Thank you readers for your wisdom in the matter of Mace vs Sidious.

Apologies if this is a somewhat awkward joining chapter. We are, in exciting news, nearing the end of the first phase of this story.

Chapter 17: Where to Now?

Hera sat beside Boil at the ship's controls. They had been flying, he told her, for less than an hour. But already Hera had exhausted everything she could think of to keep her mind in check: silently stepping through all of the unfamiliar ship's controls, figuring out the procedure to land in an engine failure, or a stabiliser shutdown, or how to manually override the engine gears.

Now, all that there was left to think about was Isval in pieces on the floor. Or the tears on her father's face. Or the fact that there were only ten survivors here on the ship and only five of them were Twi'leks.

Hera felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Come back to the hold, Hera."

It was Eshgo. Hera felt the welling of new tears – how could she possibly still have more to spill? – as she looked at her. Isval's best friend. Hera had used to listen to their voices in the darkness of the women's dormitory as she fell asleep.

"I don't want to."

She'd already sat in the hold for as long as she could bear it, listening to the murmured debate of the surviving clones – "We never found their ships. They might have only been injured, not made it back to us in time." "If they're alive, they'll get themselves out of there." "Woolley will be talking Gregor's ear off as they hike out." "Are you kidding? They're not hiking out of there. There are lyleks in that forest." "Not anymore." "What?" "You don't want to know." "How are we supposed to mourn them without a helmet? Without anything at all?" – and feeling the chill of her father's stony silence. He was angry at her, probably. Not that any of this was her fault. Not that she'd even got a scratch on her. She wanted to tell him that she'd had to stow away, that if she hadn't they might never have found each other ever again, but she hadn't thought he'd want to hear it. So she'd slipped away from the hold and sat with Boil where she could at least distract herself a little.

"Hera, you need to come. We're deciding where we're going next."

Hera looked at Eshgo reproachfully.

"But I don't get to decide that."

"You get to help," Eshgo insisted. "We're all deciding together."

"I like it here."

"I'm sure you've already memorised all the controls."

Hera conceded the point and followed Eshgo with padding footsteps back into the hold. All glassy-eyed and despondent, no one acknowledged their return except the runaway Prince of Mandalore, who sat on the floor, propped up against the wall behind him, and lifted a hand in forlorn greeting. He perhaps did so only to distract himself from the needle piercing his skin as one of the clones re-stitched the wounds on his chest that had burst open in his battle with General Grievous.

"Alright."

Her father's voice was crisp and he was not crying anymore but Hera could hear the hollowness within him.

"Cody has heard from General Windu. He has survived his battle with the Emperor but has injured him only superficially. Although we have destroyed the Perilous there are, by Windu's estimates, enough circulating TIE fighters that to remain in Ryloth's airspace is unsafe. And it will certainly only be a matter of time until the Emperor sends reinforcements back to Ryloth. We have scarce resources now with which to oppose him. I have sent a warning beacon to the second moon to signal for immediate evacuation."

No one said anything. What was there to say?

"We have made the military consolidation of Ryloth an expensive one for the Empire. But we have failed in our primary goal. I have failed as your leader. And if I could pass the leadership of this Movement onto a more worthy soldier I would."

His voice wavered, then, almost cracked.

"But the greatest soldier amongst us is dead."

He gestured downwards, as though they had not flown parsecs away and Isval's body lay nearby, at their feet.

"It is in Isval's memory that I refuse to give up this fight, for I know it would kill her once over again if I did," Cham uttered. "But the truth is that they have destroyed our Movement and the road ahead will be harder still than that which we have already treaded. This may not yet be our darkest day. And if you grow weary of this fight, I cannot fault you. Speak now and we will take you somewhere safe to start again."

There was silence once more, an uneasy one.

"We are not destroyed, Father," Hera managed. "They will never destroy us. Like Mother said, remember? So long as there is one Twi'lek who is willing to fight for a Free Ryloth our Movement is alive."

But her voice fell flat against the dull thrum of the engine.

"There is no other good life to live," Drim resolved, voice quiet but firm. "Not in this galaxy."

"We will stay with you, General," Eshgo concurred.

"It really can't get all that much darker," Crost added, in grim humour.

Cham gave a curt nod. It was no passionate cry of loyalty but it was perhaps the best that could be hoped for.

"General Windu has suggested we follow him to the Bothawui system where he has a safehouse and split up from there. It may be years until we are able to return safely to our homeworld."

