3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Apartment C3
Eden
Eden was just beginning to forget about the door. She forgot about Revan and the dreams and the unending dread that seemed to grow heavier with every measured breath.
A wash of calm settled over her as Kreia's voice eased Eden into a meditative stance for the first time since she was a teenager. Empty your mind of all thought, Kreia instructed simply as Eden closed her eyes, the memory of the woman's voice echoing in her mind as it had on Peragus. And just as Eden transitioned to consciousness back then, her thoughts dissolved into an abyss, as sweet and vacant as her dreams once were. Before the Force returned.
Only now the Force felt… calmer. Not quite tranquil but put on pause. Like a wild beast overcome with exhaustion, finally on the brink of rest.
Do not resist your errant thoughts, a specter of Kreia's voice instructed. Listen to what your mind, and your body, tell you. Acknowledge it, and then let it pass.
A flicker of a memory threatened Eden's looming calm - Don't resist. Resistance is futile, Alek had spat at her as Malak, claiming that if Malachor hadn't killed her then he surely would. Revan was counting on it. This isn't over yet.
Except that it was over. Alek was dead, and so was Malak. Revan, gone. Only Eden remained.
And with that, the memory dissolved.
A soothing quiet followed, a tranquility Eden felt edging into her consciousness like a much-welcomed nap. That is, until the chiming started.
Part of her wanted to hope it was all part of the exercise, and while she knew what it truly was, she hoped it was at least an illusion until Atton's voice butted in loud and unavoidably clear.
"Is anyone going to get that?" he asked, breaking both Kreia and Eden out of their shared reverie. Eden thirsted for that brief taste of half-realized serenity as she opened her eyes only to find Atton's torso extending from the door of his self-appointed room, sluggishly rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"You have the capacity of answering the door," Kreia said to their pilot with nothing less than indignation. Atton only groaned as Eden begrudgingly got up and padded toward the entryway, rolling her eyes.
"I'm hardly the one in charge, here," Atton said, and while Eden sensed the beginnings of a retort form at the base of Kreia's throat, she also felt it die as Eden pressed her palm to the entrance panel and the door swooshed open. Eden expected the TSF again, Lieutenant Grenn looking her dead-on beneath the unnatural sheen of his slicked back hair. But instead, there stood an Ithorian, tall and glistening in the fluorescent residential module lighting.
Eden froze as she felt Atton arrive at her back, just as eager to see who their mysterious visitor was, a shiver of unease and a flash of a cave – dark but familiar somehow – flitting through her mind for an instant. She blinked and the feeling, as well as the image, were gone.
"Greetings Jedi," the Ithorian said, bowing. "Apologies for my intrusion but I am here at the behest of our spiritual leader, Chodo Habat. I am Moza, primary representative of our Grand Tutor, and I bring a message."
Judging by Atton's expression, he wasn't at all fluent in Ithorese. But Kreia was.
"And how does your tutor know that whom you speak to is indeed a Jedi?" Kreia asked, her voice steeped in suspicion though she did not deign it necessary to move from her meditation spot on the floor across the room. She spoke in plain Basic, but the Ithorian named Moza understood just as well.
"He felt it, in fact, and that is why I am here," Moza continued in Ithorese. "Chodo Habat is a powerful priest, and he sensed something upon your arrival… a disturbance. An echo in the Force."
A disturbance. Eden felt another flash – this time, of pain, and the taste of blood in her mouth – before the sensation was gone.
Eden wanted to turn on her heel and meet Kreia's gaze through the veil of the woman's lowered hood but thought the better of it, wondering if she felt it too. Bookmarking the thought for later, she willed her expression to remain placid as the Ithorian's large pleading eyes scanned each of them, seeking some semblance of understanding.
"Chodo felt you may be able to aid us. He knows it is dangerous for you here and offers our sanctuary as a place of protection. If you may aid us in our restoration of the planet, which has been greatly hindered by the arrival of the Czerka Corporation, then it may be possible for him to heal you."
"Heal her?" Kreia echoed, though the phrase rung in Eden's mind like a promise.
"I am unclear as to what Chodo means by this. He says he felt an echo upon your arrival, that he can feel your pain through the Force."
Eden had never once described her connection to the Force as painful. To her it was just… how it was. But she had to admit that the Ithorian wasn't exactly wrong either.
"Perhaps Chodo Habat should turn his eyes to his own people, if they truly suffer so," Kreia spat, finally standing now. She took a step forward, hands on her hips, and added, "Such accusations of Jedihood are unfounded and dangerous, as you say so yourself. What may appear a simple request to you is a potential death sentence for us, regardless of our affiliation."
Kreia was right. Atton stood silently, dumbfounded between the three of them, oblivious to what Moza was saying but still lost on how Kreia's responses factored into what was even happening.
Kreia was right, but Eden said nothing, knowing that whatever her connection to the Force had been before that it certainly wasn't this. Her mind was fractal and unstable, her senses unquietable. Kreia may be able to provide guidance, but healing? Something about that sounded too tempting to pass up.
"Forgive me," Moza said, bowing again. "I am unclear of Chodo's true message and perhaps I have relayed it incorrectly."
Eden afforded Kreia a glance now, knowing the woman didn't buy an ounce of that excuse the instant her eyes fell on her frame. But that didn't stop Eden in believing in the promise of some peace.
"Where can I find Chodo if I wish to speak with him?" Eden asked, her voice softer than she anticipated, caught somewhere in the back of her throat. Only Atton seemed to notice, looking at Eden as if surprised she'd even spoken again.
