3951 BBY, The Sojourn, Hyperspace

Carth

"And you're sure it's the Jedi Exile?" Carth asked again as another wrinkle formed on Lieutenant Dol Grenn's brow.

"I am certain, Admiral," Grenn replied, formal as ever. The man's holo-figure wavered as he bowed, rather too-ceremoniously for how crass Carth was being with him at the moment, all impatient authority in the face of Grenn's put-upon decorum. "It is indeed General Eden Valen."

"And she agreed to stay put?" Carth pressed, unsure if he would believe Grenn's answer no matter what it was.

"For the time being," Grenn replied. "She still believes she is under investigation for the destruction of the Peragus mining facility…"

At this, Grenn cocked his wrinkled brow, though Carth knew full-well that he alone was responsible for whatever hook he was letting the Jedi General off of.

"So long as the story sticks," Carth sighed. He was sure General Valen wasn't responsible for whatever happened at the station, at least not in a way that mattered. Then again, he'd judged Jedi - former or otherwise - incorrectly before. "I need her there when I arrive. The Sojourn should be arriving within a few standard days."

"As you wish, Admiral."

"Trust me, I want to find those responsible just as much as you do, Lieutenant. The station depends on it," Carth assured, the fate of Telos not lost on him. "But I think resuming my prearranged meeting with the Exile gives us a better chance at discovering what really happened out there."

"About that, Admiral…" Grenn began, coughing purposefully to give him time to collect himself and gauge Carth's reaction before continuing. Lieutenant Grenn wasn't a subtle man, and if Carth still wasn't on edge he might have straight up laughed at the display. But instead he paused, dread building in his chest. "The Exile mentioned something we found odd. Improbable , but odd."

"Go on," Carth said, his voice a husk of itself as the dread solidified in his throat, almost barring him from speech.

"The Exile mentioned that the vessel she arrived on had indeed been under fire, though she didn't specify where said firefight occurred."

"Did she at least mention who fired? " Carth cut in before Grenn could finish uttering where. Grenn faltered, presumably ofended, for a half-second before resuming his usual air of self-importance, looking his version of holo-Carth in the eye.

"She did, and that's what concerns me," Grenn said. He waited a beat, unblinking, before declaring, "She claimed the Ebon Hawk had come under attack by a Sith vessel, both before and while leaving Peragus. That is, once she admitted that she had been on the station at all."

"Any info on this Sith vessel?" Carth ventured, the dread now creeping into his throat.

"None at the moment sir, though we are having a hard time proving such a thing even still exists. The Exile alleged that the Harbinger had boarded the Sith vessel and recovered a body, but seeing as the Republic Cruiser is still missing, the entire story is suspect."

Agent Amara. Carth could only nod, swallowing at the realization. When aboard the Harbinger, Agent Rell Amara had relayed to Carth that the remains of the Ebon Hawk were found adrift in space, suspended mid-battle just off-course enough from the Hydian Way to go unnoticed, locked in what appeared to be stalemate with an otherwise empty Sith vessel. Rell was supposed to send him a report of what was found, only that report never came. To know that the Ebon Hawk survived was hardly a victory when the Harbinger was still missing, and so was his Nevarra.

"Interesting," was all Carth could manage. He swallowed any uncertainty and shook his head, meeting holo-Grenn's gaze again. "I know this all sounds a bit more than suspect to you, Lieutenant, but trust me when I say that there is some truth to what she says. Which is why I would like to question the Jedi Exile myself."

This seemed to put Lieutenant Grenn at ease, the man's shoulders finally untensing as he nodded in understanding.

"I see, sir," he muttered. "So what should I tell the woman? I can't keep her hostage for long."

"Tell her…" Carth faltered, wishing he could relay the message himself, wishing he had been on the Harbinger in the first place, as if what had happened on the Endar Spire might have repeated itself, Carth acting as Eden Valen's last refuge just as he had once been Nevarra's. Just as he had once been Revan's.

His chest ached at the thought of her, wondering if she had been part of that stalemate battle or if she had vanished long before that. Perhaps meeting with General Valen would let him know, finally…

"Tell her that she's free to roam the station, but that she'll still be needed for questioning, to set the record straight."

"Aye, sir," Lieutenant Grenn nodded. "Anything else?"

"Just run some more diagnostics on the ship for me, will you?" Carth asked, unable to keep the pleading desperation from his voice. "I want a full report by morning."

"The ship?" Grenn echoed. The man's expression oscillated between confusion and alarm before resuming his professional neutrality. Carth paused, leaning closer to his holofeed, wondering if the connection was faulty or if he had, indeed, seen Lieutenant Grenn hesitate.

"The Ebon Hawk," Carth affirmed. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

Grenn blinked before glancing down, presumably at a datapad, before looking back at Carth and nodding fervently.

"Yes, yes we can do that," he said. "A-Affirmative, Admiral."

Now it was Carth's turn to furrow his brow.

"Give me the report as soon as you can." Carth held Grenn's gaze, waiting to see if the man blinked before finally signing off. He didn't. "Over and out."

Carth let out a sigh as his makeshift office aboard the Sojourn succumbed to the holo-less darkness, feeling worse than he had before.

I have a bad feeling about this.


3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Sandral Estate

Erebus

When Erebus awoke, he thought of Sion.

The vision of the man was clear in his head – tall, brooding, and seething at him from the end of a Republic cruiser hallway that Erebus had never seen.

Eden.

Eden had been the one thinking of Sion, and Erebus felt her fear through the Force, the thought slicing through the galaxy that spanned the space between them to wake Erebus with a gasping breath.

I wonder which one you'll be more like, Mission had said to him later, and in a way that Erebus wondered if the girl could read minds. He doubted she had met Sion of all Sith - though he knew Eden now had. His blood boiled upon rousing, an unusual rage thrumming in his veins as Eden's borrowed fear ebbed away and eased into something more tangible, something he could use in the day ahead. It had almost ignited when Mission uttered her statement. The idea that he was at all like the Revanchist made him want to laugh and wretch all at once. But if the girl did not mean Revan, then who?

And he was still wondering, even hours later.

