3951 BBY, Polar Plateau, Telos IV
Atris
It had been a while since she last laid eyes on the thing.
It was buried deep in her archives in an unmarked box. Everything else was meticulously labeled, categorized, and cataloged. In addition to basic informational logs, she also kept detailed data entries of each and every perusal at any given object, each of her errant thoughts and ruminations logged into her personal database along with the item's actual history as if to document any thought that might shed light on the many artifacts that lined her archive. Her habits were painstaking to the point that she sometimes laughed at herself for her near-absurd attention to detail. It was a self-deprecating laugh, but one still laced with self-affection, pride radiating through her as she'd chuckle quietly and admire her own methodical machinations.
But this item and its unkempt state did not make her laugh, not even for an unseen audience though she often imagined one watching her always - passing judgment on her every action, which was why she made sure to never make mistakes. Mistakes were the same as sin. Sacrilegious and absolutely unacceptable.
No. This item did not deserve a data entry. Nor a label or a log. It would remain in an unmarked box for as long as Atris lived, and would have perhaps even been burned to ash before the time she died. She was still mulling its fate over now even as she looked upon it.
It was beautiful once. Or at least she'd thought so.
It was the first thing she remarked upon her appointment to a seat on the Council. Abstract yet austere, the statue that sat in the center of the Council Chambers inspired a small smile on Atris' lips every day she spent in residence there. At least, until the Jedi Exile destroyed it, splintering the heavenly monolith as if it were nothing.
And now it remained in pieces, shards of stone sat scattered at the bottom of an old trunk.
Atris hadn't thought to take it with her, but she had. Upon fleeing Coruscant, she loaded it onto her personal vessel first, of all things. Lest she forget what may happen should she lose her way.
The annihilated statue held no form now other than a shapeless mound, sitting sadly at the bottom of an old plasteel container as if forgotten. But Atris had done anything but.
Without thinking, her hand reached for the saber clipped at her waist - one she'd never once used but had kept on her person these last nine years.
And to think she roams not far from here, Atris thought as she examined the debris, an errant hand gracing its sharp edges as they poked up at her from the shadow of the box. It is only a matter of time until we stand again face-to-face, mark my words.
The Jedi Exile's face.
Atris tried to imagine it - a more complacent version of the angry visage she still held in her mind when she thought of Eden. Not Eden, she willed. The Jedi Exile.
The woman did not deserve a name. Even bestowing a title upon her was a mercy.
The Jedi Exile, her mind echoed, as if with the intention of drowning the memory of Eden out.
Without thinking, Atris stood back before the still-open box and closed her eyes. She could still imagine the Council Chambers as they had been that day: the exact temperature, the humidity as her robes lightly clung to her skin, where everyone sat and how Lonna Vash and Zez-Kai Ell spoke in hushed whispers until Atris asked that they hush, how the city's traffic crawled outside the large windows down to the exact make and models of the speeders that drove past while the Jedi Exile spun her side of the story, all of it lies. When she looked again, the shattered pieces of the chamber statue had rearranged themselves in the center of her archive fully restored, the final piece settling into place just as her eyelids slid open.
It was just as it had been - simple, serene yet severe.
And just like Ede - no, the Jedi Exile - Atris unsheathed the lightsaber from her hip, enacted it, and struck the statue through. Cerulean light shone through the already broken fissures of the sculpture, shining as if there were some heavenly light within fighting to break free. But before she could admire the light and the way it caught the intricate designs still carved onto the surface of the effigy, she let the entire structure fall as she let go through the Force entirely. The lightsaber shaft retracted back into its hilt, Atris' palm shaking as she held it steady until it collapsed to the floor, metal clanging on metal as it skidded to the far side of the room as if she'd thrown it.
Had she thrown it?
Instead of retrieving the saber or securing the unmarked box again, Atris retreated to her study at a near-sprint and dove towards her desk, her fingers already spiriting over her console's keyboard before she could properly take a seat.
Within a few keystrokes, Atris had pulled up the Jedi Exile's records as they had been shared for the entire black market to see.
Seek out the one who wronged you, and you shall find your answer.
Atris frowned, tilting her head as she scrolled down and then back up again. Something was missing, though she knew not what.
Release her records. The Sith will follow.
Had these instructions been divinely inspired? The Force finally choosing her as a mouth through which to speak and make its intentions known? Or had she told herself this and conveniently forgotten, all of it merely a dream?
Atris wanted to believe the former, knowing that it was all she'd ever wanted her entire life. But the gaps in her memory made her wonder. Of course, the Force would not make such a heavy request of her without making it known, right? Or was that exactly it? Perhaps it was acting mysteriously because that's exactly what the Force did. She would just have to trust it. She needed to have faith.