"You may find our compound in the western portion of the Residential Module," Moza offered, extending his hand leftward from where he stood on their doorstep. "Chodo Habat would be most pleased to see you."
Moza bowed one last time, though in this instance it was to see himself out. He made eye contact with each of them, his large amber eyes settling on Eden, Atton, and even Kreia with about one full second's worth of gratitude before disappearing with the Residential Module's usual crowd. Eden watched him leave before closing their apartment door again, too stunned for words.
"So," Atton said into a yawn, his gaze volleying between Eden and Kreia. "What was that all about?"
3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Unknown
Erebus
"Where are you taking me?" Erebus demanded, sounding more irate than he actually was. As soon as he sensed someone approaching his shared force cage, he sprang at the notion, thrilled to have sensed anything at all. And now that he was free of his prison and being hauled elsewhere, Erebus' eyes were hungrily drinking everything in.
"I'm not here to answer questions," the woman he'd been introduced to as Rahasia answered gruffly. "I just want this to be done with."
Politics, Erebus rolled his eyes as the woman hurried him along the hallway, hands bound and under the spell of the same gloves that had incapacitated him before. How boring.
If Rahasia wouldn't give him any answers, then perhaps his sight could. Embarrassed that Mical had been the one to first notice the pattern, Erebus was thankful that he was aware of the connection at all now, his eyes soaking in the patterns along the walls and the architecture, dating each facet of Rakatan building as he went. This is post-Star Forge, he ventured, trying to act nonchalant and annoyed despite the adrenaline coursing through him at the discovery.
It made sense. Revan had to have found the Star Forge somehow, and while stories of the star maps had reached only conspiracy channels since her more recent disappearance, the origins of the Forge were well known among her more loyal Sith followers. Especially those that had been there.
It is a thing of utter magnificence, Darth Anhur had revealed to Erebus once, before Nihilus consumed the man in full. It is somehow both manufactured yet sentient, more than any droid or machine we have come to know in our lifetime or even our history.
As rigid of a taskmaster as Anhur was, Erebus missed his old instructor's enthusiasm for forgotten things. It was no wonder the man had taken a shine to Erebus. He was almost thrilled at the idea that Erebus may one day kill him as per Sith tradition – either enticed by what adventure awaited him beyond death or perhaps in anticipation that he would have overcome such an inevitability by the time Erebus challenged him. If only Nihilus had not beaten him to it first… It was the last time Nihilus had need of a body, inhabiting Anhur's corpse until Erebus managed to find the cursed mask Nihilus now haunted, like a mollusk inhabiting a shell. A ghost still clinging to life.
Erebus wondered if Nihilus even thought about the futility of life anymore, if any of the majesty that the Rakatan's had built would sway him – an otherwise immortal being with no need for time or memory.
"Eyes ahead," Rahasia hissed, this time shoving something sharp into the small of Erebus' back. At this, he almost laughed.
Sure thing, princess, he thought, eyes still roaming as he kept his head still. This woman was desperate. Likely only in on this plot for personal reasons, caring nothing for the bigger picture. He got it. He understood it. But did he sympathize? No. And did it stop him from critiquing the woman's scare tactics? Also no. Sure, she could skin a kath hound, but she couldn't scare anything out of him. Not that he would let her think that…
Erebus feigned cowering all the way down the hall, absorbing as much as he could of the walk until they reached their destination. His skin ran cold, a shiver coursing through him as he registered the claw-like contraption in the center of the room. Erebus ached for the metal, to enact its inner map and see a kernel of the galaxy unfurl before his very eyes – as it once had for Revan and Malak.
"I was not expecting to see one of you in our midst," a voice said from the far corner of the chamber, breaking Erebus out of his reverie. It took a moment for Erebus to force his gaze away from the artifact in the center of the room, but when his sights finally settled on the speaker, he couldn't say he expected to see the man behind the voice either.
The voice was supple, almost soft-spoken. But the man was anything but. From the shadowy depths of the room's edge, a pale man emerged, riddled with scars and a bad eye. The exact opposite of Orex's. The man's other iris was silver-blue, almost as pale as his blind one, but it was set in a face Erebus unfortunately found familiar.
"Azkul," Erebus said, shaking his head. "What in the world are you doing here?"
He did his best to sound casually surprised, but the shock was more poignant that Erebus anticipated. This is going to be harder than I thought.
"I should be asking you the very same," the man said, leaning over the table set before him, his black hair shorn so close to the scalp that it shined in the pale light above them now. Rahasia thrust Erebus forward, sending him skidding into the table hip-first, the beginnings of a nasty bruise already forming as he sucked on his teeth and regained his footing.
"You may leave us," Azkul whispered. He lowered his head as Rahasia nodded in kind and exited the room, giving both men one last glance before commanding the door to close.
"I'd hate to have to do this old friend," Azkul began, his hands still leaning on the table. The ghost of a smile graced his face, no doubt pleased to see Erebus maimed and neutralized. Erebus only grimaced. Oh, the irony.
"Would you though?" Erebus asked, balking at the man's use of the word friend and knowing he did not have it in himself to play the part Azkul wanted him to play, even without an audience. "Would you, really?"
Azkul lifted his head again, delivering only a sour smile.
"No," the man admitted. "Not really."
"I get it, I really do." Erebus said, trying not to think of Malachor when he'd first arrived there. The Force sensitives seemed to acclimate to the place instantly, tuning into the decay echoing through the Force like hungry animals. The Sith soldiers, on the other hand, were not accustomed to such energies. Azkul being one of them. "I'm sure the Golden Company is offering more in the way of credits when it comes to Jedi hunting, though I hope you don't mind my asking… have they actually paid you yet?"
