3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Jedi Temple Ruins

Mical

He was driving himself crazy.

Maybe it was the lack of food or the lack of sunlight. Or maybe it was his mind's complete inability to rest.

The moment Mical's head would hit his makeshift pillow, Mical would shoot up again with another search query to test, another unanswerable question that would leave him sleepless and utterly obsessed until he simply couldn't read anymore and would inevitably collapse on the floor before waking with a start again, another question fresh on his mind…

The laigreks continued to bring their daily rations, though they were growing few and far between now. Whether that had anything to do with the creatures' limited understanding of his human needs or the state of his ghostly hosts' stores, Mical was not sure. He was an odd mixture of too preoccupied to question it, as well as perhaps too scared to broach the subject entirely, filling his days otherwise with every errant question he'd ever had, able to access the Jedi Archive for the first time since he'd last seen one at the ripe age of fourteen. Or was it thirteen?

Mical lapsed for a moment, finding himself unconscious for a brief second as he stood at the archive's console, swaying on his feet as sleep threatened to take over. He blinked through it, willing himself awake again before he finally relented and nearly collapsed atop the console itself, bracing against the font of it with his forearms as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. And perhaps it was.

He cursed under his breath as he finally gave in, succumbing to his leaden limbs as he lowered himself slowly to the ground, keeping hold of the console as if it were a banister letting him down easy. Mical turned and leaned his head against its podium, his head sweetly drifting off to nothingness as dreams formed behind his eyes the moment he let his head rest against its plasteel stalk, only to jerk awake the moment he relaxed because his pocket erupted with an uncertain buzzing.

"Not now," Mical muttered, rummaging through his pants pocket for the damn thing before procuring it and looking at it stupidly. He must have slept on it, leaving the device on. Or had he left it on? Hoping to finally hail Erebus with the slew of mysteries he'd uncovered, before eventually convincing himself that he'd never speak to the man again before coming back around to the idea once more in an endless cycle…

He was too tired for this. His usually astute observation had left the premises, leaving him only with primal annoyance. Mical muttered still as he fumbled with the thing and finally allowed for the voices urging their way to an audience to come through.

"-This channel is empty, so go ahead-" a ghostly voice garbled through the damaged comm. "We should start regrouping within the week if all goes as planned."

"And the ruins?" a different voice asked, this one clearer yet also somehow familiar.

"A right mess but salvageable, or so Azkul claims."

Azkul. Mical was suddenly more alert now as he eavesdropped, wondering if this were the Force at work or perhaps his own unconscious genius. The man's still alive?

Mical's eyes blinked himself even more awake, his body now thrumming with adrenaline as he recounted his final moments in the ancient ruins, certain that Erebus would be the end of the Golden Company's leader here if only for the pure hatred filling his bright green eyes as he told Mical to go. What happened?

"We've secured an allegiance with Ulo so at least we have those dirt mongers on our side," the first voice said again in the same garbled, vaguely metallic tone - Dirt mongers, Mical echoed internally. The scavengers? "I'll alert you of any updates within the next hour."

"Will do," the other voice said, and that's when Mical made the connection - Rahasia Sandral. "We'll be careful for now, lest we attract any more attention. You do the same now, yeah?"

"Affirmative," the other voice rejoined. "Over and out."

Mical sat in silence for what felt like minutes, his heart still racing and his breath quick. It only took a quick glance at the readout of the chrono-watch that over an hour had actually passed. Mical held the display up to his face as if it would rearrange its readout to better match his internal clock, shaking his head as the device did no such thing.

"I'm losing my mind," Mical muttered to nothing and no one, finding only that a lingering laigrek asleep at the half-collapsed entrance to the archive raised its head as if offended he spoke. "Sorry."

Mical shook his head again and rose once more to his feet, adrenaline still coursing his limbs as if he ran on pure battery acid. He tried to push back the notion that he'd been waiting with an elevated heart rate for over an hour to the back of his mind, knowing the medical implications and choosing to ignore them, as he eyed his pilfered comm again still sitting demurely in his hand.

