Quinlan and the others were descending into the central room of the lowest level of Trayus Academy when a low-pitched whistling sounded from the direction of the main entrance. Everyone stopped walking and stood motionless as the melancholy sound rose and fell, accompanied by a thin, shifting whisper.

Then, from high above them, a woman screamed frantically. Transferring his weight to his right foot, Quinlan reached for his knife. He couldn't tell if any of the others had heard the scream – no one reacted to it, but then neither had he. Maybe he should ask. Hey, guys, did you hear that horrible scream? No? Just me?

When the voice faded away, he released his knife. Everyone else was still focused on the low-pitched whistling, which suddenly increased to a hollow wail. The sound echoed in three tones through the central chamber as the hissing whisper increased, and a gust of cool air drafted across the room, carrying with it the faint, bitter tinge of dioxis.

Hunter tilted his head to one side, tracking the sand on the floor as it shifted in response to the wind. Stepping forward, he removed his helmet and inhaled through his nose, then let it out with a huff. "It's the sandstorm. We're hearing the wind, and the sand hitting the walls."

"Oh! Right," Wrecker answered, too quickly. "Must be blowin' in through the main door."

"Yes, of course. . ." Vythia turned, looking further into the academy. Then she gave her head a quick toss, as though shaking a thought away, and ran down the last few steps.

As the others followed her, Quinlan found himself watching the central pillar. Every time a new gust of wind swept across the grit-covered floor, he expected the cold white flames to flicker, but they never did.

They left the central room behind them for the last time. As they headed down the hallway towards the academy entrance – and the academy exit, thank the Force – Quinlan stayed at the back of the group. When Hunter glanced back at him, the Jedi shrugged. He didn't sense an immediate threat . . . but he hadn't exactly sensed the approach of the statue, either. And if there was going to be an attack, it would probably be from behind. But despite the constant whistling and echoing of the gusting wind, nothing moved in the shadows of the empty doorways, and there were no stormbeasts anywhere on the level.

As for the leviathan, Quinlan couldn't sense it, either, though judging by the scream he had heard, the monster was several levels above and behind them. No one had suffered any headaches since the first attack – except for Quinlan, but that wasn't the same. That had been there since the leviathan had first been aware of him, and at this point it was more of an inconvenience than anything else. He didn't dare try to find the leviathan's exact location by reaching towards it. Still, it didn't seem to be focusing on any of them. Maybe it would ignore them completely once they had left Trayus . . .

As soon as he thought it, Quinlan scoffed. Even if it wasn't particularly interested in them at the moment, there was always the possibility that it might get tired of devouring stormbeasts and decide to attack. Quinlan and the others wouldn't be safe even once they reached the Marauder, unless they were able to lift off and put at least a few kilometers between themselves and the creature. Vythia had said it couldn't kill them unless it were in sight of them. Quinlan was not convinced. Maybe most leviathans couldn't kill unless they were in sight of their victims, but this one had definitely attacked every member of the team, however briefly, while on the opposite side of the academy.

He couldn't do anything with the Force to get rid of it, even if Vythia hadn't been there, he knew that much. The leviathan could be killed with weapons, but not unless he and the commandos were able to get close enough . . . and by that point it would have killed them anyway. Quinlan glanced back down the hallway, checking that it was still empty. He didn't know why he was so he was so convinced they would be attacked at all, but he was.

"Hunter," Tech said, before he could ponder further. "Once we enter the Marauder, what is the plan? Do we stay in place for now?"

"What?" The sergeant half-turned to look at him. "What kind of a question is that?"

"Yeah . . . " Wrecker added. "We aren't gonna spend the whole night here again!"

"That is not what I was inferring." Tech paused long enough to send Wrecker an irked look. "And it is not night. We have several hours before the sunlight, such as it is, actually fades."

Hunter sighed. "Get to the point, Tech."

"I am wondering if we should attempt to take off despite the severity of the storm. It appears that the leviathan is capable of attacking us at will, even if it cannot kill us."

"But we cannot leave the Phoenix," Vythia murmured.

"True," said Tech. "But we could always return for it in the morning. I do not see any need for us to remain here overnight."

"Yeah." Hunter's frown was audible in his tone. "We don't have to far from Trayus. We could land a few kilometers away, fly back around noon tomorrow. . . We won't even have to land, Vythia. You can rappel down to your ship and pilot it from there."

