III. INQUISITOR
"I do not wish to harm you, sister."
"I am not your sister, Dost'ain." The woman, Fairuz, shakes her head in disgust. "Not anymore."
She holds the Inquisitor's gaze, her eyes defiant, firm. Hot, steady wind of Llan'guran brings no respite from the scorching sun leisurely dipping beneath the distant peaks. Here, he knows, black armor is a poor choice. White would have suited much better.
"I want you to come back."
He'd rehearsed it all before, on all those planets he would visit in search of her only to learn that she had moved on. Surely he is by no means the first one to be saying something along those shallow lines, nor is he the last. It never hurts to try and reason with your foes though, especially ones that had been your friends.
"Join us," he persists. "Or at least, join me. For old times' sake, as they say." His voice is amiable, soft: an offer, not an order. Not yet. Hard to believe that only recently he'd slaughtered an entire Gurran tribe just to get here, onto the sacred plateau; not that those nonhumans were much of a fight… He allows himself a smirk.
She says nothing. Studying him, noting the familiarity, the changes: a human male, tall, slightly bearded, lean, but paler and more haggard now despite being the same age as her. As if the dark powers of his calling drain the very life-force out of him, slowly but inexorably.
She knows she must have changed, too; years of hiding on world after world will do that and more to a person: fleeing, disguising, always just a few steps ahead of an erstwhile close friend now hunting her like an animal; all her previous life in ruins, her very existence a crime, her old comrades killed, exiled, repressed, each time less and less of them left. Somehow, she'd known it would come to this. She wonders what use Dost'ain and the others of his kind would be after every warrior of the light will have perished or turned. Get some other equally heinous task from their Sith masters, perhaps... or perhaps, become decimated in turn.
He speaks again.
"Your knowledge would greatly benefit the Empire, Fairuz. Think of it. You could be useful once more."
The nerve of the man! She scoffs at his words.
"An Empire that was built on tyranny and calls it peace-making? An Empire that destroys and calls it progress?" She spits onto the rocks at her feet. "I'd rather become a sarlacc's meal any time than a betrayer like you."
"Ah, but of course." He chuckles. "A Jedi brave in every way, aren't you Fairuz?"
"We were taught to cherish life, any life. Tell me, Dost'ain," it clearly pains her to address him by his old name, but she perseveres, "what happened to you that you chose to forget? What have they done to you all? How many of the Order are now Imperial Inquisitors?"
He shrugs, as if it's no big deal. "I am called the Eleventh Brother. Exactly how many more of us there are – as you may guess, I am not at liberty to share. But we all had our reasons – or incentives…"
She draws her lightsaber then, and the gentle hum of its rare-colored, azure blade fills the space between them.
"Well. To the death, then."
"Indeed." He lets out a sigh – in resignation, not disappointment. Even despite his hopes, he knew he wouldn't expect of her anything less. He senses that she doesn't wish to do it but has no choice anyway. Their late mentors had trained them both great. Their chances will be even, at least – and at most, Fairuz will prevail. So be it, then. It is all the dignity he can grant her.
He ignites his own modified weapon, its glow bright red. "To the death."