Kessel Run, Week 5: Write an AU (alternate universe) story of at least 500 words with the trope "Back From the Dead", using this picture as inspiration: cdn dot pixabay dot com slash photo/2023/03/12/23/09/forest-7848056_1280 dot jpg (an eerie black and white photo of a tree with thick, shallow roots in a foggy forest of similar trees)

I'm back with the Week 5 fic that I previously skipped over. This story ended up taking on a life of its own, expanding more and more each time I sat down to work on it, and I'm really pleased with where it ended up, and with how it brought together so many little threads from this AU and my main 'verse. It's very long, but I'm posting it all at once because I was on a deadline for the challenge, and because in all honesty, I love this monster one-shot just the way it is.

Title comes from the song "Other Worlds Than These" by Starset


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The Gallows Tree

54 ABY

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"You ready, boss?"

Veeran Starskip opens his eyes, looking around the darkened corridor. The other pirates stand at the hatch, waiting to blow it open on his command. It's the first time they've done this on their own, without the older members of Hondo's crew to back them up.

It's the first time Veeran has been in charge.

His twin brother leans over to nudge him in the arm. "That's you," Dorian murmurs.

Veeran sends an irritated acknowledgment across their bond, so the others won't hear.

"Don't worry," his brother says. "You just give the orders and be your intimidating self, and I'll do all the speechifying."

Veeran cocks one eyebrow, even though they can barely see each other in the dark. "Speechifying? You just making up words now?"

He doesn't need the Force to sense Dorian's shrug. "Better than focusing on all the ways this could go wrong."

"Boss?"

Veeran snaps his head toward the hatch, where Yaanis and the others await his answer. "Blow it."

The hatch bursts in, leaving burn marks along the polished chromium floors as its laser-melted edges drag across them. Joor and Shadow go through first, then Dessa and Yaanis. Veeran follows with Dorian at his side, while Gelki and Jax hang back to guard their exit. The ship is quiet; the time between capture and boarding was too long, giving the passengers plenty of time to hide – but that's nothing to a crew of Force-sensitive pirates.

"A handful in the cockpit, the rest in the staterooms, by the feel of them." Dessa opens her eyes and glances back at Veeran with a teasing grin. "Where do you want us, boss?"

Veeran rolls his eyes at the faux deference. "Yaanis and Shadow, secure the cockpit. Dessa, Joor, you're with me and Dorian. We'll round up the passengers first and then collect the loot."

Joor raises his blaster to his shoulder and smirks. "Let's have some fun."

The pirates spread out through the ship, heading for the upper deck, where each elaborately decorated corridor gleams with warm, incandescent light from dozens of delicate, finely-crafted sconces – not at all like the austere, overly-lit spaces in their own ship. They check every room along the way, mostly private lounges and a library and even a pool. All of them are empty.

Dessa and Joor take point as they approach the staterooms, with Veeran and his twin covering the rear. They're just entering the first one when something whispers across Veeran's senses. The others stop and turn to look to him.

"Keep going," he says under his breath, waving Joor and Dessa ahead. They nod and cross to the adjoining room, blasters raised. Veeran draws his weapon and glances over at Dorian. His brother does the same, and they backtrack several paces to a door opposite the main entry. It slides open to reveal a cozy lounge, with vidscreens and a holoprojector that appear to be set up for recreation, and two wide, plush sofas upholstered in rich, burgundy velvet. Dorian runs his hand across the back of one as he circles the room.

"Too bad we can't take one of these with us," he muses. "I bet Gelki could actually fit on this."

Veeran eyes the sofa, mentally calculating whether they could fit it through the blown hatch or if they'd have to take it out some other way. If he'd known beforehand that they were going to snag a Kuati pleasure yacht, he would have asked Hondo for a bigger ship and more hands.

"Maybe next time," he says, eyes sweeping the room. Whatever he sensed before, it isn't in here. "Come on, let's catch up."

Dorian plucks a small jeweled figurine off of a desk and tosses it in the air as he heads for the door. "Can you believe they just leave stuff like this lying around?"

"They're rich," Veeran replies, eyes narrowing as Dorian continues to carelessly toss the trinket in the air. "Would you put that down? We need to take care of the passengers first."

Dorian spins around to look at him, walking backward through the doorway. "You're no fun, you know that?"

"Yeah, you never let me forget—" His danger sense flares as two uniformed men appear behind his brother. "Look out!"

Dorian drops the figurine and swings around in time to take a fist to the jaw, and then another, and before he can recover, the taller of the two men loops an arm around his throat, pulling him into a headlock. Veeran snaps his blaster up and shoots the shorter man in the chest, but his companion hides behind Dorian, the end of a blaster lodged into his brother's ribs.

"Try it, pirate," the man says, an edge of desperation in his voice. "I guarantee I won't miss."

"I guarantee he won't either," Dorian says, his expression disturbingly neutral.

"Shut up!" The man shoves the barrel of the blaster further into his side. "You criminals think you can do whatever you want, you're no better than those Sith dogs, always taking and taking. Well we've had enough!"