Erebus was being coy for someone currently mute to the Force and weaponless otherwise, hands tied behind his back and all, but Azkul seethed nonetheless. Azkul sucked in a breath through his teeth as his fingers steepled over the surface of the table, as if considering slamming his palms down on them before thinking the better of it.
Good, Erebus thought. I need you to get angry.
"I will be paid handsomely for my efforts," Azkul assured, which only confirmed for Erebus that the man had not yet been paid and it was imperative that Azkul remedy that before someone else die for it.
"I know Malak's defeat didn't exactly do wonders for job security," Erebus said, egging him on but also knowing that what he spoke was truth, "And while I can't speak for union regulations, at least Sith pay was up front. It still is, by the way."
"Do you know how much you're worth?" Azkul spat back instead. His good eye glinted in the low light of the room Erebus so desperately wanted to study. "The bounty extends to fallen Jedi, too, y'know. And you are not the one with bargaining power here last I checked."
"Oh, but I am," Erebus sighed, lying, relishing in the sneer Azkul shot him in response. Anger leads to hate. "I've seen Khoonda's hidden stash, and I take it you haven't?"
"Stash?"
"It's quite extensive," Erebus lied again. He hadn't seen the hidden cache of squirreled away Jedi artifacts the makeshift government kept in hopeful barter for resources with the Republic, but he'd heard about it in his limited time at the repurposed Matale Estate. People really ought to check their surroundings before speaking, he thought, imagining how irate the Administrator's assistant would be at the notion. "You should take a look at it for yourself."
If Erebus wanted to make it out of here, he'd have to make the most of it. Push himself to the edge. Or at least, push Azkul to want to push Erebus to the edge. Only then could he hope to tap into the Force again.
"Maybe I will," Azkul promised, reaching for his hip.
Erebus paused, eyes following Azkul's movements to watch him unhook a small cane from his belt, his eyes widening further as that stump of a cane extended into a full-length baton with the press of a button. With another jab, the baton jolted, juiced with electricity. Erebus flexed, hoping to conjure something similar within his palm, but his fingers were bare. For a fleeting moment he felt it – the Force – but it wasn't as he was used to sensing it. Instead of endless energy he felt the wound as it had existed in Eden before she went silent, raw and stinging. Hollow with an unmet hunger. But before Erebus could draw anything from it, it was gone again. A memory.
Not yet, Erebus thought, knowing he would need a good thrashing to overcome whatever dampening Azkul and the rebels had working on him, though he still dreaded what came next.
"Looks like you're out of tricks, old friend," Azkul said. "Have you already forgotten how we got you here?"
Erebus feigned indifference but Azkul only smiled, extending his weapon with a look in his eyes that Erebus imagined the man must have adopted from years of working with Sith. With his kind.
"We'll see about that," he countered, wondering how Eden managed it all these years. Erebus braced himself and thought of his sister as he inhaled.
Azkul struck him on the exhale, nearly expelling all the air from his lungs, but Erebus held on.
"You'll have to do better than whatever that was," Erebus choked through a sneer from across the table, already tasting the blood on his teeth. If Eden could do it, so could he.
"I'm just getting started."
Erebus gritted his teeth, hoping it came across as a confident grin instead. "Bring it on."
Azkul smiled madly, the eons' worth of history surrounding the man entirely lost on him. Erebus almost winced, if only regretting the lost time he could be spending studying this place but was about to lose pints of blood in instead.
"Gladly."
3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Apartment C3
Eden
"I believe this unwise," Kreia said, her voice the epitome of composure despite the undertone of impatience that cut through her words. "Taking on either or both of these useless endeavors would be a waste of our time. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is beneath us."
The afterimage of the Mirialan that introduced herself as the executive officer of Citadel Station's Czerka Corporation outpost was still present on the screen like a reluctant ghost as Kreia instantly voiced her dissent, the buzzing of console still present in the room as the machine powered down.
Atton found it to be exactly the opportune moment to evacuate the premises and isolate in the kitchenette and Eden was already jealous as the old woman rounded on her with an air of judgment she wasn't used to since her days apprenticing in the Coruscant Jedi Library.
"I disagree," Eden countered calmly. "We don't know how long the TSF means to keep us here by holding our ship hostage. And so long as they let us roam the station, I say we take the opportunity to do so."
"That is not the same as running errands for undeserving strangers," Kreia breathed. "We can just as well catch a mass transit shuttle out of here if we so wish. But if we remain on Telos, there are other ways to occupy your time without operating a charity."
"It's not charity, it's a courtesy," Eden continued, thinking only of the Ithorian's request. "I owe it to them if anything. It wouldn't hurt to at least hear them out."
Kreia was right though, it was in their best interest to remain anonymous. But the Ithorian ambassador's words stuck with her.
"You owe nothing to no one," Kreia replied after a beat, taking a step toward Eden this time. Eden furrowed her brow, unsure if Kreia meant to be condescending or complimentary. "It is best you save your strength; you know not the road ahead."
"Maybe I don't," Eden said, holding her ground. "And I want to be ready, trust me. But also trust that I need to do this."
Kreia's mouth thinned to a line, her wrinkles deepening as her lips disappeared into almost nothing.
Eden inhaled, thinking of Revan – the cause of all of this: the destruction, the need for rebuilding, even all these years later – and exhaled. The Jedi Council may have exiled Eden from Republic Space, but it was Revan's unfinished business that kept Eden going, and it was the reason she could not let the Ithorian's request go unanswered now.