He'd fidgeted with the controls over the last few days, finding nothing of import until now. He adjusted the signal and confirmed that it was still set to an odd frequency, wondering if the Golden Company had been using it this entire time or had only just discovered its disuse before adopting it themselves.

Without hesitation, Mical ordered the comm to send out a probe signal, one seemingly random should anyone glance at it, but evident should the right person be listening. It hailed a single name - Aiden.

Mical sank back down against the podium of the archive console, staring at the comm all the while, almost unblinking.

It only took a few minutes before a voice answered on an adjacent channel.

"..."

At first, there was only static. And then-

"I honestly didn't think you'd call."

Erebus sounded so tired, so harrowed, and so… stunned. Mical was almost offended, wondering why the man wouldn't expect Mical to make good on his promise by following up on their previous agreement, even if deep down Mical knew that by all rights he should not be conspiring with a Sith under any circumstances.

"I-"

Mical faltered, biting down on his lower lip to stop himself from saying me too. And while that had been his instinctual response, he also knew that it was not true. But more devastating in its realization was the notion that Mical did not want Erebus to think that.

"I had some questions," he said, at first unsurely before regaining his footing, closing his eyes against the archival console and bracing himself as he calculated his next words. "But… I also wanted to warn you."

"Warn me?"

Mical could almost imagine Erebus' smirk in response, shaking his head and the image of it away before he responded.

"You haven't been listening in on this comm, have you?"

For a moment, there was silence. And then…

"I was, just now at least." Erebus sighed. "You heard it, too, I take it?"

Mical nodded as if Erebus could see, finding himself silly in the act of it but shaking it off nonetheless.

"I thought you-"

"Killed him?" Erebus finished with a huff. "The last I saw of Azkul, he was being dragged off by kath hounds. I had every right to expect him dead."

Only silence followed as Mical imagined the scene, recalling the way Erebus looked as he begged Mical to leave, part of him wondering in the moment if the Sith would make it out of there alive either.

"I was a fool to even think so, though deep down I knew it wasn't true."

Erebus sounded almost… regretful. But not in the way Mical expected.

"How so?" he found himself asking, surprised at his own question as well as surprised at the turn their conversation was taking and his willingness to quietly speak with Erebus as if they were old friends. Perhaps that was simply what happened when one is kidnapped and escapes with someone in the same situation, their quick camaraderie not unlike some of the fleeting friendships Mical experienced during the war. At least that's what he tried to tell himself as he eagerly awaited Erebus' response.

"I… have a feeling I know how he will meet his end," Erebus revealed in a low voice, sounding even more tired than he had when he'd answered the comm, as well as any time in the last few days Mical had witnessed the man rebound from any number of otherwise serious injuries.

Mical stared at the far wall, still half-collapsed and swathed in the shadow of early morning from what little light trickled into the space, but he swore he saw something there. A figure, or perhaps two, approaching the archive from the outer ruins. A figure he knew he would eventually meet in the coming days…

"Your sister," Mical offered, almost as a question but more so as a statement. Even though he could not see him, Mical sensed Erebus nod on the other end of the comm.

"Indeed," Erebus sighed. "Whatever is abrew on Dantooine is far from over. Are you at least safe for the moment?"

Safe. The word echoed in the lightyears between them as well as in the empty room Mical now sat alone in, soaking the word in as he ruminated on it in the moments that followed.

"For now, yes," Mical said. "Though I cannot say much for my well being for much longer."

"But you made it back to Khoonda?" Erebus asked, the same unusual concern coloring his voice to the point that Mical questioned whether he was actually talking to him and not someone else.

"Actually no, I-" Mical bit his lower lip as he glanced about the room, as if worried that someone might overhear. And in a way, he was. "I managed to get back into the Jedi Archives. I'm the only one here."

"In the ruins?" Erebus asked, incredulous. "How did you manage that?"

"A story for another time," Mical promised, knowing that it implied a future conversation were there to be one, errantly hoping that there would be. "What I really wanted to know were some answers, especially now that I'm here."

