3951 BBY, Telos IV
Atton
Atton knew that things were going too well. He'd known it for a while.
He'd left Alderaan without so much as a veiled threat from his father, and a half-hearted one at that. No one had tried to track him down or make sure he kept quiet. It was as if he'd never existed. And in a way he never really did.
He was certain the war would kill him. If not the first one, then the one that quickly followed. But he was wrong on both counts.
The fact that he'd made it a year on Peragus was, in itself, a miracle. The moment he eyed the first waver on his opening contract knowing that he may very well be blown to bits and was about to sign his life away, a part of him hoped he might die in such an explosion.
It would be quick. It would be easy.
Part of it was a lingering feeling that had haunted him since Malachor, always waiting for the other boot to drop, wondering when the universe would remember that he was supposed to die there along with the rest of his squad - and presumably Corr Desyk as well. Atton always imagined the Jedi he once called a friend perished with that trademark charming smirk of gracing his lilting face upon impact, an expression that had grown familiar in the short time Atton had known him, at first a welcoming thing before it all turned sour - and an expression Atton sometimes imagined inhabiting himself as if having inherited it.
As much as Atton felt their fates had crossed wires, accidentally switching places against the universe's plans, he at least knew that Corr deserved it. That the man deserved to die for leading them all to ruin in Revan's shadow. Or so Atton believed in the years that followed…
But he'd survived the year. Peragus had been merciful. And even when the year was out, Atton managed to survive one such explosion. Not one he'd signed off on, but one that engulfed him in its fury and flame anyway, leaving him only with superficial flesh wounds and a minor concussion. A blessing Atton knew he very much did not deserve.
When was left alone in that sorry excuse of a detention center, Atton was certain the last thing he would see before eventually perishing was the orange glow of the plasma cage that kept him from seeking help. But it was the very same plasma prison that kept him from meeting the same fate as the rest of the station. And then Eden walked in…
He was saved. Or so he thought, unaware of the bloodshed to come.
And now as the TSF planet hopper careened precariously towards the nearest mountainside, Atton knew that while some of his luck was running out now, he unfortunately wouldn't die in this wreck either.
The first thing to go was all sense of feeling.
He saw the impact, knew it should have folded his spine and all his limbs like an accordion, but he remained limber, loose as if already dead and impervious to the flying debris that floated almost in slow-motion as his unblinking eyes witnessed the crash and the subsequent damage that followed. The viewport collapsed on itself, the duraglass shattering and obscuring all view of their unplanned landing site. He raised an arm to shield his face, just as he had during the blast on Peragus. He knew it must have hurt. He knew a limb or two would likely break, if not suffer irreparable injury. Neither happened
His hearing went next, just as it had on the mining colony. Ringing replaced all sound and any expectation he had of observing the crunch of metal meeting mountain even if his brain imagined the carnage in its stead.
Atton felt no physical sensation, shock blocking out any pain he should have felt, or would eventually in an hour or so, but he somehow knew his body was floating in space. In limbo as the ship collided with Telos and became one with it. Suspended in both space and time for what felt like a life's age before his body came crashing back down again, a shower of shattered plasteel and metal raining against his face, sharp shards of duraglass almost piercing the leather of his jacket upon impact. And he also somehow knew that Eden and Kreia were behind him, experiencing very much the same thing.
At first it happened slowly, time stilling as if making sure that Atton was paying attention this time, waiting until his brain acknowledged the crash and the reality of it before fast-forwarding, moving past the impact and the languid recovery that would follow, groggily awakening from the black of sleep to realize just how injured he was. Only he didn't. And he wasn't.
He was the first to wake.
Eden and Kreia lay slumped nearby, unconscious but still very much alive.
Switch the face of the +2/-2 card, the total is eight-eleven…
All of his other faculties had quieted in the wake of the crash, yet his mind still raced.
Figures, he thought amidst the imaginary dealing of another hypothetical hand.
Atton raised his own hand to his chest, finding his heartbeat alarmingly normal. His head was also unusually clear and free of pain, his limbs unexpectedly lithe, every part of him surprisingly fine save for a split lip as far as he could tell. The only painfully predictable thing that happened next, and of his own dumb volition of course, was that he reached for Eden first, internally hoping that Kreia's withered body found it appropriate to finally leave this plane of existence entirely despite knowing he wasn't that lucky.