"You may think that doing them this favor will strengthen their cause and save the planet, but all it does is weaken them," Kreia said, her voice tired. "What will they do when you inevitably leave this station? If they cannot rely on themselves to see their own ambitions through, then helping them reach one goal post will not bring them any closer to the next."
"But I am partially responsible," Eden said, her voice low. "I warned the Council about Revan. It's the only reason I went back to them for judgment."
"And they did not believe you," Kreia added quickly, as if meaning to cut Eden's guilt short. "Yet here you still believe yourself responsible for a civil war you did not wage."
Eden wanted to nod yes, though doing so would give credence to a decade's worth of hurt that even the reawakened Force could not touch. It was mute again for one blissful moment upon waking, only for the gaping wound of it to consume her again in full the next.
"Very well," Kreia surrendered after the pause. "But know that I will not offer my help on this, nor my opinion. Though I doubt you need the latter."
"You're right," Eden snapped, but before the woman could rebuke her, Eden softened in resignation. "But I would like your help. If not with this, at least with…"
"The Force?" Kreia finished for her. Eden nodded.
Kreia sighed, all tension melting from her frame as she descended onto the settee against the far wall, cradling her absent hand. Eden felt it, too. First she felt the tingling of a waking limb before temporarily finding her fingers numb as if they were not there.
"We shall work on that as well," Kreia said, this time reading Eden's thoughts as she held up her own hollow sleeve, acknowledging the ghost in the room. Perhaps she felt Eden's hand where hers was missing in reverse.
Eden had not felt the Force in what felt like an age, let alone any of the Force bonds she'd created then -the very thing the Council feared when she first came to them as well as when she left. Eden dreaded what other ghosts might find their way back to her now that the door was open again, and as unnerving as it was to sense Kreia's missing hand as her own, she was thankful it was the only phantom currently haunting her waking life.
"You did not exactly ask to be brought back to Republic Space, at least not under these uncertain circumstances," Kreia continued. "And it is because you are here that the Sith hunt you now."
Eden studied Kreia a moment, watching as the folds of the woman's hood settled over her head, a twinkle of gold wrapped around one braid peering out at her from the darkness of the draped fabric. The woman seemed so familiar, yet very much like the door in Eden's dreams, she fit nowhere in her working memory.
An unusual unease radiated off the woman, but it wasn't out of weakness. Kreia moved her wrist, as if summoning a spectral hand, and its twin in Eden's twitched. Kreia smirked and laughed darkly.
"The Jedi truly did you a disservice by not exploring this ability of yours," Kreia said, sitting straighter now. "Even if we do not see eye-to-eye on this Ithorian matter, perhaps it may bring us close to discovering this connection, as well as hopefully getting wind of any Jedi that may yet remain on this station, or its ailing planet."
"How could our bond have happened?" Eden asked, her hand itching as if the entire swath of flesh that spanned her metacarpals to the tips of her fingers were a fresh-healing wound. "I've experienced them before but… not like this."
Save for once, with Aiden, from birth. But even non-Force sensitive twins were known to share such tangled telepathic connections. Yet for all the bonds Eden formed after her brother, each one would demand its price in time or shared bloodshed before any connection would take hold. As her old Masters and her troops could likely attest. With Aiden it had been instantaneous upon birth, just as it had been when she'd awoken to the sound of Kreia's voice, as if the Peragus kolto tank had enshrined Eden in a second womb. She'd thought of her brother briefly before waking, but she wasn't sure if it was a dream or a memory that delivered the thought of Aiden. The memory of his face as she'd seen it on Tatooine had already faded by the time she felt the Force return again, to her dismay.
"I'd heard as much," Kreia muttered. "And I confess, its nature eludes me as well."
There was a twang of anger in both the old woman's voice as well as the air, her frustration ringing in Eden's chest as if she, too, felt it just as Kreia did.
"But the bond is strong, and its roots run deep." At this, an undercurrent of awe eased into Kreia's words, and her voice grew softer, almost affectionate, as if she were speaking to an old friend. "It seems the Force flows easily between us - when one of us manipulates the Force to heal or strengthen ourselves, the other is aided as well. A powerful technique, indeed - though as you have noticed, it does have its drawbacks."
Kreia moved her absent hand again, though this time, Eden felt nothing.
"When battle is upon us, I suspect our minds will be prepared enough to shield each other from the pain. I think we shall not have a repeat incident of what happened at Peragus. Or at least we can prepare as much, and for that I am very much willing to help."
Eden nodded in thanks, but couldn't help but think of another memory, flitting before her mind's eye like a waking dream.
The Jedi won't touch you, Revan had said to her once, almost reverent when they'd finally first met. But that's where I come in. She'd smiled her signature smile, Revan's canines twinkling over her darkened lower lip - managing to be both wolfish and charming at once. Both a threat and an invitation.
Eden wanted to laugh but she couldn't. Her throat was dry, the memory of Revan still too raw for her to swallow. The woman had been gone again for some time, but what had she done while she was here after being redeemed and forgiven of everything?
Nothing. She'd done nothing.
And Eden, again, was left to pick up the mess.
3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Apartment C3
Atton
The apartment was spotless. Every outlet worked and was properly tacked to the wall. Every console lit up at the touch of a finger. The displays were outdated, but they worked. The lights in the refresher were a soft, supple yellow, not the harsh white-blue of the sorry excuse for a residential module the Peragus outfit had assigned. Cheap bastards.