It had been sunny when Erebus left his ship and approached the young Twi'lek on the lawn of what was once the Matale Estate, her eyes squinting against the sun as she held her ground before him. Now it was hardly noon, but the sky was already darkening. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon just as the advance party left the Khoonda Headquarters. A foreboding molten black sliver of sky limned the landscape, a deepening darkness falling over the valley as they quietly approached the Sandral Estate, their every step more shadowed than the last.

"This does not bode well," Erebus uttered as he held up the rear of the group, spying Darek's crown of horns above the tall grass up ahead. The Jedi, Zayne, rolled his eyes and snapped his head back as if to clarify that Erebus had indeed said what he said.

"It's the weather, rain happens," Zayne huffed. "Are you suggesting this is some kind of warning? I doubt mercenaries can affect the climate whenever the mood strikes."

"Perhaps not," Mical chimed in. Upon hearing their conversation, the man held back a few strides, matching pace with Zayne so they walked side-by-side. "But you trained on Taris, Zayne. Dantooine may be a terrestrial world, but it only rains during the spring season. It's almost winter and winters here are bitter cold and known to be bone dry, so it is unusual."

Mical made eye contact with Erebus, his blue eyes glinting silver in the growing darkness. Erebus could only nod in appreciation - if he could call it that. They needed to keep the peace if Khoonda stood a chance at recovering what they lost, and if Erebus had any chance of eliminating the Golden Company here and now. He doubted it, but Nihilus' orders echoed in his mind nonetheless, spurring him onward despite his need for at least another day's rest.

"Are you alright?" Mical asked, falling back another step so he walked beside Erebus while Zayne shook his head, sprinting ahead a few paces to fall in step with Mission instead. Zayne shot them both a look before returning his attention to Erebus.

"I'm curious as to why you even care?" Erebus said. He didn't snap, and as far as he could tell there was no disdain in his voice, but the man's curiosity was earnest to the point that Erebus was, truly, curious . Mical avoided his gaze this time, shaking his head and shrugging before eventually answering.

"I'm not sure, honestly," Mical offered. "Perhaps it's out of an honest desire to see this mission through, whatever the cost. Or perhaps it's because I hope to hold you to your end of our bargain."

"I keep my promises," Erebus said. "For the most part."

He wasn't lying. He'd remained loyal to the Jedi, to Atris, until he was forgotten, left as the sole attendant of the Coruscant archives without any promotion in rank to Chief Historian. He remained loyal to his Sith Master, at least until Nihilus consumed him one and whole. And other than in his mind, Erebus had remained a loyal servant to Nihilus as well. So long as it served him, too. For now.

"I'll see about that," Mical said with a thoughtful nod before rushing ahead again.

Erebus glanced back, finding the grasses they'd passed through already murky, almost impenetrable. Through the Force, Erebus sensed nothing, but ahead—

In a few moments, they came upon the Sandral Estate. It looked just as it did in Erebus' memory. Though similar to the Matale Estate, this building was in surprisingly better condition. Its formidable walls rose into the sky as they came upon the structure, growing larger as they drew closer. But just like the sky above, the house was dark below, save for a light in the upper quarters.

"Wait," Erebus hissed.

At first, only Mical paused.

"Wait!" he uttered again, his voice melting into the sighing wind as the storm picked up, a whistling riding through the grasses around them as Darek, Asra and Mission turned to look as well. Zayne kept his back to him, his silhouette defiant as he surveyed the house. "I think… We may be too late."

Something in the way the house loomed on the horizon didn't sit well with him. The energy surrounding the estate felt off, too, akilter in a way Erebus could not explain.

"I... unfortunately agree," Zayne said, defeated, "Something's not right."

"How do you know?" Darek asked as the group closed in on Erebus' position, huddling together now to discuss their next steps.

"The Force," Zayne said, his face scrunching up as he mentally reached into the ether. Erebus sensed him, for a moment, probing into the Force and reading its energies. He never got used to how it felt to sense others manipulate the Force when he was still tapped into it – it was as if he were sensing the fabric of the universe but also was the fabric itself, painstakingly aware of every thread and where it led, feeling each pull and give but not always in a tug of war. The way Zayne penetrated the Force was like striking the key on a piano. Erebus sensed the vibration as if hearing and registering the sound, feeling the tremor of Zayne's momentary manipulation as his echo faded into nonexistence. "There's one person inside, maybe two, which isn't odd but… I dunno, something feels off ."

Zayne's brown eyes met Erebus', wide and worried as he sought confirmation. Erebus could only nod. He felt the same but could not elaborate on the feeling. Energy emanated from the lit room, but as to whether those energies belonged to the Sandral household, only time would tell.

"Then we'll be on our guard," Mission ordered, again taking the lead of this operation like she had back at Khoonda headquarters. "We approach the estate as if none the wiser, got it? We can't have them, or anyone, suspecting anything."

Smart girl , Erebus thought. No wonder Revan took a shine to you.

" Mical and I will approach the house," Mission continued, her eyes briefly meeting Erebus' before uttering his name. "Erebus as well, if he wishes. But Asra? Darek? We could use a few good shots out here. Keep an eye on the perimeter of the house in case it is a trap. And Zayne? Stay plugged into the Force or whatever, let us know what you sense from out here."

Mission tapped the comm tucked beneath the cone of her ear, its silver glinting as she touched it though it blended in with the headdress she normally wore otherwise. A clever disguise.

"Sure," Zayne agreed, though his eyes were fixed unblinkingly on Erebus, no doubt wishing that he was the one to go inside instead. "Got it."

"Aye," Darek said, nodding with Asra in confirmative unison.

"Okay so…" Mission turned to Mical and Erebus, her eyes expectant, almost nervous but not quite. "Let's do this."

The house loomed before them now, a wraith rising from the now-shadowed grasses of the Dantooine landscape, its lone lit window fixed on them like an ever-watchful eye. Erebus felt Mical's eyes on him, too – darting, unsure. He fought the urge to return Mical's gaze, sensing the other man's determined anxiety fluttering through the Force like a bird's wings at dawn. Erebus inhaled and focused on his sister's vision of Sion until his fingers began to bristle with electricity again. If this was a trap, Erebus would be ready.

Mission slowed as she approached the main entrance, her eyes scanning its surface for an entry holopad when a bulbous machine reared its elongated head from the doorjamb, sending her a few surprised steps back.