"Here we go again," he muttered to no one as he shouldered Eden's weight and scanned the wreckage for a way out, thinking back to when the woman had collapsed on Peragus at the phantom feeling of Kreia losing her hand. Blinking through the smoke, Atton hauled Eden out of the burning metal and out onto the grassy expanse awaiting him on the other side. He set her down in a bed of weeds wreathed with purple flowers, and it almost felt like a funeral.
Eden nearly coughed up a lung before she regained composure, her green eyes scanning and registering the wreckage before looking at Atton with eyes wide, concern clear on her face.
"Are you alright?" were her first words.
Atton couldn't help but think of her, covered in blood with a merciless knee on Lopak Slusk's throat. A version of her that coincided with the image he possessed of whoever had made the call at Malachor. Someone ruthless and bloodthirsty. Unfeeling and everything he hated about the Jedi. Pragmatic to the last. But the woman that looked at him now was anything but. She was the woman who thought to feed him first before asking him questions, unsure of his trustworthiness. The woman who valued his opinions as well as his experience, who put faith in his ability to fly as well as his ability to shoot and simply read the room.
"I'm fine," Atton said, for the first time feeling as if he were lying even if he knew he wasn't. If only because he usually was. "Can you stand?"
"I…" Eden paused, as if only now remembering that her consciousness housed a body, testing the waters before nodding at Atton. "I think so."
Atton helped her to her feet, tensing slightly at her touch but leaning into it after a moment, relishing in the closeness of her before regrettably looking back at the wreckage because he knew Kreia still lay unconscious inside. His gaze returned to Eden, and she nodded fervently in response.
"Let me help, I can-"
Atton held up a hand, not expecting it to silence her, though surprise coursed through him when he found it did.
"I got this," he assured her, though he knew there was no reason for him to assure Eden of anything. But it was her subsequent nod of appreciation, the surrender in her eyes as she sighed and took Atton at his word that gave him pause. She was pleading and earnest, every bit the opposite of the person he expected. Of a Jedi. Let alone the one responsible for what she was responsible for.
But Atton had been wrong about plenty of things. His family included. And himself most of all.
Before Atton could place another scuffed boot on the burning wreckage, Kreia's form emerged from the smoke, beckoning that he stand back and let her pass. She coughed but appeared more inconvenienced by the turn of events than impaired by them.
"I believe I can manage," Kreia assured through thin lips as she exited the now-collapsing wreckage. Atton ducked, raising a hand against the falling, flaming metal as Kreia walked off slowly, unbothered but annoyed nonetheless.
"Of course you can," he muttered before replacing his internal Pazaak hand with hyperspace routes. His head might have felt fine, but for the brief moment Kreia glanced at him before brushing past him, his mind felt heavy, his thoughts moving slowly as if through a thick gel. His mind quickened as he ran through coordinates along the Corellian Trade Spine, assuring him that Kreia neither saw nor gleaned anything. Let's keep it that way.
Atton promised Luxa that he would keep Eden in her employ, whether the woman knew it or not, but that didn't mean he necessarily needed to stick around - right? Because if he did, Kreia would find her way in eventually. Unless Atton was ready to resurrect some old tactics… Tactics he wasn't against using but also wasn't quite prepared to call upon just yet, or ever again if he were being honest with himself.
He backed away from the wreckage, squinting his eyes against the crumbling metal as it succumbed to the white-hot flame of utter devastation. He had been excited to fly something so new, so pristine. He'd never flown anything so fresh out of the box before, new off the lot and primed for a pilot as eager as he was. It was no wonder the thing was shot out from under him. At first, he glanced over his left shoulder out at the hilly sweep of land beside them until his gaze fell upon an oddly smooth stretch of mountainside in the distance. Must've come from there, he thought amidst the relay of coordinates still littering his brain.
And then he looked rightward at Eden and Kreia, the two women conversing seriously with their heads bowed. Eden caught Atton's gaze and smiled slightly, in polite acknowledgement despite everything happening. And to his detriment, Atton felt his face grow red.
Atton's luck would will out, for the moment.
But not for long.
3951 BBY, Malachor V, Trayus Academy
Erebus
The glove lay inconspicuous on his desk, its shape reminiscent of something Erebus had seen in a dream recently yet was unable to place it.