Atton stood in the small kitchen, admiring the appliances and their lack of ever having been used. Like everything else that furnished their TSF-appointed quarters, the appliances were models put out, maybe, twenty standard years ago? But still in good condition. There was hardly any wear on the stuff, and nothing glitched. The caff machine whirred and bubbled before him, filling the room with a pleasant aroma as it managed to muffle the sounds of Eden and Kreia having it out in the next room. Aside from the amenities, Atton was thankful the kitchen had a fully functional door, completely capable of opening and closing, and was not just an open doorway where he could stand awkwardly just out of firing range.
As soon as Kreia mentioned the Ithorians and as soon as Eden's voice sheathed its edge (a sound Atton knew enough to become familiar with now) he knew to make a quiet exit and retreat to the adjoining room. The TSF had cleared them to roam the station within limits, so long as they didn't leave amid the investigation, but Atton wasn't ready to face this place again just yet.
And the last thing he needed was to be dragged into an argument with two people he hardly knew, let alone two people he hardly wanted to associate with regardless of their current circumstances. Instead of focusing on the task at hand, one or both of them always managed to bring the Jedi or training or any other related word into the mess of things. Eden seemed reluctant, but willing, though more annoyed than eager when it came to whatever path the universe seemed to lay before her – and Kreia was guiding her down it, not-so-gently prodding her along the way. Must be a Jedi thing, he snarled silently, thinking to himself, forever obsessed with their legacy, and-
"Hey, you busy?"
Atton jumped in the slightest at the sudden sound of Eden's voice at his back, the sliding door still so new, and so hardly used, that it barely made a sound as the woman slid it open without his knowing. He almost felt like he belonged in an infomercial, the kind that ruled holovid channels in the off-hours, only he was at a loss for words instead of prattling on about how amazingly well the product worked. Even Eden was impressed, gently sliding the door back and forth while she waited for Atton to answer, or perhaps she was trying not to appear too eager for his reply.
"I was-" Atton only managed to point dumbly at the counter. "The caff."
Eden watched him blankly before bringing the attention of her green eyes to the humming machine at the other end of his extended index finger.
"Oh, right," she said, though she made no motion to leave. In the distance, Atton heard the door to the adjoining room open then slide closed. Kreia appeared to excuse herself, too, only Eden wanted company where Kreia wanted none of it.
"Why, everything okay in there?" Atton asked, regretting the question as soon as the question crossed his lips.
"Yeah, wonderful," Eden said almost too seriously, but not quite sarcastic, almost as if she did not have the emotional energy to express herself otherwise, "How do you feel about going shopping?"
"Shopping?" Atton balked, masking his surprise by grabbing a canteen from the cupboard instead of facing Eden dead on. "Aren't you a wanted woman? But more importantly, with what credits?"
"Well, that's sort of the thing, isn't it? We need better equipment if we're gonna be stranded here, what with the price on my head," Eden began, sheepishly, "And as far as credits go, I was hoping..."
She didn't finish.
Atton stood there, caff carafe in one hand and an empty canteen in the other. With no response, he could only shrug and gesture vaguely.
"Yeah?"
Eden scratched the back of her head, her dark-fading-to-fake-blonde hair glinting in the glow of the kitchen light, avoiding eye contact.
"You see, that's sorta the thing."
Atton tried ignoring her, going about pouring his caff as if it might fill the awkward silence before eventually saying, "That thing being...?"
Atton felt like his mother for a moment, trying to go about her sorry excuse for a life, filling their meager hearth with kindling or stirring a pot of stew over their primitive fire while Atton would stare at his feet, scrounging for the right words to explain how his father had lost too many bets that night or hadn't drunk enough wine to give Atton the winnings he did earn so they could eat that week. He blanched, heat rising to his face just as he felt it drain of color, but the warmth of the caff kept him on his toes and appearing just as annoyed as he needed to right now, regardless of what Eden meant to say.
"I was hoping you might be game enough to maybe gamble for some credits?"
She bit her lip, leaning in the doorway, making a point to stare at a corner of the kitchen just off to the side of Atton's expectant frame, afraid to meet his gaze.
"Gamble..." he said, flatly, wanting to laugh at himself for thinking of his father. The liar. The cheat. The thief.
Eden shrugged, doing her best to appear nonchalant.
"I'm too much of an amateur to gauge whether you're actually any good at Pazaak, but I figured after our game yesterday that it might be more than just a fleeting hobby?"
Atton chewed on the inside of his lip, wishing he hadn't thought of his mother and wishing Eden hadn't asked what she just did. Any other day, he'd be game - but right now? At this very moment? Well, this is awkward.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to assume," Eden said after a beat, shoulders slouching as she slunk from the door frame, disappearing into the other room.
It's not like she knows, Atton thought. And it's not like I haven't done it before.
Atton sighed and took a swig of caff, wishing it were juma. It trailed its way down his throat, a gritty sludge that was hard to swallow. At least Peragus gave us better food.
"Wait," he said, twisting a cap onto the canteen as he exited the kitchenette to catch up with Eden, who was already in the adjoining room, pacing.
"I actually am good at Pazaak," he said, feeling pathetic as he gained on her. Eden's eyes were wide as she spun around to meet him again, though perhaps more at the fact that Atton had followed her so urgently and not that he might be good at Pazaak. "If it's our only shot at getting some good equipment around here, then-"
He whispered now, looking about the hall as if Kreia might manifest at the slightest sound, "We could check out a table or two, see where that leaves us."
