Chapter Twenty-Three: Hold On

-x-x-x-x-x-

Hold on
Hold on to yourself
For this is gonna hurt like hell
Hold on
Hold on to yourself
You know that only time will tell
What is it in me that refuses to believe
This isn't easier than the real thing
My love
You know that you're my best friend
You know I'd do anything for you
My love
Let nothing come between us
My love for you is strong and true

Am I in heaven here or am I...
At the crossroads I am standing
So now you're sleeping peaceful
I lie awake and pray
That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll
See another day and we will praise it
And love the light that brings a smile
Across your face

"Hold On" by Sarah McLachlan

-x-x-x-x-x-

The pain had knocked her to the ground; the grief screamed in her ears.

She was—

Empty. Overflowing. Shrieking. Exploding.

Lost.

Daddy—Daddy is…

Shh, quiet. Don't think it, don't think, don't. Everything is fine, everything will be okay—he promised. He promised.

A storm raged around her—the worst she'd ever seen, one she had conjured herself. Lightning struck near, and thunder rumbled even louder than her heart's screams.

Good—good, then. Be lost in the storm, not the grief, because it can't be true. Can't be true, never was, never will be; he's still here, still—not dead. Just a nightmare; wake up and

(no, don't)

see it's not real

(it is)

and stop.

(She'll never stop.)

The lupine-wind howled as the sleet knifed through her clothes, until the blood pounded against her skin, pounded raw near-to-bleeding.

Then she heard the sobbing—hopeless, gut-wrenching, everything-is-desolate sobbing.

Shh…. Quiet. Nothing happened, there's no reason to cry.

She wiped her eyes viciously, only just remembering to close them first. She held her breath, trying to stop her shoulders from shaking, and her chest from heaving in silent sobs.

Silent.

She released the breath she had been holding as she realized—

She was not the one whose sobbing could be heard over the storm. She still had—

(not Daddy)

—Devnos and Clayra and the stories. But the one crying…had nothing.

Slowly, she made her legs hold her, and she then stood. She could do this—

(because nothing's wrong, nothing)

—she could find the other person. That, at least, she could still do.

Lightning struck around her—beside her, just behind her. Thunder rolled and rumbled over her head, and she felt its echo in the ground. Blinding and stinging, the rain cascaded from the sky as she stepped through puddles. She stumbled but she did not falter. Storms were her specialty.

(I chose your name: Sanar. Storm-fighter. Your mother said it was only luck, but I knew. I always knew.)

She found them at last, a huddled mass of guilt and grief and desperation. The rain (tears) had soaked them to the bone; she wondered if they would ever dry.

The thunder grew louder; the lightning at her feet more malicious; and then both receded until only the rain and the other's sobs broke the quiet.

She approached the being carefully. It struck her, suddenly, that he might not want her present as he grieved. Had she not spurned Devnos' attempts to hold her, his reassurances that somehow—somehow—they'd make it, and he'd never let anything bad happen to her? Had she not run when Uncle Iplan tried to comfort her with Mujir's teachings of Heaven?

(But that was different, wasn't it? Because—because it wasn't true. It was a trick, and anytime now Daddy would jump out and—)

At war with herself—

(No, this was right)

—she did not decrease the distance between them. Just as she was about to turn away, though, the other suddenly looked up, and she was lost.

(Forever, you and I.

Lost.

Always.)

Her companion in the storm was a—

(dark man, sad man)

—boy, not much older than her brother. But his eyes were old—desecrated. Raped of the last shreds of innocence, and spiralling into his own Darkness.

"Please," he whispered. Begged. "Please."

Two steps brought her to him, and she crouched next to him. "Hush," she replied. Very gently—

(someday, Sanar, you will be a lady. someday, you must be soft

mama, you don't know how I can be)

—she pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. "Always," she vowed.

For a second, she saw him; for an eternity, she found the one for whom she would wait a lifetime.

There would never be another—none true.

But she would not recall his face in the morning, and she would never remember his name. Not even when she, herself, spoke it in the most loving—the most desperate—of prayers.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sanar couldn't stop rubber-necking it. She tried to stop, and it was a valiant effort, but it never lasted.

She was walking through the halls of an abbey—perhaps the only remaining abbey dedicated to Mujir on NLY. And it wasn't abandoned or pillaged; tapestries hung from the walls, and the way was brightly lit with fire—candles and blazing hearths.

