all taking shape within the span of a moment, spreading and sprawling into eons, millennia, ages come and gone, planets sprouted and doomed before her waking eyes, the Force silent but seething all the while. And then she saw it, the Force itself, unfettered and raw, brighter than starlight and the energy of a thousand suns, and warmer too. It enveloped her, seeping into her every pore as it sung to her - We feed the Force and Force feeds us - with a voice hollow yet booming, both alien and familiar, singular yet belonging to a chorus of thousands and not a one speaking or singing in the same tone. Clouds billowed, building and building and building before collapsing into storm and light, and then... nothing again, but not nothing in the absence of something, but as if it never was.
Atris was sucked back to the present, the crystal suddenly hot to the touch as it clanged from the vinyl seating of the escape pod to its still-melting metal floor, bounding off the hot surface and into the snow with a soft crunch. It steamed, snow melting where it met the crystal, now fire-bright as Atris caught her breath, her energy sapped from her, the Force suddenly mute.
It was the most beautiful thing Atris had ever seen. And by far the most terrifying.
Her hands shook as she placed the now-cool crystal on an empty plinth in her chambers, appearing almost demure in the company of her horde. It shrunk amongst her collection of holocrons, each one twinkling in the dimness of the room, each crystalline form shining from within. But where every other holocron in her possession shone, this one devoured, a black hole intent on absorbing all light instead of emanating it.
Atris stood back, her eyes fixed on the object's silhouette. The galaxy-in-miniature within lay dormant, its surface now matte. But the memory of it remained, etched in her mind's eye. She hungered to see it again, to feel the Force as raw as it was, to comprehend its powers in full. But it would have to remain just that - a memory, nothing more. Anything beyond that would be sacrilege.
For now, she would simply wait and observe, if there was anything else to see.
Beside it, stood a transgression – an object she'd stolen from the Archives for research to fuel a hunch that had ultimately gone nowhere. Until now. She allowed herself a small smile, basking in the genius of her intuition.
It was a black pyramid, small enough to fit into the palm of one's hand, comprised of materials not entirely found in this galaxy. It was something she'd logged initially as an apprentice, but for some reason stuck with her. It was found along with another item of import, though the weapon it accompanied garnered much more attention than the mere accessory that attended it. Perhaps that was why she was drawn to it, or perhaps the Force had told her that she would see something similar to it again later. Something important.
We found her in the Dune Sea, a memory interjected, the shape of the thing suddenly triggering a half-thought as it coursed through Atris' mind. The image of a young Arren Kae with her sight still intact, her eyes a pale slate-blue, spirited into Atris' memory and spoke as she watched the relic. She carried an object with her, now safe within the Temple Archives.
Atris rushed to her stores, the ones the Handmaidens stockpiled and tended to, holding the memory close lest it should escape her. It did not take long for her to locate the Nespis cache, rifling through boxes and containers until she found it - a data log with an attached photograph, counting a one solitary pyramid, small and unassuming, onyx black with a square base. The two were connected, she was sure of it.
She says her name is Revan, the memory continued as Atris' eyes scanned the datapad, and so she shall be known.
Atris knew she had met Revan before, but the memory back then had never been so clear as it was now. Atris was only a year or two older than the girl, a mere eight years of age to Revan's five or six. She remembered smiling at Master Kae in greeting, eager to meet the renowned Historian since she aspired to be one herself, only for the woman to flick an eyebrow up as she hardly glanced at Atris in return. Atris never saw the woman again, at least not until the Council banished her for following her former student to war, before she met her end on Malachor V.
Arren Kae, Arren Kae…
I will send word. You will know of what I speak when it arrives. It should be seen by your eyes alone.
That's what the mysterious woman had said, the woman Atris' Handmaidens had found on the mountainside. Or had that been a dream?
For now, you will forget me.
Atris blinked, a chill coursing through her as the memory slipped away, weaving between past and present and back again, her mind grasping at something she wasn't sure of, a half-forgotten memory that was only falling further and further away the more she tried to remember it.
This was how she knew to look for the Republic escape pod. She had expected it, she knew it would come. It had been sent to her and her alone. But not by Kae, surely, having been dead these last nine years…
But as far as the galaxy knew, Atris was dead, too. For all she knew, she might have convened with a ghost within a dream. The Jedi had written about such things before. However it had happened, the Force willed it. Atris had to believe that much.
Regaining her faculties, Atris tore through the container before her, doing her best to set aside whatever the Handmaidens had managed to recover with a gentle hand, but despite her search the pyramid was not there. She checked the log again, noting that several things were missing, mostly unimportant in the grand scheme of things, internally commending her girls on their handiwork despite the trouble they ended up having to contend with… but in reviewing the log again there was one glaring absence in addition to the peculiar object that Atris now knew was somehow linked to Revan, to Kae, to Eden - no, not Eden, to the Exile – an object that was logged with a similar black pyramid, one she now held in her possession, an object that Atris knew could be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands.
