Slightly shorter chapter this time - I will be updating again on Friday, though. :)


As Quinlan and the others descended into the central room of the lowest level of Trayus Academy, a low-pitched whistling sounded in the direction of the main doors. All of the teammates stopped at the same time and stood motionless as the melancholy sound rose and fell, accompanied by a thin, shifting whisper.

Then, from high above them, came a woman's frantic scream. Quinlan transferred his weight to his right foot and reached for his knife. He couldn't tell if any of the others had heard – none of them had reacted to it, but then neither had he . . . Maybe he should ask.

The whistling increased to a hollow wail that echoed in three tones through the central chamber as the hissing whisper increased. A gust of cool air drafted across the room, carrying with it the faint, bitter tinge of dioxis.

Hunter tilted his head to one side, his gaze tracking the sand on the floor as it shifted in response to the wind. Stepping forward, he removed his helmet and drew in a deep breath through his nose, then let it out with a relieved huff. "It's the sandstorm. We're hearing the wind, and the sand hitting the walls."

"Oh! Right," Wrecker answered, too quickly. "Must be blowin' in through the main door."

"Ah . . . Yes." Vythia gave her head a quick toss, as though shaking a thought away, then ran down the last few steps.

The others followed a bit more slowly and started across the room. Quinlan found himself watching the central pillar. Every time a new gust of wind swept across the grit-covered floor, he expected the cold white flames to flicker, but they never did.

As the commandos and Vythia moved quickly through the main hallway towards the academy entrance – and the academy exit, thank the Force – Quinlan stayed at the back of the group. He was certain that if they were attacked, it would be from behind. But despite the constant whistling and echoing of the gusting wind, nothing moved in the shadows of the empty doorways, and there were no stormbeasts anywhere on the level.

The leviathan, though . . . No, it was nowhere around either. Judging by the scream he had heard, the leviathan was far behind them by now. No one had suffered any headaches since the first attack – well, except for Quinlan, but that wasn't the same. That had been there since the leviathan had first been aware of him, and at this point it was more of an inconvenience than anything else . . . He didn't dare try to find the leviathan's exact location, but as far as he could tell right now, it wasn't actually focusing on any of them. Maybe it would ignore them completely once they had left Trayus . . .?

As soon as he thought it, Quinlan scoffed mentally at himself.

Even if it wasn't particularly interested in them at the moment, there was always the possibility that it might get tired of devouring stormbeasts and decide to attack. Quinlan and the others wouldn't be safe even once they reached the Marauder, unless they were able to lift off and put at least a few kilometers between themselves and the creature. But if the storm was too strong . . .

There's no way to stop its attacks, he realized. Not with the Force. We could kill it physically, but not unless we got close enough, and by that point it would have killed us anyway.

"Hunter," Tech said, before he could ponder further. "Once we enter the Marauder, do you think we should attempt to remain until morning?"

The sergeant half-turned to look at him. "What kind of a question is that?"

"Yeah," Wrecker added. "We aren't gonna spend the night here again!"

"That is not what I was inferring." Tech paused long enough to send Wrecker an irked look. "Besides which, it is still mid-afternoon. We have several hours before the sun, such as it is, actually sets."

Hunter sighed. "Get to the point, Tech."

"I was wondering if we should attempt to take off despite the storm. It appears that the leviathan is capable of attacking us at will."

"We cannot leave the Phoenix here," Vythia murmured.

"We could always return for it in the morning."

She shook her head, closing her right hand over the top of her satchel, where the scroll had been placed. "No. I have left artifacts there. They are the whole purpose of this search in the first place . . ."

"Right," Hunter allowed. "But all the artifacts on Malachor won't do you any good if you're dead."

She turned to glance at him and raised an eyebrow, looking vaguely amused by something. "True. But if we leave, we might not be able to return."

A sensation of foreboding crossed Quinlan's mind and vanished, too quickly for him to identify any particulars.

"I think Tech's right," said Wrecker, rubbing the back of his helmet uneasily. "I mean, about trying to leave for the night. If that leviathan can get at us from inside –"

"Yeah." Hunter's thoughtful frown was audible in his tone. "We don't have to go too far. We could land a few kilometers away, fly back around noon tomorrow. . . We won't even have to land, Vythia. You can rappel down to your ship and pilot it from there."

"No point in making plans right now." Crosshair had been keeping his gaze on the floor as he walked past another green lantern, but now he jerked his chin toward the main doors. "We won't be able to take off."

Quinlan stared down the long corridor through the open doors, but all he could see was a faint blur of movement as the wind whipped past outside.

Tech looked up in surprise. "You can identify the wind speed from this distance?"