"Well, how fortuitous because I come bearing fruit," Erebus laughed lightly, sounding more like his usual sardonic self. "As well as other questions, if you don't mind my asking."

Mical shook his head, as if he had an audience.

"We made an agreement," he said. "It's only fair."

"Fair?" Erebus laughed again, sounding almost nervous now but charming still despite the rasp in his voice betraying his poor health. Whatever had happened since Nespis was truly weighing on the man now, Mical could feel it, and perhaps Erebus was putting on a show of it as a means of disguising how truly hurt he really was.

"Fair given the nature of your queries, I should say," Mical amended. "That and I need you to answer a question of mine first, and honestly."

"And how will you ever know if I am being honest?"

Mical paused, considering the question intently even if he already knew his answer.

"I won't," Mical said. "But it's up to me to ask it anyway. Whatever you say, whether truth or not, will tell me all I need to know."

Another pause. Mical imagined what Erebus looked like now - likely terrible and more pallid than before, and perhaps even more gaunt if it were possible - but more so he wondered where Erebus was now. Despite the clear exhaustion in the Sith's voice, he sounded comfortable besides. At least in a safe place… But where might that be?

"Go ahead," Erebus sighed after a beat. "Ask."

"Is Master Vash with you?"

Yet another pause.

"She is," Erebus said tersely. "In fact she's just in the other room."

Mical wasn't sure how he knew, but he could sense Erebus glance over his shoulder, as if he'd somehow gleaned a brief glimpse into where the man was and what he was doing like he might were they talking via holo.

"I can get her, if you'd like-"

"Maybe later," Mical interrupted, knowing he should have taken Erebus up at the offer but also knowing he was too hounded with his own questions enough to push the matter even if telling Zayne as much might set his mind at ease. Or perhaps it wouldn't… "Have you found anything out about the pylons?"

"Unfortunately," Erebus said. "But it's locked behind a login I've yet to get a workaround to. All archival history here about the thing and anything like it is blocked unless I had Darth Revan's access to the consoles."

Darth Revan. Not just Revan - but Darth Revan.

Mical shuddered, wondering exactly where Erebus was with earnest now. Where would Revan have secured her Sith stronghold?

"But there she is again, isn't she?" Mical said, standing again and accessing the logs they'd examined days ago, the ones altered by someone using Erebus' abandoned account. "Revan. Everything keeps coming back to her."

"I don't like it," Erebus said. "But it makes me wonder…"

"Wonder what?" Mical asked almost too quickly, but he wanted to know more than he cared about coming off as cool and collected.

"I wonder just how long Revan was planning her Sith takeover," Erebus muttered. "I didn't believe the rumors when I was still a Jedi on Coruscant, though my Master at the time would have liked to believe otherwise. And yet…" Erebus tsked loud enough into the comm to cause it to sputter and wrinkle with static before his voice came through clearly again. "It's odd that she was found with an object of unknown origin and continued to search for it later, seemingly both before and after she… turned. It's almost as if-"

"As if she joined the Jedi only to follow the trail?" Mical finished.

"And then became a Sith once that trail ran cold," Erebus added. "Only for her to be attacked by her friend, her apprentice, and then mindwiped into oblivion and leaving us… well, here."

"I feel like it's a start but it still feels wrong, and not just because of my moral obligations. Maybe it's less complicated than that. What if instead of Revan pursuing the power, what if… what if this unknown source sought her out? Just as it did Exar Kun, if Nomi Sunrider's story is to be believed."

Erebus huffed a laugh.

"You know your hearsay well," Erebus confessed with an air of surprise.

"Even if either of us are right, we're still left without a real lead." Mical sighed, rapping his fingers across the console keyboard in thought. "Unless-"

"Unless?" Erebus echoed.

Mical blinked - slowly at first and then in quick succession, desperately trying to rein his mind in before he could lose control of his train of thought, but before he could answer, he typed in another series of queries for the archival console to answer for him. And thankfully - it answered.

"Unless what?" Erebus asked again, breaking Mical out of his single-minded reverie.

