The Force's Shepherds
Chapter 137
Ashes and Shadows
It was gone. All of it. Not a stone remained in place in the dust, debris filled crater where Ylisstol once stood. The proud symbol of strength and peace that the Naga-spawn had fawned over for centuries, finally gone. Nothing more than a pile of gray ash, pockmarked with blasted out craters. As if a great meteor shower had descended from the sky and pummeled the white city out of existence. A goal the Hierophant had strived for for as long as he had been alive. A fate he was destined to bring about.
And yet, this time, he was not the one to lay the fatal blow. Instead, he was the one to walk among the ashes. Gray dust shifted over his black boots as they sank into the earth with each soft footfall. His glowing eyes scanned the desolate surroundings, completely void of anything living. To him, it was a beautiful sight.
Yet, unfulfilling. In the future, when he laid siege to this city, there was a sense of accomplishment; of satisfaction as all of his goals, all of his plans, all of the death and destruction finally came to fruition and he could claim dominion over all. The planet was his… then it wasn't. The damn Naga-spawn's children retreated in time, and he came back to destroy them once and for all.
Of course, he never foresaw a third party entering the fray. He certainly did not anticipate that third party to be so technologically advanced, and led by such powerful fighters. Hell, when the assault on Ylisstol began, he could sense it all the way in the ice fields of Northern Regna Ferox. The Force rippled with the dark side at the time. It screamed in agony as Ylisstol was decimated, and he relished in the feeling.
Still… unsatisfying. Part of him wanted to lay waste to this city once again. Now, he did not want to destroy all life like he did in the future. Where was the fun in doing everything over again? Where was the enjoyment in being the only creature living in a dead world? No, the Hierophant wished to rule. That did not mean Ylisstol would have remained. He would have still destroyed the infernal city, and enjoyed every second of it. Perhaps, he would have even rebuilt a new, greater city on the ashes. But would that happen now? He doubted it.
Now it is gone. The Hierophant knelt down, letting one hand slip into the still hot ashes on the ground. The gray particles of dust slipped through his pale fingers as he raised his hand, before fading into a puff of smoke on the dry wind. They are gone.
The Shepherds, he had to assume some were casualties of the assault by this new enemy. However, he was not foolish enough to believe that all were killed. They were like cockroaches. Even in the future, no matter how many times he stomped on them, they remained until the very end. Then their spawn became the roaches to be crushed beneath his boot. Yes, some Shepherds survived this event. He could sense it.
As he rose back to his full height, another hot summer wind brushing through his coat, he heard two more sets of feet softly marching up to his flanks. His two youngest deadlords, Anguilla and Lepus, stood beside him; both silently observing the field of ash. He initially paid them no mind, instead casting his hooded gaze up to the morning sky, where one great metal triangle had been replaced by three.
"More visitors." He mumbled.
Anguilla sniffed, unimpressed by the ships that floated in the skies so high above their heads. He glanced over at her, and saw nothing but a mask of indifference. Which made sense to him. She was the deadlord that he kept the tightest of leashes on. One slip up, one loss of control over Anguilla, and she could prove to be a problem. Thus, he made sure to lock that wonderful wellspring of power she possessed tightly, making her mission only to guard what had to be his greatest mockery.
He heard a quiet whimper come from Lepus, and a smirk crossed his lips as he glanced over at the woman that- at one time- had been Exalt Emmeryn of Ylisse.
"Oh it must burn you to see it like this." He watched with immense satisfaction as her red eyes watered, "To see the city you loved now no more."
Her grip on her staff tightened. The Hierophant clicked his tongue in response.
"I would save that burning hatred for my enemies." He reminded, the cruel smirk never leaving his lips.
He glanced up at the three ships slowly lumbering down from the heavens. Three bright triangles of steely gray, loaded to the brim with those soldiers in white his deadlords told him about when he arrived.
"We should leave for now. Let them think they have their little victory here." He spun on his heel, feet shifting through the ash as he walked, "Little do they all know that this is the first step in their defeat."
With a wave of his hand, a golden circle of light appeared beneath their feet. In a brief flash of powerful magic, he transported all of them away from the ashes of Ylisstol, and back to the Plegian royal palace.
The Hierophant took a deep breath of the dry desert air, savoring the familiar feeling of it rushing in and out of his lungs. The comfort it gave him did not last long though. Lepus and Anguilla were quietly exiting his chambers, but one other deadlord lingered.
"Bovis." The Hierophant stated, tone even as he didn't even bother to acknowledge the hunched deadlord standing near his empty fireplace. Instead, he turned his attention to his bookshelf, and promptly pulled the latest tome he grabbed from the Grimleal archives. A heavy manual on constellations and astronomy. Something he had a feeling he would need once he managed to leave this world.
"Are the Naga-spawn defeated?" Bovis asked, hunched figure somehow appearing even more decrepit as he shuffled towards his master.
The hierophant inhaled deep. As he did, he let a little bit of his power leak out of him, making Bovis freeze in place. This was the one Deadlord that left him feeling uneasy. Bovis wore the skin of a great sorcerer, one that he held a tremendous amount of respect, even admiration, for. Gharnef had been a terror upon the world since before the Grimleal existed. It was no small feat of power to bring him back from the clutches of death, and even more difficult to bestow upon him the abilities he once had while keeping him under control. If the Hierophant had his full power, then dominating the mind and will of a feeble human such as him would have been a simple task. But he was not whole, and the Vessel remained beyond his reach. As such, around powerful deadlords like Bovis and Anguilla, he treaded carefully.
"Defeated… for now." The Hierophant replied as he lazily tossed his book over onto his bed, "There is still a matter of hunting down and destroying the survivors, of which I am sure there are some. That infernal machine Morgana built escaped my grasp, and the Shepherds possess it. I'm sure they used it to escape Ylisstol's destruction."
Bovis nodded silently, something the Hierophant noticed. The Deadlord would not be here, in his chambers, just to comment on the Naga-spawns resounding defeat at the hands of a new enemy. He had a purpose for being here. One he had sensed lingering within his servant for some time now.
"Speak now," The Hierophant growled, turning to face the deadlord, his eyes glowing bright yellow, "Before I feel like you have wasted my time."
Bovis's gaze hardened, "You have been keeping something from me."
The Hierophant inclined his chin, "Have I?"
Imhullu thudded onto the table in front of the fireplace, dropping from Bovis's grasp like a heavy stone. The Hierophant furrowed his brow as he stared at the black spellbook.
"Pages are missing." Bovis snarled.
"Are they?" The Hierophant replied, turning his back as he made his way to his bed. He flopped down on it, grabbing his book and cracking the first pages open, "I hadn't noticed."