At this, Cham managed a strained smile.

"But the Prince of Mandalore has shown us that one can still fight in their time adrift and abroad."

Korkaran Kryze, who had been listening with his eyes closed as the clone medic continued with his wounds, gave an adolescent groan and opened his eyes.

"Mon Gazza, General, not Mandalore," he protested, in a weary drawl that brought out the posh Coruscanti accent he must have been making an effort to conceal from them. "I'm from Mon Gazza and I fight with a standard vibroblade and none of you have ever met a prince, alright?"

He gave an extravagant yawn, eyes closed once more, and waved a disdainful hand about his gaunt face.

"A prince," he managed, voice sleep-smudged, "would be much handsomer. And better-dressed."

And the quiet rumble of laughter that echoed around the hold was cautious and short-lived, but on this dark day it was something.

There was nothing for it but to double down. Sidious had lost thousands of soldiers in a terrorist attack marginally bolder than that which he had anticipated. But he had hundreds of thousands more and the Free Ryloth Movement had been destroyed. There would be no Twi'lek fighters to oppose the second invading force. Ryloth had demonstrated that it could not be trusted with small freedoms and all local leadership would be deposed in favour of another military-run state. The expenditure would be made up in exports. The galaxy would struggle for breath under his ever-tightening control.

There would come a day when there would be no more rebellions. Memory of life before his rule would fade away. No more dreams of freedom. No more hope.

The rebels would lose their appetite for massacres and misery. But Sidious could play this game forever.

They had slept one freezing night on a sparsely populated moon in the Bothawui system before the lost prince made the miserable trek to the nearest miners' supply station and started packing his knapsack again.

"So what next?" he asked Mace, aware of the Jedi's attention. "Where to now?"

Mace stifled a groan.

"Are you already searching for your next mission?"

"I know what mine is," Korkie answered. "I'm going back to Yaga Minor to see Kawlan and get back to work on the Hidden Path. I'm asking what your plan is."

Mace gave the heavy sigh that had, much to Master Yoda's amusement, punctuated so many Council meetings; he couldn't help it.

"I know I've already got you into well enough trouble," Korkie conceded, his expression apologetic. "I wouldn't take offence if you weren't enthusiastic about helping us."

"That's not what I meant," Mace muttered. "Of course I'll help you. That's why you came to find me, isn't it?"

The boy gave a cautious grin, uncharacteristically lost for words.

"Well… thank you, Mace. Thank you so much. That would be a tremendous help."

"The Faulties are planning to disrupt an Imperial training academy on Lothal. An old plan we had in the works before Ryloth. But we'll all see each other again soon."

Korkie gave a nod of approval.

"So how will we get back to Yaga Minor?" he asked, rearranging his rations at the base of his pack. "Do we need to ditch the ship after Grievous saw it on Ryloth?"

Mace shook his head at the young man's enthusiasm.

"Let's give it some time before we launch into all the logistics."

Korkie straightened abruptly.

"Time? For what?"

Mace gazed pointedly at the new dressings upon Korkie's chest.

"You've had two operations this week, Korkie."

The boy shrugged off his concern.

"Not operations. Patch-ups. And it really only counts as one. Same wounds."

"You'd do well to have some rest," Mace advised firmly. "I don't imagine you've given yourself any since you left Tatooine. And it's been over a year now, as I understand it."

"I don't need rest, Mace. I'm young and vibrant."

Korkie gave his most winning smile. It was diminished, somewhat, by the still-healing burn upon his cheekbone.

"You're young and vibrant and growing," Mace corrected him. "You need to rest."

"Kawlan's going to be worried sick about me!"

"You can call him. Besides, I'm sure he's not the only one worried about you."

The levity faded from Korkie's countenance and he stopped in his packing.

"I don't want to get them into any trouble, Mace," he said, voice softer now. "I don't want to lead anyone to them."

"There's no one following you right now," Mace reassured him. "We've lost them. And we're in Tatooine's corner of the galaxy, after all. You mightn't get another opportunity like this for some time, if you're going to be working in the galactic north."

Korkie shrugged, tight-lipped, and folded his arms across his chest. Mace waited in patient silence.

"I was unkind to Anakin," he spat out. "Before I left. I was angry at him for refusing to help fight the Empire."

"I understand."

Korkie looked surprised.

"Are you angry at him too?"

Mace considered.

"I was," he reflected. "For a short time."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"No. Only to Master Yoda."