Dejah led them, but kept mostly silent. Upon descending into the underground abbey, she had ordered the other women to complete various tasks. The words were Na'Lein, but twisted just slightly, and Sanar had had to focus to understand them. Something about rooms, clothes, and—thank Mujir—food. She had not, however, spoken to the ones who followed her, nor had she answered their questions.

"Dejah," Sanar now tried again, "where are you taking us?"

Dejah glanced at Sanar over her shoulder, but did not stop. "You will see soon enough."

Sanar rolled her eyes—that probably meant they were going to be stuck in rooms. Which, granted, everyone else seemed impatient to use for some much-needed sleep. Gantik was practically carrying Clayra (who, Sanar noticed, was not asleep, despite her pretence); Braun looked ready to collapse. Even Krista and Miko—both trained to conserve their energy for long periods of time until they could grab a quick nap—were leaning into each other with drooping eyes.

Kyp picked up on her impatience and stepped closer to Sanar. "We'll wrangle explanations out of them tomorrow," he quietly assured her. "We have time."

She glanced up at him irritably. "More waiting on top of a lifetime spent thinking this was all a—a bedtime story. Something long dead. This is—it's more than I ever hoped to find here…and I'm being shown the sleeping quarters."

She knew without looking that Kyp was smirking at her. "Life sucks sometimes, doesn't it?" he sympathized. His voice sounded ironic.

The petite woman snorted. "Sometimes," she agreed sarcastically.

As they rounded a corner, Dejah spoke. "Niha will meet with you in the morning. Until then," she gestured about her, "you may occupy the rooms down this corridor. Food will be brought along shortly." Without further ado, Dejah turned on her heel and disappeared around the bend.

"I'm trying to decide which sounds better right now," Miko mused out loud. "Food or sleep?"

Krista snorted. "I think you mean—food or a shower? If this place has hot water, I am so converting to…Mujir-ism."

Sanar didn't bother to correct the younger girl on the name of her father's faith, but she did say, "That might require a sacrifice, Kris. What if they ask you to give up boys?"

Krista caught on quickly. In mock-horror, her hands rose to her cheeks, and her jaw dropped. "But, Sanar! Boys? How cruel!" She grinned impishly. "No wonder Dejah was so snippy."

Braun shook his head despairingly. "And the exhaustion has set in. I'll turn in now, before you start cackling madly."

"'Night, Braun," Krista responded quickly before continuing. "So, what's up with Dejah, do you think? How much longer before she explodes from the frustration?"

"Dejah's a fighter," Sanar explained, remembering the woman's tightly-controlled demeanour. "Not a spiritual follower of this abbey. She's used to a lot more action than she's probably getting here. And, Kris—I used to be part of Mujir's Resistance, if that tells you anything about their views on men. Most of the females prefer being 'frustrated' to the alternative."

"Force, what a planet," the blond girl muttered with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever you do, do not mention such creatures to my brothers. They'll think it's possible to change me."

Ignoring Krista, Gantik said, "That's quite the understatement you made, Sanar." He sounded amused.

"I hardly think you're a good judge of that," Sanar drawled, setting her expression as insincerely wide-eyed. "MR fighters can smell a rat faster than even I could. No doubt they know better than to ever let down their guard around you."

Gantik's smile became strained, but just as quickly transformed into one slightly mocking. "I suppose you'd know."

Before she—or Kyp, who looked surlier than ever—could reply, Gantik shifted his hold on Clayra. "I think we'll follow Braun's example. Goodnight—Kyp, Reglia, Kris." He met Sanar's eyes over her sister's curled form. He winked. "Ice princess."

Once the door shut behind the Whilems, Miko said, "You know he's just doing it to prove he can still affect you."

"I know," Sanar acknowledged through clenched teeth. "Unfortunately—" She stopped. "Leave your doors open if you want food. I'll see you all in the morning."

Kyp watched her carefully while she stomped through the door to the left of the one Gantik had claimed. It could have been simply exhaustion—they had, after all, barely rested since the fight with the Holy Brothers—but she seemed a touch off. No doubt, it was a lingering effect of her earlier, small breakdown.

When Sanar had disappeared, Kyp turned to Miko. "It'll probably be an early morning," he told his once-apprentice. "Don't do anything I wouldn't—" He paused, thought about what he was saying, and corrected his course. "Don't do any of the extreme or 'typically Durron' things I'd do."