"Sta-ate your bus-business," a droid that very much resembled a monstrous orb garbled in their direction. The bulb opened itself to reveal a smaller, inner bulb, its dark camera glossy as an eye, and looked at each of their faces in rapid fire as a beast quickly surveying its prey.

"The name's Mission Vao, I was here, maybe… I dunno, five years ago?" Mission didn't miss a beat, instantly falling into a charming sense of comfortable calm, her uncertainty coming off as endearing rather than suspicious. "I just wanted to speak with—"

Before Mission could finish her sentence, the bulb droid retracted into the frame as the door's panels separated. Mission looked back at both Erebus and Mical before shrugging as she turned again to the opening door, its panels jilting on its inlaid track, very much in need of oil. Erebus' brow furrowed farther, just as he got a glimpse – and a whiff – of what was inside.

Just over the threshold was a foyer like the Matale's: a crisp, bright room flanked by two transplanted trees, poised before the doors that led to the rest of the house. Only unlike the Matale estate that was now usually teeming with unhappy citizens and solicitors, this foyer was full of the sight and scent of blood.

"Don't mind the mess!" an unexpectedly jovial voice called out from behind one of the trees that stood sentinel before them. Now Erebus allowed himself to truly give into confusion and share a bewildered glance with Mical, whose right eyebrow shot up so high it disappeared into his hair. Not breaking character, Mission took a step forward with a hand gingerly held not-too-suspiciously over her holster as she put on a friendly smile and ventured into the unknown.

"Rahasia?" Mission hesitated. "Rahasia Sandral?"

"Never thought I'd see you 'round these parts again," a woman's laugh filled the space, offsetting the sense of dread Erebus felt otherwise. Something isn't right. "I thought you'd be off exploring the galaxy and all that."

"Well, I was … for a spell," Mission replied into a chuckle. Erebus felt the unease from her but he sensed the girl's relief, too. "If you don't mind my asking, what is all this-?"

"All this blood doing here?" Rahasia laughed, finishing Mission's thought for her before she could stutter it into existence. "Why don't you come closer and take a look."

Were it not for the woman's tone of voice, Erebus would have mistaken it for a threat. But she sounded embarrassed, if anything, begrudgingly welcoming an old acquaintance. With Mission leading the way, Erebus and Mical trailed behind until the river of blood led to its source at the base of the tree – a kath hound.

The creature had already been skinned and two of its haunches hung from the branches of the closest tree, still draining of blood. Now that they were properly inside the room, Erebus saw that several of the tree's limbs were strewn with kill, including the tree on the other end of the hall, all in varying stages of preservation.

"As you can see, quite a bit has changed around here," Rahasia said, finishing her last cut before wiping her bloody hands on the apron wrapped around her waist. The woman stood and revealed herself in full as the three of them approached, her dark eyes immediately darting to Erebus and Mical, determining if their faces were as familiar as Mission's. Before the woman could come to any conclusions, her eyes softened at the sight of Mission, and she held out her arms as Mission stepped closer.

"You probably hate hearing this, but Maker you've grown," Rahasia said into a smile.

"I was only thirteen when I last saw you," Mission said, accepting the woman's hug with a disquiet even Erebus could feel, careful to avoid the blood. "Of course I've grown."

"Sorry it's just…" Rahasia released Mission and looked her up and down, "We don't get many visitors here. It's been a while since I've seen a new face, let alone a welcome one. And no I'm not counting those scavengers and mercenaries."

"Things are that bad out here, huh?" Mission asked, shooting Mical and Erebus a glance.

Even the wealthy need to hunt for food, Erebus thought, considering what Khoonda was offering when this was still the norm for even the most privileged of families.

"Have been for quite a while," Rahasia sighed, "In fact things haven't been good since you and your friends were here."

"So I heard," Mission said. "And unfortunately I don't come bearing any good news."

At this, Rahasia finally stiffened, leaving the remainder of the blood on her arms as if making a statement. Her eyes darted away from Mission again to survey Erebus and Mical, her eyes pausing on Erebus the second time.

"You," she began, rounding on him. "You helped Da, once, didn't you?"

Da, Erebus froze before realizing she'd meant Nurik Sandral.

"I did, yes," Erebus said, "My sister and I helped your father with the droid that manned the crop irrigation."

My sister and I, Erebus wanted to laugh. More like my sister helped while I just watched.

"Jedi, right?" Rahasia pressed.

"I was training then, yes," Erebus said, feeling the judgment of both Mission and Mical on him as he spoke, though what he said was not a lie. "I still remember the land well."

"Hm," was all Rahasia offered, unconvinced. But just as she was about to say something else, Mical butted in.

"I trained here as a child myself as well." Mical said, "I once helped find your farm dog, I'm not sure if your father ever told you. Nurik called him scoundrel though I doubt that was truly the pup's name."

"Scoundrel, yes ," Rahasia laughed, growing comfortable again now as the fond memory overtook her. "God I miss that dog. His name was Godric though we ended up calling him all sorts of things."

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother, Casus," Mical continued, taking a step forward as Rahasia's expression dropped. "I looked up to him when I was younger and I only just learned of his passing earlier today."

Rahasia held a hand to her heart as she closed her eyes, the gratitude clear on her face in light of… what was that, regret? Fear? Erebus tensed, reaching out with the Force though feeling nothing despite knowing that something was wrong.

Wait.

"Thank you," Rahasia near-whispered before sniffling and resuming her smile from earlier, though decidedly less at ease than when she'd first spied Mission. "So tell me, what is this bad news you've come to dish out?"

When Erebus had first surveyed the house, he'd sensed energies from the lit room on the second floor. But now he sensed…

"Well," Mission began, taking a deep breath before admitting it. "We think you and your family are in great danger."

"Oh?" Rahasia said, almost nonplussed. "And who told you that?"

A nudge. Erebus could only explain as such. It was as if a ghost had pushed him gently, or a stranger tapped him with impatient cordiality on the shoulder, urging that he be quiet. Mission twitched just-so, telling him that her comm chattered but perhaps said nothing of value. They're jamming our signal, Erebus thought. They knew we were coming.

Erebus felt the nudge again, this time harder. It wasn't physical but mental, a consciousness knocking against his own, and it wasn't until he'd fully registered Mission's actions that the pieces fell into place.