"I know you said that Revan's logs were blocked behind a login, but were all of her logs hidden in such a way?" Mical asked, still typing furiously. "If we can trace her interests through the years, perhaps there are some clues there."

The comm was silent as Erebus stewed over Mical's suggestion, still putting the pieces together when Mical lightly slapped the console in satisfaction, a series of logs possibly pertaining to his query appearing on the screen.

"I just brought up logs about Revan from other Jedi here, namely those who trained her, such as Zhar Lestin early on who noted that Revan's father worked at a university. Apparently she mentioned it in a training session with him but that he couldn't glean more from her on the subject - such as what he studied or where the school was located, only that he suspected that he worked in either history or archaeology. Perhaps her father had found something like this before? Hence why she was found with one of those odd black pyramids…"

There was another moment of silence, though a charged one. Mical sensed Erebus' interest instantly piqued as he heard the adjoining sound of quick typing from the other end of the comm before Erebus finally commended, "Perhaps you're right… Ah."

"Ah? Ah what?" Mical demanded, wishing desperately that he could see whatever screen Erebus was looking at if not for the immediate answers he sought but out of sheer curiosity as to what knowledge a Sith archive might hold.

"Revan had secured a series of holocrons in her chambers, as well as selected a few she meant to seek out, though it appears…" Erebus typed some more, his heightened interest obvious in the sheer volume of his typing, "She'd yet to secure them. But the coordinates of possible locations are still here. And they're accessible."

Accessible.

"Send it to me," Mical requested. "I'll see if I can find anything here as well. If the Jedi were looking into securing particular Sith artifacts, including holocrons, perhaps there is some overlap."

"Good thinking," Erebus commended, a slight smile evident in his voice. Mical blushed a deep scarlet, his cheeks growing hot as he willed the physiological reaction away and tried to focus on the breakthrough he hoped he'd just made. "Wait, send it to… where exactly?"

"Good question," Mical paused. He aimlessly navigated the archive screen, clicking in and out of windows before backtracking again. "I'd say we could use your login but clearly someone's already hijacked it."

"Use mine," another voice intervened.

Master Vash.

Mical had thought Erebus was telling the truth, though part of him still doubted the man, yet the harrowed sound of Vash's voice now did more than just confirm the Sith's attestations.

"I've been using it rather frequently over the years, and if someone from outside the Jedi has compromised the system then my whereabouts were likely already in jeopardy. It would be stranger if I suddenly stopped using it now than if it were used at all."

"Thank you, Master Vash," Mical bowed his head, even though the woman could not witness the respectful gesture. "It would be much appreciated."

"Anything to help," she said, before disappearing again.

"She's not doing well," Erebus said quietly after a long minute, likely after Vash had already left the room or at least earshot. "The energies here are weighing on her. We'll have to leave soon, though I doubt where we're headed will be much better."

"Where are you headed?" Mical asked.

"First to the Japrael System to finish some business, and then… to Korriban."

Korriban.

Mical had read up endlessly on the place though he never imagined himself ever stepping foot there. Not because he didn't want to - he was curious, after all - but because he did not know the coordinates and doubted he'd ever meet anyone who did. Until now…

"I will likely discover more there, if anything remains." Erebus paused, tsking audibly again before continuing. "Though considering Vash's visions, I believe something does."

Mical said nothing. He'd only felt the Force in echoes and whispers since his time with the Golden Company, under the icy eyes of Azkul and what would unilaterally be considered torture by Republic standards - but despite its silence now, he knew Erebus' feeling to be utterly true. For better or for worse.

"I'll send you what I find," Erebus said after a beat, "Are you ready to receive Vash's login info?"

"I am," Mical agreed.

Within a moment, Erebus relayed Vash's information to Mical and then promptly signed off. The comm fell silent. It felt unceremonious, given everything. Though what Mical was expecting otherwise, he was not sure.

A laigrek scurried nearby, poking its head into the space as if quietly asking Mical if he were alright. He nodded, beckoning it closer until he could pet its elongated neck, relishing in the soft clicking sound it made at the contact. Mical could not say he expected any of this - his allegiance with a Sith, being holed up here, and at the behest of some unseen host that could speak with beasts… Mical shook his head just as the laigrek deposited another satchel, this time full of dried meat and berries, before it wandered off, clicking pleasantly.