After a moment's contemplation, Atris closed her eyes again and inhaled, exhaling as her eyes blinked open. When her vision returned, she was no longer in her study but in her archive again. And not just in her usual storeroom but in the audience of her collection of holocrons, each one humming with their own unique wealth of information, asking that Atris soak up their contents and stay there awhile. But among them all, her recently acquired article stood out from the rest, almost drawing them out. The room dimmed beyond its usual abilities, the surrounding holocrons fading as if being snuffed out like candles in quick succession, before only the rough-hewn crystal remained glowing, humming a thrumming purr that grew so loud that it buzzed in Atris' ears. But she did not mind. In fact, she quite enjoyed this song…
When she blinked again, she was in her room, as if she'd been fast asleep and only just blinked back awake.
Atris shot up, her blankets strewn about her, a cold sweat lacing her face.
Had that all been a dream?
It felt so real, almost too tangible. More like a memory than any fabrication.
Yet here she was, firmly in her bed. It took a few moments of slapping her face and gripping her bed clothes as if feeling the weight of them made the now realer than it felt. And it did. She slid back down against her pillow, damp with sweat and poor sleep. She flipped the pillow over without looking and sank into her side, looking out at her room until her eyes properly adjusted to the dark.
And when they did, her gaze settled on Eden's old lightsaber and a shard from the statue it had torn asunder those nine years ago, sitting idly on her bedside table.
3951 BBY, Telos IV, Citadel Station, Entertainment Module
Eden
Eden did not particularly enjoy looking at herself in the mirror this much.
She'd hardly done it on Tatooine. Partly because the one tiny mirror she owned there was usually covered in a layer of grease which would inevitably attract sand. It was likely why she'd let her blonde disguise so awry, not realizing how far gone the dye job was before it was too late, the passage of time hardly affecting her mind there the way it did in other places. Anchorhead didn't change much. Hardly any of Tatooine did. That is, until, a sandstorm would inevitably swallow an entire city never to be seen or heard from again.
But what she really didn't like about looking in the mirror now, was the fact that she had an audience with her. And one with more rapt of an attention than she'd like.
"And that should do it," Luxa muttered, pleased with herself. "Well, for now."
She smiled through crimson lips after having just painted some shade of purple on Eden's. Luxa eyed her in the mirror, hungry for a reaction. But Eden had none.
"I have other colors, if you'd prefer-" she began, but Eden held a hand up to stop her.
"No need, but thanks," Eden said. She eyed the contents of Luxa's palm, glancing at the plasteel tubes of coral, mauve, and emerald green.
"Well, just take these anyway," Luxa insisted, shoveling the lipsticks into Eden's empty hands. "They're not my shade, and whether you need to fly under the radar or not, I have a feeling they would look far better on you anyway. There isn't much I can do with pink skin."
Luxa laughed. Part of it felt forced, as if the woman were putting on a show for Eden's benefit. All part of a masquerade to make Eden like her, or trust her at least. But another part of it felt genuine, even despite the performance of it all.
"Red's more my color," the Zeltronian continued. "Or blue. Black has been known to suit me, too."
Luxa smiled, the edge of her upper teeth sitting on her plump bottom lip like thorns on a velvet cushion. Eden wondered if Luxa filed her canines into points on purpose or if they were natural before realizing that it didn't matter.
"Thank you for helping me," Eden said, looking away. The sentiment had felt forced when she planned the words in her head before saying them, but found that they held some truth once spoken. "You didn't have to do that."
"Of course I didn't," Luxa laughed. "But I wanted to. And not out of charity or anything stupid, but because I know it would be mutually beneficial."
Luxa spun Eden around to meet her gaze, the two of them sitting in the dim lighting of what Eden assumed was a usual haunt for Luxa.
The apartment was an interesting combination of derelict and opulent, fitted with both crystalline fixtures and rusted equipment, plush furniture and outdated kitchen-ware. It was a step up from their TSF- appointed apartment in some ways, but also a step down in others. Atton was chatting up Luxa's sidekicks as they outfitted him with better gear and a pilfered uniform fully equipped with visage-camouflaging headgear while the Ithorians huddled in the corner, deep in conversation and eyeing Eden all the while.
"Have you given it some thought?" Luxa asked, breaking Eden out of her reverie.
Eden hadn't. Upon arriving, all Eden could think of was how any of this had happened.
After shepherding them out of the dock module, Luxa and her cronies led Eden, Atton, and their Ithorian charges through the access alleyways of Citadel Station, expertly ushering them down backstreets meant only for service workers and deliveries. Eventually leading them through the loading entrance to the cantina, sneaking past the mountains of plasteel shipments of spirits meant to supply the bar, Luxa harbored Eden and her trailing refugees into an apartment suite filled to the brim with dancers, all in a state of exhaustion and nonchalance as none of them hazarded a glance as they each escapee filed past them and into the back room. Here there was a lone round bed, a kitchenette, and a lounge where Luxa had taken it upon herself to further enhance Eden's appearance lest she appear too Jedi-like.