Atton was falling into step now, dissolving into an old self, pre-Peragus, before his debts were large enough to bury him and convince him that signing his life away was the only way out. Well, maybe one of two ways.
Eden eyed him unsurely now, the gold in her green eyes more obvious when Atton was this close to her, though he tried not to notice just as much as he tried not to notice the swath rosy skin that spanned the bridge of her nose when he was standing at this distance. If she was hesitant before, she was even more so now, but likely for his sudden change of heart and the downright suspicious way Atton was going about it. His father hated it when he did this, pulling at his heartstrings, knowing he and his mother needed to eat if he wanted them to stay quiet, when really Atton just wanted to feel useful, to feel smart, to work the numbers and -
"We could at least scope out the cantina," he said before he started to think too much, "But before we secure ourselves a table, we'll likely need something to barter with first unless we're lucky, seeing as we still have zero credits between us."
Eden nodded as she crossed her arms over her chest, her expression slipping into something more mischievous.
"Anything catch your eye that you think the esteemed Telos Security Force won't miss?"
Atton was fairly good at reading people, but Eden was one of the most confounding people he'd ever met. Already a far cry from the grumpy amnesiac he'd met on Peragus, Eden was moments ago an arbiter for the good of humanity or whatever it was that the Ithorians were selling, and now she was eager to fence something from their arrest-appointed quarters - which would certainly get them arrested again even after their names were cleared. Her energy was always changing, multi-faceted and versatile, equipped for almost any of the unexpected situations they kept finding themselves in and yet… he still couldn't pin her down. She knew well enough of the Jedi, having been one, but she was just as quick to call them out on their hypocrisy while still spewing cryptic philosophy alongside Kreia. And now here she was, itching for a game of Pazaak to buy… what exactly? Supplies? Weapons? He was almost afraid to ask.
"Well, there's the caff brewer for starters," Atton started, taking a swig from the canteen still warm in his hand, "But the thing's maybe, I don't know, at least ten years old so the most we'd be able to do is donate it."
"Really? Seems new to me," Eden said. "But then again, I wouldn't really know. Most everything out on the Outer Rim is junk, so anything clean is worth something."
Atton furrowed a brow but held his tongue, unsure of whether Eden was joking or not, or perhaps just being lighthearted about what was likely the truth. Eden had alluded to her exile enough, but he wasn't quite ready for the explanation that might follow if he asked her to elaborate.
Atton scanned the apartment and sighed.
"We might be shit out of luck," he said after a quick sweep of the room. "Most everything in here is outdated, though not in bad shape. Now if we could find something vintage, then we'd be talking."
"Vintage, huh? How much do you think Kreia'd fetch us?" Eden asked almost instantly, adopting an air of mock severity.
Atton almost laughed but instead choked on his surprise - almost spitting out his drink.
"I don't think gamblers are in the market for fossils," he came back with after catching his breath, doing his best to keep the spittle from his every syllable, "But I like where your head's at."
Eden smiled now - really smiled. Almost as earnestly as she did when she found that Echani staff on the derelict Harbinger, a life's worth of muscle memory returning to her waking limbs the instant she saw it, bits of an old self trickling back as she sparred with an imaginary opponent in the armory with only Atton to watch. Or so Atton gathered. But now she was sincere, proud to have made him laugh, and Atton was only more endeared by it. His face suddenly felt hot, and he knew it wasn't from the caff he was still cradling in his hands.
Eden laughed lightly, if not just to fill the silence but maybe to quell whatever uncertainty she left in Kreia's wake. The old woman was still quietly stewing on the other end of the apartment, Atton could tell, but there was no knowing what Kreia could hear or just know otherwise.
"What's all this about though?" Atton asked, careful to keep his tone even and non-judgmental, but not appear too nonchalant, lest he care too much. "Last I heard, the Ithorians don't need blasters to grow plants and what-have-you."
"A blaster would be nice. A proper one, mind you," she conceded, eyeing the modded blaster at Atton's hip, "But what I really want are some clothes."
"Clothes?" Atton balked before the realization could dawn on him. Oh. Right.
"It was the best I could find on the ship that brought us here," she said referring to the Ebon Hawk, looking down at her sleeve and wiping away some unseen bit of lint, "It's better than the mining uniform, but still. They're not mine. Plus, I sort of made a promise to myself to never wear robes again."
Atton nodded slowly, fitting the pieces together as she spoke, careful to tread lightly.
"Plus, maybe it'll stop everyone from calling me Jedi."
Yup - there it was.
"I'm sure it'll help… some," he offered, "And not to offend but you do carry yourself like a Jedi."
Eden cocked her head, as if in question, though no such thing exited her mouth. Atton still found himself floundering to explain nonetheless.
"You may not be in the Outer Rim anymore, sister, but you'll find veterans anywhere you go here in Republic Space. Much as they would like to forget, most people still know a Jedi when they see one."
Eden frowned in thought for a moment, her eyes growing distant before a shadow of a knowing smirk settled over her face as she looked pointedly at Atton.
"Is that what you see? A Jedi?"
Atton paused, his eyes unfocused, lingering somewhere indistinct in the room beyond Eden as he struggled to not only find an answer, but an honest one. He at least owed the woman that much.
"Well… yes," he said finally, his gaze falling on her again, "And no."
Atton wanted to attribute the heat rising in his throat to the caff but he knew better than to fool himself, as much as he wished otherwise. He shouldered his jacket off and tossed it coolly onto a hook beside them, right by the door, thankful for the instant weight lifted despite the comfort it usually granted him.