"I have." Bovis growled, "The missing pages made the spell faulty. It allowed that damned Ylissean General to hit me at Koto."
The Hierophant uttered a mocking gasp, "Kenobi hit you? Oh, that must've been quite the traumatizing experience." He flicked his thumb, and turned a page, "Considering you are still alive, I'd call that hardly a need for-"
"That spell, Imhullu, cannot be trifled with. With those pages I can-"
"Kill me?" The Hierophant remarked, catching Bovis off guard. When he watched his servant start to babble, a smirk crossed his lips, "Oh, did you not think I would prepare for such a thing? I know of your deeds very well, Gharnef. I know your reputation. A manipulative snake, looking to stab anyone in the back to gain more power, including your betters."
Bovis shouted in alarm as his throat constricted. The Force slammed the deadlord against the ceiling, pinning his arms and legs to the roof.
"Know this, Bovis. You are nothing. You only exist, because I allow it." The Hierophant said, his gaze never leaving his book, "Your will is my will. The power you wield is my power. Which means," He flicked his eyes up to a stunned Bovis, "Imhullu is mine, just as your soul is mine. I do what I please with what is mine."
A croaking chuckle came from Bovis, making the Hierophant scowl.
"If you can do what you please with what is yours, then why have you not summoned Equus to face your judgement?"
The Hierophant's gaze darkened. As he glared at Bovis, a dark shadow crept up the wall behind his bed. It slithered along the ceiling as a low, hungry growl reverberated through his chambers. Bovis's face went white with fear as he stared at the shadow. He briefly flicked his gaze down at Imhullu. Terror shot through him as he watched the book lazily float to the Heirophant's waiting hands. His master tore the book open, looked up at Bovis, then back down at the tome's intricate text.
"This looks important."
He wrenched a yellowed page from the spellbook, making Bovis hiss, enraged. His brief spat of anger was quelled as the shadow coiled around him, forcing a shiver to rush through the deadlord. A cold caress ran over him, and he could hear the sound of a hungry dragon rumbling in his ears.
The Heirophant looked up at Bovis one more time, then set the page ablaze with a simple fire spell. The page glowed in the room, and Bovis had to suppress his growing outrage as Grima wrapped tighter around his pinned form.
"Defy me again, and I will promptly return you to the void." The Hierophant threatened, finally releasing his grip on Bovis.
The Deadlord unceremoniously craterted down onto the floor, cracking the stone tiles beneath him. The shadow receded, a begrudging growl emanating from it as it let a morsel slip away.
"Now, get out of my sight."
The Hierophant eyed Bovis as the deadlord shakily got to his feet, caught Imhullu when the Hierophant tossed it back to him, then quickly exited. As he reached the door, he gave his master a low bow, then shut the doors. A pleased look crossed the Hierophant's face as the doors clicked shut. His pleasure faded thought, when the dragon growled inside of him.
"I'm not happy."
"You are only happy when your hunger is sated, which is never."
A heavy huff escaped the Hierophant's lips, "I'm not going to be able to study, am I?"
"You let a good meal get away."
"I think he is less concerned about your gluttonous appetite, and more concerned with Bovis's attitude."
The Hierophant sniffed at that assumption. He quietly set his book to the side, rose from his bed, and strode over to the balcony overlooking Plegia's capitol. As he stepped out, he glanced at the bones of his old self, then out to the city they towered over.
"Bovis does not worry me. He is properly caged, just as Anguilla is."
"I am surprised how limited you made that Manakete."
"He still cares for her. I can feel it."
"It must burn you to only be able to interact with a shell of her."
"Quit mocking me." The Hierophant growled.
Both voices chuckled back, but only one answered.
"Very well. Then what disturbs you so?"
The Hierophant rested his hands on the sandstone railing, fingers running along the coarse material as he observed the teeming city beneath him.
"I cannot summon Equus."
Grima growled, angry. The Son, meanwhile, hummed like a mage finding a curious topic to study.
"Have you discerned why?"
"Does it matter? He is dead. The void has him now, let him rot within it."
"I do not disagree with that sentiment." The Hierophant replied, "I just wish I was the one that sent him to it."
"Instead you cannot because…"
The Hierophant clenched his teeth. His fingers curled tight around the balcony railing.
"I am weak."
"Then we must feed."
"I think he means we are incomplete."
"Both." The Hierophant snarled, tearing himself away from the railing and marching back into his chambers.
As he strode in, he flicked a fireball from his fingertips into the fireplace, sparking a small blaze for him to enjoy. Despite the desert heat, the dark side always made his room feel cooler than the rest of the palace. He may enjoy the dark side, relish in its power, but this body was also Plegian, and it preferred hotter temperatures.
The flames dancing nearby, casting shadows along the opposite wall, made him feel a bit more comfortable. He took a deep breath again as he tried to soothe his growing frustration.
It's not like he did not try to summon Equus. The Deadlord not only failed him, not only disobeyed him, but outright betrayed him. He cast his lot with the Naga-spawn, assisting them against his Master's wishes and plans. The shackles that kept him enslaved to Grima's will were broken the moment he decided to join the Shepherds, and ever since, the Hierophant kept a short leash on his Deadlords. He always figured that, once he got his hands on Equus again, he would properly punish him. Perhaps kill him once and for all, then raise a new deadlord in his place.
But when he sensed Equus die at the hands of the powerful enemy that led the invaders from the stars, he was unable to summon him. Why?
"Are we really that weak without our Vessel?"
"You overestimated your power." The Beast snarled, "We must feed. Then it will grow."
"I do not think this is a matter of lack of power. I think it is a matter of lack of control."
"Those are the same thing."
"No, they are not."
The Brother was onto something. The Hierophant possessed the power to raise these deadlords. To command them, to subjugate them, even to punish them; he did not lack the ability to do any of those things. But as soon as one slipped from his grasp, they were beyond his reach. It was as if the soul of Equus slipped from his fingers, fell between the cracks of the afterlife so that he could never possess it again. The bonds that tied Equus's soul to Grima frayed, then broke entirely with time and distance. An alarming prospect. One he had not anticipated could happen.
In the future, he never had to worry about such a thing. His deadlords were his loyal servants. They were his ultimate creations. Whenever he sent them out; fear, terror, and death followed them. He never had to concern himself with their individual abilities or behaviors. They all shared a singular goal: the annihilation of the Naga-spawn, and all life that did not submit to Grima's will. His power in the future was absolute, and the deadlords dared not defy him.
I've grown careless.
"We should have eliminated Equus sooner."