The lightsaber of Exar Kun.
3951 BBY, Dantooine
Erebus
It was like meandering a dream.
Each corridor was the same, Erebus remembering every turn of the Academy before they came upon it as if not a day had gone by since he'd wandered its halls. But it was eerily quiet, and dark, save for the spots where the ceiling had caved in, cracks hundreds of feet up in the concrete offering a glimpse of sky above.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to finish what work I was sent here to do," Mical said after a while, his voice reverent despite their collective exertion at having to navigate around fallen debris and collapsed passageways. "I'm still on the Republic's payroll and all."
"I'm sorry we were not able to recover what we were contracted to back on Nespis," Vash said, "Though I'd imagine your bounty should be enough for now."
Erebus eyed the plasteel container he'd leant Mical to house the famed lightsaber as Vash mentioned it, itching to feel the weight of its hilt, the weathered patina of the metal casing he'd studied so closely as a padawan. His current weapon was nothing like it, nor the one he'd modeled after it in earnest, abandoning his interest long ago. And yet being in its presence, he couldn't help but wonder…
"I'm sure my contact will be happy to have this in their possession, knowing that it's safe."
Erebus swallowed hard, turning away. He wasn't sure why he cared whether his emotions played on his face, already knowing that his audience was aware of his interest. It was the perceived weakness that bothered him, the fact that a mere object could have such sway over him even if it was only out of pure curiosity. But that was the reason behind anything he did, wasn't it? It was his curiosity that led him to the Jedi Historianship as well as away from it, it was the only reason he let himself be ingratiated in Nihilus' employ, happy only to spend the creature's resources if only to learn about civilizations on the edge of the galaxy that Republic Space had all but forgotten about.
"Have you heard back from them?" Erebus said after clearing his throat, "Your crew, I mean?"
"Yes, I did, shortly before our crash landing," Mical answered, his eyes scanning the modest walls as if he'd never seen walls before, "Half the crew is here, though I wasn't able to determine where, since the connection broke up in orbit."
Erebus winced but also couldn't help but laugh.
"Apologies," he offered, though he wasn't entirely serious. As a fellow historian, Erebus had respect for the man. As for his affiliations with the Republic, however, that was another story. Not that Erebus was loyal to his own employer or anything…
"I suspect it will only be a matter of time until we catch up with them," Mical offered with a conversational laugh, though it felt more forced than ardent, "I'm sure I'll at least hear from them soon, though from the sound of things, the situation doesn't seem so stable."
"I would guess as much," Vash added, informed by her visions Erebus figured, "Ah, I think we're upon the Archive now."
Erebus froze even though he knew Master Vash was right, his memory filling in the gaps where the debris took over. It was as if his mind had been shut off these last few moments, so intent on what Mical was saying, wondering what his inner world consisted of and what Republic Space was like now, wondering if it had changed much in his time away… as if to shield himself from the memories still so fresh here. Erebus' blood chilled when Vash's words registered in his mind, a recollection returning in full the moment his eyes fell on the Archive doors.
"Atris chose you as her protégé? But I'm already her student!"
Eden only shrugged as Aiden's words echoed about the halls, milling students either turning to look or pointedly ignoring the conversation as if they hadn't heard.
"She said she 'saw something in me', whatever that means," Eden said eventually, her face reddening, exasperated. "I thought you'd be happy! This means we'll finally be together again."
Together again, yes, but not like this. Not where Eden could overshadow him, again, despite her uncertain hold on the Force, her focus more on the physical rather than the metaphysical, the abstract.
"Did your love of history start here?" Mical asked tentatively as he approached Erebus where he stood, having stopped in his tracks, staring, without noticing he had.
"Sort of," Erebus swallowed, thinking of how he and Eden had come to make the Dantooine Archive their playground before he was officially stationed at the Jedi Library on Coruscant, "I used to-"
But before Erebus could finish, a small device at Mical's hip buzzed. The man held up an apologetic hand as he slipped the thing from his belt.
"Hello? Can you hear me?" Mical said to the static on the other end of his comm, a model Erebus was not familiar with. Republic, most likely. Nothing else about Mical screamed Republic other than a few scant items, such as the comm he used now or the military-grade boots Erebus noticed during their trek underground. Everything else about the man was as plain as can be, or as plain as any other humanoid spacer. His clothes were simple, and washed-out to boot, his only other adornment a modest vest that if anything was a little too pressed and a little too clean, though that could easily be chalked up to having recently been purchased.