Get out of there, it said. It's a trap.

Erebus stilled. Zayne.

"It's a bit hard to explain," Mical said, either oblivious or playing dumb a little too well, "You see, we found a body-"

But before Mical could finish his sentence, Erebus froze as several other, very alive, bodies materialized out of the nether. Not again.

"I thought you might have," Rahasia said, her smile edging into something sinister. "They said you'd come."

The bodies coalesced into full-fleshed people, all armored and ready, two of which held gloved hands out towards Mical and Erebus' wrists. Just like Nespis. Only once clutched in their grip, Erebus actually felt nothing.

Nothing.

Not even the Force.


3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Apartment C3

Eden

Eden Valen had not dreamt since Malachor. Nor had she gone by the name Eden.

Now, neither of those things remained true.

She'd forgotten what it was like - to leave the world of the waking to instead roam a realm of half-memories, half-fears, and all-parts nonsense. She had a lightsaber in this new dream, but it was not her own. Instead it was something ancient and heavy, its color indiscernible but not unusual under the spell of sleep. The lightsaber hummed, as if singing, every time she swung. And when the shaft retreated, it whispered goodbye.

Eden dreamt of the triangular door again before waking. Its image seared itself into her mind's eye, transposing its double on Eden's rousing vision like a sunspot that refused to relinquish its imprint. Its unnatural shape stayed with her even as she moved about the room after abandoning sleep, its apex appearing like a specter above the blunt frames of the TSF appointed quarters, begging her not to forget.

She tried to focus on the facets of the room, still jarred by how different things were from the Outer Rim. Eden had to remind herself that all of this was new more or less, if not borrowed from somewhere else in the galaxy. Citadel Station was a baby compared to its mother planet below, still reeling from her wounds in the Jedi Civil War. Eden felt the echoes of destruction like ghosts roaming beneath her, tectonic plates threatening to shift, though far away - both an ache and an echo, just as the Force felt creeping back into her senses. She tried to focus on the intricacies of the room, reacquaint herself with trivial things like alarm clocks and knick-knacks, things she failed to bring to Tatooine where every surface in her shop and attached apartment was barren or otherwise coated with sand or machine oil. But all she could think of was that damn door.

The door dream was realer this time, though not quite like a memory. More akin to a lucid dream than anything - real in the moment but utterly illusory upon remembering while awake. Only unlike a lucid spell, Eden did not have any control over what happened in the dream. Like being trapped in a simulation. She could walk and move and look at things, but still imprisoned by the algorithm's pre-programmed scenario. Even still, the rock walls ensconcing the door felt tangible this time, closer, its rough surface as barbed and rough as any real cave Eden had seen in her lifetime. But while it felt real, Eden could not place the door nor its origin anywhere in her memory.

"Something troubles you," Kreia asked when Eden entered the main common area, her eyes fixed on an indiscriminate middle distance. Eden paused as she exited her appointed bedroom, not expecting to see the old woman there but oddly pleased to see she was awake nonetheless.

"Have you ever had visions?" Eden came right out and asked, pacing for a moment before suddenly taking the seat across from Kreia, her eyes worriedly scanning the shadow of the woman's lowered hood as she sat hunched forward and eager for a response.

"Force visions, I presume?"

Eden nodded.

"Ah ," Kreia sighed, a bittersweet smile spiriting over her lips as an answer took form in her mind before speaking. "The Force grants us feeble views into possible futures. Even if you were to experience a true Force vision, it is imperative that you interpret it with caution. The future is always in flux, regardless of what the Force might tell you."

"So they are not always true?"

"Not exactly," Kreia continued, "It is merely a glimpse of a possible outcome, which does not make it any less true. But seeing a vision of the future through the Force does not make it any more concrete than another potential path."

"So… Force visions hold truth, but only… one version of it?"

"Precisely," Kreia affirmed, nodding her head. "Say the Force granted you a vision of a future event. This insight does not mean that the events foretold will necessarily come to pass, but they may, should a certain path be taken. What the Force does not tell you is which path leads there, and what other paths remain."

"I think I understand," Eden said, "Though, how do you know if something you see is a vision or not?"

Kreia cocked her head just-so, silently begging that Eden elaborate.

"I keep seeing a door, when I sleep," Eden began, the words slow on her tongue, as if the words themselves were sticky, "My memory is still spotty in places but I remember most of what happened on the Harbinger now, and everything that came before, I just… I can't place this door anywhere in my past that makes any sense."

"What does this door look like?" Kreia asked, her voice guarded now. "Perhaps it is related to our mysterious link."

Eden hadn't realized how tense she'd been until she relaxed her shoulders, momentarily balmed by Kreia's reminder. Maybe it isn't my memory, she breathed. Maybe Kreia has seen this door, too.

"It's triangular, black," Eden began. "Set in stone."

Kreia did not move, betraying nothing. Eden froze, unsure if she should feel relieved or if it was too early to tell.

"I think it's a set of double doors," Eden continued, scrunching her eyes closed as she conjured up the image in exact detail again. "Each door is a narrow slice, creating a complete isosceles triangle when closed."

"Have the doors ever opened, in this vision of yours?" Kreia asked.

Eden shook her head. Kreia let out a ruminous hmm as she settled deeper into her seat, setting Eden more on edge just when she was beginning to feel as if she was getting somewhere.

"Yet you know how the door operates?" Kreia questioned, already suspicious of Eden's answer before she offered it.

"Somehow, yes." Eden relented, sighing again as she reconciled the strange feeling the door gave off. "And I don't know how I know this either, but the door isn't meant to be opened. Not yet , anyway."

"Interesting," Kreia murmured. Had Eden not known the woman, she might have suspected that she was being sarcastic. But the air of unknowing lingered between them, and through their bond Eden sensed Kreia logging this information for later, confirming her statement before she uttered it, "I have not seen such a door, I'm afraid. As to the thoughts you have surrounding said door, I would not put it from your mind that this image is not a vision - indeed it may be - but it may also be a manifestation of your current connection to the Force, a subconscious symbol masquerading as a recognizable image begging that you decipher it. That image being a door. If that is the case, then perhaps I may be of some help."

"Help?"