"Are you alright?" Vash asked, her eyes darting from his lax face to the glove and back again.
"I should be the one asking you that," Erebus sighed as he afforded Vash a glance. "You look terrible."
"Thanks," she said.
Erebus shook his head.
"I mean it," he added, "I know what you must be feeling here. I-"
"Do you?" she rounded on him, squaring her shoulders as she narrowed her eyes in his direction. She'd made this expression before, only she had been the taller one the last time he witnessed it. "Do you really?"
"Yes," he insisted. "Even someone more familiar with the Dark Side can have difficulty in a place like this. It is thick with energy not many know how to handle."
Vash looked as if she were about to say something but instead chose not to, opening her mouth before quickly closing it again and pursing her lips. She rocked back and forth gently on her feet before slowly descending into the nearest chair, lowering her gaze to her scuffed boots against the onyx floor.
"Does… does it ever get any easier?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
"It does, and it doesn't," Erebus answered honestly. "Mostly it takes a lot of energy. Physical, emotional, mental, spiritual-"
"You always were resilient," she said through a bitter smile. She didn't look at him. Vash kept her attention on the floor, a lock of dark hair peppered with gray falling into her eyeline as she avoided him though her expression remained entirely visible as if for his benefit. "Probably more than you were ever told."
"Now why would anyone tell me that?" he huffed a laugh, trying to lighten the mood though to what end he didn't know. He picked up the glove from the desk and felt the fabric between his fingers as he began to pace the length of the small rug that spanned the area between his desk and the chair Vash sat in, his footsteps muffled by the indigo threads. "It all would've gone to my head."
"Atris was not a woman known to dole out accolades," Vash said again instead. "But she must have known that much."
"I'm sure she knew a lot of things," Erebus snipped, not angry with Vash but instead with the memory of Atris, the teacher he could never please. "Though in that regard, we are the same."
Once upon a time he would have enjoyed that comparison, but now it only made him bitter.
Erebus held the glove up to the light, turning it as if the way it caught the illumination of the overhead lamp might reveal some inner secret. On the surface it was just like any other glove, but when in contact with his skin, he felt nothing. His body was mute to the energies he'd grown so used to accommodating, to listening to. It was almost nice – like a vacation.
"You should be wearing these," he said, offering her the garment. "It should help."
"But I should be getting used to this," Vash argued softly. "I should be-"
"At least get used to wearing them before we meet Darth Nihilus," he said, carefully enunciating his Master's name – Ni-hil-us – not in a way that was patronizing but in a way that he hoped came across as honest. He'd subconsciously kept the name off his tongue in his former Master's presence, but now he wanted to let her know that she could trust him. Even if he wasn't exactly sure if she should.
Vash's gaze met his again.
"We're really doing this, then?" Vash asked, breaking him out of his reverie.
Erebus nodded.
"We have to," he sighed. "If we wish to get to Korriban without issue, we will unfortunately need to obey my Master's wishes to meet him in the Japrael System. Plus, I think there may be something of interest there for us."
"Exar Kun," Vash said, "Kun was swayed to the Dark Side on Dxun. You think there is some other undiscovered connection?"
"There has to be," Erebus added. "Even still, it's worth looking into whatever temple Nihilus wishes to gain access to. It may prove to reveal something we're missing."
"Your sister fought there as well, and Kun's saber has some connection with what we found along with Revan in that desert so long ago…"
"His saber?" he asked. "You mean the item in the missing log?"
"Well, that and there was something else."
Something else?
"I opened it," Vash said with a heavy breath, holding Erebus' gaze, her eyes unblinking. "The crystal within was unlike any I'd ever seen."
Again, Vash looked as if she were about to say something before thinking against it. This time swallowing her words instead of simply letting them go unsaid.
"Crystal," Erebus echoed, thinking back to how Vash reacted to the crystal Sion deposited on his doorstep. "It was like that one?"
Vash nodded, her eyes slightly wide.
"Why didn't you say something earlier?" he asked, feeling the color drain from his face.
"I didn't-"
Erebus held up a hand to silence her.
"It's fine," he muttered in a hurried breath, "It doesn't matter why you did or didn't, what matters more is…"
"The mounting connections," Vash added for him. He nodded.