While Mical paced the ruins, seeking a better signal, Vash sidled up to Erebus though was careful not to get too close.
"Be on your guard," she said, nodding.
Erebus nodded back. Her vision.
Mical spoke into his comm, a disjointed voice speaking back, though he was now too far from the two of them for Erebus to make out the words.
"My sister may be dead to the Force, but I can still feel her in this place," Erebus said, feeling oddly sentimental standing at the ruined entrance to the Jedi Archive of his childhood, "Is that unusual? Or is that just my memory at work?"
Vash reached for Erebus, her hand hovering near his shoulder before she retracted, sucking in a breath. Erebus turned to meet her gaze, her expression unreadable.
"Your vision?" he said, though it felt strange to say considering how many times he'd wondered what it was that Vash saw.
Vash nodded.
"Not this, but your sister. Your connection to her."
Erebus shook his head. "I don't understand."
Vash paled.
"I'm afraid you will," the woman replied, her mouth thinning to a line before she stepped away, turning to the ruined Archive entrance to begin paving a way through as if it might fill the silence.
"Need help with that?" Mical asked just as soon as he'd noticed, clipping his comm back to his belt as he began hauling rocks, hardly waiting for Vash to respond. Erebus stood, frozen, unsure.
My connection to her?
The memory of Eden telling him of Atris' assignment replayed in his mind, as well as a myriad of other smaller memories, a patchwork of moments stitching themselves together into something as abstract as a dream, spanning years and housing feelings that ranged from sorrow to elation and anger and everything in-between, ultimately leaving him with a lingering sense of something bittersweet, but sour still.
"Step aside," he said after a moment, the feeling steeped in his chest, his voice quiet. Vash and Mical paused, exchanging glances before doing as they were instructed.
Erebus closed his eyes, the feeling welling within him, quickening his every breath until he felt his blood pulsating in his wrists, as if itching to get out. With so much as a gentle push, he reached out with the Force - no, shoved - and the wall relented.
The collapsed entrance melted away, revealing a clean passage as if a curtain were opening. He was being careful, but the amount of energy it took to move that much matter? If he hadn't been angry, if he hadn't felt so suddenly distraught, it would not have been possible. Not after everything he managed back on Space City.
Erebus looked at Vash, his face expressionless. She watched on with wide eyes but said nothing. She nodded.
"I guess we owe you thanks."
"You could have done just as well," Erebus said, though he didn't mean it bitingly. "Diving into the deep end of the Force is quicker, easier. But it does come with a price."
And sometimes the asking price demands to be paid upfront.
It should have been an emotional release, but it wasn't. His acting out through the Force would only demand more from him if he didn't rest, but at this point it was likely the only thing keeping him from keeling over with exhaustion. It was an addiction, a sickness. No wonder Sion is the monster he is. It was almost easy. For now, he would let it sustain him, but he wouldn't attempt anything else unless the situation called for it. As Vash and Mical moved to enter the dilapidated room before them, Erebus only made it as far as the entrance before sliding down the closest in-tact wall and settling somewhere in the dust that now caked the Archive floor.
"I never knew Dantooine's Archives were so vast," Mical said, "It's a far cry from the Nespis stores, but I wasn't expecting something of this caliber for such a small farming outpost."
"Dantooine was one of the busier training grounds not too long ago," Vash said, looking around the room with a careful gaze, her brown eyes scanning the half-lit and broken holos that lined the shelves, "But the surrounding area remained relatively modest. It was no Nespis or Coruscant, but it still supported a successful farming community. For a time, at least.""Not anymore," Mical said almost casually as he slipped some of the still-functioning holos from their shelves and into his eager hands, "My contacts tell me things have grown quite bleak around here since the Jedi left."
At this, Erebus saw that Mical looked up from the holos balancing in his arms, watching Master Vash for a reaction. But the woman gave none.
Vash instead circled around the console in the center of the room, almost as if she had never seen such a device before. She ran a lazing hand across its surface, unearthing it from a sheath of dust.
"Hand me that package, will you?" she said, gesturing towards Mical though her gaze did not meet his. Mical paused, looking at Erebus as if for a second opinion, but he only shrugged. Relenting, Mical crossed the room and removed the munitions strap from his shoulders, gently letting the satchel drop at Vash's feet. Vash looked at Erebus, gauging his distance, and opened the box.
She hesitated a moment, her fingers poised above the saber, as if relishing the moment or anticipating some sort of reaction before gingerly taking it in her hands. Vash held the hilt aloft, examining its rougher edges with a fingertip, before placing it above the console and swiftly typing in a sequence.
Mical watched on, as did Erebus, eyes wide. The console whirred to life, setting the dark room in a hue of glowing white-blue.