"Before you reconfigure your relationship to the Force again, you must learn to calm your mind." Kreia said, pausing and looking in Eden's immediate direction before emphasizing, "Meditate."

"Meditate?"

It wasn't so much a question so much as it was a means of delay. Eden had never formally learned to center herself under any teacher, at least not until Atris. What Master Kavar teaches you is how to release your tension, through physical action and the precision of its performance, Atris had told her with the ghost of a laugh on her throat, back when Atris still smiled often and was known to joke when she was in a good mood. It may be meditative, but what he did not teach you is how to truly meditate. To center yourself and calm your mind.

"Is… that alright?" Kreia asked, her every word slow as she spoke, as if sensing Eden's thoughts.

"I -" Eden paused, shaking the memory of Atris from her mind. "Yes, it's fine. It's just… it's been a while.

Kreia stood from where she sat and walked to the center of the room before promptly sitting down on the floor, beckoning that Eden join.

"Come, let me show you my personal brand of meditation. I can assure you that it is a technique you have not likely learned before."

Kreia had been hard to read from the moment Eden nearly mistook her dead on Peragus, but now Eden felt a true wave of compassion emanating from the woman. Whether Kreia had indeed read her thoughts or simply sensed her hesitation, Eden was thankful for the woman's thoughtfulness and discretion. But above all, her willingness to help.

"Sounds good to me," Eden said, easing into the idea of learning new tricks. It had been nearly a decade since she'd felt the Force, and even longer since she last meditated. While part of her was not eager to revisit either thing, the idea of doing so alongside a woman that did not ask her questions about her past or readily call herself a Jedi made Eden feel more at ease than she had in a very long time.


3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Dantooine

Lonna Vash

Were it not for the irony of it all, Lonna Vash might have allowed herself to snoop. But she was practiced, if anything, and polite above all else.

Erebus' ship was a relic, a thing she never once thought she would see. None of the Jedi Council wished to explore what it was that made Revan's miracle fleet the marvel that it was, though the fact that none of them were even the slightest bit curious irked her now. They'd made so many mistakes, but this was one smaller error in light of so many monolithic ones that she could at least rectify it in their absence. For the record.

But her old apprentice had trusted the vessel to her. Trusted that she would keep the thing on firm ground until he returned, having run off on some errand she was unsure would be fruitful yet. The visions hadn't been that detailed. When had they ever been? He'd been a boy then, younger than ten, when she trained him and called him her Padawan. Nothing had forced their separation other than Aiden's own interest in history, his passion still evident now in his research-masquerading-as-decoration, notes and diagrams lining the metal of his ship like wallpaper. And it was history, too, that brought their paths together once more. Lonna let out a low laugh, wondering what other jokes the Force still had in store for her.

Lonna moved about the ship like a specter, only allowing herself to touch its surfaces, making a mental note not to pry, even though she wanted to.

Perhaps later.

It would be nice to know where the vessel had come from. According to the reports post-Civil War, it was birthed from a station that Revan and Captain Malak had found out in the Unknown Regions. But how could such a place be? How could a machine churn out warship after warship without so much as an engineer to guide its mechanical hand? How could such a device just exist, sitting out there on the edges of space since time immemorial, waiting to be found?

Revan knew, but no one had thought to ask her why. And now Revan was gone again, the answers gone with her. So long as the war was over, the Council agreed, the past could remain in the past.

No, not the Council. Atris.

Lonna's eyes darted over Erebus' drawings, smiling at how evident it was that his handwriting had changed little despite how much everything else had transformed over the years, him included. Even as a boy, though Aiden then, he'd always been fond of pens rather than holopad styluses or keypads. Lonna could still recall the entrance letter he'd penned for Atris, then the Chief Historian at Coruscant, who'd complained about the small nature of his letters, asking if he'd rather type it instead. Lonna had laughed when Aiden said, with a straight face, no.

The spirit of a smile stayed her face as her eyes fell on the diagrams near Erebus' desk: pyramids of varying sizes scattered among his notes like emblems, breadcrumbs that lead to who knew where.

If the visions were right, they would soon find out. If the visions were right, then Lonna would be the one to make the connection.

Allowing her gaze to linger over the alien design of the ship's controls, the odd shapes of the doors and the strange layout of the cargo hold, bookmarking her curiosity for later, Lonna limped over to the container Mical had procured for her from the jaws of Nespis VIII, its fate already sealed when she had set foot on it but the loss of which she still felt in full. With the notes from the dilapidated Dantooine Archives still saved in her holopad, Lonna opened the canister and revealed its contents. To anyone else, it was just a lightsaber. And an old one at that. But it wasn't just any lightsaber. It was a key to another mystery the Jedi Council had failed to investigate the origins of, borrowing its blueprint in design only without ever questioning why such a thing even existed. Just like the Star Forge.

Inside the container was the first known double-bladed lightsaber. Its hilt was rough but sturdy, and its inner mechanics little known. Later designs would be modeled after the log of the weapon in the archives, not the actual article itself, which would lead to unsuccessful replicas like the one Aiden had attempted as a child, scared of Kun but in awe of him also. Lonna picked it up in her hands, half expecting her body to surge with Dark Side energy, with a rush of cold as Erebus had attested earlier. But instead, she felt nothing. Only metal.

Shifting its weight from palm to palm, Lonna relished in its substance, heavier than she anticipated and by far heftier than any modern double-blades she knew. She'd held Master Kavar's blade once, when he was sworn into the Council, and the hilt had been deceptively lightweight then, informing how fluid Kavar could be with his movements. But this? Exar Kun's blade was a megalith in miniature, weighing almost as much as a star on the cusp of full supernova.

But that was just it, wasn't it? Unlike other double-blades that sought to correct the perceived flaw, this one was unwieldy and uneven, but on purpose. Kun only ever dueled with the main blade elongated, saving the secret second blade for the killing thrust. But there was more to it than that…

Setting the saber down, Lonna watched as the yellow-white light of Erebus' ship caught the metallic hilt in full, temporarily gilding it where it was otherwise silver. Lonna closed her eyes and upon seeing the device's inner workings in her mind's eye, began to slowly take the thing apart.