Crosshair shook his head once. "Your sensor display."

"Oh. Of course." Tech turned and kept walking as though someone reading the tiny sensor display on his datapad from five meters away was perfectly standard. "And I am afraid that Crosshair is correct. It is strange, but the wind velocity has been increasing for the past hour. I had not thought to check until a moment ago."

"So, we're stuck here?" Wrecker asked. "On the Marauder, I mean?"

"Looks like it," Hunter answered uneasily. "Tech . . . you said earlier that the storm was almost over."

"It was." Tech shook his head and glanced from his vambrace screen to his datapad. "I do not understand. The Marauder's sensors gave every indication that the wind velocity had faded to a near-safe level."

Vythia shrugged. "Not anymore, it would seem."

Quinlan stared at the back of her head, then at the open doors that were now a mere fifty meters away. Outside, nothing could be seen except for the gusting ash and sand and dust – it filled the air and interfered with visibility worse than the heaviest fog he'd seen. Quinlan knew exactly where the Marauder was, but he couldn't see it, not even when Tech activated the searchlight. "That's . . . is it even still there?" he asked.

"Of course it is – still there." Tech's tone faltered slightly as he paused halfway through his sentence to double-check his scanners. "Yes."

"Crosshair," said Hunter, gesturing forward as the team continued to walk down the sandy corridor. "Can you see anything?"

Crosshair didn't answer for a long moment, instead pulling his helmet's rangefinder down over his right eye. "The Marauder's visible on thermal, but that's it. Want me on point anyway?"

"No, I'll take point." They reached the doorway, and Hunter paused just inside, removing his helmet again. He tilted his head back, narrowing his eyes like a wolf testing the wind. "Tech, those crevices in the dioxis field – we didn't have any between us and the ship, did we?"

Quinlan watched Tech, who was frowning at his screen. "We did not," he answered slowly.

"That's what I thought." Hunter replaced his helmet and rested both hands on his waist as he considered. "But we can get over it no problem, right?"

"It is not even ten centimeters across," Tech said. "The concentration of dioxis near that area is the more immediate concern."

"Okay." Hunter turned to look back into the green-lit academy hall. "And Quinlan and Vythia don't have breathing protection – which they'd need just for the storm."

"Actually . . ." Quinlan slung off his pack. "I did learn something after Adas Academy."

"As did I." Vythia was already fastening a ventilator over her nose and mouth. "I do not care to breathe in any more ash than I already have."

"Same here – but you did a better job preparing." Quinlan tested the strap on his goggles, then set to work winding a piece of black material around his face. His words were muffled as he continued. "I may have chopped up an old tunic."

"Better than nothing," Hunter agreed. "But it's not sealed."

"The concentration of dioxis can't be that high," Quinlan said, tying off the rectangle of material with a knot and pushing the ends in. "Not with all this wind, Hunter. We'll just make a run for it."

"Yes," said Vythia. "There is no other option that does not involve us splitting up. I doubt any of us wishes to do that."

"Definitely not." Hunter tapped Crosshair's arm with the back of his hand. "It's the visibility I'm worried about. If anyone gets separated . . . You have enough cable to give us a guide, right?"

"I've always got enough cable." Crosshair reached over one shoulder to his pack, then swapped out the attachment on his rifle. "Tech?"

"Wind velocity – sustained, one hundred and fifty kilometers due east, with intermittent and irregular gusts of one hundred and seventy."

Crosshair turned to angle his shot into the roaring wind, found the door interfering with his aim, and muttered something derogatory before raising his voice. "Wrecker!"

Without waiting for Wrecker, he stepped out from the cover of the door. Immediately, the sniper staggered and dropped to one knee, but before Quinlan could do more than step forward, Wrecker was there, acting as a literal windshield.

It took less than five seconds for Crosshair to line up his shot and fire. Quinlan couldn't hear anything over the gusting ash and wind, but Crosshair and Wrecker had stepped back inside the next moment, so he assumed the cable attachment had struck the Marauder.

Hunter waited until Crosshair had ejected the opposite end of the cable into the academy wall before speaking. "Okay. We'll go in teams of two, one after the other – make sure to leave a few seconds between each team. I'll take point with Quinlan. Wrecker, I'm thinking you'd better take Tech."

"Yeah, no kidding!" Wrecker slapped the top of his own helmet once to drive it more firmly over his head, then caught Tech by an arm and pulled him over. "Come on, Tech, you're with me. We don't want you to blow away!"

"I would not," said Tech distinctly, tugging free so that he could secure his datapad to his belt. "Crosshair is far more likely than I to be knocked off his feet."