"It matters not now. He is dead. We must focus on retrieving the Vessel."
"Yes… it doesn't matter now." The Hierophant glanced at his door, his mind returning to the defiant Bovis. Eventually, the deadlords in this timeline will try to harm him. He could sense such a traitorous action coming. Lepus despised him from the moment she was born, and she hated him even more after he dragged her to Ylisstol's remains. Bovis wanted to usurp him. Porcus was an unreliable, loose cannon. Anguilla… if the leash he had on her wavered at any point, she could easily cause him problems. The only deadlords he felt comfortable dealing with now were Draco, Tigris, and Simia. The three that had served him best so far. But would they remain loyal when the more powerful deadlords decided to break away
"We need to be prepared for the moment when it does matter."
"They need a leader. Someone to keep them in line."
"We can keep them in line."
"Equus is proof that we cannot." The Hierophant snarled. He inhaled, looked to the fire, then glanced to his doors. His deadlords needed a general. A peer that could keep them in line with brute force. The temptation to summon that one was great. But he had a feeling that deadlord would only exacerbate the problems he had right now. Besides, this was not a time to use his last resort. That left him one other that fit what he required.
"It's time to summon Mus."
After three long years, it was finally over. Thrawn exhaled as he stood on the bridge of the Chimaera, eyes scanning the spherical outline of the majestic planet before him. This world hasn't received a name yet, he realized. That problem would be remedied by Imperial cartographers soon, and the name did not entirely matter to him. At least, not the name the Imperial bureaucrats would give it. What the natives called their planet intrigued him, but he doubted he would get the name out of the Chimaera's newest resident.
That reminds me, Thrawn thought as he folded his hands behind his back, I need to pay a visit to the infirmary.
After the ground assault on Ylisstol, he was shocked to hear the number of casualties. Among the wounded was his own personal aid, Eli Vanto, who was wounded by a… Jedi? Thrawn was not sure what to make of the young man named Luke. An enigma to be sure, and one of the few points of actual resistance to the Ylisseans could muster. Apparently, Lord Vader dueled him for a time. Other than him, and the shocking reappearance of an old Republic enemy, the Ylisseans did not hold out long.
The 501st effectively decimated the city within a couple of hours. The weapons available to the Ylisseans could not hope to hold out against the might of the Empire for long. Their feeble swords, spears, bows and arrows, were no match for a good blaster rifle. He admired the valor of those poor souls that defended their beautiful city, but that valor could have been directed towards forming an effective retreat in the face of a superior foe. Not a needless defense against a certain slaughter.
Perhaps they thought their unconventional weapons would serve them well?
That was the part of the invasion that piqued Thrawn's curiosity the most. Ylisstol could've been brought to heel within minutes had it not been for that strange citadel the royal family and what remained of the city guard retreated to. When the 501st assaulted the citadel, they found a barrier in place around the entire large building and its walls. At first, Thrawn suspected a primitive type of shielding. Something similar to what the Gungans of Naboo employed when in combat.
In essence, that was what they encountered, but there was something more to it. Not only was there a strange energy shield, but the Ylisseans stiff resistance came from robed soldiers wielding what amounted to magic. It seemed so preposterous to the calculating Chiss Admiral, but his eyes did not lie to him. Human beings wielded a strange power on this planet. One he understood even less than the Force, which Lord Vader wielded.
It might merit a discussion with him. He thought, bringing a hand to his chin as he contemplated how to go about such a conversation. Lord Vader was not the most approachable of commanders, even less so when wounded.
Which brought Thrawn to the next point of alarming revelations the invasion of Ylisstol delivered: the reappearance of Count Dooku, infamous leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. According to official records, documented by the Empire, the Republic, and even the Jedi Order, he was killed in the Battle of Coruscant during the last days of the Clone Wars. Slain by Anakin Skywalker on the CIS Dreadnought Invisible Hand. Beheaded in fact. No one, not even former Jedi like the "late" Count Dooku, could survive their head being severed from their body. Yet somehow, he emerged once again on this backwater planet, far removed from the greater galaxy. Hidden within the tumultuous and dangerous Deep Core.
Was there some sort of conspiracy? Did Dooku survive by, perhaps, striking a bargain with then Chancellor Palpatine and the Jedi? Thrawn was not sure, but this appeared to be one of the most challenging puzzles that have been presented to him in some time. He wanted to solve it. After all, Dooku was responsible for Lord Vader's current condition.
He's been in that bacta tank for several hours now.
Thrawn made sure the medical staff provided him with half hour reports, but he did not go see the Emperor's fist himself. He had more important matters to attend to, and he doubted Lord Vader would want Thrawn to ignore the duties given to him by the Emperor.
The first on the list of duties, other than finalizing reports to give to the Emperor upon his return to Coruscant, would be interrogation of the prisoner, Lucina. Something he was anxious to do before Lord Vader awoke. After all, Thrawn did have some sympathy for the poor girl. He did not want to destroy her home. In fact, he gave Prince Chrom several ways to avoid such destruction. All of which he tossed aside the way an arrogant monarch would. But even after such stubborn refusals, Thrawn wanted to keep Ylisstol intact. He wanted to study the city and all of its splendor. A lost human civilization on the fringes of galactic knowledge would've been fascinating to research.
Sadly, that would have to wait. Much knowledge would have been lost in the orbital bombardment. So many treasures, histories, and those tapestries; Thrawn wished he got his hands on one before the annihilation of the city. They were such finely crafted works of art. So carefully sewn together to portray an intricate story. Truly an art that he enjoyed admiring.
Art must wait though. He reminded himself with a heavy sigh. Lucina comes first.
"Lieutenant." He called, voice as monotone as ever, "Who will be reliving us?"
"Admiral Wimbledon, sir." One of his analysts replied from his position beneath the bridge catwalk.
Never heard of him. Thrawn thought, Just like the Empire to send a possible simpleton to such a delicate situation. Perhaps someone more qualified will be assigned once the Emperor learns more about this place.
"When they arrive, set course for Coruscant. They should be here soon." He ordered the officers aboard the Bridge.
"Yes sir." A chorus of soldiers replied.
With a nod, Thrawn turned on his heel, and exited the bridge. His boots clicked against the pristine floors of the Chimaera, striding towards the turbolift. He boarded the lift, pushed a button, and folded his hands behind him as the lift rocketed him towards the Chimaera's brig.
