Fires of Old

They had arrived to the Galactic Capital, hidden within the dark slums of the Industrial Sector of the planet, relatively close to the Political District.

Cain walked through the dusty, worn chambers of the ancient structure. To his right, strode Sebastian Marseilles, the confident young man who so fervently desired the Sith Mantle.

"In patience, my young Apprentice," Cain said softly, as they observed the view outside of the night sky. The rest of the Dark Jedi had found their quarters and had stayed there. The only ones who had meandered through the hallways of the structure were Cain, Sebastian and Deus.

"Master, Mistress Traya has not been using the Republic's collapse to her full advantage." He looked around, confident that the personal drone of hers was not around and he faced his Master. "We could overthrow her and then we can rule the Sith!" He hissed.

Cain shook his head. "You must learn patience, my Apprentice—we must gather whatever resources we can, so that in time, we will have the favour of most of the Sith Remnant. We can keep our eye for her to finally slip up, and then we overthrow her. You must be wise and savour every moment and use it to your advantage, Sebastian," he reminded the younger man.

"I understand, Master," he answered, bowing as he turned and left. The old fool's days are numbered. How dare he thinks he is my superior.

Cain watched his apprentice walk down the corridors and turned, shaking his head, smiling sardonically. That boy is a fool—it will soon be time to replace him. He continued to walk leisurely through the hallway, as he humoured himself with the thought of what he could do to ensure his position would never be usurped. There is no one here that would make a fine apprentice, he realized, sighing reluctantly.

His head perked up as he realized there was one way he could find a new apprentice. The Jedi Remnant, he smiled. I am sure they have some very impressionable Younglings that would make fine apprentices.

He felt a strange wave of the Force, as an intense weight found itself pressing down on his chest. He rubbed it and turned around, knowing who this presence was.

Behind him stood the dark clad figure, with grafted Bothan eye sensors and what appeared to be a rebreather covering his mouth.

"Yes?" The Sith Lord asked. He had hated this one immediately. Somehow there was a familiar, if not disturbing, feeling about the figure.

"It is time," the synthesized voice replied.

"What does the Mistress request of me?" Cain contemplated his chances of defeating the warrior-bred creature, if only to see how his exceptional skill with a lightsaber would compare to that of the creature.

"You must go to the Senator's building and eliminate the Chancellor."

"That is an assassin's job—not mine," Darth Cain scoffed.

"Nevertheless, it is what the Mistress wills," the figure replied, undaunted. He cocked his head. "Unless of course you wish to deny the orders of the Mistress?"

He suppressed a violent shudder, attempting to stare Deus in the face. "No, of course not," the old man replied somewhat weakly, struggling to smile. Something in the creature's tone and expression had given the old man chills—and dark, terrifying thoughts seemed to permeate through his weaker mental barriers.

"Good," Deus replied, with something that sounded like a hint of sadness in his tone.

Regaining his composure and clearing his throat, Cain merely walked away, as the sounds of his boots clacking on the ground became minute and distant. I better keep an eye on that one, he mused as he left the structure, taking a small, one-man speeder towards the Republic Capital.


"Cleaning out your wares so soon?" He asked her, as she began to pack her things from the office.

Forn Dodonna, no longer Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic—or any organization for that matter—returned a weary, but genuine smile. "I regret that I must," she said, her silver hair tousled and untidy, making her appear even more somnolent.

Cyrin nodded dourly, "you did what had to be done, Forn. There was no other way that the Galaxy—or the Republic for that matter—could have survived another war."

"Maybe," she replied somewhat half-heartedly. She moved to pick up a statuette, continuing to fill up her box.

"You did the right thing," he gave an earnest mien.

She paused, looking up at the dark skinned, bald man, the statuette in her hand. "Was it really?" She asked. "I was given an ultimatum by company of Senators—my Director of Intelligence didn't even trust me! The Jedi Order is in ruins, the Republic is gone and yet I am still being told that the threat of war looms over the horizon. Several coalitions have even begun an armistice—trying to dissuade the Republic fleet to separate and join them as their own military—as mercenaries. The fleet is still under orders from Carth, who has managed to convince most of the Core to remain loyal to the Republic—or whatever seeks to replace it. I put a lot of people out of a job today, Cyrin, and I have provoked Galactic turmoil on an unprecedented level! I don't really feel that I have done anything right."

Cyrin sighed exasperatedly.

She continued placing the statuette into the box that lay open before her. After a few more moments of silence, she looked up at the man, tears in her eyes as she found herself tired, weak and most of all, angry. She was angry at herself, for letting the Republic fall and forcing the Galaxy to finally fall away from any chance at regaining its golden age. "You know," she began, sobbing in between her words, as her hand covered her mouth, "I'm so tired. I've spent the last 5 years trying to rebuild the Republic and it has all come down to this. So many good people died for the Republic and the Galaxy—and I've failed them."

Cyrin looked at her and his normally stone-like expression changed to one of concern, sympathy and another emotion—one that many, save for Forn, had never seen in their lifetimes. "Forn," he whispered, "you didn't fail them. The Galaxy needs time to heal itself—to rebuild and begin anew. You worked your hardest and you're a strong woman. I am honoured—no, proud—to know you all these years. You managed to help those worlds that have been battered by the war. Few Chancellors would even be able to accomplish something such as that."

She sniffled, barely managing a smile, as she saw him cover the gap between them in three long strides.

He brought his arms around her, wrapping her in a warm, loving hug. "Forn, you have done great things—no one could ever ask for more than what you have given. And few can understand the things you have lost—the things that you may have been forced to do." He pulled her from the embrace; bringing his face close to hers, as he felt her panting and the soft breeze of her breath touch him. "You won't ever have to do that again—no one will ever ask you to."

Her moist grey eyes stared deeply into his dark brown eyes. Even in her most vulnerable moments, she knew she could always count on Cyrin Jace—the man she had always loved since they were young adults.

His normally menacing dark eyes always seemed to become softer, more vivid in emotion when he was with her. It had always been like that, and somehow, it never seemed to bother him as much as others may have thought—had they known, of course.

"Do you promise?"

He smiled affectionately, "of course, Forn."

She embraced him. "Never let me go," she whispered after what seemed an eternity in their embrace.

"I never will," he replied, feeling the smile that had undoubtedly crept on her face, as she buried her face in his cloak. In a much lower voice, he whispered, "I love you, and I will not lose you again."

She looked up at him and smiled, replying, "I love you too, Cyrin."

The Jedi Master smiled perfectly content. For the first time in his life, something had finally gone right.

Her countenance changed immediately, as she asked, "but what of the Jedi Order? The Code forbids—,"

He rose up a hand to finish the sentence. "The Code may forbid it, however, these are new times for the Jedi Order. As soon as the Jedi Order deals with this mystery of the missing Knights, I'll resign from the Order and start my life with you."

"But what of the Council?"

"Ash has demonstrated his ability to lead the Council wisely," he replied, smiling reassuringly, as his lips touched her silver hair. "Besides," the man added, shrugging a bit, "I think he will understand."

She rested her head on his chest as they held the embrace for a moment longer, before she moved her head away to look at him.

As they looked into each other's eyes, they leaned towards each other, slowly, as their mouths parted and their eyes began to close, eager to rekindle the long lost fires of their past.

And as they inched closer, their lips barely touching each other, the door hissed open.

Caught off-guard, the couple let go of each other and turned around, as a bolt of blue electricity came hurtling towards Cyrin, throwing him back into the wall, forcing whatever air he had in his lungs to explode from him.