Without touching it, the hilt separated, each of its pieces suspended in midair. The thing was ancient, and stubbornly so, resisting Lonna's demands with every mental command. But it relented and revealed itself, relinquishing itself to the Force as Lonna guided it. It wasn't so unlike other lightsabers, save for the prototypical nature of its inner workings. The power cell was primeval, but it more or less resembled recent iterations. Its circuits looked fairly new, possibly even updated by Master Sunrider upon the weapon's rediscovery. But in the center of all its wirings, sitting almost demurely at the base of its energy channel, were the focusing and primary crystals. Where one was common – resembling clear quartz with a few white specks marring its otherwise diamond-like crystalline sheen – the other was a darker, rougher crystal unlike any Lonna had ever seen. She'd dissected Sith sabers before, their bleeding crystals visceral and vibrant, but this one was almost so black it was void of light.

Like a blackhole in miniature.

Lonna stilled, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

Like Malachor. Like Eden Valen and the Wound she left in her wake. Like Katarr and the ghost of the lost Jedi that Lonna mourned still.

Without another thought, she willed the saber back together, the pieces not only returning to their original position as a single unit but also placing itself within the safe confines of the box, the lid closing and shutting itself as if it needed to be alone and not because Lonna wished it to be.

Lonna fought to catch her breath, her eyes wide as she calmed herself, staring out at Erebus' many drawings and diagrams as if it might calm her or at least remind her of the task at hand.

She knew what this meant and what would have to come next, but that didn't mean she liked that the Force willed it to be so.


3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Apartment C3

Atton

"It's uh, it's your move," Atton urged politely, his voice bordering on annoyed though his confusion got the better of him.

"Oh, sorry," Eden muttered. "What did you just do again?"

It had been twelve hours since the TSF unceremoniously dropped them off here with no further news of what might become of their trial, and it was only a matter of time until the Exchange found out Atton had returned only to have failed the mission thrust upon him.

I'm counting on you, hotshot, Luxa had said into his ear, one of her long nails tracing his jaw as she pushed the weapons he was meant to smuggle onto the station into the side of his ribcage like a promise and a threat. If you do, more than half of your debt will be paid.

Atton wasn't eager to find out what would happen if he didn't.

"I placed this card down," Atton said after a beat. Shaking the fear from his mind to replace his thoughts with numbers again, he pointed to the newly-laid Pazaak card on the table before Eden. Its metallic edges glittered, reflecting the traffic from outside the window beside them. "And I end my turn."

"Right, right," Eden said, her eyes boring into the cards laid out like a battle map. She furrowed her brow as she chewed her lip, a look of utter concentration overcoming her as she placed her next card down in a way Atton hadn't seen yet. It had only been a few days and he'd already witnessed Eden's flavors of suspicious, agitated, exhausted, angry, aloof and resigned. This was a new one. "What?"

"Huh?"

"You're smiling, did I do something stupid?" Eden sighed. "I think I should have picked the other card in my hand on the last round…"

Atton hadn't realized he'd zoned out until Eden spoke. She looked up at him through the dark fringe of her hair, a few strands falling into her eyes as she tried to read his expression. Might as well have had drool on my face, Atton berated himself internally. It was almost as bad as his staring back on the Peragus promenade - well, maybe not quite as bad, but still embarrassing.

"No, no it's nothing, it's just… a little hard to believe you've never played Pazaak before."

Atton decided to play it cool, leaning back in his chair as far as it allowed with one arm draped over the support as if he might suddenly decide to up and leave the game should his interest wane. But his statement was true. He couldn't believe Eden had never played Pazaak despite claiming to have lived on Tatooine as long as she had. The woman wouldn't tell him much, just that she used to repair and sell droids in Anchorhead for a while before being brought here to meet with Admiral Onasi. Must be about the missing Jedi, he thought, though he didn't dare ask. Eden still stared at him, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Right…" Eden's discernment only intensified, her eyes narrowing as she read him for a second longer before plucking a card from her own hand and placing it down. "Well, I don't have much interest in gambling."

"But you clearly have a head for numbers," Atton said after whistling at Eden's play. "Not bad."

"Don't give me credit just yet, you didn't give me much to work with," Eden countered, showing Atton the back of her paltry hand as if the man had already forgotten that he'd leant her his side-deck so they could pass the time. "The droid work helps, probably, but I'm more of a visual learner. If my math is right, it's likely by accident."

"You could just brag, y'know," Atton huffed a laugh, "You just won, by the way."

"What?" Eden's eyes went wide as she leaned over the table, as if her proximity to the cards would help her make more sense of the game. "How?!"

"Do the math," he chuckled coolly, gesturing that she scan the cards before he collected the deck and shuffled for another round. "Or listen, how about this - why don't we just chalk it up to beginner's luck, alright?"

"Yeah, that's more likely," Eden agreed almost as soon as Atton finished speaking. She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest, nodding absently at the cards still on the table as if making quick sense of them again. Atton was just playing nice, giving her a few more seconds to count and recount before collecting the cards, but it was strange to see such a capable woman act so… incapable. Eden had faltered a few times back on Peragus, and Atton blamed Force nonsense for the most part with a dash of not-enough-nutrients and too-much-kolto. Now, it seemed like Eden not only avoided credit where it was due but also found it abhorrent to boot.

"Pure Pazaak," Atton mumbled, feigning amusement but feeling awkward nonetheless.

"So, up for another round, or...?"

Eden shook her head.

"Maybe later."

Atton didn't want to admit he was disappointed, deciding instead to shrug it off. "Suit yourself."

"So you just… carry all this around with you?" Eden asked after a beat, her voice easing into something friendlier. Atton saw the curiosity in her eyes - earnest in her inquisitiveness - but still sensed the sardonic bite beneath. Now Atton truly wanted to laugh but thankfully refrained.

"It passes the time," was all he revealed, placing the collected and now-shuffled deck in his jacket's left-most inside pocket. "Plus, y'never know when it might stop a blaster bolt to the heart."

The spirit of a laugh fluttered over Eden's face but didn't take form in full. Atton's stomach flipped, but before he could question it the woman stood and looked expectantly toward the door.

"Wait, someone's here."

Just like in the detention cell. It was another moment before the door chime fluttered through the air, announcing a visitor. Eden was already halfway across the floor before the melody finished.