"There's just too much," Erebus said, thinking back to his conversation with Mical. A part of him felt stupid for feeling glad that the man had called him, even if now that sentiment was turning to something more akin to dread if only because it meant that this all went deeper into the past than any of them could have anticipated. The probability of finding any answers diminished with each new question that posed itself, though it did nothing to stop the mounting meaning it all had on the present and the future, their likelihood of solving the mystery weakening where their need to do so grew exponentially…
"Do you ever get tired of this?" Erebus asked, "You served on the Council, but it's disbanded right? You could just… leave. You could stay quiet, start over. Have a new life. Why follow this thread if you know where it might lead?"
"Why do you follow it?" Vash countered almost immediately. "I may have bound myself to the Council's ideals, but I feel my reasons are perhaps not so different than yours. Not so long ago that used to scare me, but now this does."
Vash nodded in the direction of Sion's gift, its crystalline form since shrouded in a heavy cloth and tucked in a munitions locker Erebus kept in the depths of his room for weapons or ancient items of import.
"I guess I know I'll never rest unless I know," he admitted.
"You always were curious," Vash half-laughed. "Perhaps too much for your own good."
Yeah, he thought bitterly, thinking back to his sketches about said crystal and the ruins beneath Tatooine, finding them quaint and naïve now given what he'd learned since. Nothing good's ever come of it, has it?
"We should get going soon, though," he said. "The week's almost out. Get used to those gloves and perhaps the next part of this journey won't be as unpleasant as you're already expecting it will be."
Vash pursed her lips but nodded despite her expression.
"It's strange," she said after a moment, "It feels wrong, taking direction from you. Even if I have no choice in it."
Choice.
Erebus huffed.
"You always have a choice, visions be damned," he said. It was strange, giving Vash advice or otherwise giving her instruction where there was no question involved. "Even had my own choices not led me here, it would feel weird for you to take my advice."
Vash considered him and now it was Erebus' turn to avoid her gaze.
"I suppose you are right," the woman resigned before finally leaning back in her chair, looking more relaxed than she had in days, or perhaps ever. "Though it is likely something I should get used to."
Erebus did not know what to say.
Is it?
3951 BBY, Polar Plateau, Telos IV
Brianna
The moment was drawing near.
I can feel it, Atris had confessed to her. The Exile will be here within the day.
The day.
There wasn't much time left, and yet Brianna had found so much of it for herself somehow since her last return. Her life had always consisted of training, an endless pursuit without any concrete resolution. An endeavor meant to persist for the rest of her life. But ever since her Mistress had called Brianna down to her study, her sisters had disappeared into the deeper recesses of their sacred training ground, always busy with cataloging or researching without a mind to teach her anything new before her next big assignment.
Whatever kindness they'd recently shown had vanished in favor of her sisters' usual disinterest. As if nothing had happened. As if it had all been a dream.
At least they weren't admitting their outright disgust and disappointment with her, as they so often did before. Instead, they opted for something far more neutral yet somehow also far more vicious - simply ignoring and avoiding her at all costs.
When she would awake and exit her room, their shared quarters would be empty. The training hall went unused. Not one of her sisters could be found at the usual mealtimes, as if they'd all taken a vow of fasting without letting her in on it.
It's not unheard of, she thought to herself. It is something they would do.
It wasn't unusual for her sisters to silently adhere to a new rule without telling Brianna, allowing Atris to notice the misstep and call her out on it instead of keeping her in the know. They'd done it before, too, when their father was still alive…
Perhaps the eeriest change was that no one would walk the hallways, not even Atris.
Brianna felt like a ghost.
When she stepped foot into what they'd been calling the docking garage, an open space in the tunnel opening only referred to as such because it was currently housing Atris' personal vessel and the recently retrieved Ebon Hawk, Brianna never felt more alone.
The ship was a bit beat up, old even. Brianna hadn't seen many ships up close, but she knew that much. Carbon scoring littered the port side and the underbelly, the paint was chipping and coming off in chunks, not to mention the navigation system was outdated and unfortunately unlockable…
Brianna stood there, eyeing the thing. It was larger than any ship she'd flown before and surprisingly difficult to manage. The controls were unwieldy, and she swore the clunky computer's operating system was almost backward - but it was an inconvenience she dare not confess to Atris lest the woman think less of her. In the end, Brianna had managed it. She'd taken command of the vessel and successfully smuggled it off Citadel Station without a second glance. And in the days that followed, no one came looking for it. At least not until now.