She shook her head, closing her right hand over the top of her satchel, where she'd put the scroll. "No. I have left artifacts there. They are the whole purpose of this search in the first place . . . And if they draw the leviathan as they drew the stormbeast, the Phoenix may well be destroyed."

"Yeah," Hunter replied. "But all the artifacts on Malachor won't do you any good if you're dead."

She turned to raise an eyebrow at him, seeming vaguely amused by something. "Well, that is true. But I would rather not take the risk of leaving the Phoenix overnight. And of course . . . there is the possibility that if we leave, we might not be able to return."

A sensation of foreboding crossed Quinlan's mind and vanished, too quickly for him to identify any particular threat.

"Well, I think Tech's right," said Wrecker, rubbing the back of his helmet uneasily. "I mean, about trying to leave now. If that leviathan can get at us from inside –"

"Hm." Vythia tilted her head, considering.

Before she could speak again, Crosshair, who had been keeping his gaze on the floor as he walked past another green lantern, jerked his chin at the main door. "No point in making plans right now. We won't even be able to take off."

With a jolt of fear, Quinlan stared from him to the main academy door. All he could see from this distance was a faint blur of movement as the wind whipped past outside.

Tech looked up at the sniper. "You can identify the speed of the wind, by sight, from this distance?"

Crosshair shook his head. "Your sensor display."

"Oh. Of course." Turning, Tech resumed walking as though someone reading the tiny sensor display on his datapad from five meters away was perfectly standard behavior. Come to think of it, it probably was standard.

Glancing at the distant blur of ash, Quinlan rubbed one hand nervously against his arm and asked, "Well, Tech? Is it too fast?"

"Yes. I am afraid that Crosshair is correct." At Hunter's questioning hum, Tech turned to look at him. "It is strange, but the wind velocity has been increasing for the past hour. I had not thought to check until a moment ago."

"So, we're stuck here?" Wrecker asked. "On the Marauder, I mean?"

"Looks like it," Hunter answered uneasily. "Tech . . . you said earlier that the storm was almost over."

"It was." Shaking his head, Tech glanced from his vambrace screen to his datapad. "At least, I believed that it was. I do not understand. The Marauder's sensors gave every indication that the wind velocity had faded to a near-safe level, even near the top of the academy. And at ground-level, it was not even an inconvenience. Now, however –"

"This is not ideal," Vythia murmured.

Quinlan stared at the side of her face, then at the open door, which by now was a mere fifty meters away. Outside, nothing could be seen in the dark except for the gusting ash and sand and dust – it filled the air and interfered with visibility even more than the heaviest fog he'd ever seen. Quinlan knew exactly where the Marauder was, but he couldn't see it, not even when Tech clicked a button and said, "I have activated the Marauder's search lights."

"You're sure?" The Jedi stopped walking. "That's . . . is it even still there?"

"Of course it is still there." Tech's tone faltered slightly, and he double-checked his scanners.

"Crosshair," said Hunter, and increased his speed as they ran down the sand-scattered corridor. "Can you see anything?"

The sniper didn't answer for a long moment, instead pulling his helmet's rangefinder down over his right eye. Finally, he huffed softly. "The Marauder's visible on thermal, but that's it. Want me on point, Hunter?"

"No. I'll take point." As they reached the doorway, Hunter paused just inside, removing his helmet. He tilted his head back, like a wolf testing the wind. Then he froze, narrowed his eyes, and inhaled slowly through his nose. "Tech . . .?" he said. "Those crevices in the dioxis field – there weren't any between us and the ship, were there?"

"Ah –" Tech's eyes were focused sharply on his screen. "Well – there were not."

"Yeah, that's what I figured." Hunter replaced his helmet and rested both hands on his waist as he considered.

Quinlan clenched one hand. We still can't stay here, though. . . "How big is the crevice?" he asked. "We can get over it no problem, right?"

"Most likely," said Tech. "The crevice itself is not even ten centimeters across. However, the concentration of dioxis near that area is the more immediate concern."

Quinlan didn't care how immediate a concern it was. He would rather walk through a near-lethal amount of dioxis than stay inside Trayus during the night.

"Okay." Hunter turned to look back into the green-lit academy hall. "Quinlan, Vythia, my team won't have a problem getting through – but you two don't have breathing protection. And forget the dioxis, you'll need something just to get through the storm."

"Actually . . ." Quinlan slung off his pack. "Believe it or not, I did learn something after Adas Academy."