As Kyp turned to claim the room next to Sanar's, he heard Krista giggle. "And don't make faces at me," the Kavishka added without looking back. "Your face is likely to get stuck that way."

Miko's mental reply was something along the lines of, Cool!

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Yours has two beds too, huh?"

Miko looked up at Krista with no surprise at her sudden appearance in "his" room. "I'm fairly certain they all do," he remarked. He looked down at the sturdy cot he was sitting on as he picked at his food. A young girl—perhaps thirteen—had dropped off a tray of it about ten minutes before Krista's arrival. "It's more economical."

As she sat down on the bed across from him, Krista slid his tray over to make room for her own. "Mind if I join you? Thanks. So, how does it feel?"

The former Dark Jedi had had years of practice following Krista's way of carrying and dismissing several topics in a moment. "Of course not. You're welcome. And…about what? The abbey? I'm really too tired to—"

"No, not the abbey." The blonde rolled her eyes dramatically. "About the fact that you're probably the first guy ever to sleep in this room."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Kris, I feel so lucky," he deadpanned. "Really, I do. You must know how it thrills me. Oh, how it fills me with male pride! My testosterone level is ricocheting to levels previously unseen."

She made a face at him, but the expression soon dissolved into giggles. "Not bad, Miko. Remember when you used to blush like crazy every time I brought up something…suggestive? You've come a long way."

"Well, that one was a really lame attempt on your part."

Krista laughed, then nearly fell face-first into her bowl of porridge. Miko reached across the space between "their" beds just in time to catch her shoulders. Carefully, he set his tray aside, and then moved to sit next to her.

"I am so tired," she muttered.

He smiled wanly, and rubbed her arm. "Well, then, finish your porridge if you can, and get to bed."

With a clatter, she dropped her spoon into her porridge. She stared at it for a long moment, then sighed and nudged the bowl away. "Force."

Miko's head shot up at her whimper. "Kris? What is it?"

"Can I stay here tonight?" she blurted out. With red-stained cheeks, she practically tripped over the words in her haste. "I—I mean, not…not here as in—as in, you know—but I mean, in the other bed. I just— Please?"

Miko blinked, checked her expression for any teasing, then frowned. "I—well, of course you can, but…why? What's wrong?"

"I-it's just…" And now she looked increasingly flustered and upset. "I—I don't…really like…staying in strange places anymore. Not alone. Not in the dark."

Miko glanced around, only now realizing that the bare, crisp room could resemble a cell. "Kris…." He took her hand in his.

"C'mon, Miko." She pulled her hand away quickly, and it fluttered awkwardly for a moment before she flipped her hair. Her hand dropped to clutch the other one tightly; her knuckles turned white. "Don't look at me like that. You know I just want to paint your nails, and gab about guys until the sun comes up."

But despite her abrupt half-recovery, Krista was subdued when they turned in for the night. She almost huddled under the blankets, and watched the small fireplace—lit only by the dying embers—with wide eyes. She waited until Miko had approached his bed—the one closest to the door, and he had noticed her careful switch of beds when he blew out the room's array of candles—before speaking. "Do they ever go away?" she asked very quietly.

He was silent for a moment as he slid under the covers. Nightmares. He wished, not for the first time, that he had discovered Krista's imprisonment earlier, that he'd worked quicker. The surveillance holo-images of Krista—bleeding, increasingly terrified and broken—still hung in his mind, ready to haunt him at any weak moment. If Miko, who had poured so much of himself into maintaining strict self-control, could not forget it, could Krista?

"Eventually," he finally answered. "Usually. There's always the odd one, but… Eventually."

"I hate this."

"I know."

"And I'm still mad at you for leaving."

Something about the sudden change of subject made him think, but Miko didn't let it show. "I did what I had to do," he said, slowly. Deliberately, he rolled onto his side to look at her.

"So are you just going to take off again when this is done?" Krista's voice sounded dull.

No. "I don't know. My only plans involve getting us out of this alive."

She snorted. "'This' is an approximately suicidal mission, or so I've heard. From the first member of the Prophecy Crew to die."

Miko's hands clenched in fists around his blanket. "Nothing is certain."

A few metres away, in her bed, Miko felt Krista's fear swell. Just as suddenly, she caught herself and hid behind her usual façade of bubbly, flaky acceptance that life was perfect for a beautiful person.