"Did Master Yoda tell you what happened?" Korkie asked, his expression anxious. "How he nearly turned?"

Mace nodded.

"But he didn't turn."

Korkie didn't seem particularly impressed.

"Do you know how remarkable that is, Korkie?" Mace pressed.

The boy gave an extravagant roll of his eyes.

"Because idiot Palpatine slaughtered my dad right in front of him," he countered. "Of course Anakin didn't turn. He loved Obi Wan."

His voice had wavered, nearly cracked, and he frowned irritably.

"I just don't see why he wouldn't want to do anything to avenge him. Given he loved him so much."

Mace nodded in patient understanding.

"Healing takes time, Korkie. I think that Anakin is honouring your father's care for him, in raising those children."

Korkie gave a derisive snort.

"You're forgetting what my dad was like. He didn't believe in stay-at-home parenting. He believed in saving the galaxy."

Mace conceded the point.

"I'm afraid it was one of Obi Wan's rare flaws."

"He had heaps of flaws," Korkie snickered. "Did you ever see him drunk? Terribly speciesist."

Mace held Korkie's eyes with sombre gaze, ignoring the taunt.

"Obi Wan was never able to step away when there was a battle to be won," he stated. "That was his greatest flaw. But it's important, Korkie. Truly. I know that all those bruises and sutures make it easier for you to ignore where the real wounds are but they do not make you stronger."

And Korkie, lifting a hand to the wound upon his shoulder – a wound, Mace had noted, when the boy had first been undressed by Kix for suturing on the stolen ship from Yaga Minor, that looked unsettlingly like a lightsabre burn – finally seemed to be unable to argue. He scowled but said nothing.

"Anakin will forgive whatever you said to him," Mace went on. "I'm sure he forgave you long ago. And," he added, "it's important that he knows that we still care for him. That we're waiting – patiently – for him. For when he's ready."

At this, Korkie cocked an antagonistic brow.

"Huh. So this is actually a diplomatic visit you're having me make? Not about my self-care?"

Mace fixed Korkie with a stern glare.

"It can be about both, Korkaran."

The young man made a noise of scepticism but did not offer further argument.

"He deserves our patience, Korkie. After the sacrifices he has made."

A mis-step. Korkie's expression darkened.

"You're missing my point, Mace," he snapped. "Unlike my parents, Anakin has sacrificed literally nothing."

Mace grimaced.

"He lost his wife, Korkaran."

"But he had no-"

"You think Palpatine didn't promise to spare Padme?"

At this, the petulant adolescent before him sobered to a broken young man, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"I was the one," he muttered, in half-hearted self-defence, "who had to watch her die."

Mace's heart sunk.

"I'm sorry, Korkie."

"Yeah, well…"

Korkie heaved a steadying breath.

"I'm sorry. For being such a brat. You're right. I just… didn't think of it like that."

He looked down, fiddled with the fraying cuff of his jacket.

"I'll try to say the same to Anakin, I guess."

Mace gave a gentle smile.

"I think it will help you both feel better."

"Saving more refugees would make me feel better," Korkie countered, but his retort was half-hearted.

"That comes next, Korkie," Mace promised. "Soon. I'll go on ahead of you. Find Kawlan. Tell him you're on your way."

Korkie finally managed a tight smile of his own.

"Thanks."

"We've got some spare fighters. Since we lost Gregor and Woolley."

"How grim. Thanks."

"Take as much time as you need. Please."

Korkie shrugged.

"I'll see how long I can bear it."

Mace shook his head.

"The babies will be walking now," he pointed out. "Talking. I think you'll enjoy yourself."

Korkie brightened at the thought.

"I'll have to start teaching them Mando'a all over again."

Mace laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. He was no father and he'd never even been much of a teacher. But he wanted to get it right for the orphan standing before him.

"That's a good plan, Korkie."

The boy lifted his gaze, pensive again. Were they his father's eyes? A little darker, maybe. Perhaps his mother's. Perhaps uniquely his own.

"It's holding onto the past, no?"

Mace shook his head.

"It's who you are, Korkie. It's your language. Your culture. It will rightfully survive through you."

Korkie gave a painful swallow, eyes bright. Mace had said it wrong. Reminded the boy of the genocide, placed the weight of his history upon his narrow shoulders. He was no good at this.

He opened his mouth to apologise. But the young man lifted his arms in an embrace. The manoeuvre was still foreign to the exiled Jedi but Korkie enveloped him so comfortably, even resting his chin upon Mace's broad shoulder.