"Yup," said Wrecker. "But only 'cause you're with me and he's not. Ha!"

Tech rolled his eyes and adjusted his goggles behind his helmet.

Hunter turned to Quinlan. "Looks like it's starting to die down a little. Everyone ready?"

"Just say when!" Wrecker declared.

Tech secured his weapons. "Yes."

"Guess we'll find out," Quinlan said, only half-hearing the sergeant's words as his head throbbed again. For an instant he thought he was imagining things, but then a slow ache started in his chest. He took a deep breath and reached automatically for his tunic pocket, where the yellow crystal was still secured.

Vythia stood beside Crosshair, looking uncertainly out at the rushing wind and grey ash. "You would really rather do this than wait another hour?"

When everyone answered, "Yes" together, with varying degrees of emphasis and speed, she smirked. "Then I suppose I am ready as well."

Hunter was still standing beneath the doorway, watching the wind as though he knew when it was going to slow down . . . Maybe he did know. It didn't matter. They had to leave.

"Let's go," Quinlan said, stepping forward and gripping the shuddering cable with one hand. Three overlapping screams, not from stormbeasts, echoed around him.

At the same moment, Hunter caught him by the elbow. "Wait, just a moment –"

"Hunter!" Quinlan snapped, raising his voice to be heard over the continuing cries, even though only he could hear them. The dull ache was increasing. "We're out of time!"

The sergeant didn't hesitate for more than half a second. He turned on his flashlight and fastened it to his belt, then grabbed the cable in front of Quinlan and started forward. Quinlan followed on his heels.

The instant he stepped out from cover, the wind slammed into his left side like a solid wall. He staggered against the cable, which jerked and snapped under the force of the gale, pulling him with it.

It took him several steps to really catch his balance – if he leaned hard enough sideways, against the wind, it helped . . . but only until the next gust. The wind seemed to come from all directions, yanking at them until they could hardly keep their footing.

They'd only made it three meters forward when Hunter slipped and dropped to his knees. Quinlan reached out automatically, letting go of the cable with one hand, but Hunter managed to get up on his own – then a sustained gust hit them from the left, carrying with it stinging particles that made themselves felt even through the double layers of blaster-resistant clothing that Quinlan wore.

Six meters.

He could vaguely sense Tech and Wrecker, who were catching up to him and Hunter; and Vythia and Crosshair in the back . . . they were moving more slowly, but still steadily . . .

A high-pitched roar filled his ears just before something hit him from above, crushing him to his knees. It felt like a blow, but it was only wind. It had to be, there was nothing else there.

Hunter fell, got to his hands and knees, shouted something Quinlan couldn't make out, then pulled himself back up and stepped carefully forward, over the phosphorescent green of the narrow dioxis vent.

Ten meters. Halfway there. Almost –

Quinlan stepped over the vent, dragging himself forward with the cable. Ten and a half meters. He felt Vythia's alarm and then relief as she lost her grip on the cable, then regained it – eleven meters. He could tell when the others were gripping the cable because of his psychometry. Okay, that never occurred to me before . . . Eleven and a half meters. The wind continued to increase in speed. Twelve meters.

He couldn't physically draw in a breath anymore, the wind was pressing against his back and left side so hard. Then a gust ripped in from the west, and the cable jolted as Crosshair fell against it and lost his grip entirely.

Twelve and a half meters. No one was moving anymore. Quinlan ducked his head and clung with both hands, waiting for Crosshair to get up. The wind was only getting faster, and Quinlan almost couldn't see Hunter anymore. Even the sergeant's flashlight was visible only as a faint gleam in the hurtling ash.

He reached out with one hand, instinctively ready to call on the Force, then remembered the leviathan – he would call its attention directly to them if he –

Then Tech released the cable. Vythia wasn't moving from where she'd stopped when Crosshair had fallen.

Quinlan felt his left hand close almost thoughtlessly around the yellow crystal through the front of his tunic. A wellspring of light Force-energy. . .

The wind was still increasing, and so was the sense of danger and the flickers of black in his mind. They were under attack.

The ash in front of him cleared briefly, just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of Hunter – then the sergeant crumpled to his hands and knees as though a heavy weight had landed directly on his shoulders.

A nightmarishly familiar voice was calling on the dark side all around them, though no one was there. He had never heard it before, but he'd felt it – the presence, the one that had dragged his mind to the leviathan –

Hunter made it to his knees before being thrown sideways. Then Wrecker lost his hold on the cable.

Quinlan turned with an effort, gripped the cable behind him with both hands, and stared into the wind. He had lowered his shields the last time, but he wouldn't make that mistake this time . . .