"As did I," Vythia said, her pack already open. She withdrew a ventilator and fastened it securely over her nose and mouth. "I have no interest in breathing in any more ash than I already have."

"Same here," said Quinlan. "But I think you did a better job of preparing to walk into another ash storm."

He tested the strap on his goggles, then set to work winding a wide, thin piece of black fabric around his face. His words were muffled as he continued. "I may have chopped up an old tunic."

"Better than nothing," Hunter agreed. "But it's not sealed."

"The concentration of dioxis can't be that high," Quinlan said. He tied off the rectangle of material with a knot and pushed the ends in, then tied the rest of the fabric over his head so he wouldn't go deaf. "Not with all this wind. We'll just have to make a run for it."

"Yes." Vythia slipped to the front of the group and stared out at the rushing wind. "There is no other option that does not involve us splitting up. Unless you wish to do that?"

"No, we're sticking together," Hunter said firmly. "It's the visibility I'm worried about. If anyone gets separated . . ." He tapped Crosshair's arm with the back of his gauntlet. "Hey, Crosshair. You have enough cable to give us a guide, right?"

"I've always got enough cable." Reaching over one shoulder, Crosshair swapped out the attachment on his rifle, then glanced at Tech. "Tech. Conditions?"

"Wind velocity – sustained, one hundred and fifty kilometers due east, with intermittent and irregular gusts of one hundred and seventy."

Crosshair turned to angle his shot into the roaring wind, found the door interfering with his aim, and muttered something derogatory before raising his voice. "Wrecker!"

And then, without waiting for his much sturdier teammate, the sniper stepped out from the cover of the door. Immediately, he staggered and dropped to one knee, but the next instant, Wrecker was there, acting as a literal windshield.

It took less than five seconds for Crosshair to line up his shot and fire. Quinlan couldn't hear a thing over the gusting ash and wind, but given that Crosshair and Wrecker stepped back inside the next moment, he assumed the cable attachment had struck the Marauder.

Hunter waited until Crosshair had ejected the opposite end of the cable into the academy wall before speaking. "Okay. We'll go in teams of two, one after the other – make sure to leave a few seconds between each team. I'll take point with Quinlan. Wrecker, I'm thinking you'd better take Tech."

"Yeah, no kidding!" Wrecker slapped the top of his own helmet once to drive it more firmly over his head, then caught Tech by an arm and pulled him over. "Come on, you're coming with me. Don't want you to blow away!"

"Please," said Tech disdainfully, and tugged free so that he could secure his datapad to his belt. "Crosshair is far more likely than I to be knocked off his feet."

"Yup," said Wrecker. "But only 'cause you're with me and he's not. Ha!"

Rolling his eyes, Tech adjusted his visor firmly over his goggles.

"Everyone ready?" Hunter turned to his teammates. "Looks like it's starting to die down a little."

"Just say when!" Wrecker declared, while Tech secured his weapons.

"Guess we'll find out," Quinlan said, only half-hearing the sergeant's words. His head was suddenly throbbing again. For an instant, he thought he was imagining things, but then a slow ache started in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he reached instinctively for his tunic pocket, where he'd stored the yellow crystal.

"Hmm. . ." Vythia edged up to stand next to Crosshair and looked out at the roaring wind and hissing grey ash. "You would really rather do this than wait another hour?"

When everyone answered, "Yes" together, with varying degrees of emphasis and speed, she smirked. "Then I suppose I am ready as well."

Hunter was still standing beneath the doorway, watching the wind as though he knew when it was going to slow down. Maybe he did know, or maybe he was just waiting for a better moment.

They couldn't wait, though. The Jedi suddenly understood that their time was up, and it was up because they'd decided to leave.

"Come on!" Lunging forward, Quinlan gripped the shuddering cable with both hands as three overlapping screams, not from stormbeasts, echoed around him. At the same moment, Hunter caught him by the elbow.

"Wait," he said. "Just a few more seconds –"

"Hunter!" Quinlan snapped, raising his voice to be heard over the continuing cries, even though only he could hear them. The dull ache increased to a sharp burn, the cries rose to screams, and he shouted, "The leviathan – we're out of time!"

Hunter didn't even hesitate. Turning on his flashlight, he fastened it to his belt and grabbed the cable in front of Quinlan.

The instant they stepped out from cover, the wind slammed into them from the left like a solid wall. Hunter stumbled almost to his knees, and Quinlan staggered against the cable, which jerked and snapped under the force of the gale, pulling him with it.