Somehow he knew it would continue to be a strange journey. He watched as the laigrek exited the archive, the ghostly silhouette of his would-be visitor poised in the doorway left in the creature's wake, just as it appeared in his momentary vision earlier.

It won't be long now,, something inside him said, though it wasn't nearly as strong as the Force felt back in the ancient ruins. An inner part of him ached at the thought of it, wishing he could sense it again as he was forced to, even if the circumstances under which it occurred was less than ideal.

I can show you, a voice promised from the void. Or at least… I can try.

Mical hadn't heard his mysterious hosts' voice in quite some time, and while part of him was glad to hear it again another part of him was wary.

Mical shook his head again before slumping back down to the floor, properly ready for sleep now.

"Maybe tomorrow," he said, wondering who he should trust - if anyone, at all.

3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Khoonda Headquarters, former Matale Estate
Mission

Around this time yesterday, Mission was beginning to feel good. She was beginning to think that things would turn around for them, that things were looking up.

She'd just helped Asra relay another message to General Valen after Darek returned with news of the scavengers, and while his intel betrayed something of an unfortunate alliance with the rebel faction still going strong in these parts, it felt like they at least had the upper hand.

Until last night.

Or the middle last night, if Mission wanted to be precise in her recollection of events, after being shaken awake by a frenzied Zayne with an alarmed looking Zaalbar at his side. She stood now in the Khoonda vault, nursing a headache and rubbing the lack of sleep from her eyes as Carth's holoimage stomped around whatever poor room housed his unending anger now.

"No way in hell you're going anywhere, Bastila," Carth seethed, though it was clear his anger was not directed at the woman herself but at the barrage of bad news the man had been on the receiving end of for the last six months though likely more, last night's news being the worst of it so far. "It's too dangerous. Everyone's on high alert, and not just to cash in on the Jedi but to avoid any at all costs."

"But if everyone's after the Exile, maybe it's actually the best time for Bastila to leave?" Mission offered unsurely, still fighting sleep but finding her logic had some credence to it. "Even if people are looking for Jedi, General Valen's face is the one on all the billboards right now. Maybe that's enough of a distraction for any remaining Jedi left to move."

"Perhaps," Bastila offered, nursing the knot she often got in her jaw when stressed, her holo-image stuttering slightly with the motion. "I'm sure some will have that idea. But the question is, do we think it's worth the risk?"

"Absolutely not," Carth shook his head. "I'm having a hard enough time tracking the Exile down after she stormed the TSF, dumb as they are. The Lieutenant there at least guaranteed me that he doesn't believe she'll leave the planet anytime soon though he did give her leave of the station."

Carth hung his head before shaking it, the tiredness clear in every bone in his body, and Mission could relate.

"I'll already have a field day tracking her down, I don't need to have to go looking after you too."

Mission glanced at Bastila's holo, wondering if the woman would take this as a compliment or an insult. But Bastila betrayed no emotion this time, likely using all of her energy to keep herself together as she so often did, especially after her unusual display of emotion the last time they all spoke.

"I know you're just looking out for me, Carth, but I am beginning to worry whether I too have begun to overstay my welcome. It's only a matter of time before someone recognizes me."

"It may not be a great idea to come here either, then," Mission sighed. "You trained on Dantooine, right Bas? All the locals are sure to recognize you. And with half of them now sided with the Golden Company-"

"Mission's absolutely right," Carth said with a nod. Mission bit her lip, trying not to swell with an internal pride she'd always yearned from Griff, also internally angry that she finally felt it because of something Carth said of all people, who felt more like a pushy stepdad to her than anything. "There's far too much room for error if you go to Dantooine. Maybe it's best if you stay put."

"But I can't just… sit here."

Bastila looked so frustrated, which the woman often did, but it was different this time. Dark circles lined her eyes, and her hair was a mess, though Mission wanted to believe that part was just in line with Bastila's current MO of generally laying low.