Dorian meets Veeran's eyes, and a thought echoes across their bond: Shoot.

Veeran holds his weapon steady and breathes out… and fires two shots in rapid succession. The first bolt burns through the man's hand, knocking the blaster from his grasp; the second sears through his forehead, and Dorian's would-be assassin drops to the deck with a thud.

His twin shrugs and straightens the front of his jacket, stretching his neck from side to side. "Thanks."

Veeran holsters his weapon with a growl. "What the hell was that?"

Dorian picks up his blaster and returns it to his own holster, refusing to look him in the eyes. "That was you saving my skin."

"I know, idiot. Maybe you should pay attention next time instead of relying on me to save your ass."

Dorian looks up at him and laughs, holding out his hands palm up in surrender. "I literally just said thank you. You want me to stamp it on my forehead, too?"

"You're kriffing ridiculous."

"Tch." Dorian clicks his tongue. "Language."

"I'll show you language…"

He and his brother cross to the adjoining room, where Dessa and Joor have their weapons trained on a group of about a dozen humans all huddled on the floor in front of the luxurious suite's massive bed. Most of them are women and children, some dressed in a rainbow of expensive silks, others in simpler but no less colorful servant's garb, but there are a couple of men among them as well, shielding the children with their bodies.

"Good people!" Dorian exclaims with a theatrical flourish and a wicked grin, completely belying his narrow brush with death just moments earlier. "The Pirate King himself sends his greetings and wishes that you would pay your tribute to his most humble servants in his stead."

The Kuati noblewomen and their entourage stare back in stunned silence – all except for one, the most elaborately bejeweled of the group: an elderly woman with sleek, coal-black hair and hard, steel-gray eyes. She sits with a straight, stiff spine, front and center, and scoffs at Dorian.

"Humble! I never heard anything so outrageous!" She glares at each of them in turn, but most of her ire seems reserved for the pirates' herald. "You're nothing but a pack of filthy marauders."

Dorian smiles back at the noblewoman, ignoring her tirade. "We don't require much – just your credits and any valuables you've stashed around the ship… and of course, your jewelry." He glances over at Dessa and Joor and jerks his head toward the passengers. The noble family's matriarch predictably balks at the attempt to relieve her of her finery.

"How dare you!" she says as Joor unclasps a heavy ruby-encrusted necklace from around her throat and removes several gold and bronzium rings from her fingers. To add insult to injury, Joor lifts both her dainty hands to his lips when he's finished and kisses them one at a time.

"Many thanks, milady," he says with a roguish smile.

The old woman looks like she's going to faint; she clutches at the much younger woman next to her, probably her daughter or granddaughter. Veeran watches them all with a careful eye as Joor and Dessa continue to strip them of their valuables one by one. Dorian opens a duffel bag and holds it out to collect the loot.

"Oh, very pretty," Dessa murmurs, plucking an elegant, jeweled comb from one young woman's hair. She turns to Veeran, holding the comb above her ear. "What do you think?"

Veeran smirks. "Fancy." He nods toward the bag, and Dessa deposits the comb inside, pausing long enough to toss him a knowing smile. He'll have to find that one later and ask Hondo about keeping it. He senses movement behind him and turns to see Yaanis and Shadow enter the stateroom, herding two women and a man in front of them.

"Found these ones trying to comm for help," Yaanis informs them as Shadow deposits their prisoners with the others. "I don't think it got through, but we should hurry just in case."

"Is that everyone?"

"Everyone we could find."

Veeran nods and pulls out his comlink. "Jax, how are things there?"

"Nice and quiet."

"Then come here and help us load these goods. We've got places to be."

"Aye, aye, boss."

As he tucks his comlink away, Veeran notes that one of the servants behind the matriarch has begun to quietly sob. "What's wrong with her?" he asks, gesturing with his blaster.

One of the men speaks up in reply. "Two of our guard are missing."

The matriarch glares at him. "Murderers."

Veeran bristles at that, at the thought of those two guards and how close it had been. "Self-defense," he says through slightly gritted teeth. "We're thieves, not murderers."

"You may as well have murdered us, too," the old woman says, still clinging to the younger one. "What are we supposed to do now that you've taken all we have?"

Dorian has been standing next to him throughout the exchange, quietly sorting through one of the bags of treasure; but he glances up at the noblewoman's bitter words, and despite his flippant demeanor, Veeran recognizes the subtle, hard set of his twin's mouth. "You could get a job," Dorian quips.

The woman's face flushes nearly as scarlet as her gown. "Callous, unfeeling monster," she all but spits at him. "Have you no shame?"

The room goes so incredibly still, Veeran isn't sure if it's real or if it's his brother's reaction manifesting in the Force around them. Dorian breaks ranks to approach the noblewoman, and he gets down on one knee to look her square in the eye.

"I think you should be grateful," he says in a soft voice, "that you still have your ship, and the clothes on your backs, and your lives. I think you should close your eminently cultured, outrageously spoiled, overbearingly pompous mouth, and not open it again until we leave. Because if I am the monster you accuse me of being, the stupidest thing you could do right now would be to piss me off."