She will come for the ship, and she will leave with it, Atris told her. The Exile shall have that. But only because I allow it, not because she deserves it…
Brianna cocked her head, admiring the way the hull gleamed an amber-red in the dim light of the access tunnel, bringing color to the otherwise monochrome space. Even her clothes were white, blending in with the pipes and the frost and everything else Atris kept under her jurisdiction. Save for the artifacts.
Part of her was excited, thrilled to be leaving this place again and after so short a time. But another part of her knew it was a test. Atris must have known what she'd done, right? Mistress must have sensed what she felt?
Brianna shook her head and commanded that the ship's loading ramp descend. It acquiesced to her request and slowly allowed her entrance, the hydraulics still adjusting as she took her first tentative steps back on board.
She hadn't allowed herself a lot of time on this ship earlier, eager to get in and get out before she was noticed. Now, she lingered. Her eyes swept over the garage and the modest workbench at the top of the ramp, and the sliver of a common room she spied just beyond it. The lights were dimmed, as they should be in low-power mode, but soft amber-white lights flickered on throughout the ship as she walked along its corridors. She should have questioned it, she should have felt apprehensive, but instead she felt… welcomed, almost. As if she were returning home.
It would be her home for the time being - if the Exile allowed it. Brianna still wasn't sure how she planned on pulling it off but the unusual sense of calm that overcame her as she slowly meandered the ship now was both unnerving yet soothing somehow.
Brianna rounded a corner and stopped dead in her tracks, frozen. Before her stood a utility droid, sitting idly in the center of the hallway. It didn't move. Brianna paused, moving side to side slightly as if it might garner a reaction, and after inspiring none she instead tentatively approached the machine, eventually bending down on one knee to get a better look at it.
Like the rest of the ship, the droid appeared to be in low-power mode. Its head hung limp though its sensors were still alight, and after a moment Brianna realized that the little thing was plugged into the wall and likely charging.
A low series of solemn bleeps greeted her ears after a few moments, the droid still in sleep mode but only just. Brianna startled a little, but instead smiled. The droid was mostly silver though limned in blue, its sensor shining a somber cerulean, fitting right in with the polar color scheme of Atris' academy.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."
She felt stupid, speaking to a droid. Only before any real shame could set in the droid spoke back.
After a series of more drawn-out whistles and chirps, sounding almost friendly if Brianna could trust her gut on this one, she shook her head.
"I apologize, I didn't quite get that," she half-laughed, feeling even dumber as she heard her own voice echo within the empty hallway. "Wait just a moment, I have an idea."
Brianna dug deep into her pocket and produced a comms device, a common one as far as such things were concerned, though this one happened to have a feature that Atris boasted about before her trip to Tatooine. She's an expert in machines, or droids if you prefer, Atris had instructed, speaking of the Exile almost fondly before catching herself. If you have a need to converse with one, simply use this to translate.
After a moment, Brianna adjusted the device and motioned it towards the droid.
"Do you mind repeating what you just said?" she asked.
The droid cocked its head - as if it were an animal, inquisitive - and repeated the same series of bleeps verbatim. Brianna waited. Eventually, words sprawled across the comms' tiny screen, reading: Are we headed back to the satellite?
The droid looked up at her expectantly, now moving slightly forward and slightly back on its legs, squeaking a little.
"Not exactly," Brianna answered. "Your previous… owner will be returning shortly. We'll go wherever she goes."
I have no previous owner, the text read next.
"Hm, well," Brianna said, now truly feeling the fool. Who can't think of what to say to a droid? "The woman who was on this ship before, you know her?"
Of course I know her. General Eden Valen.
Brianna nodded, unable to keep herself from smiling though she didn't know why.
"That's right. Well, she's coming here. And once she does, we'll be setting off to wherever she sees fit."
The Ebon Hawk's navigation system is voice-locked, the droid explained, disengaging from the port it sat plugged into. If General Valen wishes to go anywhere other than where we've already been, she will need a new navigational chart.
"You have a universal port, do you not?" Brianna asked, glancing at the droid's retracting parts. "I can show you where to download one if you wish."