Erebus could see the shadow of aurabesh on the screen reflected on Vash's face, her eyes moving rapidly to meet the text almost as quickly as it appeared on the display before her. She entered a new sequence, pulling up another data log, nodding to herself, silently, before procuring the onyx pyramid from her inner robes, the one she had recovered from Nespis, placing it on the console as well. She entered the same sequence as before, the system taking longer to generate a response this time, but it wasn't long before the console delivered another answer.
"Curious," she said to herself, though Erebus knew she meant for him to hear. Mical leaned in close now, placing his salvaged holos on a nearby shelf before looking over the woman's shoulder.
His blond hair turned silver-blue in the light, and his eyes even more cerulean than before, Mical looked straight at Erebus, eyebrows raised. "You might want to see this."
Brow furrowed, Erebus stood with effort, his left knee cracking as he took to his feet. After bracing himself, cleansing his body of the roiling anger that fueled the Force still churning within him at the thoughts still lingering in his head, he made his way over to Vash and Mical. Vash's eyes remained fixed on the screen. Mical held Erebus' gaze until he approached the two of them, looking at the screen again only when Erebus was in view of it as well.
Before Erebus could read into the man's unnecessary courtesy, he looked at the display.
"Recovered from the Tatooine Dune Sea," Erebus said, reading the screening. "And? Isn't that what you told us?"
Vash pressed her finger to the display, zooming in on the data log though Erebus had a feeling her intent was to get him to look closer, not enhance the image.
"What's missing?" Vash insisted.
Erebus shrugged, his eyes scanning the page. For a moment, his mind was blank, his body still too exhausted to do anything other that be annoyed. But then… it clicked.
"There's no mention of who recovered it."
"Exactly," Vash said, "When we brought Revan to train with us, I was the one tasked with bringing the pyramid to the Archives. Not only did I see Master Zeph catalogue the thing, but he also linked it to a similar object, promising me that it would be looked into. Which brings me to the first thing I searched."
Vash commanded the console to retrace its steps, bringing up the first item she researched upon booting it up.
The stern visage of Exar Kun stared back at him, a three-dimensional model of his head spinning slowly beside the logged description of his salvaged lightsaber as it was recorded for the Jedi Archive. His eyes were white in the hologram, the edges of the brand on his forehead barely visible with the grainy resolution casting a ghostly imperfection over his face. The depiction was not nearly as detailed, nor as dramatic, as the mosaic rendering of the man back on Nespis, but this version of the Dark Jedi was somehow more menacing. Just beside his face, spinning slowly in miniature, was a model of his famed lightsaber.
"Recovered from the moon Yavin IV by exiled fallen Jedi, Ulic Qel-Droma, to be inherited by his apprentice… Vima Sunrider."
"Interesting, isn't it?" Vash said, her voice only an octave above a whisper. "Read on."
"I'm not following," Mical said.
"Vima Sunrider was one of Eden Valen's Jedi Masters," Vash replied as an aside while Erebus' eyes scanned the remainder of the log. "But that's not all."
Vash input a code, one only used by registered Historians or members of the Council. Upon completion, hidden text appeared below the general log, showing information only accessible to those with the highest clearance.
"The lightsaber itself predates Republic Space," Erebus read on, chills running down his spine, "And was logged along with the following item."
Beneath a depiction of the lightsaber as it was originally catalogued was a tiny, black pyramid. Four-sided and all.
"This can't be right," he said, near breathless, "I studied this log a thousand times as a padawan, and as Historian in training. There was never any mention of an accompanying item!"
Erebus felt as if he were going mad. He'd spent hours looking at this diagram of the saber - and given the crude rendering of the thing in the log it was no wonder his copy was so inadequate. Erebus ran his finger along the console angrily, pressing the screen as if it might scroll faster and give him the answers he was seeking.
"There's no record of who originally logged this," Erebus huffed, "There's no more detail here. Why?!"
"What do your feelings tell you?" Vash said, the smirk on her face detectable through the bite of her words. Erebus rolled his eyes.
Erebus' mind raced as he scrolled, reading and rereading what little text there was. This had to mean something. It was no coincidence that two of the most recent fallen Jedi had encountered the same object. Erebus' own history only added to the conspiracies spiraling through his head as he searched for answers.
"Let me try something," Erebus said, typing in another command before he could grow too agitated. It was a back-end code, one used only by Archive staff to trigger the history of any given log's metadata. His query inspired an answer, but not one he liked.
"The log's been altered," Erebus muttered, his eyes still fixed to the screen, hoping more insight would jump out at him from the nonexistent subtext. "The metadata says the log was first made thirty years ago, but there is no name attached. However, it was edited… six years ago? By—"
"By whom?" Mical cut in.