Bracing himself, he reached for his tunic with one hand. What felt like a heavy pressure shoved down against his arm, but he had already reached the crystal. He had no idea if this would work, but he could not lower his shields again, not unless there was no other choice – if the presence caught him again –

Gusts of wind ripped at him from all sides. The cable snapped sharply against his left hand, cutting the insides of his fingers open as he clenched his right hand around the crystal.

The crystal had no shields, and yet it had not been corrupted. It glowed in the Force with its own inner strength despite the surrounding shadows. The shrieking wind yanked at it, trying to tear it away.

Quinlan took a step away from the cable, into the wind, clenching the crystal against his chest with one hand, and lifted the other, palm outward, into the center of the gale.


Hunter could scarcely hear. The brushing of a single flake of ash or grain of sand against his armor would have been inaudible, but the hundreds of thousands that drove into him now coalesced into an unending scraping, brushing sound. For some reason, that noise combined with the irregular shrieking howling of the wind was every bit as aggravating as the constant pressure that kept him from moving. The Marauder was so close, not even six meters away. He was uninjured, it was so close, and he couldn't even get to his elbows.

Dragging his hand towards his face, he activated his comm. "Can anyone – hear me?" he asked, feeling breathless for some reason. "Anyone still able to – move? You guys still at – the cable?"

"Yes," answered Tech in a clipped voice. "To the first, that is. No to the last two questions."

"Same," Crosshair panted. "That came out – of nowhere."

"Everyone okay?" Wrecker demanded. "I'm trying to get to Tech – can't see anyone else, but –"

The fury of the gale was less now, and Hunter tried again to get up. The instant he moved, something drove itself against his back. He resisted for only a few seconds before dropping flat again. There was something wrong with this storm, it wasn't a natural storm, or if it was it had been altered. . .

Quinlan said there were 'two of them' . . .

"Where's Quinlan?" he demanded. "Can anyone see him? Crosshair?"

"Can't see him." There was a brief pause. "The storm's strongest – near you."

Just as he finished speaking, the whole atmosphere seemed almost to take a breath. Then there was a blast of something soundless that made his ears ring, the pressure that had been pinning Hunter to the ground disappeared, and he immediately got to his knees and turned around, reaching for the cable with his left hand.

The others were questioning, reporting that they'd gotten up, that the wind had died down, that visibility was increasing, but Hunter wasn't paying attention.

Quinlan stood in front of him, looking vague and distant as he lowered his left hand to his side. His right was tucked into the front of his tunic, and whatever was wrong with the storm was gone.

They walked the remaining few meters to the Marauder in silence, and the boarding ramp lowered without trouble. Hunter mounted it, keyed the door open, and stepped aside to make sure the others got in first.

Quinlan stumbled up the ramp without looking at him. Wrecker and Tech followed seconds after, then Vythia and Crosshair.

Hunter entered last and sealed the door from the inside.

The ship was eerily silent after the rushing and roaring motion outside. No one seemed to want to break the silence, either. Hunter stood near the door, watching as everyone moved about without speaking. Wrecker removed his helmet and went into the cargo hold, followed by Tech and Crosshair.

Vythia took off her gear, then went to the cockpit and leaned against the consol, staring out into the relatively calm motion of the grey ash as it whizzed past the transparisteel.

Quinlan removed the yellow kyber crystal from his tunic, shielding it from Vythia's view by turning away from the cockpit door as he showed it to Hunter.

The sergeant gazed down at it for a moment – it looked dull, somehow. Then he turned to Quinlan, waiting for him to say something. When he didn't speak, Hunter settled on asking a question that seemed to encompass all his questions. "What . . . was that?"

The Jedi smirked, but it did not look amused. After a moment, he put the crystal away, wiped blood from his fingers onto one side of his tunic, and said, "What was what, Hunter?"

". . . All of it."

"Something was trying to kill us, or stop us."

"And you used the Force? Without the leviathan –"

"No. That crystal had its own Force-presence, Hunter."

Hunter stared at him, confused and irritated by his cryptic answer. When Quinlan only stared thoughtfully at the floor and then turned as though he intended to head to the cargo hold himself, Hunter caught his arm. "Quinlan! What just happened?"

The Jedi shot him a mild frown. "I . . . I used the crystal's strength instead of mine, and pushed back the – presence – that was attacking us. It worked . . . the leviathan attacked the crystal, though."

"Is it dead?" Hunter asked, utterly confused now. "Not the crystal – the presence, I mean."

"No." Quinlan attempted a casual shrug, failed, and shook his head once. "It just retreated. But the kyber crystal was drained. I won't be able to do that again."