"Hey, you in there?" Luxa asked, waving a manicured hand in front of Eden's face. Eden shook her head and allowed herself a small laugh.
"Sorry, long day," she muttered. "Or week. Maybe the last few years…"
"I feel that, sister," Luxa said, leaning across her vanity to open a crystalline bottle of something. She took a sip from the mouth of the container, smacked her lips and cocked her head as she tasted the clear-colored liquid within. After seemingly deciding that whatever its contents were good enough to drink, Luxa produced two tumblers and poured them each a glass. "Cheers?"
"Cheers," Eden mirrored. She smiled but it was only polite, knowing that she wouldn't know Luxa's intentions until taking a sip. Unless she reached into the woman's mind…
But before Eden could consider it, she put her lip to the glass and -
"Wait a minute," she said, pausing. Eden stopped, looked at the glass, and then sniffed. After pausing once more to look at the liquid more closely, she took another sip and said, "This is from Tatooine."
"Rare stuff, but I thought it might make you feel more at home."
"Exceedingly rare," Eden huffed before inevitably taking another drink, knowing how it would affect her. The pleasant warmth of the stuff flooded her unlike other common alcohols, her Jedi senses less resilient to the stuff but still not sensitive enough for it to have its intended effect. "And probably more likely used to extract the truth from someone than make them feel more at home."
Orex had tested her like this as well, back outside of Anchorhead in their stolen sandcrawler. It already felt like a lifetime ago, Orex changing from a harsh taskmaster to an old friend within the matter of hours only for the lot of them to separate suddenly and reunite again as each member of their ragtag crew ran for their lives in the search for a way off-planet. Eden hadn't thought about the crystals they'd found since, at least not intentionally, knowing that the mystery would only further undo her sanity in the wake of everything else happening right now.
"Ah, that may be true, but that only works in my direction, not yours." Luxa downed the remainder of her glass and placed it back on the vanity. "Jedi are resistant to most poisons, right? I thought this might take the edge off, that's all. Maybe now you'll trust me a little more."
At this, Eden truly smiled. Glancing around Luxa's apartment, Eden could tell the woman held both appearance and substance in high regard. While the apartment was sparse, the pieces it was fitted with were one-of-a-kind. Vintage, if Eden knew any better. A lone datapad on the bedside table sat upwards, blinking demurely with the title of a pulp novel, one Eden recognized but hadn't read herself. Some considered it trash, but Eden knew better than to judge people that way. She enjoyed a good beach-planet read here and there, soothed by the easiness of it. She'd even indulged in a reality-comm show while she was on Nal Hutta, finding the scripted nonsense more than enough of an escape from the inner hell that otherwise ruled her life.
Women are often vapid, Atris had once complained, no doubt veiling private frustrations she'd had with her overly materialistic mother. So much of it is for show, and so shallow. Atris had tsked, even while Eden tried to make a counter argument but came up empty, pacing their shared bunk in a state of confusion and fear, lest she anger her friend further by sharing her opposing opinion. I don't want to be like them- none of them. I will dedicate myself to uncovering knowledge, learning all I can and never stopping.
Atris was only fifteen at the time so Eden could have forgiven her that, but the woman had only grown to double-down in her convictions and stick to them to the point that she exacted harsh judgment on others for straying even a hair's breadth from what she considered acceptable as she got older. Jedi who cared about outward appearances or harbored even the slightest interest in material things were suspect. Anyone who imbibed mind-altering substances was below her. Non-Jedi were often held in low regard by virtue of not adhering to any specific life creed alone, though Atris would have no way of knowing otherwise since the way of the Jedi was by no means the only one to exist. She tolerated politicians but did not trust them. She thought lowly of laborers unless they were monk-like and especially despised anyone in Coruscant's Financial District. Cantina goers were worse, but somehow it was the dancers and the bartenders Atris seemed to despise the most, even if they were the very lay people under her charge and protection as a Jedi Master and someone who upheld the Jedi Code. Enticers and enablers, she'd called them, sneering at the majority of Coruscant's occupants. One day I will cleanse this city. Mark my words.
Atris had tried. But judging by what Eden had learned, the woman had not been successful. Of the Jedi Order, perhaps she had seen some success in setting the institution on the straight and narrow, but certainly not with the populace at large.
"How is it you know so much about me?" Eden asked eventually, finally emerging from her inner world to sip her drink, relishing in the effect of it.
"I have my ways," Luxa said. She traced the rim of her glass with a finger until it hummed gently. "Which is why we're so hard at work tonight."
Luxa motioned towards Eden's face. Not only were her lips now laced in a deep purple, but her hair was done differently too. Slicked back, Eden easily looked like a Citadel Station regular. It was very en vogue here, to look both clean but severe. It was so simple. Smart, she thought, finally considering her appearance with more regard than before. Perhaps because it felt less like herself now than earlier, Tatooine's fermented desert flower having its way with her head. In a good way, she hoped.