"By… me."
Erebus stared at the screen, unsure if he was reading the log correctly. But there it was... his name, Aiden Valen.
"You don't recall making these edits, I take it?"
Erebus shook his head.
"I don't. For one, I've been in search of these objects for three years now. I'm sure I'd remember having seen these things before, especially if I knew any existed in the Jedi stores. And two, I… I was no longer with the Jedi Order when these edits were made."
Mical exchanged a look with Vash, who only nodded in response.
"It also says several of the more high-level items from the Dantooine stores were shipped off-planet at the same time, approved with my login. But judging by the dates this was only a few standard days before Darth Malak massacred the planet."
"Almost as if someone knew it might happen," Mical said in a hallowed whisper. Erebus nodded, goosebumps erupting over his skin at the thought.
"I'm afraid we may need Master Vrook's insight," Vash sighed, "I did not know about this, and having been a member of the High Council at that time, I find this greatly troubling."
"Vrook? What does Vrook have to do with this?" Erebus cringed. He never had quite the same distaste for the man as many of his fellow Jedi as a child, but hearing his name all these years later didn't set him at ease either.
"Vrook was here when Malak attacked the Temple. And when the Jedi decided to go into hiding after Katarr, Vrook was the only one of us who remained on Dantooine. If anyone might know, it would be him."
"You don't think he was the one to alter the record?"
"He might have been," Vash conceded, "But I'm also curious as to why this log isn't linked to the record of what we found when we brought Revan to train with us. Why aren't the two data entries connected? Surely, someone overseeing the archives would have caught such a detail."
"Atris would have noticed," Erebus said, turning to Vash now, meeting her gaze as her eyes widened slightly, not surprised by his implication but by what it could mean should it be true. "Atris never missed a detail. I'd be remiss if she oversaw something like this."
"But do we know what she was cataloguing during her time as Historian?" Vash countered. "An item like this would have predated her appointment by at least a decade, not to mention she left the role of Historian when she took a seat on the Council."
Erebus shook his head.
"Atris combed through everything. And I mean everything. She had me fact-checking documents as old as the birth of the Republic when I was her apprentice. Even then she would double-check my work, never satisfied with a judgment unless it was corroborated with her own. Even if she was not an acting Historian when these changes were made, I have a feeling she would care about this sort of thing."
"And you said you don't recall ever seeing an object like this?"
Erebus shook his head.
"Never, but if anyone had access to the record or to objects in storage, it was Atris. Even if someone had gained unauthorized access, something like that would not have gone unnoticed. She was acting Head of Council when Malak came to power, but I was gone by the time these changes were made…"
"Does it say where the items were transferred?"
"Not a word," Erebus swallowed. "Who was the acting Historian here when Malak attacked?"
"Master Dorak, I believe, though he might have been preoccupied at the time…" Vash answered, her eyes darting about the room. Mical stood near motionless, his gaze volleying between Vash and Erebus as he took a decades' worth of drama in as much as a third party could.
"Preoccupied?" Erebus laughed, "Practicing whatever story the Enclave Council had prepped to convince Revan of her hero's journey-to-be, I'd imagine?"
Vash nodded curtly, her expression betraying no emotion.
"Something like that, but Vrook was there as well. And with both Dorak and Atris gone, Vrook seems to be our best bet for answers."
Atris gone. Part of Erebus was relieved to hear the words uttered by someone else, though somehow it made him question the truth of it, wondering whether Atris wasn't out there somewhere, still harboring her ills, awaiting his return as if he'd simply not remembered to show up to work one day.
"Only problem is, I have no idea where on Dantooine Vrook happens to be in hiding."
"Wait," Mical said, eyes wide. "I have an idea."
He sidled past Vash to get closer to Erebus. Now shoulder-to-shoulder, Mical uttered, "Check your user's log history. All of it."
"But—"
Before Erebus could finish his thought, he felt faint, his skin turning to ice in an instant as if he might collapse.
"Erebus?" Mical asked, quick to catch him. Maker, the man is strong, Erebus thought as his faculties shifted, his tether to the Force shaky for the first time since childhood when he wasn't quite sure what this sixth sense was.
"I'm fine," he urged, taking a deep breath. Blood returned this face, his cheeks suddenly flush as he stood. But something still felt… off. "As you were saying."
"Your user history," Mical continued, as if uninterrupted, "Someone used your login because they knew your account was still open, which means they likely knew you would not use it. If they authorized this change as well as the shipment of other items, whoever did this may have done more with your account knowing it would go unnoticed."