"I already know you, Kris." Miko hadn't meant to say this out loud. He didn't even know if she would accept it from him, after all this time. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Krista was very quiet for a long, long time, until Miko's eyes were drooping into sleep. Her blue eyes glimmered in the dying light. "I know."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Long after the fireplace had burned out, Miko woke to a figure standing over his bed. "Wha…huh?" he muttered in confusion.

"Miko?"

He sat up slowly, trying to make out the woman's voice. "Kris?" His voice was still rough from sleep, but he began to drag himself out of the fog. "Wh-what's wrong? Is something—"

He didn't get to finish, because Krista didn't wait for him to speak further. Instead, she crawled (raced) under his blankets and curled up against him. When her wet face pressed against his sleep shirt, Miko realized she had been crying.

Without a word, he lay back down on his side, and held her closer. A small voice whispered in his ear that this—this was an Important and Significant Step in a direction out of his dreams. He pushed aside the thrill for later.

Krista buried her face in his neck. Her fingers clung to his shirt, and everything about her—Force presence, tense muscles, and tear-stained cheeks—betrayed her need to hide. Inside of him, if Miko dared believe it.

At first she was quiet, still trying to maintain her mask and then—

"Force, Miko."

And then she broke out sobbing. It was the first time she had cried in years.

-x-x-x-x-x-

When Miko and Krista woke up in the morning, they were a slightly less than book-cover image mess. They were still entangled (if much more awkwardly, and far less glamorously, than the ideal position)—both in each other, and in the blanket.

After that, Krista stayed closer than ever to Miko. The anxiety caused by Sanar's earlier implications (prediction?) would soon hit harder than Krista had ever imagined it could. Even sooner, her heart would begin to betray her—to take refuge in someone other than her own safe self. While they were at the abbey, however, she began to travel down the road Miko had long been walking. And for once, Krista Harif did not watch for the signs that someone would leave her.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Part B:

-x-x-x-x-x-

Niha was an elderly woman with long, unfettered white-blond hair. Her skin was dark and greatly lined. And as to stereotype, she was dressed in flowing robes. As Sanar and her party approached the priestess, two women came to stand on either side of Niha's chair.

"Good morn," Niha began. Her voice was gravelly, but warm. "Did you sleep well?"

Krista and Miko exchanged a strange, furtive glance; their friends didn't notice.

"We slept fine," Sanar bit out impatiently.

Niha remained unperturbed. "Good. You will be safe here, for as long as you choose to stay. The emperor is not aware of our location, and we are protected by the Resistance, should the Jirs discover us."

"If that is so, then why did I never hear of you?" Sanar challenged, her dark eyes gleaming with interest.

"'Never'?" Niha repeated. "Not even a rumour?"

"Well, of course by rumour," Sanar snapped. Part of her was vaguely horrified by the way she was treating a Mirese priestess; most of her was too impatient to care. "Rumours can never be trusted."

"Were you never sent on unexplained missions?" Niha asked, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps to this region?"

The woman's gaze had become harder, more judgmental. Sanar felt her resolve quiver just a very little. "I—well, no," she stumbled. Frowning, she stubbornly re-gathered herself. "I was part of Horaire's household for over a decade. The Resistance had no desire to move me. I could not leave, so I did not try to convince them."

"Ah," Niha said, as if with sudden enlightenment. "So you are the girl who lost her temper and killed the High Priest Horaire."

Blanching, Sanar recoiled into Kyp. The Kavishka stood close behind her; at her reaction, he raised a protective (comforting) hand to her shoulder.

"That's enough," he snapped, green eyes flashing. Kyp didn't know many details about Sanar's life on NLY (though the situation in which she and Jaina had met gave him some clues), but Niha was clearly playing some kind of game, and Sanar was the one suffering for it. "Niha—"

The elderly woman turned a serene smile on him. "Call me 'Mother.' Everyone does."

Kyp's memories of his mother were nearly four decades old, and understandably faded with that time, but he doubted she had this kind of manipulative (necessarily cruel) cunning. "Mother," he corrected nonetheless. "If we are here only to be mocked, then we shall leave without delay."

Niha let her speculative gaze roam over him—they lingered on his hand, which still rested on Sanar's shoulder—before she nodded in approval. "I say what is needed, Kavishka."

"I really doubt that," Gantik—quiet until now—drawled. The menace in his voice, cold but hidden behind geniality, was unmistakable.