"Thanks again," Eden said, bowing her head though she felt stupid doing so. It was a reflex. Giving thanks to a Jedi Master was not just a show of gratitude but an act of reverence as well. Each acknowledgment was accented with a bow of the head, whether slight or severe depending on the Master or the bit of knowledge bestowed. And though Luxa was far from it, Eden felt just as grateful that the woman was sharing any of this with her, let alone the sanctuary of this tucked away refuge. That she had saved them from both the onslaught and the prying crowds at the docking module to bring them here, and given her makeover a proper upgrade.
"It was the least I could do," Luxa said, gesturing to the whole of Eden, but especially the equipment she'd lent her. It was a step-up from the clothes Eden bought the other day, but multipurpose. None of it nearly as flashy as anything Luxa wore, but they were also outfitted with hidden storage as well as military-grade laser resistance and other perks the Citadel's department stores didn't cater to. Having an in with the Exchange definitely has its perks.
"And it's non-transactional, by the way." Luxa added. "You don't owe me anything. Even if you decide to say no."
Eden nodded, feeling relieved but beholden nonetheless. Something told her that Luxa was telling the truth. Whether it was her gut or the Force, she wasn't sure. Eden owed the woman a favor, that was for certain, but what that favor entailed was entirely up to her and not necessarily what Luxa had proposed.
"It's a tough business, setting up shop here," Luxa sighed as she poured herself another glass. "But the guys in charge? They know jack squat."
Luxa snorted before taking another sip and draping a lazy arm over the back of her chair.
"They lack vision!" she continued, gesturing with her hands. "Backing Czerka is so short-sighted, but Lopak doesn't see why that is. Idiot."
Luxa shook her head, her crop of hair mussing about her face though the woman made no motion to fix it.
"Loppak?" Eden echoed.
"Loppak Slusk," Luxa huffed, the fringe of her hair getting further into her eyes as she spoke. "He's the honorary head of the operation here, meaning he was the biggest investor when the Exchange came around these parts to stake a claim and he's been the local boss ever since. But he's a hack, and a joke. It drives me insane to see him run this operation into the ground. I mean, sure, the Exchange will be fine. It always is. But the thing is? It could be better."
Eden furrowed her brow. If it weren't for the truth-telling drink still clutched in Luxa's palm, Eden would wonder why the woman was saying any of this out loud. And to her most of all.
"How so?" she pressed. Eden leaned over Luxa's vanity for the carafe, pouring herself a conservative half-glass as she glanced waywardly at Atton for the briefest of moments - their eyes locking for a second before they both looked away. Eden felt herself go red, though she did not know why, but instead of questioning it she blamed the drink in her hand and vowed not to have more than this paltry second serving.
"Czerka's game is big, but their business plan doesn't hold up. It never does." Luxa's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, hardly audible above the distant thrum of the cantina music still audible from the rooms beyond. "You're from Tatooine - look what happened there! What Loppak Slusk fails to see is that's the company's entire MO. Czerka pulls into fledgling operations, usually colonies or outposts, and makes a name for themselves by offering investment opportunities to people who don't realize they're being taken advantage of. Sure, it turns a profit at the moment, but never for long. Just long enough to hook a slew of potential investors in and turn a profit for them before all shit hits the fan. Before Czerka loses any money, they're outta there! And where does that leave the outpost? They've already sucked all business away from the local economy, and assuming they haven't all closed shop, none of the ones left are in any state to keep going. How does he expect such a business relationship to profit us if he expects the Exchange to have a presence here long-term? Pfft, forget about it!"
Luxa threw up her hands, nearly upending her drink. Clearly tipsy, Luxa's entire mood changed as she chuckled at herself, lightly slapping the shoulder of her dress before turning to Eden again with a serious stare.
"Seriously though, Czerka ain't worth it. Mark my words. Czerka could care less if the planet below us lives or dies. They just want to mine it for resources and move on in five years, tops. As much as these monks wouldn't like the express support of the Exchange, I think it makes far more sense to back these Ithorian environmentalists than those Czerka jackoffs. At least there's a future there. I mean, if the Exchange wants to turn a profit here, there should be a planet to do business on, doncha think?"
Eden could only nod, only now just taking another sip of her second drink and feeling the weight of it in full. But it was nice.
"Anyway, sorry to talk your ear off about all this," Luxa sighed and laughed at herself again. "But you can probably see why I'm so interested in the likes of someone like you, no?"
Eden furrowed her brow, smirking as she considered Luxa in this slightly-vulnerable state. She could never envision herself dressing like the woman, but she carried herself in a way that still made Eden envious. Luxa knew who she was, what she was about. Eden was still trying to figure that out, lipstick shade notwithstanding.
"Trusting that a Jedi would help a crime lord is a stretch," Eden offered as she took another half-sip. "Anyone would tell you to just take the money and run."