"We could still use your guidance," Mission offered with a shrug. "With Vash gone, you're the only other Jedi we got, not counting Vrook because that old bat won't say much…"

"Fine," Bastila resigned, biting back a smile as she returned her attention to Carth now. "But what will you do? Are you still going to try and secure an audience with the Exile?"

"Try being the operative word here," Carth groaned. "Not sure how long that woman will stay on Telos, but here's to hoping she'll at least come your way on Dantooine, Mission."

Mission nodded, opening her mouth to say something sarcastic if only to lighten the mood but Carth cut her off.

"Which is another reason I think it best you stay away, Bastila," Carth added. "If General Valen heeds Asra's messages then she's likely headed there next."

"And if they're looking for her, they'll surely find me," Bastila finished for him with an affirmative though solemn nod. "Got it."

"I really wish there was better news," Carth exhaled, his gaze zoning out into the middle distance before he shook his head and got back to business. "Anyway, I-"

"Wait, Carth," Mission interrupted this time with genuine interest. "What happened on Onderon? I take you did find the source of the contraband weapons?"

Carth huffed a laugh and hung his head again, his hands firm on his hips as a look of utter annoyance overcame his face.

"The Golden Company, if you'd believe it," he muttered. "But here's the thing - the transaction was never completed. The mercs we detained claim to have been outbid by someone else, so my job here isn't exactly done because unfortunately I believe they're telling the truth."

"Too many things are adding up, Carth," Bastila said in a harrowed half-whisper. "It's a big galaxy, and there are far too many coincidences for my liking."

"You and me both, sister," Carth sighed. "You and me both."

3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 084, Apartment D1

Atton

Atton was surprised he'd managed to sleep at all.

Days ago, he'd found himself awake simply on edge because he hadn't heard from Luxa about what his next move would be, eager to know where the next drop would take place or where the next crumb he'd need to leave in the woman's wake. And even in the weeks, months, and years before that, he'd always kept himself in a half-awake state, shoes on and blaster by his side, or wrench in the case of his time on Peragus. It all began when he was a child, still a bastard posing as a servant of the house, but it only became a continuous habit regardless of his whereabouts after the war. Especially after Malachor.

And despite it all, he'd slept. And not just dozed off, but really slept. In the presence of the woman responsible for what happened at Malachor no less. And in his sleep, he'd dreamt of his father for the first time in a long time.

How would you like to live here? With me? Feron had asked. We could make you a proper squire of House Rist. Would be nice, wouldn't it?

Atton had thought of that moment often in his younger years, wondering if his father was earnest or if he was just trying to sweeten a young Jaq into winning his illegitimate father some more money in perpetuity along with whatever household secrets the help were always privy to, what his life would have been like had his father made good on his promise instead of leading him on with wishes of future riches had his mother not squandered whatever winnings Atton managed to come home with when he felt obliged to return to her decaying farmstead. It was the only thing to keep the place going, and when the vineyard sold, whatever he managed to win went to the farm, and then…

"Hey, Atton," Eden's muffled voice beckoned from beyond his closed door. "You good?"

You good, Atton echoed bitterly. Was he ever?

"In a minute."

Atton nursed his temples, a pounding headache throbbing beneath the surface of his skull just as hyperspace routes replaced whatever errant thoughts previously occupied his brain.

Thank the Maker. Not all was lost.

Atton's boots were still on, and his blasters were still nearby, in fact one of them was still precariously resting in his reclining palm as he slept with the safety off. Atton coughed purposefully to an audience of no one and made himself presentable, glancing at the holo-clock on the nightstand and hoping that his presence wasn't missed for the last twenty or so minutes. With his usual false air of confidence, Atton exited his TSF appointed room (even if he was the one to formally choose this specific bedroom) and entered the common space proper where Eden and Kreia stood facing one another, hands on hips, both women staring Atton down as if his vote on whatever they were talking about were about to change the tide of the present tension currently slicing through the room.

Atton froze.