"Shut up, Gantik," Sanar snapped, not looking at him.

The dark man's jaw clenched as he shot his (lovehatelove) former friend a look. "Even I know that comment was—"

"Shut up."

Clayra frowned at her husband, who glowered alternately at Niha and Sanar. "My sister has a temper," she told Niha. At the others' stares, she scowled. "I don't believe the Resistance ever complained about Horaire's death, though," she added pointedly.

Niha, like so many others, ignored the youngest Klis. "If you cannot accept your past," she told Sanar, "you will never reach your future. And when the slightest mention of it can be relied upon to unbalance you, daughter of Jarran Klis, you will never be free. You shall never find what you are looking for."

Sanar's entire frame tensed against Kyp, and then she stepped away from him. "We are not here for the past, but for our planet's future," she said after a moment. It was clear to everyone how painstakingly she had chosen her words.

"I know."

The dark-haired woman paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you," she muttered. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "My brother long ago prophesized that Pucijir's Order would be destroyed by the Kavishka, a mythically chosen champion for Mujir. About four years ago, we discovered that Kyp is—"

"The Kavishka," Niha finished. "Well, of course. Who else?"

The Prophecy Crew stared at her. In her hiding spot, a young woman stifled her grin. Niha, herself, looked rather amused as she feigned surprise. "Well, of course I knew. We have been expecting this for some time now. Why, did Dejah not warn you?" For the first time since she had begun speaking, Niha's face showed some warmth. "Your brother may have been the Mother's messenger, Sanar Klis, and you may be beloved of your—your 'Strings,' you call them?—but I am my Mother's daughter. I see what is coming, and would heal and prepare you for it."

"Great." Everyone glanced over at Krista as the blonde deadpanned, "Our very own wise-woman to guide us through our dangerous quest. Give us a melodramatic love triangle, and we'll be right out of a bad novel."

Niha smiled. "Everything is."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Niha may insist that she knew all, but she apparently didn't see fit to let Sanar or Kyp in on Prophecy's secrets. She had changed the subject, without any subtlety, from why they were on NLY, to arrangements for supplies. Just as quickly, she had handed them over to a Mirese novice who dutifully showed them around the underground abbey.

The rest of the day had passed quietly. Braun had made himself scarce, but everyone had noticed the way he eyed the technology room. Sanar had little doubt he had gone to bury himself in gadgets until he could mourn his wife properly.

Clayra and Gantik had disappeared, leaving Sanar torn between trying to find and protect Clayra, and burying her head in the sand before she started bawling. It was never supposed to be like this.

Krista, Miko, Kyp and Sanar had stayed together—a certain flaxen and red-haired duo particularly so. Sanar and Kyp had watched in amusement as Miko and Krista had crammed themselves into the same armchair—apparently without even paying attention to the fact that they couldn't leave the other's side. The situation became only slightly less funny when Sanar realized that there was only one chair left in the room, and she would be expected to share it with Kyp.

The four of them had started out planning their next move, but conversation had eventually drifted into an area of less significant report.

Late into the night, Miko and Krista had left the large, warm meeting room together, and Kyp had left not long after them. Several hours later, however, Sanar was still there.

She had left once—very briefly—but found sleep impossible. The meeting room, large as it was, was now lit only by a few candles, whose luminance did not make it far past the pillars that made a cozy circle in the middle of the room. A conversation with Jaina had left her basically content—if more than a bit suspicious of Zekk and Perdita both—but, unfortunately, no sleepier. Apparently, some habits never died, especially on their planet of origin.

When she felt someone brush her mind with their own, Sanar jumped a little. It only took a second, though, for her to recognize the other as Kyp Durron. "Mujir," she said irritably. "Could you not do that?" She twisted in her chair to see him properly, and scowled.

Without any visible remorse or concern, Kyp grinned. "So sorry. Guess I'm just too sneaky for you to realize I'm around." As careless as a teenager, he sprawled in the other chair, across from her. "Don't worry—I won't tell anyone you're slipping."

"Force," she groaned. "What do you want?"

Kyp adopted a serene expression, which was belied only by his mischievous Force presence. "Galactic peace," he intoned angelically. "A little corner of the galaxy to call my own, and to start a little garden. The end of mortal suffer—"

Sanar managed—just barely—to keep from laughing. It would be just…wrong to laugh at one of Kyp Durron's jokes. "I meant, why are you here, at this time of night? And how can I get you to leave?"