At this, Eden glanced towards Atton again to find the man already looking at her. Startled for a second as Luxa laughed beside her, hopefully not noticing this little exchange, Atton held her attention as if to silently ask - You doing okay?
Eden paused, considering him as he similarly stole a moment away from whatever conversation he was playing party to across the room to check in on her. She wanted to smile, comforted by the thought, but didn't. Instead she only nodded, waiting for Atton to do the same before turning back to Luxa.
Definitely a little drunk and all the more comfortable for it, Luxa was still stifling a lazy laugh when their eyes met again. Her pink irises glistened, glass-eyed as she surveyed Eden while she formulated a response in her head.
"Something like that," Luxa said, biting her lower lip. "Maybe after a tumble or two, if you were willing. But no."
Now Eden truly reddened. She buried her face deep into her glass as she downed the remainder of her cup, avoiding having to respond while Luxa only laughed again.
"But no, I see other uses for you. Uses I would never consider were you not in the current predicament you see yourself in now."
Luxa gestured to the whole of Eden with her now-empty glass, her hand swaying unsteadily as her vocabulary somehow strengthened the drunker she got.
"And what situation is that?" Eden asked. She already knew the answer but thought she would play along anyway.
"Sith are apex predators, but Jedi are still the Big Guys on Top. If apex predators could be benevolent I guess, right? Gods almost? Almighty, powerful, but civil servants nonetheless. Normally, Exchange folk such as myself would see you as an enemy. You're trying to keep the peace, clean the streets. But the Jedi are in no position to pick and choose right now, right? They're being killed off left and right, whether by the Sith or anyone looking to cash in on that bounty like you said. But me? I'm thinking long game here, sister. You're in no position to bargain, but you want to keep your life right? So, the way I see it is, you do me a favor and I do you a favor. See? You help me secure power here, set Citadel Station straight and keep these long-headed slugs alive long enough to heal this planet or whatever so long as I have a place here. And then in return, I help you get out of here, fully equipped and with the Exchange off your backs where I can afford it. Even if you were to leave the station today, where would you go that you're not hunted down, right?"
Eden couldn't argue with that. Luxa's rose-colored eyes only grew glossier with insobriety with each passing moment, but everything that escaped her mouth made sense. Eden didn't like crime, but she also couldn't find it in herself to care enough to want to eliminate the Exchange presence here, either. Whether it was apathy or a simple lack of energy, a legion of Sith being enough already to deal with, the idea of guaranteeing the Ithorians protection by any means felt like a step in the right direction. Not the best direction, but one better than the alternative…
Finally giving her new visage an honest once-over, Eden also gave Luxa's proposal an honest consideration.
She'd never considered her appearance this much as a Jedi. Not to say that she wasn't concerned with appearances at all back then - while she may not have cared how she wore her hair or what color her robes were, her attention had always been focused on outperforming anywhere she could in a way that would overshadow her Force bond abilities. It was why she was so intent on being the fittest fighter of Kavar's students, and why she was so pleased with herself when Alek finally took notice of her prowess.
Eden had thought of Revan often as she roamed the Outer Rim in exile, forced to come up with new looks and often thinking of Revan's flair for the dramatic when dreaming up yet another persona. She'd borrowed things here and there: lining her eyes with dark ochre on Nal Hutta, or donning all manner of dark colors while on Corellia. It wouldn't have been beyond Revan to don a dark purple as Eden was now, and when she turned her head just-so, she swore she even looked a little bit like her…
"Sleep on it," Luxa said eventually, bringing Eden back out of her thoughts and into the present with a charming, if not slightly drunken, smile. Even if Eden were to take the woman at her word and strike a deal, it would be a miracle if she managed to get the Ithorians to agree to it at all. "For now, let's celebrate. Shall we?"
Eden was still undecided, but her answer wasn't an obvious no.
At least, not yet.
"Sure," Eden shrugged. "Why not?"
3951 BBY, Malachor V, Trayus Academy
Sion
He was beginning to wonder why he hadn't paid attention to her the first time he saw her.
The Jedi Exile had been in the same room as him when he'd awoken aboard the Harbinger, and again when he stared Kreia down in the dormitory hallway. And yet both times, his focus was on everything but her - the medics milling about the Harbinger infirmary, Kreia's steely stare as she met his dead gaze… even the man that pulled a blaster at his old master's side was more of a distraction than the woman standing just behind them. The reason why Sion was even here. Kreia's very reason for abandoning both the Jedi Order and the Sith Triumvirate she would later come to found.
Eden Valen was both a portent of death as well as a keeper of it. Both espousing it and housing it within her like a vault. Sion wondered if the reason Nihilus refused to seek her out was one of jealousy, envious that she could rein in her wound and suppress its hunger, allowing it to starve instead of satiating its gaping need. But Sion knew better than to think such things in his friend's presence. Not that Sion could call Nihilus a friend but he was at least a man Sion had no intention of killing. At least not yet. Not that he knew how…
"Have you found anything?" Sion asked immediately upon exiting his shuttle. "Any word of the Jedi Exile?"