"Thank you, Mace," he murmured. "For everything."

"So you come here to help us and then leave us straight away? I thought you were a freedom fighter."

Korkie appraised Hera, her arms still smudged orange and her face swollen from tears, with guilt pooling uncomfortably in his stomach. He settled his half-packed bag at his feet.

"There are many causes across the galaxy to fight," he offered, grimly. "I'm returning to the one I know best. I can't rebuild the Free Ryloth Movement in the way that you and your father can."

Hera's expression darkened.

"My father hates me."

"No, Hera. He loves you."

Hera blinked, perhaps surprised by the vehemence of Korkie's reply.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

Hera folded her arms and gave the sort of scowl Korkie knew well – the angry suppression of coming tears.

"Hera…"

Korkie motioned for her sit by him on the dusty ground.

"Hera, I'm sorry. You're right. I shouldn't have come if I was just going to leave again, it's wrong to come for one battle and leave when the Movement's in trouble-"

"Destroyed," Hera interjected.

Korkie grimaced.

"Not destroyed, Hera. Not entirely."

"And that's because of you!" Hera insisted. "If you hadn't been here then Mace Windu and the clones wouldn't have stayed with us and we never would have made it off Ryloth and we all would have been dead!"

Her voice cracked and she sniffled determinedly, squeezing shut her eyes to keep the tears at bay.

"And now you're leaving us," she gritted out.

Korkie looped an arm around her shuddering shoulders.

"It was Isval who got you and I onto that ship alive."

"Have you forgotten that she's dead too?" the child snapped.

"No, Hera. I haven't."

They sat in miserable silence.

"I'd stay with you if I thought it would keep you safer, you know?" Korkie offered. "But I seem to cause a lot of trouble."

Hera looked to him with watery gaze but did not argue.

"Besides," he went on. "We'll see each other again."

He fished in his pockets until his hand grasped damp flimsi.

"Here," he offered, pressing it in Hera's palm. "You told me you're going to end the Empire and I believe you. We're going to be allies one day."

Hera unfolded the hand-sketched map.

"You'll be flying fighters and I'll be helping Force-sensitives escape execution," Korkie went on. "It'll be useful for you to know my routes."

The young pilot's finger traced the sprawling trails from Yaga Minor.

"This should help you find me, too, if you ever need to. I owe your people some hospitality. Not to mention, Hera, I owe you my life."

At this, a faint brightness finally dawned on Hera's countenance.

"I thought I 'got us into a world of trouble'," she challenged.

"That," Korkie conceded graciously, "was probably my middling talent as a pilot."

Hera gave a contented sigh.

"Told you so."

Korkie snickered.

"I'm sorry for getting so cross with you. I was frightened."

"That's okay."

"You know, that's the same reason your dad was angry," Korkie advised. "Not because he hates you. Because he was scared to lose you."

Hera shrugged and evaded the point.

"When I come to find you," she posed instead, "What name will I ask after?"

Korkie leaned back against his hands and pondered the question.

"Only if things are going very well," he reasoned, "Might you find me going by Korkie Kryze."

It had been so long since he had last said his true name aloud.

Hera had surely known it for days but shook her head in faint disbelief.

"Crown Prince Korkaran Kryze," she breathed.

He mustn't have looked much of a Crown Prince.

"Kingdomless, creditless Korkie Kryze," he corrected her. "Ben makes it simpler, see?"

Hera gave a wry smile.

"Yeah, alright. I guess it does."

Cody joined Korkie as he packed a meagre collection of rations into the back of the starfighter that had once belonged to Woolley.

"Got something for you," he announced, proffering his clumsy gift for the young man's inspection.

Korkie gave a half-smile and shook his head.

"Cody, that's very kind, but I-"

"You're not allowed to say no," Cody decreed.

He held the breastplate up against Korkie's frame.

"It will fit you perfectly. And you can't tell me you don't need it."

Korkie raked a hand through his tangled hair.

"I have armour, Cody. It's just…"

"Where?" Cody challenged. "Not where you need it, clearly."

He gazed pointedly at Korkie's chest.

"In storage," Korkie answered lamely.

Cody hadn't the faintest idea where in this galaxy the nomadic orphan might have a storage compartment but didn't get the chance to ask.

"It's heavy," Korkie went on. "Not at all good for travelling."

Cody scoffed.