"You carry yourself like a soldier," he continued, "You don't make eye contact often, but when you do it's with purpose. And you make your purpose known. You're always ready, always in form, or at least just one step away from it. But your movements are too fluid to be infantry, and too heavy to be air force. You're no pilot but you know how to navigate, and you're a little too quick in the reflex department. And by a little too quick, I mean unnaturally quick. But your tongue is sharper than your eyes, and I think if anything, once someone hears your sense of humor any suspicions of you being a Jedi go out the window. But that first impression's still there."
This was all from a few days' worth of observations, barely a week tops if he counted the two-into-three days' stretch that was their escape from Peragus, and Atton was both pleased with himself and suddenly afraid he'd said too much - no, he knew he'd said too much.
Eden's eyes narrowed, though the smirk still played on her face, and she nodded slowly, soaking his words in.
"Interesting," she said finally, her voice almost a whisper, "Very interesting."
Atton could only take another sip of caff, if not just to guarantee his stupid mouth wouldn't say anything else in the interim.
"Wouldn't expect a pilot-turned-miner to be an expert at reading people," she said after a moment, looking as if she may say something else but stopping short.
"Wouldn't expect a Jedi to want to gamble. Former or otherwise," he quipped right back, gesturing the canteen at her as if in cheers, "Looks like we're both full of surprises."
At this, he shot Eden a smirk to match her own before taking a long draw from the canteen. He swallowed, smacked his lips for good measure (or just for show, but he was trying not to act like it) and gestured toward the exit.
"But you're right, about the robes I mean. Jedi or no, the sooner we get you out of those clothes the better-"
Eden almost burst into another laugh before Atton, nearly choking on his caff again, course corrected.
"Because we can't have every backwater bounty hunter hitting you up for a quick credit, of course, and not any other reason."
Eden bit back a genuine laugh though she played at being serious, nodding solemnly along with Atton despite the smile still threatening to take over her face. Her eyes were bright, more green than orange though the sunbursts around her irises were still warm as she watched him, her cheeks growing ever-so-slightly pink behind her swath of freckles that Atton was growing a little too used to admiring now. Atton wanted to smile too, his legs turning to jelly for an instant before he coughed on his caff again and got a hold of himself.
Are we… having fun? Is this what having fun is like?
Fighting the strange inner feeling he had of being a kid again, Atton pushed down whatever alien sensation he was experiencing to focus on… What are we doing again?
"So, are we itching to steal something? Swindle someone? Sweet talk, maybe?" Atton asked, releasing the pressure lock on the apartment entrance, still too warm from the caff and from Eden being - well, Eden - to bring his jacket along with him. "Where're we headed?"
Eden shook her head, her arms crossed though she wasn't guarded, at least not as much as she had been on Peragus. Something played across her face - uncertainty, fear, discomfort, Atton wasn't sure - but whatever it was, it dissolved the moment the apartment door closed, officially separating them from Kreia, still stewing on the other side of the door, alone at last. It was just the two of them now - Eden and Atton - just as it had been when he'd first met her. Something between them had changed since then, or it might have just been him, though he wasn't quite sure what.
Or perhaps he did know, he just didn't want to give it credence… so instead he followed in the ex-Jedi's wake, ever-ready to eagerly accompany her wherever she happened to wander next. At least for now.
3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Unknown
Mical
While the quiet was welcome, being alone in the force cage did nothing to soothe Mical's nerves. Even with the man gone, Erebus' words echoed in his head - I'd offer to teach you, he had promised through his usual sardonic smile, if you're ever of a mind – and Mical could only wince, wishing the memory away. He didn't want to admit his desire, but if it meant he might have a way out of here…
"Hey," a voice called.
Mical spun around, his gaze finally leaving the Builder's design on the floor to his static-ridden view of the room. A figure approached, though judging by the height and color it was a vaguely familiar one.
"What are they even promising you, Rahasia?" Mical asked, a finger still lazily tracing the pattern along the floor as if he might glean it's deeper meaning through osmosis. "Khoonda wants to restore this planet to its former glory, Jedi presence or otherwise. What do you have to lose in joining them?"
The woman approached, quiet, shifting her rifle from one hand to the other as she thought of a response. Mical thought of Asra, another woman thrust into all this by circumstance, her story just as unknown to him yet somehow just as common as everyone else's. It was a running theme, commonality, yet only Mical seemed to see it.
"You don't know what it's like," Rahasia said eventually, leaning against the nearby wall, the blur of her silhouette settling somewhere nearby. "You may have trained here as a boy, but you weren't here when Malak attacked, were you?"
Mical swallowed.
"No," he said, knowing that he was instead tending to Iridonian survivors from the Sith attack on their world months prior during the Civil War. "No, I wasn't."
Rahasia wouldn't understand just as she expected Mical not to, even if he did somewhat. But that wasn't what the woman needed to hear right now.
"Everything my family had worked to build was destroyed in a matter of minutes," she said after a pause. "But it wasn't the destruction that did us in, it was the Jedi."
"The Jedi?"
Mical stood slowly, his limbs still weak from whatever it was the rebels did to bring him here in one piece.
"First order of business post-attack was to rebuild – but not the farmsteads that actually kept this planet afloat and well-fed. They wanted us all to pitch in restoring that damn academy. And when were done? The Jedi just up and left."