"Oh, I'm afraid you're stuck with me," he replied, smirking. "Certainly, within this room. I've grown rather fond of it."

"Too bad," she said haughtily. "I already claimed it. Bye now."

He ignored her. "I wanted to ask you something. About—Zekk. Or, Onyx, at the time."

She blinked, surprised out of her campaign for solitude. "Zekk?" Did Durron want her to search through herJaina's memories? And what did he need to know about—

"You… Earlier, you said you've been in love with that one guy for…for years. You—well, you did mean years, didn't you?"

Sanar, who had initially tensed, slowly forced herself to relax. "I did, from the day after…" She swallowed. "Since I was thirteen. Na'Lein years, of course. Why? Are you cross-examining me, to figure out if I'm crazy? Because if that's your big plan, then you can just—"

"Of course not," he quickly interrupted, wincing. He needed to think about what he was saying before he spoke; thus far, his unfiltered thoughts were just making a mess of things. "I just—I was wondering—"

"Kriff, what, already?" Sanar demanded, when he didn't finish his stuttered sentence. "And since when do you have a problem with just blurting words out, anyway?"

"Fine," he snapped. Note to self, he silently grumbled. Being polite about one of Sanar clearly more vulnerable spots is not appreciated. "How could you love Onyx—of all people—when you've been in love with someone else since you were a kid?"

It was immediately apparent that the question had flustered Sanar. She flushed uncomfortably, and pulled her legs up onto her chair. "I wasn't in love-in love with him right away," she grumbled. "I-I mean—it took a few years."

"But Onyx?"

"I so get to ask you an uncomfortable question for this," the woman grumbled. Sighing, she drew her fingers through her hair. "I didn't—the whole…thing between me and Onyx—or Zekk, or whatever you want to call him…it wasn't real. And it definitely wasn't love."

"I never had reason to think otherwise," Kyp replied, a little too caustically. "But at the beginning, you thought…"

She heaved an aggravated sigh. "Fine. Yes. I thought—I thought something totally stupid. I was completely asinine, happy? You want it in blood? Tattooed to my forehead?"

"No, that wasn't what I—" Kyp cursed under his breath. Nothing ever came easy with Sanar. Not, he admitted, that he didn't generally prefer it that way, but it did make things…difficult. "Kriff it, Sanar, I didn't mean it that way, and you've got to know that by now. Everyone else does," he added under his breath. "I just…why? Why Onyx, even? Of all the guys you could have drifted for, why the one who—"

"At the time, I was blinded by my hormones?" Sanar wisecracked. At Kyp's irritated look, she deflated a little. "Look, I don't know, okay? I just…the first time I saw him, it was right after I—killed—" she swallowed. Niha's earlier words rang in her ears.

If you cannot accept your past, you will never reach your future. And when the slightest mention of it can be relied upon to unbalance you, daughter of Jarran Klis, you will never be free. You shall never find what you are looking for.

"I don't know why he was on NLY—maybe he was scouting us out for Imperial colonization—but he stopped my execution. And when I saw him—after—when they let me down from the platform—I just thought… 'That's him. That's him.'"

"'Him,'" Kyp repeated slowly. "You mean…you thought that…Onyx…was the man from your dreams."

Sanar shrugged, miserably embarrassed. "I don't even know why. When I wake up, I can never remember his name, or what he looks like. But something had me convinced that Onyx was the one I had been waiting for since…since everything just stopped. Ridiculous? Of course—one of the few things I'm relatively sure of is that he's older, not younger, than me."

Kyp had an unbidden, crazy thought. Before he could properly stifle it, his mind happily reminded his heart that—why, yes, he and Zekk did possess similar features and colouring. They shared a personal history marked by Darkness, and by similarly orphaned childhoods. But, unlike Zekk, Kyp was older than Sanar by a few years.

"I wonder," he said, his voice oddly choked, "how you got them mixed up."

"I'm screwed up?" she suggested mock-brightly. "I mean, you're right: of all the guys…I chose the love of my sister's life. Real cool."

"People do stupid things when they're desperate," he offered.

Sanar seemed to bite down firmly before she could make a retort—probably something about agreeing with her. "So did you get a satisfyingly uncomfortable answer for your awkward question?" she asked instead, her tone saccharine sweet.

"I didn't mean to discomfort you." But he couldn't quite wipe the (stupidly hopeful) smirk off his face.