At this, the utility droid squealed not unlike an overjoyed child or an eager puppy. Brianna laughed, almost knocked back onto the floor as she remained kneeling before the machine, truly taken aback and honestly unsure when the last time she'd smiled was…
"Alright, alright, settle down," she reprimanded affectionately, feeling even more at ease than she did before. Brianna adjusted her balance and eventually stood up, dusting off her knees as she glanced about the ship again. "Say, why don't we make a deal? You show me the best place to find some privacy on this ship and I'll show you where to get the information you need."
Without preamble, the droid scurried off, whistling as it beckoned Brianna to follow. She did as she was told, and sure enough, just around the bend was the cargo bay.
"By privacy I mean for people, not for goods," Brianna amended as she examined the space. It was a decent-sized area, much larger than the one on Atris' ship or the ones her sister's used. Whose ship was this originally, anyway? "I appreciate the gesture though, I-"
The droid buzzed and let out another series of beeps before retreating further into the cargo hold, extending its arm until it touched an indiscriminate spot on the wall. Nothing happened at first, and then a series of panels folded in on themselves to reveal another inner chamber, almost the same size as the main hold.
"Oh."
Brianna wandered further into the room, examining its proportions, taking mental measurements and imagining herself here. She could easily fit all her belongings in the hidden space, leaving Brianna with enough room to sleep comfortably alongside it if needed. She would need to use the refresher eventually, sneaking around if she had to, but as far as remaining hidden while the ship left Telos, this space was more than adequate.
As impressed as she was, she also knew it was a little too perfect.
"What's your designation?" Brianna asked slowly, genuinely interested.
T3-M4, the droid offered via chipper reply.
"And why do you trust me, T3-M4?" she asked further, narrowing her eyes.
I don't, the droid chirped happily and sauntered off. Brianna laughed again, some mixture of flabbergasted and embarrassed, though it served her right to think this droid would allow her into its good graces without so much as offering her own name. Yet she didn't feel threatened by it. Droids were like that, in her experience, and she gleaned nothing malicious from this one. She shook her head and followed its continued beeping, not asking her comm to translate all of what it was saying until she found it again in a nearby room that appeared to house the ship's engine.
…best prime the generators and make sure the power couplings are operational before take-off, was all the comm was able to translate once Brianna caught up with it, wondering how she'd fare on this ship versus the home she'd known for the last five years.
Atris' sanctuary came with its comforts. Yet much like her first home, it had its drawbacks too. She'd been so thrilled upon arriving despite the grief that still clung to her chest and refused to let go, an ache Brianna still felt if she let it linger. Her childhood home had once been a sanctuary, a safe haven, but the longer her mother was out of the picture the more it turned sour, the sight of her father's face turning from a familiar sight to an unwelcome omen, bearing down on her with an unspoken vitriol that spoke more to her mother's sins than anything Brianna had ever committed herself.
In Atris' would-be Jedi academy, there was hope for Brianna to train alongside and become equal to her sisters, to become just as adept of a guardian against the Dark Side as anyone - until they began to exclude her just as they had at home. Atris was not Echani, but she absorbed their beliefs, claiming she was only honoring their culture in upholding the unspoken hierarchy they brought with them.
The cycle seemed never-ending, and Brianna wondered if the same was happening now. She was simply enchanted with the idea of something new, with hopes that things could be different - would be different. Only in the end they would be, and perhaps not in a way she expected. Or liked.
At least here she could be free of her sisters' judgment, even if her proximity to her kin did not and could not stop their everlasting punishment of her character. Despite her intentions, despite her efforts…
Brianna glanced about the cabin again, her eyes falling on the far end of the hall she stood in. At the end of the corridor stood a dormitory. From her vantage point, she spied three modest bunks lining the wall. Plenty of room to sleep, she thought, though a sudden unspoken fear gripped her at the sight of it, as if she expected someone to be there and see her, to know she was snooping around and staking out a place to hide. But as soon as the fear set in, so too did an unusual comfort, an uneasy sensation but a familiar solace Brianna hadn't felt since she was-
Her reverie was broken by a series of bleeps at her back and a string of errant vibrations against her palm. It took Brianna an inordinately long time to realize that the comm in her hand was translating what the droid was uttering beside her, awaiting her acknowledgement as her thumb errantly pressed the button demanding that it interpret for her.
About that navigational chart? T3 asked.