"Aren't your people famous proponents of wearingyour armour at all times?"

Korkie rolled his eyes, arms folded.

"Have you forgotten who raised me?" he challenged. "That wasn't my culture. Not for a long time. Mandalore has many cultures. And I'm culturally…"

He struggled for words.

"…a bit of a mess, actually."

Cody nodded.

"You'll be less of a mess if you stop getting cut open," he advised.

He packed the breastplate and shoulder guards into the fighter's storage compartment and closed it before the boy could argue further.

"Now, you keep your head down, okay? I'm only letting you fly out of here unsupervised because Mace assures me you're going somewhere safe for a rest. Don't make me regret it."

Korkie laughed in disbelief.

"When did you become such a parent?"

Cody shrugged.

"Cloners must have made a mistake with my batch. I've gone faulty. Some paternal instinct gene has become unmasked."

Korkie chuckled then sobered.

"I'm really grateful, Cody. Hera and I wouldn't have made it out without you. And I'm really sorry, too. About Gregor and Woolley."

Cody shook his head.

"It's the way that the galaxy is now, Korkie. It's the war we chose to fight."

He sighed.

"I'm grateful too, you know. Seeing you alive… it made this shitty galaxy feel a lot better."

Cody fumbled in the silence. Despite it all, he still wasn't well-practiced at this.

"I'll see you soon. With Mace and the Hidden Path."

Korkie grinned.

"I look forward to it, Cody."

"You'd better be wearing some sort of armour when I see you next."

Korkie vaulted into his ship.

"I'll stay in one piece if you do, Commander."

Trilla Suduri, who ought to have forgotten her dead name by now, could not feign ignorance to the wordless invitation of the red-cloaked guard who appeared in the gymnasium doorway as she pressed herself into what might have been her hundredth repetition of her kata. She'd been sweating already but felt the moisture turn cold on her skin as she extinguished her blade and acknowledged the presence with a curt nod.

Kriff.

She'd done her best to ignore the whispers within the Fortress Inquisitorius that the Emperor's return to Nur would not be a victorious one. Those who dared to speak of failures would be punished for their disloyalty. Trilla would believe the truth as she heard it from her Master's mouth.

But she hadn't expected to speak to him so soon. His ship had barely docked. Nor had Trilla expected to be summoned alone. She fought to keep her breathing steady as she followed the guard out of the training room and down the hallway. Her mind raced back through the days gone past.

What had she done wrong?

Trilla had succeeded on her last raid. Four Force-sensitive children captured alive and brought to Arkanis. Their protector killed. She had executed the attack faultlessly. But Sidious had perhaps seen the images that came to her in flashing nightmares. Felt the horror she repressed in daylight hours. She knew that she had not yet proved herself to be the faultless Darksider he required her to be. She feared he would ask further proof of her loyalty. Perhaps he would have her return to Arkanis, to face the children again, to play some role in-

She would not think of it. She was queasy enough as it was.

Present moment, Trilla. There is peace in the Force.

A ripple of rage, then. Coursing hot through her veins. Nothing that Master Junda had ever taught her could help her now and she did not want to hear that voice ever again. There was no peace to be found in the Force. If there had been peace in the Force then Master Junda would not have succumbed to the torture and given Trilla's location away. The Jedi were weak and ignorant and strove for a peace that did not exist. The only truth in this galaxy was pain, and strength was found by those who could inflict it.

Propelled by her anger, Trilla crossed the threshold of her Master's throne room.

"I am summoned, Master?"

Sidious was standing, stooped, before an enormous viewport, pondering the sprawl of stars surrounding them. There was no sense in the Force that this was a leader who had lost a whole star destroyer in a rebel ambush. He seemed faintly pleased to see her.

"Yes, Second Sister."

He turned slowly.

"I encountered a curiosity on Ryloth, my child."

A curiosity? Trilla's mind scrambled. She'd never been to Ryloth. Surely nothing to do with her. Unless perhaps some failure of hers-

"The same young rebel, I believe, that engaged you on Dantooine."

Trilla's guts seized. Not any simple failure of hers, but perhaps her most monumental: the failure to apprehend a young Force-sensitive with clear rebellious tendencies. And to make matters worse she had lost him. Tracked him to Yaga Minor and then felt him slip from her fingers. She had escaped punishment only, she presumed, because her Master had been preoccupied with the issue of Ryloth.

"The boy with the stolen 'saber?" Trilla clarified, dry-mouthed.