Within seconds, the doors hissed open. Thrawn stepped into the brig. It was a vastly different space than the rest of the Chimaera. While his Star Destroyer was built using traditional Imperial metrics, right down to the drab paint and militaristic furnishings, the brig was archaic by design. Meant to invoke unrest and discomfort among those unfortunate enough to wind up in one of its cells. It was an all black area of the Chimaera, lit by harsh lights over his head, and brilliant scarlet lights along the walls and floor. The officer in charge, and the soldiers under his command, rose and saluted Thrawn as he stepped inside. Thrawn simply nodded back, and they returned to their post. He did not need to consult them on what he was doing there. After all, they had only one prisoner.
Perhaps the most precious prisoner in the entire galaxy, if the Emperor is to be believed.
He still wasn't sure why the Emperor sought this simple girl out so intently. It must have something to do with the Force and its mysteries. The Emperor did a good job fooling the general public, but Thrawn held no delusions about the real power Emperor Palpatine commanded. No one kept a dog like Lord Vader on a chain unless they possessed incredible strength. Strength that even Lord Vader would fear, and respect. Only the mysterious Force could provide such power. As such, Thrawn believed the Emperor sought Lucina out for those mysterious purposes.
He quietly walked into a dim corridor at the other end of the Chimaera's brig. The corridor was lined with small, eight by eight foot cells. Within were cold, durasteel floors, walls, and a durasteel slab for prisoners to sleep on. Each cell was made of solid durasteel as well, with only a single slot for meals to be distributed through. As dehumanizing and debasing as a prison cell could be. If one spent too long within its dark embrace, Thrawn wondered if a prisoner would be driven mad.
He stopped at the last cell on the left. Two stormtroopers flanked the door. They stiffened to attention when Thrawn paused in front of them, then stepped to the side as he punched in the code to open the cell door.
"One of you remain out here." He ordered the guards.
He stooped down into the dim cell, lit only by scarlet floodlights. As he entered, one light in the ceiling turned on, allowing Thrawn to see the lone prisoner within.
Lucina lay curled up into a tight ball on the durasteel slab that served as her bed. Her back faced the door, her face to the wall, as she shivered within the cold space. Once her door hissed open, and she heard footsteps stepping towards her, her shivering stopped. Slowly, she turned over, and glared hatefully at Thrawn with red, puffy eyes.
She said nothing, waiting for Thrawn to speak first. Something the chiss was more than happy to oblige.
"I have some questions for you."
Nothing. No reply. Just a glare. One that made Thrawn feel a touch uneasy. He had a feeling this girl was special; force sensitive perhaps? If she was, and she was trained as a Jedi, then even unarmed she was extremely dangerous. She already looked like she wanted to kill him for what happened to her home, and she had every right to feel that way. So, if he wanted to get her to give him any answers whatsoever, he needed to lower her guard.
"But…" He folded his hands in front of his body, to show he was not hiding any weapons from her, "First, I want to apologize."
Her brow furrowed.
"I never intended for your home to suffer such a fate."
"Yes, you did." She snarled back, lips curling into a furious sneer, "You entered my-" She caught herself from saying something. Something she did not want Thrawn to know. How curious, "You entered the Prince's chambers fully prepared to attack."
"Not in the slightest. I was prepared to defend myself. Once I made the conditions from my superiors clear to the Prince, it was you and your allies that acted aggressive first. I merely called for help."
"If you knew us at all, you would have known that no harm would have come to you so long as you didn't fight." She snapped back, tears brimming in her eyes.
"And I could not have known that, because I do not know you." He nodded for the guard to leave. The stormtrooper hesitated, then exited, closing the cell door behind Thrawn. Thrawn heard the door's lock clamp down with a harsh thunk, "So… how about we change that." He cleared his throat, "Your name is Lucina. Any surname?"
She glared back, not wanting to answer him.
"Miss Lucina, believe me when I say, you will want to speak now. Currently Lord Vader is incapacitated and-"
"Oh good, Dooku gave him a proper thrashing." Lucina replied through gritted teeth. Then her eyes slowly widened as she realized Thrawn did not say Lord Vader was dead, "Dooku lost…"
Thrawn nodded, "That he did. I will admit, he put up a stunning fight against Lord Vader. I don't believe I have ever seen Vader in such a state before. He barely made it back to the ship without passing out. But, speaking of the late Count, do you know how he came to your home?"
Lucina kept her mouth closed. Thrawn uttered a quiet sigh.
"You want to answer me, Lucina. If you do not, when Lord Vader awakes, you will answer to him."
"Make me."
"Oh he will." Thrawn replied, his measured tone somehow sounding menacing to Lucina. He said it in such a matter of fact way. With enough confidence behind his statement to tell Lucina that he was not bluffing, "First it will be simple questions, like what I am doing now. But when you refuse to answer, his already thin patience will break." Thrawn eyed Lucina, eyes roving over her, "You're force sensitive, aren't you?"
Her throat bobbed, and he had his answer.
"That means Lord Vader will not hold back when interrogating you." He lowered himself to her eye level, "Do you want to know what that entails?"
Fear entered her gaze. He knew what it looked like. The quick shift of the eyes, refusing to gaze into his own. Thin beads of sweat building on the brow, barely visible in the dim light of the cell. A tensing of the neck muscles due to increased stress and anxiety. She knew what Lord Vader might do to her. She knew the kind of beast he was, and that worked to Thrawn's advantage.
"Spare yourself some pain." Thrawn stood back up, "How did Dooku arrive at your home?"
Lucina shifted where she rested on the durasteel slab. For a brief moment, Thrawn thought she would answer. The temptation to speak without suffering grasping her for a split second. Then the defiance returned. Her body tensed with fury, and her eyes lit up with anger. Without a word, she turned her back to him, curling up tight once more.
Thrawn closed his eyes, "Very well then." He knocked once on the cell door, and it opened, "I hope you have a high tolerance for pain."
"I'm sure you'll be surprised." She snarled back, not bothering to look at him as she tucked her knees to her chest.
Thrawn's lips twitched at that, "I'm sure I will be."
The cell door closed with a hiss, and a thunk, as the lock sealed in place. Thrawn took a deep breath as he looked at his muffled reflection in the glossy, black durasteel door. The poor girl had no idea what lay in store for her now. First, Lord Vader will want to interrogate her personally. He would attempt to break her before they arrived at Coruscant. Once there, she will be brought before the Emperor himself. At that point may whatever deity she believed in have mercy upon her, for the Emperor will have none.
Thrawn's commlink buzzed. He furrowed his brow and brought it to his face.
"Yes?"
"Admiral Wimbledon has arrived, sir. Our path back to Coruscant has been charted. Shall we make the jump?"
"Proceed." Thrawn replied before turning his commlink off with a soft click.