"Oh right, of course," Brianna smiled, wondering how useful it was to be polite to a droid. It can't hurt, right? "Follow me."
3951 BBY, Telos IV
Eden
When Eden first saw the landscape, she'd thought of Dxun. But only for a moment.
Atton had laid her in a bed of flowering weeds – a poetic act she wasn't about to unpack now – but from where she sat, she could see the towering edge of a nearby forest, dense and dark. But unlike Dxun, this place was teeming with life. A flock of birds flew from out of the canopy of trees she was watching for movement, startling her from rest as their silhouettes spilled into the sky, and just below their retreating wings Eden spied a pack of blinking yellow eyes looking upon the wreckage with some interest before eventually sauntering off and away from the fire.
From the satellite above, all Eden could glean from Telos was the pain of it. Eons of memory, decades' worth of hurt. But being on its surface now she felt different.
The ache was strong here, but it wasn't all there was.
A warning howl cut through the silence that followed the dying of the last licks of fire, the final embers of the wreckage petering out at Kreia's insistence. It was the woman's first overt use of the Force that Eden had witnessed, utilizing the trick Eden had used back at the Ithorian compound to choke the metal of its burning pyre and set it to rest. The animals nearby warned the forest of the danger of it, nonetheless, even if the threat had now passed.
Wind rustled through the grass and the distant trees. The earth felt damp and rich beneath her palms, its soil dark. Wildflowers sprouted throughout the meadow they'd landed in at the base of the nearest mountain, and in the distance, Eden heard running water…
Dxun was a haunted place. Void of anything other than violence, its jungles thick with predators but little prey, its survival as an ecosystem balancing itself on a knife's edge. But here, Telos was teeming with life again. It was healing. The Ithorians still had their work cut out for them, complete balance still far off judging by what Eden spied from the cockpit window, but it was more than Eden could have hoped for before ever setting foot here, already wondering if Serocco or Tatooine could ever recover in such a way.
They're really doing it, she thought, incredulous. Habat's really doing it.
Eden had never doubted the Ithorians or their efforts but hearing it and seeing it were two entirely different things. Their manmade haven on Citadel Station was certainly impressive, but to see that workmanship replicated planet-side and on such lush large-scale, real-world display was more than Eden was prepared to handle.
"Are you… okay?" Atton asked as he approached her, cocking his head. "You're not hurt, are you?"
Eden laughed despite the well of tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She blinked them away and considered Atton, internally wanting to laugh in earnest at the sight of him. The man's face was a perfectly ratioed combination of pure concern and utter fear. His eyes were wider than she'd ever seen them, his hand reaching for Eden as if to steady her but simultaneously careful not to make contact lest he catch whatever madness had suddenly gripped her in the time it took for him to get close enough to notice.
"I'm fine," she said. "Thanks."
Atton nodded, swallowing his expression before replacing it with a look of false nonchalance, looking around them as if they hadn't just crash landed in the middle of nowhere.
"We should hurry though, if anyone wants to blast you of all people out of the sky, it's likely bounty hunters," Atton added.
"Or anyone hurting for credits," Eden said. "Is that what happened? We were shot out of the sky?"
"That was not the most pleasant landing I've ever endured," Kreia said as she walked slowly towards them through the grass. "Next time, we should perhaps seek out a more reputable pilot."
Atton only smiled sourly at her.
"You're welcome, Kreia. Y'know, if I weren't such a crack pilot, we could have hit the shield wall or one of those rock faces we so narrowly missed on the way down."
"Yes, our current situation is a vast improvement," Kreia tsked audibly and turned to Eden.
"So tell me, where is this rogue technician Chodo Habat has sent you to find?" Kreia asked as if Atton suddenly were not there and never had been. The man rolled his eyes and began pacing, muttering under his breath.
Eden sensed an unspoken thought lingering between the two of them – her and Kreia. Kreia's unseen gaze focused on her though no words were uttered, physically or mentally. Eden waited, anticipating that Kreia's voice would say something secretly in her mind, only no words came.
"Let's see," Eden sighed eventually as she reached into her satchel for the datapad she'd bartered off Jana Lorso in exchange for letting the woman leave Citadel Station with her head though not her job. Eden could still see the Ithira's shocked but somewhat thankful face at the exchange in her mind, glancing eagerly from Eden to her boss and back again before leaving with a hurried Thanks for saving my life, or whatever, at Eden just as she turned on her heel and pilfered something heavy and gold-plated from Lorso's desk before making her exit with a half-hearted, Oh, and fuck you.