Sanar must have seen it, because her eyes became more devious. "So," she purred. "I believe I get an awkward question now."

Kyp back-pedaled furiously; he could only imagine what kind of questions Sanar would ask. "Uh, no, you don't." Getting up from his chair, Kyp started to inch toward the exit. "So, I asked my question—I'm good to go—" But part of him didn't really want to leave, even to return to his room and wonder about what he had learned.

"Oh, no you don't. You know almost as much as I do about my love life. The least you could do is answer a few questions."

"A few?" he repeated, a thick eyebrow rising. "What happened to one?"

"You argued," she said briskly. "And you're a pain. And my—Jaina's memories offer more than enough blackmail material to warrant some serious begging on your part.

"So. How long have you known her?"

Resigned, Kyp returned to his seat. How long? "Years." More than a lifetime—literally, his second, and a part of his not-life.

"And I know her," Sanar thought out loud, "but it's not Cerasy or Krista, because you're not close with one of them, and the other is completely not your type."

She knew what wasn't his type? Kyp wondered. Did that mean something? Because he felt awfully…vindicated by that fact.

"Oh, Larifx." Sanar eyes went comically wide. "Oh…my…lafit kriffing son-of-a-sith—it's Jaina, isn't it? Larifx!"

Kyp mentally slammed his head against the wall. "No," he groaned. "Not Jaina."

Sanar took no notice of his pain. "Oh, please. Of course she is! Did it start after you came back from the dead? The two of you have been closer since then—but, well, you've always been close, so we all thought it was just—"

"Sanar! I am not in love with Jaina!" The words started off as a hiss, but ended in a near-yell.

Someday, his temper was going to get the better of him—again. Or killed. Again.

"I am not in love with Jaina Solo," he repeated, more gently this time, but just as firmly. "I don't know how that thought got into your pretty little head, but kindly show it the door right now."

Sanar scrutinized him carefully, as if she thought he was lying to her, but finally dropped it. "Well, if Zekk's a bigger moron then I ever gave him credit for, don't tell him that. We might need you to inflict some jealousy pains."

If Zekk…? Kyp frowned. "What do you—"

"Next question: does this girl know that she has a not-so-secret admirer in the ex-Sith possessed, ex-dead Destroyer of Carida rogue Jedi Knight orphan?"

He resolutely kept himself from reacting to one of the names, though he noticed that Sanar had not—for once—lambasted him with it. "Quite a long title, isn't it?" he fondly remarked.

"Well," Sanar pressed. "Does she?"

"Definitely not," he replied fervently. I'm not that suicidal, he silently added. He could only imagine Sanar's reaction—especially with her being in love with a real dream.

"Larifx." To his surprise, Sanar rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "Are you serious? She actually doesn't know. Could you be any more stupid?"

Kyp blinked. And blinked again. "Huh?"

"I cannot believe this," she muttered before sitting upright once again. "Okay, I'm in love with a literal dream guy, and my once-friend tried to rape me and is now married to my sister. Suffice to say, my love life is beyond screwed up. But even I know that 'I love you' is supposed to be said, not thought. You, of all people, should realize just how little time we have.

"And, sweet Force, I can't believe I just basically told you to 'follow your heart' because 'life is short.'" Sanar groaned in exasperation, hiding her face behind her hands. "Shoot me now. I've begun spouting clichés."

Tempting Sanar's temper was dangerous at the best of times, but Kyp couldn't resist the urge to laugh. "I'll take your advice under consideration," he finally managed.

"Oh, shut up," she replied sourly. "Shut up, or I'll ask you another mean question."

"Another?" he repeated, smirking. "Had you asked one before?" he needled.

But Sanar Klis, who loved to needle him every time he breathed, and who flared up at a second's notice, just smiled. Her dark eyes gleamed. "I know one that'll wipe away any doubt."

Oh, no.

"About Jaina," she continued. Eyes still gleaming—evilly.

Oh, no.

"Even if you say you don't love her now…"

Could he just disappear? Right now? Poof goes Kyp Durron?

"But did you ever?"

He gaped at her. Too late.

Sanar's smirk was so wide it was almost a beam. She crossed her legs in front of her, swept her long, dark hair up in a pony tale, and gleefully waited for the results of her handiwork.

Force, he loved her.

Even if (or was it because?) she had absolutely nailed the most awkward question she could ever ask.

