Kar frowned, his fingers digging in slightly to the soil of Yavin IV. He was surrounded by flora and various fauna indigenous to the jungle moon. Some were peaceful, others less so. The hill he rested upon was one of the many he'd found, covered by overgrown grass that stretched up to Kar's ankles. It tickled his bare toes in a slightly uncomfortable fashion that reminded him of Mat-neema...where there was grass, of course. The empire had made the planet into an industrial center, durasteel being crafted into new fortifications or weapons for their ever growing military. The sky of Yavin IV was a calming blue, something Mat-neema lacked. It originally had one, of course, why would of his colonist ancestors come if it didn't? Now it was a permanent dingy gray that spoke volumes of the planet itself.

Kar shook his head, the memories of his now-deceased siblings being stopped before they could torment him. Kar's knees were bent, the joints pointed to the sky, covered from the elements, unlike his feet. A gentle breeze caressed his toes, bringing a small, thin smile to his lips. The thoughts of the young man did, as they were prone to these days, to the abandoned CIS he 'found'. The mission had been given the go ahead, with the crew of a ship named the Ghost having been chosen. Kar had heard rumors that a jedi resided on that ship, but didn't believe nor cared overmuch if one did.

He honestly wanted this rebellion to end.

Not that he wasn't devoted to the cause, he certainly was. But his cell had been all but annihilated. Out of the once two or three thousand strong cell, two remained. One pilot and a single intelligence officer.

"Kar? It's nearly dark - you know what happens after dark in this place." Kar's smile widened in spite of himself. He and the pilot had grown closer in the week since they'd arrived on Yavin IV - Kar guessed being the last survivors of a group might do that to two people. Still, having somebody -anybody - could empathise helped him overcome the loss of his unit. Rising, Kar turned to face the pilot, a small, stupid grin across his features.

Ezra fidgeted, squirming to get comfortable against the durasteel casing of one of the many nondescript crates currently residing in the cargo bay of Ghost. Vague thoughts, few pertinent to his task, passed through his mind. His breathing slowed to a comfortable pace, in moments the teen's eyelids began to take on a strange heaviness…

A gentle breeze caressed the side of Ezra's face, waking him. His neck and spine screamed in protest, but he rose despite. His gaze roamed where he was; or where he wasn't, in a sense. The blackness of space surrounded him; it was his sky, his walls, the floor under his feet. Stars, static in their movements, blinked before his vision. Ezra felt a definite sense of peace here, something that was a rare commodity in his life. His footsteps were soundless, carrying a suspicious lack of weight in their impacts. He realized quickly that he wasn't wearing his jumpsuit - instead the clothing of a mourner. Ezra felt a small twinge of unease

The scene shifted.

Now under his feet was flat, depressing permacrete. Stains of which he didn't want to know the origin of pockmarked the permacrete. Around him were buildings with similarly disposed foundations; windows were boarded, blinds were shut, and even doors missing in the homes. The sky above him was an oblivious blue, and he was alone. No rodents scurried about - not even stray animals prowled. Ezra quickly realised exactly where he was: a slum.

Streets like this had dominated his life for years, the alleyways provided places of incremental rest; streets like this were where he had lived; streets like this where were his childlike optimism died. The seen shifted once more.

Now the oppressive and brutal surface and sun of Malachor filled his vision. The ground beneath his feet was thousand-year scorched stone, the hills of the most telling bedrock rose and plateaued carrying a strange beauty all their own. This was where his recent problems spawned from; where Kanan was blinded and Ahsoka died; where the Ezra that first boarded the Ghost became a memory.

"It doesn't have to be that way, you know," Ezra spun, catlike reflexes honed over years of street-dwelling being the catalyst. Before him was another Ezra.

This Ezra had a similar stature to himself; powerful, wiry muscles making a frame that was deceptively scrawny. His eyes were the same azure as his own, except they carried a playfulness his had lost. His hair was in the same faux-shaggy style he'd had for the better part of fifteen years. This Ezra was smiling sadly.

"It doesn't have to be this way," It repeated, and with a small wave of their arm, the scene shifted.

The scene with the stormtrooper made Ezra cringe. The blade held in his memory's hand dipped. it raised after a moment and briefly illuminated his face; his eyes were looked golden. Ezra nearly gagged, his jaw feeling loose. The other Ezra still held the same, saddened smile and said,

"It never had to be this way." it stated, before fading into the background. Ezra was speechless.

Ezra's eyes snapped open; he immediately noted the sweat that had pooled in his palms and in his armpits.

"Well that was quite the dream, wasn't it?" Ezra's frame jumped and he hissed:

"What the hell, Maul?!" Zeb glanced over at the statement, before his gaze dropped once more to his work.
"Ahh...so the lasat has noticed. Who else? Besides the mandalorian, of course?" Maul drawled from the end of their bond. Ezra rose from is sitting position, deciding to make a beeline for the his cot. A small chuckle of amusement came from Maul's end. Ezra ignored it, instead approaching his duffle bag and plunging his hand into it. He eventually grasped the items he'd searched for: his lightsaber and the sith holocron.

Setting the sith artifact on the floor, Ezra ignited the saber and raised it. The thought of what he was going to do passed so swiftly Maul couldn't react properly. Before Maul could do anything, Ezra brought the blade down, slicing the holocron in half. Ezra screamed in agony shortly afterwards.

Maul clenched his teeth, sending waves of pain from his training under Sidious at the boy. The boy immediately caved, his scream bringing Maul small satisfaction. The nerve he had! That was possibly the only sith artifact Maul had easy access to. Now it was gone. The boy would pay. Maul guaranteed him that.

Ezra screamed, pain unlike any he'd felt stabbing at him from all directions. It was akin to scalding knives driving into his body - it made him want to die. It was all-consuming, all encompassing. His mind itself was aflame. His bones seemed to be breaking simultaneously. Maul wasn't done with him yet.

After the pain subsided, freezing cold attacked him from all sides. Ezra felt his hands go numb within seconds. Then he felt the familiar emptiness in his throat as it began to contract itself.

"No rash moves, apprentice."

AN: I love writing Maul! He's so much fun! He's such an enigma! We're closing in on the final chapters for this story, so enjoy the intermediary fluff while it last! Also, in response to Unfathomable Fandom's question: No. These aren't pre-written; I just have way too much free time for the moment. ;D Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted - Raging Celiac