Mical could only nod sympathetically, knowing it was more than that, but also that it didn't matter. Whatever happened at Katarr might have doomed the Jedi, but the Jedi had certainly doomed this planet first. The Jedi Temple on Coruscant had no such hold over the planet it called home, now standing empty while the remainder of the city operated as it normally did. Dantooine was always poised as this idyllic Jedi retreat, a place far from the distractions of modern life, rife for meditation and balance. Yet very little credit was afforded to the planet's cultivators that made that dream a reality.
"That… doesn't sound fair."
"That's one way of putting it!" Rahasia pushed off from the wall, shaking her head. "I was all for Khoonda, at first. Believe me. Shen wouldn't have it though, he knew they were still in the Jedi's pocket even after everything had happened, keeping their interests the main priority while the rest of us withered and continued to suffer in the aftermath. We didn't have the luxury of leaving! Especially not after losing everything."
She laughed, her voice hollow as she approached the force cage, her features becoming slightly more focused as she neared though they were still blurred by the thrumming electricity of the enclosure. Mical tried to hold her gaze despite it, imagining just where her irises were.
"I'm sorry for all of this, I really am. You seem nice," she said, a thread of sincerity lacing her words. "But now I see Shen's side of things. It's time the Jedi did something for us for a change."
Mical wanted to argue that the Jedi used to help with the everyday problems of the people here all the time, him being one of them. But perhaps Rahasia was right. Did the residents enjoy being used as lessons for the young Jedi Padawans? Existing only as a food source as well as the occasional example, serving as exercises for challenges the apprentices would one day face in the "real world"? As if whatever happened here were inconsequential no matter the outcome?
"So what do you expect to come of this?" Mical found himself asking, his tone earnest. He tried to read Rahasia through the electric barricade knowing he would see nothing, only hoping she could see his candor unlike anything Erebus might try to pull wherever he was now.
"I want-" Rahasia began, but she didn't finish. Her silhouette retreated from the force cage, the blur of her figure disappearing to the other end of the room again while all Mical heard was a tired laugh following by a deep sigh. "Y'know… I wish I knew."
Mical didn't know how to answer, their shared silence punctuated by a single scream. Rahasia didn't react but Mical jolted, trying not to betray his surprise when he realized he did not recognize the voice behind the shriek.
If it wasn't Erebus, then that could only mean –
Master Vrook.
"I have to believe it will all be worth it," Rahasia continued. "With Shen gone, and our kids—"
Mical swore he heard her choke back a sob, but her voice was back to its usual tenor before he could read into it, her face still a mystery from his vantage point.
"It will be worth it," she said, with conviction this time. Her profile straightened and approached Mical again, the outline of her rifle becoming painfully clearer as she neared. "The Jedi trained for this sort of thing, we didn't. They should be able to handle it. You'll be okay."
Unsure whether she was trying to calm Mical or herself, Mical remained silent, willing himself to nod again.
"Will I be?" Mical asked after his thoughts steeped, "Or are you just saying that?"
He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but he didn't shy away from it. Finally tearing his eyes away from the floor, Mical stared at the blur that he knew to be Rahasia's face. And for a moment he swore her eyes went wide, guilt painting her expression before they were graced with the presence of visitors.
Even though he awaited Rahasia's reply that never came, his ears were more alert in anticipation of another shout rather than a response. The scream from earlier echoed in his mind, but he only thought of the wounded he'd healed in his time with the corps – their screams were the thing of post-traumatic stress and nightmares. And yet what they endured was caused by all that surrounded him now… a seemingly innocuous discovery once made by Casus Sandral as a hobby, but a breakthrough that led Revan to escalate a war beyond what was possibly imaginable. Mical still stood but now it was his eyes that traced the pattern along the floor instead of his fingers, wondering what it was Revan intended when she first found this place. Had she meant for it all to fall to ruin? Or was something lost along the way?
"Open the gate," a rebel grunted from the mouth of the room. Two hulking figures hauled a limp body through the space, approaching the force cage with such urgency that even Mical took a step back. "Now."
Rahasia faltered before shuffling her rifle to her other hand, as if it made a difference, before slamming her palm on the panel beside her. For an instant, the force cage sputtered out of existence to allow a single body to hurtle through the space before the cage was enabled again. Mical shuffled out of the way just in time for his designated roommate to sputter and spit a mouthful of blood on the floor before turning outward to the cage, baring his red-stained teeth at their onlooking captors.
"Leave this one to stew," the other rebel said, a smirk evident in his voice as he spoke to Rahasia. "We'll be back for him later."
Rahasia nodded and retreated to the mouth of the room, rifle poised, as she resumed guard of the space once her colleagues left, only looking over her shoulder once at Mical before acting as if they hadn't just spoken.
Mical turned to Erebus, still slumped on the floor, as the corner of a wicked smile edged out from the matted fringe of the man's hair.
"What did you find out?" Mical choked out, his voice a harrowed whisper as he assessed Erebus' blood loss and the man's apparent disinterest in it.
"A great deal," Erebus almost laughed, his words hoarse. He coughed, wiping spittle laced with blood from his chin before his eyes met Mical's – now a luminous green, alight with venom instead of the soft moss-colored sage Mical had noted before. Mical recoiled, but Erebus gripped his arm, keeping him close. "How much do you know about Revan's time in the Unknown Regions?"
Notes:
For anyone that's read A Fool's Wager, you'll find some of this chapter to be a bit familiar ;) I edited some of it now that I've actually gotten to this point for continuity reasons so it's not exactly the same but it's oddly retained most of its structure (god I can't believe I wrote that snippet almost 4 years ago jfc). As always, thanks to everyone that's kept up with this fic for this long and I sincerely appreciate each and every one of you that reads this, comment or no, until the end of time :)