His two attendants trailed him as usual, but it was the acolytes that served Nihilus' apprentice that Sion spoke to now. Both awaited him at the entrance to the Trayus Academy, a place Sion no longer wished to acknowledge the name of. The first of the two attendants bowed their heads yes while the other one spoke.
"Yes, milord," the Twi'lek Mellric uttered. "Our Master had much information on her."
"She has traveled across the Outer Rim," the Mirialan Uruba added. "But she has most vitally fought in the battles in the Inner Rim and Expansion Region: Serroco, Dagary Minor…"
"Send the full report to my quarters," Sion ordered, walking clear past both Mellric and Uruba as the two scurried to keep pace with him, trailing behind his two usual nameless attendants. "Is there anything other than her wanderings that I should be aware of?"
"No sir," they said in unison.
Sion stopped and turned on his heel, his attendants mirroring his movements as he stared down the two acolytes. Without missing a beat, both Mellric and Uruba bowed their heads, avoiding Sion's gaze entirely.
"Not much is known about General Valen, otherwise, milord," Uruba added, her head still lowered. "But we have collected everything we found of import."
"Good," he commended, pleased with their response and trusting in it fully. He could sense each of their hearts beating in their respective chests, slightly elevated but steady nonetheless. No lies, he detected. Erebus keeps his lessers well.
"I will retreat to my chambers but I expect you to deliver anything else worthy of my attention immediately," Sion ordered. Mellric and Uruba simply bowed even lower.
"Yessir," they said in unison.
Sion nodded and walked on, watching from his peripherals as both acolytes stalled at the door Sion passed through before continuing onto his chambers. He resided well beyond this point but was glad that Erebus' assistants knew not to follow him once he crossed the threshold of the Academy that split the structure into three parts. His personal attendants continued to keep pace at his side, but Sion still watched as Mellric and Uruba disappeared from view from the corner of his eye.
In the chambers beyond, Nihilus held reign. The man had not stepped foot inside since he last had a body to inhabit. The last time Nihilus stepped foot on Malachor, he was still haunting Darth Anhur's corpse. Once Anhur's body decomposed completely, his remains were left on display in the inner chamber and only his stolen apprentice Erebus made use of those rooms. The space further beyond that had once belonged to Traya, but those rooms had not been explored since she was banished from this moon. Sion relished in the idea of how much dust gathered there now, though he knew he should pilfer her quarters for anything useful before anyone else did…
But before Sion could plot out any master plan, he paused. Upon entering his chambers he saw it. It being a demure box placed in the exact center of his meditation space. Both of his attendants stopped in their tracks at his side, sputtering.
"I do not know what this is, Master, I-"
"I can examine it, Master, before you-"
"No need," Sion ordered, holding up a hand. Both attendants paused at the door, frozen, as Sion stepped further into the room. He closed his eyes, reading the energies of the space. Nothing.
Just like the Dxun moon.
Frustration mounting in his chest, Sion opened his eyes just as he came upon the box. It was small but not insignificant. Plasteel, as most things were, but suspicious.
"Be ready for anything," he warned his attendants. Once his voice echoed throughout the room, he heard each of their sabers ignite, setting the room in a volcanic glow. Then he opened the box.
At first, he saw nothing. And endless dark greeting him from the opening as if in jest. But then his eyes adjusted to the light, and that's when he saw it. Something glowed from within the box and held his attention in full.
It was dark yet bright, and crystalline. Rough yet perfect.
Inside there was a dark crystal. Dark like space, yet also glittering. A multitude of stars in miniature.
Sion's eyes went wide and his skin set with goosebumps. Something he hadn't felt in ages. Not since he died the first time, his flesh yet unmarked.
It's beautiful, he thought errantly, the idea coming to him unbidden. Just like her.
Just like her, the notion echoed. Her being the Exile.
Sion froze. Every inch of him felt cold at the realization, the crystal formation still inches from his grasp. He paused, fingers still reaching for the thing, his palm aching to hold it - to feel the weight of it in his hands.
It was beautiful, yes. And terrible. Terrifying.
Just as Traya had been and the woman she became, as well as the woman she now followed. The woman Sion, in that moment, dedicated his very life to.
Mark my words, she will die by my hand and no one else's, he vowed silently to the universe before finally reaching for the glowing stone. When his palms closed around it, he felt endless warmth. A soothing comfort he hadn't felt since he was a babe cradled in his mother's arms.
His hand retracted, recoiling as if from an open flame. The crystal plinked as it tumbled back into the depths of the box, almost disappearing into its impenetrable darkness before it twinkled back up at him, like a miniature window into the galaxy peeking up at him from inside. He edged closer, peering over the edge of the plasteel until the stone was just barely visible. As if looking at it head on was the same as looking at a sun star dead-on, dangerous and sure to blind you.