"Did I…" Atton looked from Eden to Kreia, and back to Eden again before stupidly saying, "…miss something?"

"Our eponymous leader's friends left a message for her in your absence," Kreia announced. "Suggesting that we change course for Dantooine."

"Atton was the one who gave me the message Kreia, he knows. And I still think we should go there," Eden pressed, rounding on Kreia. "But I also think we should finish our business here first."

"Our business?" Kreia echoed, but Atton cut the woman off just as she looked as if she were about to launch into one of her usual cryptic speeches about our moral obligation to others and why that was bad or counterproductive something that didn't jive with the idea Atton otherwise had of Jedi that lived rent-free in his brain.

"Well," Atton shrugged, smirking unsurely. "Sounds like we have everything already figured out, no?"

He made for the kitchenette as if that settled things, pouring himself a healthy glass of water from the pristine refresher as Kreia and Eden stared each other down.

"So it seems," Kreia eventually relented just as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I still think we should see where Telos leads us before we consider our next destination. The Force tells me our business here has yet to conclude."

"Our business," Eden huffed. "How come when you say it, it's-"

"So let's do that," Atton cut in and shrugged again as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyeing Eden over the edge of his palm, finding that her shoulders seemed to relax at Atton's insistent suggestion as nonchalantly as he played it. "We'll play it by ear."

Affable as ever.

"I suppose so," Kreia said. If the woman had visible eyes, Atton imagined the woman would have narrowed them in his direction. "Though I still believe we should keep our options open, the mindset of which being the most important thing. If our minds are too set on a possible future that may not come to pass, we may miss the things that are already in front of us as well as what other paths might be worth traversing."

"I'm not saying we won't do that," Eden argued softly, another side of the woman emerging in the wake of the version Atton so recently saw of her in the Czerka offices, the girl named Ithira nearly throwing her datapad at Eden's feet when she so much as insinuated that she had need of it, begging that Eden not push her way to an audience with Jana Lorso as if her livelihood depended on it. And maybe it did…"But I think it's an option worth considering, especially seeing as we have no other leads."

Kreia pursed her lips.

"Yet," Eden added imploringly. "No other leads, yet."

"That is fair," Kreia said. "Though I urge caution. If anyone is looking for remnant Jedi, Dantooine is the first place they might look."

Eden seemed to genuinely consider this, her gaze glazing over as she imagined the possibilities before nodding sagely. "You're right," she said. "We'll tread with caution. But in the meantime-"

Now Eden looked to Atton, and he suddenly felt as if he were being put on the spot.

This is where affable gets you, idiot, he thought sourly. Best to play it cool.

"Off to the surface?" she asked.

He supposed she meant to sound more authoritative in her statement, but instead Eden seemed unsure, looking to Atton for corroboration though he didn't know why. Her face was clean now - void of blood and all memory of the day before - and Atton wasn't sure what to think of it. Part of him now associated the blood-stained version of her with Malachor, the night he lost all of his squadmates and whatever family he had in the wake of his mother's death. His father had still been alive then, the last he'd checked, but Atton hadn't talked to the man in ages. He considered returning to Alderaan once or twice, thinking of taking his father up on his ancient offer upon finding that none of his friends' ships had made it out of that final battle unscathed, their bombers caught in the implosive orbit of the Mass Shadow Generator upon ignition. Atton's was the only one to escape the pull of the implosion, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about that. But the way Eden was looking at him now felt decidedly unlike anything he otherwise would have imagined from the person that ordered a weapon of mass destruction of that magnitude to be employed, her eyes wide and almost imploring as she awaited his response.

"To the surface," he echoed, almost choking on his words but standing behind them in full. At least in appearance. Or so he told himself.

You're free to leave - so long as you keep in touch, the memory of Luxa's veiled threat lingered in the back of his mind, haunting him lest he forget.

Atton would never be free, he knew that much. But Eden didn't have to know that.