-x-x-x-x-x-

In her spot behind a pillar, a young woman watched the Kavishka and his beloved. Their interaction was all over the place; even at this stage of the Prophecy, the beloved—Sanar, Niha had called her—was resisting. It could mean nothing good.

Élin watched for several more minutes before at last withdrawing. Her bare feet fell silent on the stone floor, but she drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

She had not left the abbey for years, and had not lived elsewhere since Niha had rescued her from the ruins of the orphan's hometown. She stayed with Niha now, being groomed to replace her mentor when Niha returned to her Mother.

Élin would not leave the abbey until Prophecy was fulfilled.

Thinking on what she had seen this night, Élin adjusted her course to the main worship room. Niha was right; they would need all of Mujir's blessing and strength, and more luck besides, to see their world saved.

Sanar Klis may need several good shoves.

Motherly ones, of course.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"It wasn't anything," Kyp tried to explain. "Not really. Nothing happened, or anything."

"So," Sanar laughed. "Let me see if I've got this straight. You had a—a crush on her? Not that I blame you, because Jaina's—but—" The dark-haired love of Kyp's life snorted in genuine amusement.

"I did not," he indignantly denied. "We just—flirted a little. Okay, a lot," he amended at Sanar's look. "But we only kissed a couple times. It was never—" He froze, as if just realizing he was speaking out loud. "Force," he groaned in resignation. "I don't suppose you could not react to that?"

Sanar practically vibrated with her glee. "I just need to figure out who'll be more fun to have this conversation with," she mused impishly. "You, or Jaina."

"Oh, Jaina," Kyp was quick to reassure her. "Definitely Jaina. Because I'm—I'm definitely leaving now."

"Such a guy," Sanar grumbled. "Running whenever his ego is in trouble of being deflated. No one likes a spoilsport, Durron," she said in a sing-song voice.

"This has nothing to do with my ego, and everything to do with the tattered remains of my dignity."

"You've managed to hold onto scraps?" she asked, mock-impressed. "You must be more resourceful than I thought."

"Baby," he heard himself say, "I've got sides you've never seen."

Sanar blinked at him, but fortunately took it as a joke. "Okay, now I'm leaving."

"Good night, Sanar," he sang.

Sanar gave him a look before exiting with her nose in the air.

She only just made it to her room before bursting into laughter.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"You saw them." An undecorated, impassive voice interrupted Élin's prayers. "What did you think?"

The young woman—still in her teens—rose slowly. "Of all of them, Mother? Or of the Kavishka and—"

"Turn around, and stop hedging." Niha's tone reflected only a little of her annoyance, and none of her affection.

Élin obeyed, and steadily met the elderly woman's gaze. "They are going to need a hard push—possibly off a cliff—to get them where they must be at the end of their journey." She spoke bluntly, with none of her more customary patience.

Niha raised an eyebrow at her protégé's petulance, but let it pass this time. She said only, "There is no other way. And besides, a Mirese priestess does not murder."

A stark lie, but one Élin did not bother to refute. "They spoke of another girl this evening—a…Jaina. Sanar surmised that the Kavishka once had—and perhaps still does have—feelings for her. Perhaps she…?"

"No," Niha replied after a moment. "The Kavishka chose Sanar Klis, and Prophecy has long since accommodated this. We will have to find a way to wear away at Sanar's stubbornness."

Élin winced. "Mother—is she related to—to the Jarran Klis? The one who—"

"The one who built, and successfully hid, Mujir's Resistance for nearly three decades?"

The girl cringed, already knowing the answer, but nodded.

"More than that: Sanar is his daughter. I'm afraid he…rather described her as the child with 'all and more of his spirit.'"

"Oh," Élin said faintly. "Well. That…"

"She is also the one who killed High Priest Horaire."

We are all going to die. And fail. Élin forced herself to keep breathing. "I…see." She knew the stories—both of Horaire's treatment of his women, and of how bloodily his murderer had reacted. "I—I believe I will continue to pray for some time, Mother. Excuse me if I miss the early meal tomorrow."

Niha squeezed the young girl's shoulder briefly. "All will be as Mujir has designed."

Or how Her priestesses had designed, Élin thought dryly. Still, she lit the candles and incense. As Niha's footsteps faded from hearing, Élin restarted her fervent prayers.

Let everything be as You will it. Lead Sanar along her destiny. Let the Kavishka be faithful, and successful. Let me see the morning sky again.