As he turned to leave the brig, he considered going back up to the bridge to oversee the jump to lightspeed. Intead, when he entered the turbolift, he punched the button that would take him to the medical bay. Eli Vanto was in there, wounded, his hand taken from him by a lightsaber. A cybernetic one would be attached, but it would only be proper for Thrawn to be there to make sure his personal aid received the care he needed. He was a loyal soldier, and his actions in Ylisstol allowed the Empire to successfully capture their objective.
Proper commendation is needed. Thrawn thought as the lift zipped through the Chimaera, Perhaps a promotion?
Which meant even more paperwork. A heavy breath escaped Thrawn's lungs. Hopefully he would be deployed again upon his return to Coruscant. He didn't want to sit behind a desk for too long.
"The Dark Side of the force is power." Her master's croaking rasp slipped into Ragana's ears as she sat deathy still in the center of their training chambers within the Imperial Palace.
Her legs were crossed, hands resting on her knees, eyes closed. As she sat, she drank deep from the shadowy well that was the dark side. Slipping her consciousness into its murky waters and letting its icy, unforgiving power surge through her. Force, she just wanted to jump to her feet and unleash. But that was not the purpose of this lesson. The purpose was unknown to her. And so, she sat quietly, letting her powerful Master speak.
"It is strength, control, and domination. It is the ability to wrench destiny from fate's grasp so that you can control your own course. It is the ability to claim dominion within the force. To subjugate the weak, and lift up the strong."
She took a deep breath; icy, cold air shot into her repaired lungs. For a split second, she felt a tickle in her throat that traveled into her chest. Her face contorted, and a pang of fear entered her heart. Every time the urge to cough hit her, she grew anxious. Gethzerion's attack on her had been damaging, to say the least. It was only thanks to the state of the art medical equipment that she even survived the ordeal. That, and the unique abilities afforded to her through the force.
Which I should be focusing on now and not that incident. Ragana reminded herself, taking one more deep breath and feeling the itch in her chest dissipate.
"All of these things you already know." Her Master stalked behind her now. She could hear his voice throughout their training room. But she knew he was behind her. His dark presence shifting around her like a shadow on a sundial. Ever changing, but always present, and always black as midnight.
"But there is more to the dark side." He paused in front of her, "There is freedom in it."
Her eyes opened, glowing like coals in the darkness. She flicked her gaze up to her Master as he stood before her, glaring down at her as a parent looked down upon a learning child.
"You have been learning our philosophy of late, Morgan." Darth Sidious croaked, "Tell me it."
The Code of the Sith: the mantra that guided the order for generations. One that her Master had been drilling into her for months since her encounter with Gethzerion. At first, Morgan wondered why her master bothered at all with philosophy. She enjoyed the lessons, so she was not dissatisfied with the instruction. After all, she considered herself a starving student, hungering for knowledge. Her amnesiac brain once empty, now filled with powerful ideals that gave her great delight. But philosophy had nothing to do with combat, or countering a beast like Gethzerion- let alone eventually killing that crone.
As these lessons continued though, Ragana felt her presence in the dark side grow. She realized, slowly, that these were not mere instructional lessons, but a tradition. An anointing of a Sith Lord. If she wanted to truly be a Sith in the eyes of her Master, she not only needed to know this philosophy, she needed to live it. She needed to embody the Sith, their code, and all that they represented.
"Peace is a lie," She took a breath, "There is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength."
Oh, she had that part down. In every aspect of her life, she gave her all. From dueling against inquisitors and Starkiller so that her saber skills could be sharpened, to personally studying texts and the few holocrons her master allowed her to access, to even getting ready for bed; she did it all with gusto. This part of the code made complete sense to her. What was life without enthusiasm, without passion?
"Through strength, I gain power."
Her passion afforded her untapped potential in the dark side. As she threw herself without abandon into the dark waters, her powers grew. In her mock duels with the inquisitors, she started to see fear in their eyes in recent weeks whenever they were told to spar her. Especially within those jaundiced eyes of the Seventh Sister, whom she loathed almost as much as the Grand Inquisitor. She was the one who thought her weak and unworthy so long ago, when her Master first took her under his wing. And now, the seventh sister quivered in fear whenever Ragana unleashed her wrath.
"Through power, I gain victory."
Rather straightforward, in Ragana's mind. The strong were victorious, and the weak were not. Passion gave her strength, strength gave her victory. It allowed her to dominate her enemies. To make them fear filled, shivering within their skin, as she destroyed them. Her mind wandered back to her first taste of victory against the Jedi on Naboo. Although their master did defeat her, the sensation of driving those pitiful excuses of Jedi Knights to the point of terror was intoxicating, and she longed for that feeling once more. Unfortunately, there weren't many Jedi around, so she had to make due with making the Inquisitors terrified. The only two who did not show her any fear were the Grand Inquisitor, and Starkiller. Both of whom managed to get on her nerves in different ways.
The Grand Inquisitor she simply hated. He manipulated her when she still had her innocence, then robbed her of that innocence by making her break a promise. While Ragana knew better than to call herself a good person, she did not break her promises. As such, she couldn't wait for the day the Grand Inquisitor knelt before her in terror.
Starkiller's defiance and overall dismissal of her and her actions infuriated Ragana. She wanted nothing more than to strangle the boy at times. But… she found herself growing to respect him as a force wielder. He was different from the other inquisitors. He seemed to have an equal amount of distaste for his brothers and sisters as she did, and unlike the inquisitors, he was at least competent. She always fought him to a draw, both with a blade and with the force. Their relationship was still combative, but it was more so a rivalry than being hate filled enemies.
This training would finally push her beyond Starkiller. Soon, she will best him, and he will serve her. Clearly he was an obstacle her master intentionally put in her path. A challenge to overcome so that she might finally ascend to being a true Dark Lady of the Sith. A victory she needed to achieve.
"Through victory, my chains are broken."
This part puzzled her a little bit. Victory meant freedom, but not always. She studied the old Jedi order as much as she could during her spare time, and found that they were often victorious on the battlefield during the Clone Wars. And they were victorious for over a millennium in the age of the Republic. Constant victory bred arrogance, that is what she learned from studying them. Constant victory lent itself to recklessness, to sloth, and even to weakness. Adversity was a Sith's greatest strength. It gave them the ability to adapt, to change with the situation at hand. Defeat was the greatest learning experience (so long as one survived the defeat). So why would the code say that chains could only be broken through victory? Perhaps she still needed to understand the metaphor further?
"The Force shall set me free."
… but how? How would the force set her free? What did that even mean? Did it mean the Force would give her power unimaginable to her right now, so that no one could ever stop her? Did it mean that she will literally be set free in a spiritual sense? Did it mean the Force would give her the answers she longed for, and thus be freed from ignorance? So many different ways this final line of the code could go, all of them likely correct.