"Any news?" Atton heard Eden say before he stood to join her, spying the usual suspects from the day before.

Lieutenant Grenn looked up at her sheepishly, his business-smile coming off more apologetic than smug as it had the day previous.

"I am happy to inform you that our investigation of the Peragus facility has come to a close," Grenn began. The man shifted from foot to foot, robbing Atton of any hope he had at the beginning of the Lieutenant's sentence. "It appears that the Harbinger had indeed been present – though it was gone when our ships arrived – and was responsible for the station's destruction. We managed to recover logs from the facility as well that more or less support your claims. So, as such, you are to be released from house arrest."

And?

Atton almost uttered the words, though judging by the way Lieutenant Grenn read his expression he might as well have.

"As it stands, while the Telosian investigation has come to a close, the Republic would like to resume the inquest. A ship is on its way as we speak, and they have insisted that you remain on-station for the duration of their search."

"Why is the Republic sending a ship?" Eden asked, taking a step towards Lieutenant Grenn. The man only tightened his military stance, his hands held even firmer behind his back if it were possible as he held Eden's gaze, still trying to appear friendly and formal.

"To further investigate the station's destruction and to continue the search for the missing Harbinger," Grenn admitted, every word sounding as scripted as the last.

Eden wanted the man to admit something else, but the Lieutenant refused, staring the woman down with a steel gaze that reeked of bureaucracy. Atton wanted to roll his eyes, but for once refrained, instead remaining impassive at Eden's side.

"Do we have to stay?" Atton ventured, looking beyond the shoulders of Grenn and his crew, and thankfully only spying an eyeful of nothing. No Exchange lackeys, he thought. At least not yet.

"It would be preferable," Grenn said, appearing more polite than Atton deserved. "The Sojourn is already en route and will likely dock in not more than a few standard days, so feel free to use these quarters for your stay."

Grenn eyed his team and bowed out of the apartment again, pausing only to add, "Your vessel's ID is complete. Please visit the TSF station to complete the necessary paperwork to release any forfeited items at the front desk. Your ship should be transferred from the impound docks by the time you're ready to leave."

Before either of them could respond, Grenn closed the apartment door from the outside, leaving them alone again.

And to think that old witch has slept through all of this.

"What the hell was that?" Eden said, aghast. She turned to Atton after staring at the closed door for a full half-minute, her gaze as bewildered as Atton's insides felt.

"Is it just me or did the Lieutenant put a little too much emphasis on should in his last statement?" Atton said, already reaching for the door again.

"That wasn't just you…" Eden said, already halfway across the room and pulling on her boots. "If we're free to roam the station, let's call their bluff."

"You want to find the Ebon Hawk now?" Atton asked, more bemused that Eden was on the same page as him than he was flabbergasted that she'd even asked.

"Why not?" Eden asked, "If they are lying about something, now is the best time to catch them in the middle of it. Grenn said by the time you're ready to leave as if he was counting on us taking a few days before making an inquest of our own. I say we make that inquest now."

There was a fierce determination in Eden's eyes that Atton wasn't expecting. Another one for the books, he thought, wondering if this was a bad idea or a good one. So, do we make ourselves a target for the Exchange or get ahead of the game? A toss up, really.

Before Atton could gauge whether heading out of their government-appointed haven was a good idea or not, he hit the panel that commanded the door to open, an inner part of him surprisingly more eager to see Eden satisfied than his survival instinct preferred that he remain in-tact.

Well, this can't be good, he thought, smirking in Eden's direction regardless. "Lead the way."


3951 BBY, Beyond the Unknown Regions

Revan

It had been years since she went by the name Revan.

Even now, she recoiled at the thought of referring to herself as anything. Revan was still too raw a memory, yet also too far away to reclaim. And she didn't want the name Nevarra to be mixed up in this either, as if keeping the names separate kept the parts of herself separate, too. Preserved but put away for now. As if they weren't inherently part of the same whole.

A woman could wish.

For now, she was to mind the door.

The door remained shut, its triangular image held in her peripheral vision whenever she passed it, never giving its sharp edges full credence as if acknowledging it in full would give it power. Her new Master still slept, the Emissary promising that the time would come when the door was to be opened. She'd relented to this bit of knowledge, comforted if only by the fact that it was a truth to be delayed, something she could avoid while she learned more of this place and reconciled the rest of herself - putting the pieces together even when there were still so many missing parts.

She missed Carth and the warmth of him, the gruff of his voice and the coarse caress of his stubble on her cheek as he held her close in the bed they shared. She missed mornings with him, whispering temptations that he come back to bed when she knew full well that he was to be on-duty within the standard hour, always teasing him with ten more minutes and a kiss to seal the promise that always turned into twenty. Maybe it was better this way, keeping him in the dark. He'd already known the worst parts of her, but this side was decidedly uglier, though a necessary evil if what memories she could recall could be trusted. And it was in these moments of almost-clarity that she truly missed Alek and his wicked half-grin, always part-strategist and part-scoundrel but also all parts heart of gold. Were Alek alive and at her side again, as he had been in the beginning, he'd be distracting her from the door and reminding her of the greater good, keeping her focused on their sacrifice and the fact that it would mean nothing if it didn't at least hurt a little, that this is what it meant to risk everything and that it would be worth it in the end. We'll make it matter, he'd said, after the tragedy at Cathar. We'll make their deaths mean something.

And had they?

It is sometimes necessary to enter the darkness in order to save the light, Alek had said to her before then. As if he knew what was to come. Before they'd found the Star Forge. Before Alek had been captured by Demagol and tortured, changing his name to separate himself from the pain, from all the hurt she'd refused to give voice to because it scared her too, even if it meant letting Alek think he'd failed her somehow. Even if it was the beginning of the end for her friend and she'd done nothing to stop it.

So the door dogged her still, every time she passed it and chose not to name herself, as if she were a floating ghost of consciousness. The Emissary was pleased with her progress, for now, and that's all that mattered. Your training is near complete, child, he'd praised just the other day. Or was it last week? You are almost ready.