It took him several steps to really catch his balance. If he leaned hard enough sideways, against the wind, it helped . . . but only until the next gust. And now, the wind seemed to be coming at them from all directions, yanking at them until they could hardly keep their footing.

They'd made it three meters when Hunter slipped again. Quinlan reached out to steady him, letting go of the cable with one hand – and then, just as the sergeant got back to his feet, a sustained gust hit them from the left, carrying with it stinging particles that made themselves felt even through the double layers of blaster-resistant clothing that Quinlan wore.

Six meters.

Vaguely, he realized that he knew where the others were – Tech and Wrecker were catching up, and Vythia and Crosshair were last, moving more slowly, but still moving forward.

A high-pitched roar filled Quinlan's ears, and he jerked his head up just before something hit him from above and crushed him to his knees. It felt like a heavy weight, but it was only the violent wind – it had to be, there was nothing else here.

Hunter fell, got to his hands and knees, shouted something Quinlan couldn't make out, then pulled himself back up and stepped carefully over the suddenly-visible phosphorescent green of the narrow dioxis vent.

Ten meters. Halfway there. Almost –

Quinlan stepped over the vent, dragging himself forward with his fingers tightening painfully on the cable. Ten and a half meters. He felt Vythia's alarm and then relief as she lost her grip on the cable, then regained it.

Eleven meters. He could tell when the others were gripping the cable, and exactly where they were in relation to him, because of his psychometry. That was not something he'd ever considered using it for.

Eleven and a half meters. The wind continued to increase in speed. Twelve meters.

Quinlan couldn't physically draw in a breath anymore, the wind was pressing against his back and left side so hard. Then a gust ripped in from the right, then directly against his face, and the cable jolted as Crosshair fell against it and lost his grip entirely.

Twelve and a half meters. No one was moving anymore. Quinlan ducked his head and clung with both hands, waiting for Crosshair to get up. The wind was only getting faster, and Quinlan almost couldn't see Hunter anymore. Even the sergeant's flashlight was visible only as a faint gleam in the hurtling ash.

He reached out with one hand, instinctively ready to call on the Force, then remembered the leviathan – if he called on the Force at all, he would call the leviathan's attention directly to the team.

Then Tech released the cable. Vythia wasn't moving from where she'd stopped when Crosshair had fallen.

Quinlan felt his left hand close almost instinctively around the yellow crystal through the front of his tunic. A wellspring of Light Force-energy. . .

The wind was still increasing, and so was the sense of danger and the flickers of black in his mind, where the Force vanished and reappeared as the leviathan attacked.

The ash in front of Quinlan cleared briefly, just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of Hunter – then the sergeant crumpled to his hands and knees as though a heavy weight had landed directly on his shoulders.

A nightmarishly familiar voice was calling on the Dark Side all around them, though no one was there, and nothing was physically audible. Quinlan stared at Hunter, then gazed up into the depths of the storm. He'd never heard the voice before, but he'd felt it – it was the presence that had dragged his mind to the leviathan. It was here, in the center of the storm, reaching for him. . . trying to stop him?

Hunter had only just made it to his knees when he was thrown sideways to land on the ground. Then Wrecker lost his hold on the cable.

Turning with an effort, Quinlan gripped the cable behind him with both hands and ducked his head. He had lowered his shields the last time he tried to fight the presence, but he wouldn't make that mistake this time. The presence couldn't do anything right now, but it was guiding the leviathan's intent. He needed to distract it . . . and he thought he knew how.

Bracing himself, Quinlan reached for his tunic with one hand. What felt like a heavy pressure shoved down against his arm, but he had already reached the crystal.

Gusts of wind ripped at him from all sides. The cable snapped sharply against his other hand, cutting the insides of his left fingers open as he clenched his right hand around the crystal. The yellow crystal had no shields, and yet it had not been corrupted by its exposure to Trayus. Despite the surrounding shadows, it glowed in the Force with its own inner strength and surged into him, filling the black emptiness in his mind and pushing back the leviathan as it leeched away at his Force-presence.

The shrieking wind yanked at the crystal, as though trying to tear it away. Clenching the crystal against his chest with one hand, Quinlan took a step away from the cable, into the wind. As the Light Side rushed through him, he lifted the other hand, palm outward, and faced the center of the gale.