Erebus blinked, watching him, his senses still on edge – both from his overuse of the Force these last two days as well as… well, whatever was happening to him now. It was as if his hold on the Force were ebbing and flowing, alternating between receding and drawing nearer with every second, his other senses compromised in the push-and-pull. His vision swam for a moment, Mical's bright blue eyes and flaxen hair a kaleidoscope swirling and folding in on itself over and over as Erebus processed the man's words.
"Go ahead, try it," Erebus said, realizing the truth in Mical's words but otherwise unable to control his body. Mical watched him uncertainly for a moment before Vash took over, relieving Erebus of the weight of his limbs while Mical typed furiously away on the ancient console.
"Your vision?" Erebus asked, his voice a whisper despite his better efforts.
Vash pursed her lips and nodded once.
"This is only the beginning, I'm afraid."
Erebus swallowed hard and nodded in return, fear running his veins. If anything, it might grant him the vitality he needed to keep moving, but not for long.
"There's more," Mical said, turning around to meet both Erebus and Vash's gaze. "Several items were sent to a location, undisclosed, mid-rim. But it also looks like a large portion have been sent to… to Telos IV? That can't be right. Some dates are as recent as… as yesterday."
As Mical typed, Erebus' vision swam – amid the glowing rows of datapads, he saw a medbay and tasted kolto, the palms of his hands numbing with pins and needles as he struggled against Vash to regain his footing.
"Let me guess, items from Nespis?" Erebus managed, his lungs tight as he spoke.
Mical nodded, his golden hair falling into his eyes as he nodded fervently.
"More than half of these caches are ones on my list, many dictated by Draay before he left for Katarr. He must have known, but not enough to stop whatever's happening now."
"It's possible someone intercepted whatever messages Draay had sent you," Vash said as she managed to get Erebus standing again, his right shoulder now draped over hers to keep him steady, "He didn't happen to mention anyone else he may have been in league with?"
"No one that's still living," Mical sighed, "But it looks like there are a few artifacts still listed as 'transport pending'. Maybe that's where we should start?"
Erebus wished he could see the log for himself, but his vision was still a kaleidoscope of the present intermixed with images of an unfamiliar room and the ever-present sense of death.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Mical asked, finally turning from the console to look Erebus in the eye. But before Erebus could return Mical's gaze, his vision darkened at the edges before slowly fading completely to black.
3951 BBY, Peragus Mining Facility
Eden
By all rights Eden should have been cold, but her blood was running hot. Her unfamiliar undergarments stuck to her skin, slick with sweat, and she perpetually felt as if she might faint save for the unnatural energy that flowed through her. It was adrenaline on adrenaline.
Her fingers slipped across the console of the medical supply room as she typed in queries only to receive uncomfortable answers. Something terrible had happened here, and somehow only Eden had survived. Someone had made sure of that.
Shaking, trying not to think of the bodies hanging lifeless in the room where she awoke, Eden went from room to room, finding each one suspiciously emptier than the last. Consoles were still active as if someone had just been there working before being called away, fully expecting to return. Doors were left unlocked, medical charts half-finished, caff only half-drank.
There were no windows. Eden meandered the endless grey halls, shielding her eyes from the fluorescent lights with a wavering hand as she tried to reach out with and mute the Force at the same time, ending up with a middling result of realizing that she was all alone... but not quite. Machines hummed, power surged, and she sensed… something. But the panic rising in her throat only made her handle on the Force shaky at best, and her recent memory loss all the more palpable. None of this was right, it didn't make sense. For her to be here, for her to feel the Force, for her to sense so many dead and yet…
She retched when she opened the last door in the medbay hall. The room was small, but the stench was potent. Rot. While the rest of the facility seemed to be working business-as-usual despite the mysterious lack of staff, this room had the clear signs of neglect, like the kolto chamber.
Several beds lined the walls, each one draped with a white cloth and an unfinished chart clipped to the footboard. Spying the dates on the nearest datapad, Eden knew it hadn't been long since she'd last been in Anchorhead, but long enough for the bodies in here to begin decaying. She still had no idea how she got here, how long she'd been here, or where here even was.
She remembered her exile, and she remembered Tatooine - the only place that felt anything like home in her recent recollections. She still had no idea how long she'd been there or how long it had been since she left the Jedi Order, though judging by the datapad in front of her it had been nine years almost to the day since she set a course for Coruscant, to seek out Kavar's advice and to face Atris' scorn, Alek's singed flesh still fresh in her memory after all these years. And the last date she recalled had been a few weeks ago. A new shipment of salvaged droids had come through, some of the usual fare often bought by moisture farmers as well as an odd protocol droid that Eden now recalled had called her Master at some point, though the memories ended there.
How she got here was another story, and Eden wasn't sure she wanted to know all the details.