"Good," Sidious said. Through the force, Ragana could feel how pleased her Master was with her, "You are learning, and still questioning. Your thirst for knowledge is admirable."
Dim lights along the walls flicked on as Sidious waved his hand. Ragana emerged from the dark side then, and the temperature within the room rose.
"What have you learned through your meditations, my apprentice?"
Ragana furrowed her brow, "Much." She replied, "I've learned that I greatly enjoy making the inquisitors wet themselves. I've learned that I have an enormous amount of pent up passion, though I'm not sure if that is… hm…" She put her hand to her chin, tapping a finger along her jaw as she pondered something, "Passion is a Sith's greatest strength. But, couldn't it be our greatest flaw as well?"
Sidious eyed her, "Explain."
"Well," Ragana cleared her throat, "Passion is a very broad term. The definition is-"
"I am well aware of the definition, apprentice." Sidious frowned.
Ragana gave him a sheepish smile, "Well then, you would also be aware that passion more often refers to love than to hate, although it can be connected to both." She folded her hands into her lap, "Yet, you say that a Sith's greatest weapons are fear, anger, hate, and pain. Yet, if passion is our greatest strength, wouldn't love afford us more power?"
Sidious was quiet for a moment.
"The Jedi felt that way." He answered simply, "Do you see them ruling the galaxy?"
Ragana shrugged, "I suppose not. But weren't they not allowed to love?"
Now Sidious' lips curled back into a pleased smile, "You really have been learning. You are deciphering your enemies flaws and recognizing how to turn it against them. A Jedi lacks passion, therefore they lack the strength of a Sith Lord. But… never underestimate a Jedi, my apprentice. You have done it once before, and it nearly cost you your life. A Jedi may not have our strength, but that does not mean they lack willpower. Which can be dangerous in the hands of a powerful adversary."
"Agreed." Ragana nodded, "I suppose that means you're telling me to be careful about underestimating my opponents; like I did with Windu and Gethzerion."
Sidious nodded.
"Noted then." Ragana chirped, "So… anything else for today?"
"For tonight, no." Sidious replied as the dark shades that enveloped the room at the top of one of the Palace's many spires rose, revealing the dark, starless sky of Coruscant surrounding them, "I have business I must attend to."
"Right, gotta rule that empire after all." Ragana replied with a grin. She rose to her feet, wincing as her muscles cramped up a moment, "I guess I'll be here tomorrow morning. Same time?"
Sidious thought for a moment, "No, your next training moment will be more of a field trip."
Her eyes lit up, "Oh oh oh! Can we take the Thoron! Please can we take my ship!"
A low growl came from Sidious.
"Okay fine, we'll take your boring ship."
"My yacht is far from boring." Sidious frowned back as Ragana sauntered to the door.
"There's no one to talk to though. I mean, I like talking to you. But your guards are about as fun to be with as a blank wall." She snorted, "Talk about lack of passion there."
"Morgan…" Sidious snarled as the door opened in front of her.
She stopped walking as a chill crawled up her spine. The force writhed around her, telling her she may have offended her master. Quickly, she bent the knee through the force. Showing deference to the Sith Lord behind her. That seemed to be enough for her Master, who allowed his displeasure to fade away. When it was gone, Ragana took a deep breath, turned and bowed low at the waist.
"Until tomorrow, Master."
He nodded, then she left. Once the doors were shut behind her, her shoulders sagged and her lips sputtered.
"Stick up the ass much?" She muttered.
With a roll of her shoulders she turned and marched into the turbolift. Once inside, she put in the code for her chambers, and was whisked to that section of the palace in seconds.
She strode down the hall to her chambers, where she found Deathy One standing guard outside the door. As Ragana grabbed the door handle, she beamed over at her loyal Deathtrooper.
"Wanna come in?"
Deathy One glanced at her, silent as ever. Ragana pouted.
"Oh come on." She quirked an eyebrow, her void taking on a teasing tone , "All work and no play makes a Deathtrooper a dull girl."
Deathy One warbled back, and Ragana rolled her eyes.
"Do I have to order you to take a break with me in order to get you to lighten up?" She cleared her throat, "Very well then, I order you to-"
A heavy breath filtered through Deathy One's helmet, and Ragana's eyes lit up.
"See, was that so hard?"
Deathy One's mic inside of her helmet crackled, "Exceedingly."
Ragana chuckled as they both entered her room. Once she got inside, she used the force to flick the lightswitch on, allowing the soft, golden lanterns along the walls to light up. The shades to her windows lifted at the same time, allowing her to gaze out on Coruscant's massive skyline. On this world, there may be no stars in the night sky, but there were twinkling lights all along the horizon. Speeders zipped through skyways, creating streaks of multicolored light for her to follow in the night. Lights dotted the massive skyscrapers beyond her window like golden jewels suspended in the air. Coruscant was an ugly place during the day, but at night, she had a hard time thinking of a more beautiful place.
With a content sight, she flopped back onto her large bed, using the force to help her shrug her boots off of her feet.
"Force, I'm beat." She glanced up at Deathy One as she stood awkwardly to the side, near her closet actually, "My Master really worked me over today."
She could feel Deathy's puzzled look at that comment. Ragana offered a lighthearted chuckle.
"Not like that." Deathy One jerked back as Ragana teased her, "Get your mind out of the gutter." Then Ragana shivered, "Last person I'd want to do anything with is Darth Sidious."
A long groan escaped Deathy One's helmet, and Ragana threw her head back, laughing loudly.
"I will not apologize for that mental image. Even though it gives me the willies too." Ragana sighed as she splayed her arms and legs out on her bed, letting all of her muscles relax at once, "Mmm… I don't care how cozy my quarters on the Thoron get, they'll never top this bed. Palps definitely spared no expense on the furniture in here." She glanced over at Deathy One, who (much to Ragana's confusion) was still standing, "Oh for pity's sake, relax. You're not technically on duty right."
"I very much am technically on duty, milady."
Ragana rolled her eyes, "You're not at your post, so you are not on duty. You are taking a much needed break."
"Milady, I feel I must remind you that you're still recovering from near fatal injuries and-"
"Blah, blah, blah. Concern, concern, concern; really it is very touching." Ragana interrupted with a snicker, "But I think the last person you should be worried about is me. I haven't had blood come out of my lungs in… oh… hm… what counts as aggravating the condition again? Does coughing up blood after taking a heavy kick to the gut count?"
"Who kicked you in the gut?"