Beautiful, yes. And terrifying.
3951 BBY, Telos IV, Citadel Station, Entertainment Module
Atton
"And that should do it," Eden said, slapping her legs before standing upright again, the length of her arms now covered in machine grease. "He should be wiped clean now, at least of any Czerka malware. I modified the chassis so it should alert you the moment anyone even thinks of getting into the deeper hardware. That way you're already ahead of the game should this ever happen again."
Eden was donning yet another new look as Atton stood dumbly beside her, now also sporting new gear that set him apart from what he was last seen wearing while also offering him optimal protection should they be attacked. Again. The memory of the Peragus mess hall exploding was an unfortunately fresh memory in his mind, but despite missing the weight of his usual jacket… vest… thing… he was at least comfortable knowing he was less likely to die via blaster or frag grenade anytime soon.
Moza and Chodo Habat looked on Eden with great interest, watching on with wide eyes from the depths of their office-turned-rainforest, a look of mixed concern and appreciation painting both of their faces.
"That is certainly good news," a woman standing before Atton stated proudly after Habat uttered what he could only assume was the very same. Once the Ithorians realized that Atton didn't speak a lick of Ithorese, Moza insisted that they pause their meeting until they found the appropriate translator on Atton's behalf despite his many, many polite protests. Now, he simply nodded awkwardly along as the conversation drawled on at a much slower pace than it had to. "Was Czerka able to obtain any information? Is that something you can discern?"
Eden shook her head, raking a hand through her hair in a way Atton was not expecting to arouse him as much as it did. He redirected his attention forward again, finding the uncomfortable eye contact with his personal interpreter enough to calm him down though he still managed to go red in the face. The woman only smiled at him, sickeningly sweet and painfully polite. Atton smiled back but imagined the view of his face was less than reassuring for his unfortunate translation companion.
"It's hard to say," Eden continued. That's what she said, Atton's internal dialogue added before he winced, pursing his lips before he could inwardly berate his brain for misbehaving. His personal translator's smile began to wane. "You were right to think the droid had been tampered with, but it's hard to tell just what Czerka was able to tap into, if anything. All I can do is assure that it won't happen again."
"Much appreciated," Moza said this time, though his words were translated in the same sing-song voice of Atton's interpreter.
"Indeed, thank you," Habat added. "Though we must ask what you were doing with the woman called Luxa. We have been made to believe that she works for the Exchange."
Moza nodded in agreement, both men looking at Eden awaiting an answer as Atton swatted a buzzing something away from his ear. Translator notwithstanding, it was hard to get a good reading on anything happening in these rooms. Atton had foregone counting in his head in order to get a proper feel for the place, finding himself distracted by the transplanted fauna meant to keep the flora alive here until the Ithorians could properly utilize it on the planet below. He should have been used to it, the sound of forest and mountainside not entirely foreign to him, but his childhood hovel was still a stretch from the rainforest they were knee-deep in now.
"She does," Eden said, shifting her weight from foot-to-foot as her previous bout of mechanical confidence waned, "And while I haven't made a pact with her or anything, she is responsible for getting us out of the docking module unscathed."
"Most interesting," Chodo Habat mused, exchanging a glance with Moza. "While I am indeed curious as to why that is, I am more concerned with protecting our assets. From what I understand, Czerka has employed Exchange muscle in the past to exact deals and to communicate threats, as they seem to have done at the docking module. Why this woman chose to align herself with you, I do not know, though I am suspicious nonetheless."
Atton tried not to stare at his interpreter too intently, though he was afraid to not look at her at all, as she so graciously translated every word and even bothered to imply intonation even though it was the only part of Habat's response that he could figure out on his own.
"In any case, we owe you thanks," Habat continued. "My offer from before still stands, though I would imagine you might wish to come alone for such a ritual."
Both Habat and Moza turned their gaze to Atton, who now floundered under the watchful eye of both Ithorians and the translator that still looked at him expectantly as she relayed the message.
"Oh, me?" he said, flustered. "I can just, leave-"
"No need," Habat said. "We will conclude this business at a later date."
And with that, both Ithorians bowed their heads, as did Atton's translator. Leaving both Atton and Eden to turn to each other awkwardly, confused, before realizing this was their cue to leave.
Within the span of seconds, they were both ushered back out of the forest and onto the bustling thoroughfare of Citadel Station. And for the first time in his life, Atton was sorry to see the foliage make way for metal, plasteel, and neon lights.
"Well that felt unceremonious," Atton quipped once he and Eden had fallen into step again as they began to keep up with the foot traffic. "What the hell was that about?"
"I don't blame them," Eden muttered. "They're right. I mean, I see Luxa's point, but she could very well be lying to us."
She is most definitely lying to us, Atton thought sourly before Eden went on. If not all of it, at least about something.