This was too much like Eres III, too much like Dxun, when the recovered bodies of soldiers were presented to her so she could assess their remains, their physical features too often unrecognizable without using the Force to glean who they once were.
She paused at the edge of the bed furthest from the door, a charred hand peering from under the white cloth dressed over it. Whatever had killed this person had not been the same as those back in the kolto tanks, poisoned beyond hope of recovery. No. This person had been alive before they were abandoned here by whatever fate befell this place. It wasn't the Force that told her so much as the shockstick just out of reach of the body's burned flesh, the holster sitting empty and skewed on the bedside table, as if this person had reached for it in an attempt to end the pain once they realized help would not be coming…
"Find what you are looking for amongst the dead?"
Eden froze. How had she not heard it? The ruffling of fabric at the far side of the room, a shape taking form atop the bed closest to the door. It was as if her senses were only just catching up with her in hindsight, fast-forwarding until they caught up with the present, as if someone had quieted one part of her mind while the other half inspected the body before her.
The hair on the back of Eden's neck stood on end as she grabbed the shockstick on instinct, holding it between her and the spectre that suddenly showed signs of life after only feeling death upon entering this room.
Awaken…
"Your voice," Eden croaked, the realization dawning on her as she spoke, shockstick still held aloft, "I heard it… I-"
Eden felt as if she were grasping at a memory that was fast falling away, as if trying to capture smoke with her hands. She knew this woman, that voice, and not just from the kolto tank… but from where? She took the woman's appearance in, though the shock made it hard for her to focus, everything feeling too bright and too dull at once, like walking through a lucid dream promising to remember every detail come morning and losing each facet of the vision with every moment spent in waking life.
The woman was unremarkable, other than being considerably aged. Like so many spacers, and so many Jedi, she wore a nondescript brown robe that was considerably worn but kept in otherwise good condition. Her hood was pulled low over her face, leaving only a wizened chin and pouting mouth visible below it. Brown cloth stretched over the skin of her neck, covering the woman entirely aside from revealing two plaits of silver hair held in place with plain bronze clasps. The woman shifted, as if testing her weight on the bed, before speaking again.
"Yes, I had hoped as much," the woman sighed, standing with effort. Her voice was deep but soothing somehow, her syllables rounded out and softened despite the undercurrent of authority in her words. "I slept here too long and could not awaken."
She spoke so casually for a woman having just awoken from the dead, tilting her head just so as she adjusted her hood and stretched her limbs, settling into them before setting them gently again on the bed beside her.
"Perhaps I reached out unconsciously - and your mind must have been a willing one. Or maybe you have been trained for such things?"
"Slept too long?" Eden said as she lowered the shockstick, freeing a hand so it could nurse her temple. "You looked dead when I came in here, not to mention the rest of your—"
She stopped short, looking about the room, pausing on the charred body she'd taken the shockstick from.
"My company?" the woman finished for her, as if reading her mind.
Eden turned her attention back slowly, the room still too bright, everything moving too fast, her handle on reality and how the Force enmeshed itself with it still too new and too unpredictable for her to control with any finesse.
"They likely thought I was dead when I was brought here. I slept as you did. In stasis, one could say. Though perhaps my age betrayed me the luxury of being granted kolto treatment as you."
"Do I know you?" Eden asked, a half-realization dawning on her though no answer rose to the surface of her mind, her memory still too scattered to make sense of.
"I am Kreia, and I am your rescuer. As you are mine."
Kreia. The name meant nothing, and yet something about her tone of voice, the tilt of the woman's head as she said it… something was familiar, though Eden could not decipher what it was.
"Tell me – do you recall what happened?"
"What happened?" Eden echoed, suddenly feeling the need to take a seat. She slunk into the empty bed beside her, careful to keep the shockstick in her hands while she rubbed her eyes hard enough to start seeing stars behind her closed lids. "The last thing I remember, I was… I was aboard a Republic ship, the Harbinger."
The medbay from her memory… it had been aboard the Harbinger, hadn't it? Images flitted through her mind but the sensory overload coming at her from all directions – the fluorescent lights, the stench of death, the dampness of her clothes, the cuts still stinging in her palms, itching as they healed amid the remnant glass, the retching pain in her empty stomach, and the Force pushing in on her from all sides demanding her undivided attention despite it all – muddled everything to a blur. A very fast-moving blur that whirred itself around her, willing her onward yet overwhelming her so entirely that part of her just wanted to sleep, not caring if she woke.
"The Harbinger," Eden repeated once she took a breath, calming what she could of herself and looking the strange woman in the eye… or the dark shadow of her hood where her eyes should have been. "What happened to it?"
The woman called Kreia stood near-motionless, and in that instant Eden knew that feigning death was likely the least of her talents.