Hunter could scarcely hear. The brushing of a single flake of ash or grain of sand against his armor would have been inaudible, but the hundreds of thousands that were driving against him coalesced into an unending scraping, brushing sound. For some reason, that noise combined with the irregular shrieking howling of the wind was every bit as aggravating as the constant pressure that kept him from moving. The Marauder was so close, not even six meters away. He was uninjured, it was so close, and he couldn't even push himself to his elbows.

He dragged his hand towards his helmet and activated his comm with an effort. "Can anyone – hear me?" he asked, unable to draw a full breath against the pressure of the violent wind. "Anyone able to move? You guys still at – the cable?"

"Yes," answered Tech in a clipped voice. "To the first, that is. No to the last two questions."

"Same," Crosshair panted. "That came out – of nowhere."

"Everyone okay?" Wrecker asked loudly. "I'm trying to get to Tech – can't see anyone else, but –"

The fury of the gale abruptly lessened, and Hunter tried again to get up. The instant he moved, something drove itself against his back and forced him down. He resisted for only a few seconds before dropping flat. There was something wrong with this storm, it wasn't a natural storm, or if it was it had been . . . altered. Altered by what? Then his own memory answered him. Quinlan said there were 'two of them' . . .

"Where's Quinlan?" he demanded. "Can anyone see him? Crosshair?"

"Can't see him." There was a brief pause. "The storm's strongest near you."

Just as he finished speaking, the whole atmosphere – the whole storm – seemed almost to take a breath, followed by a blast of something soundless that made Hunter's ears ring. Then the pressure that had been pinning Hunter to the ground disappeared, and he immediately got to his knees and turned around, reaching for the cable with his left hand.

He heard the others talking through his comms, reporting that they'd gotten up, that the wind had died down, that visibility was increasing, but Hunter wasn't paying attention.

Quinlan stood in front of him, looking somehow distant as he lowered his left hand to his side. His right was tucked into the front of his tunic, and whatever was wrong with the storm was gone. The wind still rushed and howled and drove ash against them, but it was tame compared to whatever had just happened.

The team members walked the remaining few meters to the Marauder in silence, and the boarding ramp lowered without trouble. After mounting it, Hunter keyed the door open and stepped aside to make sure the others got in first.

Quinlan stumbled up the ramp, followed by Wrecker and Tech. Crosshair and Vythia trailed a few seconds behind the others. Hunter entered last and sealed the door from the inside. For a long moment, everyone just stood and breathed.

The ship was eerily silent after the rushing and roaring motion outside. Even after they'd caught their breath, no one seemed to want to break the silence. Hunter stood near the door, watching as everyone moved about without speaking.

Wrecker removed his helmet and went into the cargo hold, followed by Tech and Crosshair, while Quinlan and Vythia took off their extra gear. Then the Nautolan woman went into the cockpit and leaned against the dashboard, staring out into the relatively calm motion of the ash, grey in the dark, as it whizzed past the transparisteel.

With a cautious glance after her, Quinlan removed the yellow kyber crystal from his tunic, shielding it from Vythia's view by turning away from the cockpit as he showed it to Hunter. The sergeant gazed down at it for a moment – it looked dull, somehow. Then he looked up at Quinlan, waiting for him to say something.

When the Jedi didn't speak, Hunter settled on asking a question that seemed to encompass all his questions. "What . . . was that?"

Quinlan smirked, but it did not look amused. After a moment, he put the crystal away, wiped his bloodied fingers against the side of his tunic, and said, "What was what, Hunter?"

The sergeant huffed. ". . . All of it."

"Something was trying to kill us, or stop us." Quinlan headed into the galley.

With a last glance at Vythia, Hunter hurried after him. "And – what?" he asked. "You managed to use the Force without the leviathan –"

"No. That crystal had its own Force-presence, Hunter."

Hunter stared at him, confused and irritated by his cryptic answer. When the Jedi only stared thoughtfully at the floor and then turned as though he intended to head to the bunkroom, Hunter caught his arm. "Quinlan! What just happened?"

The Kiffar shot him a mild frown. "I used the crystal's Force-presence instead of mine to push back the – thing – that was attacking us. It worked . . . a little too well. At first I thought using the crystal would distract the leviathan, and it did, but the leviathan attacked instead."

"It attacked . . . does that mean the presence dead?" Hunter asked, utterly confused now. "Not the leviathan, the other one."

"No." Quinlan attempted a casual shrug. "Neither of 'em are dead. The second presence retreated from the Light Side, and the leviathan drained the kyber crystal. I won't be able to do that again."