Ragana snickered at Deathy's stern reply, "Marek, who else? And no, you can't hurt him. Revenge is mine, not yours. You may have your orders to be my personal guard, but I can handle my own battles, thank you very much." She took a deep breath, sinking further into her sheets, "Mmm… cozy." She flicked her eyes to Deathy again, "Oh for the love of- sit down, take your helmet off, and kick your boots up. Force, you're making me tense now."
Deathy One hesitated, but when Ragana motioned with her hand, Deathy One sighed, reached up, and took off her helmet. Short, black locks of hair emerged. As did olive skin and dark, brown eyes.
Ragana grinned, "There's DT-117's pretty face."
Deathy One sighed and sank down into a chair near the window, clearly still uncomfortable with the level of informality displayed by her commanding officer. She glanced out the window briefly, eyes drawn to the streaking lights of speeders in the distance.
"Does it look different when you're not looking through lenses?" Ragana abruptly asked, drawing her Deathtrooper's attention again, "I bet it looks less impressive. That helmet must make everything so-"
"I like this better actually." Deathy One replied, "Things are not as crystal clear, or magnified, but… it is real. I appreciate that much more. The helmet just," She inhaled a deep breath through her nose, "Takes me to less enjoyable moments in my mind."
Ragana's playful smirk fell away a little bit, "Like Dathomir?"
Deathy One's eyes hardened, and Ragana pursed her lips."
"You can play the tough soldier act all you want, but I can sense what you really feel, you know." Ragana reminded Deathy One, "I know you were afraid on Dathomir."
"And you weren't?" Deathy One shot back, her voice never rose higher than normal chatter, but those words were no less biting. Normal soldiers would've been electrocuted into oblivion for speaking in such a way to Ragana. But the young Sith liked her soldier, so she allowed certain things to slip by.
"I…" Ragana exhaled, "At first no. But, when I started choking on my own blood, well, adrenaline is a hell of a chemical."
A quiet snort came from Deathy One, "That it is, milady."
"Oh, force, can we stop with the milady crap." Ragana droned, "What am I, a forty year old aristocrat? We're friends Death-" She caught herself as Deathy's eyes widened a little bit, "Yeah, you know what; back on Dathomir, I meant what I said." Ragana sat upright in her bed, folding her legs as she looked at Deathy One, "We're friends, you and I. You and Cody- well- you're the only friends I really have around here, and I don't even know your actual name. I mean, I know the name of my sworn enemy but not yours. Force, that's strange."
"Sworn enemy?" Deathy One remarked, a thin, black eyebrow raised, "You mean Gethzerion."
Ragana pressed her lips into a thin line, "Two sworn enemies then."
"Mace Windu?"
Ragana tapped her fingers against her legs, "Three then, but that's besides the point. The point is, as my friend, I should know your actual name."
Deathy One frowned a little bit, her brow furrowed as Ragana's statement hung in the air between them. Ragana nodded her head as she smiled, though she did feel some impatience growing.
"Come on, tell me already." Ragana beamed at her, "I want to know. Can't call my friend Deathy One forever, that would be kinda degrading, don't you agree?"
"You could be calling me DT-117." Deathy One replied.
"And why would I do that? You're not a bunch of random letters and numbers to me. Besides, trying to shout that on a battlefield would probably give me a headache." She smiled as Deathy One quietly laughed at that, "C'mon, name, let's go."
Deathy One exhaled through her nose as she folded her hands in her lap. She glanced out the window, eyes tracking the passing speeders as she remained on guard. Then she finally spoke again.
"Joan." A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, "Joan Eveross."
"Joan… hm… Joan…" Ragana repeated, committing the name to memory, "I like it. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Joan shifted in her seat, "You're my commanding officer and, well, protocol-"
"When are you gonna figure out that I really couldn't give a crap about protocol?"
Joan chuckled at that, lips finally parting into a genuine grin, "You'd be the first commander I've had."
Ragana drew back, "Really? Huh, you'd think the intelligent officers would know that all of those stupid regulations just get in the way."
"They're there to keep the dumb ones in line, trust me." Joan replied, her demeanor starting to relax as she sat in the chair near the window.
"Oh, that would make sense." Ragana nodded, "Idiot officers need some sort of helping hand. Thankfully I don't have any of those. I wouldn't have the patience."
"Commander Cody is definitely a capable leader." Joan nodded.
"Very skilled." Ragana agreed, "I honestly can't think of myself with anyone else when it comes to commanding the Thoron. He's a bit on the old side, but with that age comes experience that I sorely lack." She coughed quietly into her fist, feeling a slight twinge of fear as her chest began to tickle again. To remedy that fear, she rose and moved towards her bathroom, "Speaking of age," She kept speaking as she shrugged her coat off and hung it on a hook in her bathroom. She then opened a cabinet and withdrew the medicine she needed to help her body recover from the poisoning she suffered on Dathomir, "yours?"
Joan simply rolled her eyes with a small laugh, "A bit rude, don't you agree, Lady Ragana."
"Oh fine." Ragana quickly swallowed her medicine, then started shrugging off her sweaty robes, "I suppose I better go first. I'm… uh…" A sheepish laugh came from her lips as she stripped down to a skin tight black undershirt and shorts, "I don't really remember."
"Oh," Joan nodded, her voice suddenly a little quiet as Ragana emerged from the bathroom, not caring at all that she was basically undressing in front of one of her soldiers, "I suppose I should've seen that answer coming."
"I should've too, but this type of conversation always gets me excited." Ragana used the force to call a towel over to her from her closet, "Alrighty, we'll go with, hm… well, I'm not going to keep myself from enjoying life, not that anyone can really stop me, but let's go with eighteen. I mean, I know I wasn't that when I got here, but nearly two years later and here I am so… yeah, we'll go with that." She tossed her towel onto a hook near her shower and reached for the hem of her shirt, "You, Joan?"
Joan averted her eyes as Ragana started her shower. Steam came rolling out from the bathroom as Ragana was obscured by the wall.
"Not sure either."
Ragana poked her head out, "Wait really?"
Joan nodded, keeping her brown eyes focused out the window. Gazing at the incredible view of Coruscant the palace afforded its residents, "I grew up here, on Coruscant. A street rat in the lower levels. Didn't really have the time for birthdays. They weren't important down there."
"You grew up here!" Ragana gasped, face soaked with water, her eyes lighting up with excitement, "You should show me your home sometime."
Joan snorted, "I don't think that would be a good idea. Level 1313 is not the most tourist friendly area of the planet."
The shower shut off. Joan heard the sound of wet feet padding on a tile floor, then Ragana emerged, a towel wrapped around her petite form.