3951 BBY, Telos, Citadel Station, Deck Module 004

Eden

"You've got to be kidding me," Eden groaned as she neared the loading dock that Lieutenant Grenn had referred to earlier, shaking her head. The streets were still quiet after the previous night's events, allowing them quick access to most of the station, but Eden knew things felt a little too easy as they approached the shuttle bay. "That sonofabitch is smarter than I gave him credit for."

Sitting idly on Deck Module 004 was a planet-hopper. Sure, it allowed Eden to do as she promised the Ithorians, certain that she could at least keep her promise to Chodo Habat, but as for her next move once that was over…

"This is -" Atton huffed a laugh "-quite possibly the most pristine looking vehicle I've ever seen in my life. Outside of a dealership floor, I mean," Atton let out a low whistle. "Doesn't mean jack shit in terms of handling, but - heh - I'm sure I can figure it out."

The man was still being oddly agreeable; which was on the one hand rather suspicious, but on the other a nice counterbalance to Kreia and her perpetually off-putting moods. Eden had to give the woman credit, though. She did have a point. But her on again, off again sensibility when it came to what felt like either offering Eden advice or doling out orders was a pattern Eden had yet to uncover. The times in which their Force bond kicked in also seemed to be at random were it not for Kreia's unyielding coolness whenever it occurred, always appearing in-the-know whereas Eden was left perpetually in the dark.

It will at least allow us to complete our business, Kreia said in her mind, as if privy to Eden's previous thoughts. I have already stated my belief that Telos has more to show us, but I also believe it will show us the way off it when the time is right.

"What I'm more concerned about is Grenn," Eden muttered normally, trying to ignore Atton's bemused expression as they neared the hopper, confused at the half-conversation he was now witnessing, unsure if Eden was talking to him or to Kreia. "He clearly wants me to stay nearby until the Admiral arrives, but I'm not eager to find out what else that man might do if he's desperate."

"Nothing that would be in the disinterest of Telos or this station," Kreia rumbled in response, her voice calm yet contemplative. Eden got the feeling the woman was being honest in her answer.

"Well, in any case, can you tell me what coordinates Habat gave you? I need to know where we're piloting this thing," Atton plucked the access chip Grenn granted her with and demanded that the loading ramp descend, timing it perfectly so it met the floor of the docking bay a split-second before Atton's boot first stepped onto it.

"Sure, yeah," Eden rummaged around her robes, her fingers pausing over the small collection of datapads in her pocket. After thumbing over each of them, she chose the one gifted by the Ithorians - an older model, and rough around the edges - and pushed it into Atton's expectant grip. Their fingers brushed lightly, Eden lingering for a moment too long before she blinked, finally retracting her touch just as Atton did the same. She could have sworn that the man recoiled before he assumed his usual easy-going half-smile (which she noticed he was laying on a little too thickly since the deal with Slusk) and disappeared into the hopper. Eden froze before the open mouth of the vehicle, staring up into its depths as Kreia began to walk the length of the ramp ahead of her, stopping halfway and turning in Eden's direction with a heavy sigh.

"I imagine our strange alliances will only grow in number as this wears on," Kreia said as she pinned her empty sleeve beneath her other elbow, an attempt at crossing her arms. Eden flexed her mirrored hand, feeling the absence of Atton's recent touch as well as Kreia's existential one. She inhabited both in her mind, sensing the solidity and the lack until each canceled out the other, leaving her with -

"It's best we get going," Kreia urged. We can discuss the myriad of threads and spools later.

Eden paused, looking into the hollowed depths of Kreia's hood before glancing out at the glowy expanse of Citadel Station. The port offered a view of both the cityscape and the planet below, energies milling between both that echoed within Eden, intermingling in the past and in the present. In ways she was not quite familiar with yet somehow felt primordial, as if buried in her bone marrow since birth but only just unearthed, some ancient relic once forgotten now found again.

Eden shook her head, unable to rid herself of the feeling and the half-realized truth of it, wondering if it would ever make sense.

Kreia still waited on the loading ramp. And concealed from beneath the shadow of her hood, Eden felt as if Kreia smiled - though how she knew this or why the woman would smile, Eden did not know. And she wasn't sure if she wanted to know, either.