"And even if she were telling the truth, even if she were the Ithorian's best bet at staying afloat on this makeshift rock, I just don't think they'd accept it," Eden sucked on her teeth, pausing for a moment amidst the crowd and sending Atton skittering alone into traffic. "Shit, sorry."
"Stop saying that!" he hissed, catching up with her again and nearly grabbing her arm. Before thinking the better of it, instead admiring the droid oil still coating her elbows, he paused, hands poised as if she were a bomb about to go off at any moment. And maybe she was. "There's nothing to be sorry about. You're doing these guys a favor, right? Whether they like it or not, they need some kind of extended protection from Czerka. You're not planning on sticking around forever."
Eden sighed.
"Ugh, Kreia was right."
Now that Atton hated hearing more than about how endlessly sorry Eden was about everything.
"No," he whispered. "Kreia doesn't know jack shit."
At this, Atton truly paused and grabbed hold of Eden's wrist, this time careful as he did so. The woman looked up at him, eyes wide, moreso with surprise than anything else to both his satisfaction and his dismay.
"Kreia doesn't want any part of this so she doesn't count," Atton continued, "What do you think is best here?"
Despite his frustration, Eden seemed to calm down as she considered his words.
"As bad as it sounds, I think-?"
Just as Eden was about to make some headway, a passerby walked into her at full-force, sending her back a step.
"Hey!" Atton shouted, beginning to stride towards their unwelcomed interloper before it was Eden's turn to settle him down, turning his grip on her wrist back on him until the soft pads of her fingers pressed his pulse at the base of his palm.
"Don't bother, it's not worth it," Eden muttered, shaking her head. Eden let go of him and Atton's wrist felt cold in the wake of her releasing grip. As if surprised, he glanced down at his hand, admiring the place where the machine grease had transferred from her skin. "C'mon, let's just-"
"Excuse me miss, you seem to have dropped this."
A Trandoshan passed, almost as uncomfortably close for comfort as the first uncivil civilian to brush past them, and pressed something unseen into Eden's other hand.
"But I didn't-?" Eden stopped mid-word and stared at Atton before turning to look back at the Trandoshan. Atton looked along with her, only to find that the Trandoshan was gone entirely.
"What is it?" Atton asked, his voice a rapt whisper.
Eden looked up at him wide-eyed, both confused and suspicious, before she did as he asked. Similarly curious, Eden unfolded her closed hand between them to reveal a single Republic coin. Glinting gold inlaid with a coaxium disc in its center, it was unmistakable.
"That's ten thousand credits," Atton whispered, drawing Eden closer lest any other passersby see the sheer amount of life-changing money she held in her hand. If it weren't for the strangeness of the situation, Atton might have felt as if he were crossing a boundary. While some deeper part of him relished in the closeness, he knew it was for his own benefit as well as Eden's that they remain unnoticed if possible before getting the hell out of there.
"What?!" Eden hissed, shock coloring her face as she glanced at her open palm before closing it shut and stuffing the credit deep in her pocket. "We need to get out of here, I don't like this."
To Atton's surprise, Eden clung further to him in response. They glanced at one another, unused to standing this close, before they both stood back-to-back in order to get a better look at their surroundings.
"Kinda funny how in sync we are," Atton said, knowing that his words would have otherwise sounded flirtatious if it weren't for the urgent undertone that canceled the feeling out, even if the sentiment were true. He felt Eden nod at his back.
"Funny is one way of putting it," Eden said with a half-laugh, the concern still clear in her voice. "Look, over there. I think she's trying to wave us down."
Eden nudged Atton and gestured her head across the causeway. Standing against the far wall, just at the mouth of the entrance to the next residential module, stood a Czerka rep clear as day. Clad in company colors, the woman also sported a smart blazer, dangly diamond earrings, and a set of stilettos that Atton was sure could double as a murder weapon.
"We should get back to the apartment," Atton said, watching the woman all the while as he took hold of Eden's hand again to lead her in the opposite direction. Only instead of walking calmly backwards and back to safety, Atton led them both to a dead end. Over his shoulder stood a Czerka merc, also clad in company colors but sporting a very obvious blaster rifle at his hip. Eden nearly walked into him as well, about to sputter some excuse before the man opened his mouth.
"Jana Lorso would like to speak with you," he said calmly, nudging them back towards the woman against the far wall, indicating that there was no choice in the matter. "If you'll kindly come this way."
Without another word, they did as they were told. The woman that watched on joined as they approached, forming a flank on either side of them, barring any escape just as Atton sensed more Czerka lackeys join the herd. Atton and Eden exchanged glances once more before they were shepherded by the merc and the corpo into the residential module beyond.
I have a bad feeling about this, Atton thought. He glanced at Eden one more time to find her gaze already on him.
Me too, Eden's eyes said, before she looked forward with purpose to see wherever the hell this would land them next.