"Level 1313 huh?" Ragana nodded, "I say we go there sometime."
Joan snorted as Ragana sat down, grabbed her data pad, and began going through her upcoming schedule. Most of it was empty, thanks to her training sessions with the Emperor. But occasionally, Commander Cody did request her assistance with one matter or another on the Thoron.
"You'll probably want a few more guards to go with you then." Joan remarked as she got out of her chair, reaching for her helmet, which rested on the floor near her feet.
"Guards? Have you not seen me kill people?"
Joan actually rolled her eyes, and Ragana grinned mischievously back, "I have, and I never said the guards would be for you."
"Touche." Ragana chuckled. Her laughter faded a little as Joan donned her helmet again, "Oh come on. Leaving already! I was enjoying our talk."
"So was I, milady- er- Ragana." Joan replied, "But-" Her helmet hissed as it pressurized over her head, "I have a job to do. And until I am relieved of it, I need to return to my post."
"Oh fine." Ragana pouted, "Leave me alone again, why don't you."
"I'm just outside." Joan warbled back.
"But that means I'd have to get up to talk to you!" Ragana called after her as Joan stepped out of her quarters and back to her post beside her door.
A huff left Ragana's lips as she glanced at the now closed door. Her hands tapped her sheets as she sat on her bed. Honestly, she really was enjoying the conversation with Deathy- with Joan. The more she got to know her loyal soldier, the more she liked her. Joan was a bit of a tough nut to crack in order to get some words out of her, but once they did start talking, Ragana found herself getting lost in their conversation. It felt so normal, a stark contrast to her very abnormal circumstances. It allowed her mind to have some peace without needing to sink into the dark side through meditations.
Which I should probably be doing before I go to sleep.
Ragana set her datapad to the side, folded her legs, and closed her eyes. Once again, the dark side of the force filled her, and an intense chill swept through the room. The shades to her rooms promptly drew down, and the lights within her room dimmed.
She took a deep breath, trying her best to easily slip into the dark side's waters as her Master taught her. But every time she tried, she found her mind growing easily distracted as it drifted back to talking with Joan.
She has nice eyes.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips, "Oh… this is going to be a long n-n-n-"
Pain lanced through her mind as the Force howled. She winced, one hand trembling up to her temple. Her fingers massaged her head as it pounded due to the pressure resonating through the force. Her breathing became erratic, and the irritation in her chest exploded. She hissed in pain as her lungs burned. A hot liquid bubbled up her throat, causing her to surge out of her bed.
Her body felt weak as the disturbance in the Force magnified, to the point where she felt unsteady on her feet. She slumped against the doorway to her bathroom, towel slipping from her frame, as a thin bead of blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth. Once she felt the blood drip down her chin, Ragana slapped a hand over her mouth, accidentally upsetting her already precarious balance. She collapsed to the tiled floor with a hard thud.
Images shot through her mind. A white city with a shimmering palace and an impressive citadel- a school of some sort. It looked picturesque in her mind. As if it were a flawless memory for her to enjoy. When she saw it, her mind grasped it tight. Clinging onto the fragmented memories of a city with thousands of people.
Then, the gorgeous scenery changed, and it was set ablaze. Green blaster bolts cascaded down onto the city like a violent storm. The Force screamed in agony. It's screams resembling that of a woman wailing in agony.
More blood bubbled up her throat. Ragana gasped, wheezed, then clawed her way towards her sink, where her medicine sat on the counter next to it. The wailing of the woman began to fade, replaced by a new image. That of the same city, still on fire, but not being obliterated. Instead of green blaster bolts laying waste to the city, walking corpses clogged the once pristine streets. A thunderous roar echoed in her mind. One that sent primal fear through her heart.
Instead of reaching for her medicine, she curled into a ball next to her sink. Her entire body shook with fear as she saw a massive, six eyed dragon appear in her mind. She had no idea what it was, or who it was. She knew it was familiar, and she knew she was terrified of it. The power it wielded boggled her mind, and instantly reminded her of her Master, but more raw and untamed.
Her lungs were on fire now. More blood bubbled from her lips as she curled into a tighter ball. Through the visions, she heard voices. Voices she knew, but could place. People that were familiar, but also unknown to her. Faces without names to place with them.
"Until we meet again." An older man said, sorrow lacing his voice.
"Master!" A woman with blue hair screamed in return.
Panic filled her. She was running, racing for a room at the end of a shattered corridor. A group of people were fighting off monsters as they tried to close the doors to the room at the end of the corridor. She barely managed to get in before speaking again.
"Hurry, Lucina!" Ragana heard another voice… her voice, "We need to open the gate."
"They're breaking down the damn door!" A gruff voice shouted.
"Get back then! I've got a nice spell for those dastards!" She heard herself reply.
The images started to blur, focusing in and out again. Ragana's entire body shivered as another ear splitting roar echoed in her mind. The vision shifted, and she saw a man standing in mounds of gray ash. He wore a black, gold, and purple coat. One that looked eerily similar to her own. She could feel power radiating off of him. Power that made her feel so small and insignificant by comparison. The lone figure reached down, scooped up a handful of ash, then let it all slip through his fingers.
For a split second, she saw his face, and recognized it.
F-father?
"Lady Ragana!"
Footsteps pounded into her room. She felt gloved hands grasp her naked shoulders, then her chin as her head was tilted up. The bitter taste of a pill touching her tongue snapped her from her visions. The metallic taste of blood overwhelmed her senses, and a horrendous fit of bloody coughs wracked her lungs. Still, she managed to swallow the medicine. Then, with what little strength she still had, she used the Force to soothe her lungs.
Her vision faded in and out of focus. Through her bleary eyes, she could see Joan quickly carrying her over to her bed. She tried to say something, but her words left her lips in an indecipherable, weak gurgle.
"I've called for a medic. Just relax."
Relax? How could she relax? Force, she felt like she was dying.
So why was she feeling very sleepy now?
Oh right… overexertion. Too much power use, not enough… not enough rest. Her eyes closed even as the medics arrived to tend to her. As she lost consciousness, her mind drifted back to the lone figure in the field of ash. The only person she recognized throughout that entire vision.
Father…
And chapter! I decided it was time to focus a little more on our villains for this chapter! We get to see the aftermath of Ylisstol's fall through the eyes of the Hierophant, Thrawn's thoughts on the entire affair, and lastly a fun bit of Morgan to end the chapter with. I really enjoy writing these three, so you'll probably see a lot more of them! Anyways, let me know what you all think of this chapter! As always, I hope you all enjoyed! Have a nice day!
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