"Your ship was attacked, and you were its lone survivor… a result of your Jedi training, no doubt."
"Jedi?" Eden almost spat, wanting to both laugh and scream at the thought. "What makes you think I'm a Jedi?"
"Your stance, your walk tells me you are a Jedi," the woman said evenly, "Your walk is heavy, you carry something that weighs you down."
"Doesn't everyone?" Eden huffed, running a hand through her damp hair to find it knotted in beaded braids at the nape of her neck. She retracted, wondering just how many parts of herself she'd left to rediscover before any of this started to make sense. "I could ask the same of you, given your—" Eden waved her hand about vaguely, too tired to wrack her brain for descriptors, "Your whole deal. Last I heard, it wasn't wise to advertise any relation to the Jedi, or any knowledge of them."
"So it would seem," Kreia nodded and pursed her lips, though was undeterred, "Keep your past, as I shall keep mine. Let us focus on the now."
"You said you were my rescuer," Eden said, "And I yours. If the Harbinger was 'my' ship, as you called it, then where did you come from?"
A ghost of a smile spirited over the woman's lips.
"So you recall the Harbinger, but not what you were doing on board?" Her smile widened ever so slightly, though it did nothing to make her appear friendly, "I was recovered from another, smaller ship. Does that sound familiar?"
"I saw it outside the port window," Eden said, the memory rushing back to her, the feel of a cold cup of caff in her hand as a woman named Rell made her a promise she had a feeling the Republic agent was not able to keep. "Two ships in stalemate. The Republic wanted one of them obtained, the other investigated."
"Precisely," Kreia said, "I was brought aboard the Harbinger to recover from my injuries. You and I met in the medical bay, but I assume that memory is gone, too."
Eden shook her head. It would explain how she knew the woman, why any part of her seemed familiar, but her memory dredged up nothing at the thought.
"The last thing I remember is the medbay of the Harbinger but nothing beyond that, and not much before it either."
Kreia tsked with understanding.
"Ah, I see," she muttered, "Then I imagine you're wondering where we are, just as I am. I was removed from the events of the world as I slept, though my memory otherwise remains."
"So you know who attacked the Harbinger?"
Kreia nodded.
"The very same attackers as my ship, unfortunately," she said, massaging her wrists. The woman's hands were lined but strong, several of her knuckles cracking loudly as she pressed into the joints. "It seems the Harbinger walked straight into their trap."
Eden recalled the large vessel, a prehistoric one if her scant memory was correct. Hanging in space as it did outside the window of her quarters on the Harbinger, it seemed too ancient to still be functioning. Something didn't quiet add up, though Eden knew from what little she did remember that Kreia was telling the truth.
"So, I'm assuming that despite whatever state you were found in, you managed to bring me here? How?"
Eden couldn't help but judge the woman for her age, though if she were at all trained in the Force as their tense exchange suggested, then the odds of the woman attempting such a feat seemed more plausible.
"I did," Kreia answered somberly, "We were likely the last to make it out alive, if not the only ones."
For the first time since waking, Eden sensed some emotion come off the old woman as she glanced sideward in recollecting whatever had brought them here. Kreia shook her head, looking down at her booted feet, still wringing her hands, before continuing.
"We were attacked once, and I fear our attackers will not give up the hunt so easily." Kreia stretched her neck, a flicker of a wince crossing the lower part of her face before her gaze returned to Eden and continued. "Without transport, weapons, and information, they will find us easy prey indeed."
Eden stood, nodding. Through the Force, she could tell that it, too, flowed through Kreia, though more slowly than herself at the moment. Perhaps her stasis story was true, the old woman's senses in as much need of awakening as her near-ancient limbs.
"You're clearly more cognizant than I am," Eden said, testing her grip on the shockstick still in her hand, figuring it might come in handy given the old woman's words, "You sure you can't tell me any more about this place? I'm drawing a complete blank."
Kreia nodded soberly before leaning against the wall at the head of her bed, "Even as I slept, I felt much unrest here. I saw strange visions, minds colored with fear. Now, everything here feels terribly silent."
Eden could only nod again, at a loss for words. If Kreia felt unrest where Eden felt absolute death, she wasn't about to announce it. Even as a fellow Force-user, this woman was a stranger, and as far as Eden could tell, the last she remembered of herself she had been deaf to the Force completely.
"A last word of caution," Kreia said again with a sigh, as if catching her breath, "I would find out as much about this place if you can, and fast – I fear we will need to depart as quickly as we arrived."
What Eden wanted to say was What aren't you telling me? But what came out instead was "Will do," as if she were following orders. This was already feeling too much like Eres III, too much like Dxun, and despite her misgivings something told her that the similarities would not stop there.