"A blue 'saber, yes," Sidious agreed. "But I do not think it was stolen. I suspect that it was a gift."

Trilla faltered.

"A gift? But he is no Jedi, Master."

He could be no Jedi. It was not possible for her to have forgotten already the faces of those who had first been her brothers and sisters in the days before names gave way to numbers.

"He is the son," Sidious informed her, voice light, "of Obi Wan Kenobi."

"Obi Wa-"

Trilla could not get the name out. She felt acid pressing at the back of her throat and clamped her jaw. But she could not rid the image from her mind. Master Kenobi, occasional sick-day relief teacher, bent over her shoulder, correcting her mathematics with a quiet kindness in his voice. Obi Wan Kenobi with his brilliant Padawan, an arm draped over the boy's lanky shoulders like a father's would, glowing with their forbidden but unapologetic love for one another. They had always caught her eye. Hadn't every Padawan coveted that tenderness, quietly, in the silence of a too-distant Master?

But with the sweetness of those memories came the pain that had been trained into her, the darkness that was a part now of her very core. She swallowed down her vomit. Kenobi had failed, just as her own Master Junda had failed. Too weak, so breakable, clutching at their feeble light. The Inquisitors had been told the story of the foolish, headstrong young Padawan who had thought he could destroy a Sith Lord. The story of the pathetic Master who had arrived too late. Who had not parried a single blow.

And who had left behind an orphan son. Untrained and righteous and stupid.

The Light was weakness and it was death and failure and abandonment and Trilla Suduri would never return to it.

"The boy escaped while I dealt with Windu," Sidious went on. "He is not worthy of my own pursuit. But his connection to the Force is strong and his heart vulnerable and open to influence. He would be useful as a member of the Inquisitorius, no? Put to rest any hope of the resurgence of Mandalore?"

Trilla had forgotten until that moment the boy's maternal lineage. She had never kept abreast of the Temple gossip and Master Kenobi's defection to Mandalore had seemed a distant triviality in the face of the horrors of the Clone Wars she had lived every day during the last years of her Jedi apprenticeship.

"Yes, Master."

Trilla knew where he was leading her and a sickening pain twisted in her guts. The boy had ventured that very question in their conflict.

Would you take me to him? Have me suffered what you suffered? Become what you have become?

And Trilla's horrible failure.

I will be kind, youngling, and I will kill you instead.

But she would not fail twice. She had extinguished more lives since their encounter than she would deign to count. She became stronger and harder with every day that passed.

"I will find him, Master," she vowed. "And I will bring him to you."

Sidious's thin lips curved into a cruel smile.

"Very good, Second Sister."

Trilla bowed and waited to be dismissed. But the reprieve did not come.

"Your quiet failures, Second Sister," Sidious added, voice delicate, "have not gone unnoticed."

Breath catching in her throat, heart thundering in her ears, Trilla said nothing. She had known this. Why then, had the words struck her with all the force of an acceleration into hyperspace?

"You are more than his match in combat, Second Sister," Sidious advised. "You failed to capture him once through inexperience. Should you fail again, it will be an obvious failure of your heart."

Trilla swallowed effortfully.

"I will not fail you again, Master."

Sidious inclined his head.

"Strong words, Second Sister," he acknowledged. "But it would be remiss of me not to ensure the matter myself. You are in need of further training."

Some part of Trilla might have dropped to her knees and cried. Have begged for another way. Some part of her wanted to scream with wounded rage. Hadn't she done enough? Suffered enough? Proved herself wicked enough?

But she knew that she had not. She knew that there was still weakness within her. She knew that her Master would not allow her peace – that she would not herself find peace – until all of the heart and the softness within her had become cold darkness.

"Yes, Master."

"Before you search for him, you will accompany me to Arkanis, where you will fully complete your recent mission."

She had known. Kriff, she had known. And yet still-

Fists clenched, fingernails digging into her palms, Trilla nodded.

No more heart. No more softness.

"Yes, Master."

Korkie watched Tatooine loom ahead. Sand and stone and thousands of lifeforms scrapping for life.

Home?

Not quite. But somewhere, perhaps, to rest his weary head.

Farewell Hera! I too feel guilty for abandoning her at this stage in the story. But we'll see her again.

Next chapter will be (relatively) short and sweet: Korkie returns to Tatooine. We'll see how Anakin has been faring. And our beautiful babies are now two years old and all sorts of trouble. I hope you're excited to see them.

xx - S.