And while the door remained shut, she did what she could in the meanwhile. Time was slower here, deceptively infinite. Between training she willed her limbs to move about the ancient annals instead of succumbing to the sweet solace of immobility, as the others here often did, reminding herself that time was in fact finite and that she was quickly running out of it. She studied the runes and dredged what she could from the depths of her memory. If only she could have completed her last objective before the Emissary intercepted her at their prearranged meeting place, though she had no memory of planning it. Divine intervention, he'd called it. Bad fucking luck was more like it in her book.

Because she had never done this kind of work, always delegating it to others, to Eden. Eden would know. Eden had trained in the Archives and while the girl may not have had a fondness for datapads as librarians were known for having, she had an encyclopedic knowledge of etymology and could rattle off any number of binary sequences or ancient languages related to any given word spoken in a conversation if asked of her. So long as there was a pattern, Eden could decipher it. It's why the girl was stationed on Dxun. Revan had found Eden's persistence in battle to be a serendipitous coincidence, the girl always determined to see a mission through to completion no matter how many men she lost. Revan had been proud, then. Nevarra wasn't sure how to feel.

Even before she'd recalled being Revan once, she remembered Eden and her proclivity for languages. As she'd struggled with her translator on Kashyyyk, Mission muffling chuckles at her side, she'd recalled Eden's uncanny ability to pick up words and dialects like a firaxa taking to water. Eden knows Shyriiwook, she'd thought off-hand and so easily that it shocked her. Who was Eden? Even if the memory didn't make sense at the time, she'd still remembered her youngest protégé.

In all her time as a mind-wiped Jedi drone, she'd not remembered a single thing from her life before. Not training as a Jedi, not her true name, nor anything from her wonderful yet tragic childhood. Not even Alek. But she had remembered Eden. She'd remembered Eden.

If only she could have found her before the Emissary made contact. If only she'd found Eden and finally let her in on the secret she should have been a part of all those years ago. If she had trusted the girl back then, perhaps none of this would have happened. Maybe Alek would still be alive, and only Malak at worst. Perhaps her Civil War wouldn't have been lost, or maybe not waged at all, Revan's initial plans never forgotten and left to ruin.

If only she'd trusted Eden then, and not tried to kill her.

If only.

So for now, Revan would mind the door. And dread the day that it would finally open.


3951 BBY, Citadel Station, TSF Station

Atton

"Gone?!" Atton balked, the droid behind the TSF front desk far too calm to ease his inner dismay. "How can an entire ship be gone?!"

"It seems the Ebon Hawk was transferred to Telos' surface instead of an impound dock. However, both the requester and the point of delivery are unknown." The silver protocol droid paused, glancing at the screen before it and typing in a few things before continuing, "In addition, the vessel is not showing up at any government sanctioned landing site. Given the evidence, I would conclude that it has been stolen, and the TSF records have been illegally accessed and modified to amend said records."

"I knew it," Atton seethed. "That stupid T3 unit stole our ship, and it's probably joyriding through the system right now laughing at us. Laughing at me."

It wasn't until he spied Eden's expression from the corner of his eye that Atton thought he might have very well lost his mind. Instead of reacting, Eden only stared blankly at him, eyes unblinking, as if to say I'll pretend you didn't just say that. The droid on the other side of the desk stared similarly, only it was the droid Atton truly wanted to throttle.

"That is unlikely," the droid interrupted, now sounding oddly unnerved at Atton's display as Eden appeared to be, still unblinking, though she did extend a hand to steady him. "While your utility droid is not accounted for, numerous satellites track all incoming and outgoing vessels. There is no evidence of the Ebon Hawk leaving the system."

Ignoring the odd calm Eden's hand on his arm gave him, Atton only eyed the woman with conspiratorial conjecture, cocking his eyebrow as he pieced the puzzle of this headache together.

"Wait, you're saying that the ship's actually somewhere on Telos' surface?" Atton shook his head, gently removing Eden's hand from his arm with a silent I'm fine, even though he preferred it there. "I don't understand. Telos' atmosphere is highly corrosive outside the shielded Restoration Zones. Where else could someone land safely?"

If the droid could sigh, it would have. Its entire frame glittered silver, a few rusted swaths glowing red-orange, beneath the horrid fluorescence of the office's ambiance as its chassis shouldered all the motions of an exhale.

"I'm sorry, but I am afraid that is all the information I have for you. Of course, the quarters in Residential Module 082 will remain yours until the situation is resolved."

"At least there's that," Atton mumbled, turning away as Eden continued to speak with the droid in hushed tones now. As he worked through the waves of embarrassment that washed over him in the aftermath of his outburst, Atton made out the words belongings and inventory, so when Eden grabbed his arm again to regain his attention he was at least a bit more interested and a lot less grumpy.

"Your bounty awaits," Eden urged, half-laughing but also clearly exhausted, as she turned him in the direction of the sliding doors opening beside them. Beyond the dissolving barrier lay a row of lockers Eden took no time in rummaging through. Atton paused, at first forgetting what on the Hawk even belonged to him before he recalled everything he'd pilfered from the Harbinger's armory, where Eden had fallen under some spell at the mere sight of a quarterstaff. Before seeking out what gear he'd stolen, Atton watched as Eden carefully sorted through what remained in the lockers, her eyes as discerning as he'd ever seen them.

He wanted to read her, as so many Jedi had read him before. He knew how, and if he could just…

"What?" Eden asked, breaking him out of his reverie. It took a moment for Atton to realize that he had been staring - again. "Something wrong?"

Atton shook his head.

"N-nothing," Atton stammered. "It's nothing."

Atton was about to begin counting cards in his head again when he felt it - an ache . Eden continued on as if it were nothing, as if she had taken his words to heart. As if her entire being didn't echo with the weight of it.

But the ache radiated off of her, and hit him in waves. He'd sensed it before, even with his walls up, but it felt more akin to uncertainty then. Now? Atton wasn't sure what to call it.

Death was the first thing that came to mind. A gaping maw that sought nothing but annihilation. But there was something else, too… something raw and gnawing, like a hunger. Something familiar that Atton dare not name. Only Eden wasn't satiating it, instead choosing to let it starve.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Eden asked, truly concerned now as she took a step towards him. But Atton only recoiled, shaking his head. Are you sure you're okay?! He wanted to ask.

He didn't.

"I'm fine." he said, "So long as we get out of here, soon."

Only soon wouldn't come fast enough.