The datapad was thankfully undamaged. Within a few moments, the device booted up. Text cast in a calming sunset orange soon filled the dark screen in a slow scrawl and informed her that they weren't far off from their intended destination, oddly enough.
"Well, the abandoned base Lorso wanted me to investigate should be buried under this mountain, coincidentally, and seems to be the location of whoever doesn't want us airborne," Eden said, eyeing the sloping land until her gaze met its sharp peak and the slight suggestion of the structure hidden within. "I don't know what, but something tells me both roads lead to the same destination."
"Great, yeah, let's head towards the people trying to kill us," Atton said, already meandering a little ways off from the crash site but still within earshot. Kreia continued to act as if the man were not there, his words simply wind whistling through the grass and paying it no mind.
"And all roads lead to Telos, just as it had on Peragus," Kreia rejoined before making towards the landmark. "Perhaps this is where part of our journey was always meant to take us."
There are no coincidences, there is only the Force, Alek's ghost reminded her. His memory smirked at her in her mind at the recollection of it, his icy blue eyes twinkling as he smirked knowingly, playful. Eden shook her head.
I prefer not to think coincidence and fate as mutually exclusive, she'd said once in response to this oft-quoted phrase of his, a string of words Alek liked to repeat often. At first, he would only ever invoke it when talking about Revan, both in rallying enthusiasm when he spoke to potential and present Revanchists and also in quiet reverence, but then he would repeat it when he spoke about the two of them – Eden and Alek. Alek and Eden. Master and student, an unlikely but fitting pair.
Not to mention I don't think fate is real, she'd added.
Then how do you explain what we've seen? Alek had asked, taking her hands in his, her skin prickling sweetly at the feel of him and the warmth of his closeness. And how things have played out?
She'd begun to believe him then, so many of their shared visions having come to fruition, each Revanchist not just a follower but a conduit of Revan's eventual victory both in foresight and in bringing that fate to fruition, but it was years later and only after slicing his pretty jaw off that she knew wholeheartedly that Alek was wrong. Eden had seen Revan winning the battle at Malachor in a dream, a dream she'd had while sleeping beside him, believing it wholeheartedly despite her rehearsed exit from the conflict just before the woman walked back into Eden's good graces and granted her the Ravager with a promise primed on her tongue that the war would soon be over. At least that much had been true, but none of what Eden originally imagined would come after…
Did Kreia know all this? Had the woman seen her kaleidoscope of memories as Eden considered them in the few seconds it took her to gather her wits and begin walking, too? Eden had gleaned sentiments from Kreia, thoughts in fragments, but never memories. Perhaps their bond worked the same way for the old woman.
Eden eyed the mountain ahead of them and made toward it, keeping up the rear of the group though she could tell from simply looking at him that Atton would prefer their places were switched. But he remained steadfast, glancing over his shoulder at her occasionally with a silent question on his face as he kept pace. There was something about his demeanor now that soothed her, something that finally fit. Despite the concern coloring his features, there was also a feral look about him. A look that had possessed him entirely when Eden found him starving on Peragus. A look that spoke of survival and caution, a look that told Eden that despite his making friendly and cracking jokes, that he was still hesitant about her. As he rightfully should be.
As soon as they found the Hawk again, Atton would be gone. Eden couldn't blame him. She wouldn't. She'd be gone too if fate hadn't sunk its claws into her again, the Force forever having its way with her.
And upon the man's inevitable departure, Eden would be left with Kreia and their unholy bond, left to her own devices and the mystery of her new tether.
She missed the days of early childhood, of only feeling tethered to Aiden, their thoughts forever on the same page as they had been from birth and before. At least until they were older. But more than anything, Eden didn't expect to miss the days when she was mute to the Force entirely. Working quietly in her droid shop with only the dull drone of conversation out in the courtyard and the wind on the dunes outside her window as background noise, the machinations of the world and those around her a distant thought rather than an extension of herself.
She preferred the Force as a severed limb, numb and prickling but most importantly gone.
Now it was back. And Eden wasn't sure she wanted to be in its company any longer.