The old woman shrinks back, and her young companion wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer. Dorian stares back at them for a very long moment, then rises to his feet and returns to Veeran's side. Veeran catches Dessa's eye across the room; she shrugs and taps a finger to her wrist.

Right. Time to go.

He waves at Joor and Shadow. "Watch them. We'll bag up the rest."

Jax arrives just as they're leaving the stateroom, and Yaanis hands him an empty duffel bag. "Aren't we almost done?" Jax asks.

Veeran rolls his eyes. "There's another cabin that needs cleaned out. You guys take that, and we'll finish up here."

As Jax and Yaanis leave, Dorian closes the bag he's carrying and slings the strap over his head and across his body. Dessa exchanges a look with Veeran, then takes a step toward his twin. "Came on a little strong back there, don't you think?"

Dorian looks up from what he's doing and shrugs. "All part of the act."

Dessa hesitates, glancing at Veeran again. "You sure about that?"

Dorian huffs under his breath and gives her a tight smile. "Look, everyone thinks I'm a creep anyway, right? I'd hate to disappoint you all by being anything less."

"All right, enough." Veeran steps in between them, earning himself a stern glare from Dessa. He ignores it and sweeps a hand to indicate the bags at their feet. "Get these back to the ship. You can finish bickering once we're away."

Dessa hauls one of the bags over her shoulder. "I do not bicker, Veeran Starskip."

Dorian raises an eyebrow. "Oh, she used your full name, you're in trouble now."

Veeran flings a hand toward the corridor. "Just get going!"

Dorian throws him a lazy salute as they depart, and Veeran grabs the remaining bag and heads for the last cabin, emptying shelves and drawers as quickly as he can. Stripped down to its furnishings, the room retains only a hint of its former grandeur, and he pictures that noblewoman and her family sitting in the middle of nothing, mourning their jewels and their credits and their fancy clothes. He breathes in slowly and pulls out his comlink. "Joor, Shadow. Secure the passengers and get back to the ship."

"On our way."

Veeran returns to their point of entry and waits there with Gelki, whose bulky frame completely fills the space where the hatch was. He glances up at the Gigoran woman and smirks. "Guess we didn't leave their ship completely intact, huh?"

Gelki shrugs. [Oops.]

The thought of the old matriarch and her murder accusations wipes the smirk from his face, and he looks around the corridor, imagining what will happen when their freighter disengages from the yacht. "Their bulkheads should close automatically as soon as they lose pressure."

It's not a question exactly, but he still looks to Gelki for a response; she shrugs again and doesn't say a word. A few minutes later, Joor and Shadow appear with the last of the loot, Joor looking way too pleased with himself.

"What did you do?" Veeran asks as they slip past him and Gelki to climb through the hole in the hull.

"Nothing," Joor says innocently, grinning even wider.

Veeran catches Shadow's eye. "What did he do?"

Shadow hesitates, looking to her partner-in-crime for approval, like always. Joor throws a hand up in surrender. "All right," he says, "I may have given that old lady's granddaughter something to remember me by. Hard to resist, with her looking so fine and flustered."

Veeran grinds his back teeth together. "Joor…"

"What? It was just a kiss. You should've seen the old lady's face, I thought she was going to faint dead away."

Gelki crosses her arms over her chest. [You need to stop kissing the people we steal from.]

"We're pirates!" Joor says with a laugh. "If we can't have a little fun, what are we doing here?" He turns to Veeran, a look in his eyes that's more than half challenge. "But if it offends your delicate sensibilities, I'll try to hold back in the future, boss."

"That's right." Veeran steps closer to Joor, noting with immense satisfaction the way the other man has to look up to maintain eye contact. "You will."

Joor's smile goes tight at the corners, and he lifts an arm to dangle a bag of stolen goods between them. "I'd better get this to the cargo hold, eh? And anyway, I thought we were in a hurry."

Veeran watches Joor and Shadow go, then he nods at Gelki. "Let's close it up."

They retreat to their freighter and seal the door, and Gelki retracts their docking anchors to set the Kuati ship adrift. Veeran gives her an appreciative nudge as they part ways – she to the cargo hold with the others, he to the cockpit where Yaanis is already laying in their course.

"All done?" his friend says as he stands to trade places.

"All done," Veeran confirms, dropping into the pilot's seat.

"Want me to stay and help?"

"No, I got it. Go take a break, I need to comm Subara anyway." He swivels around just enough to meet his friend's gaze. "It's fine."

Yaanis nods and leaves him, closing the cockpit door behind him. In the stillness, Veeran listens to the faint electronic hum of computer parts and the sound of his own breathing before reaching over to flip on the comm. After a few seconds of static, Hondo's right hand man appears in a flicker of blue light above the holoproj.

"On your way already?" Subara says impishly. "That was quick."

Veeran busies himself with double-checking the navicomputer and offers only a mild shrug in response. "Yeah, I guess."

"Were they loaded?" Subara's weathered and wrinkled face cracks to reveal a smile. "I know that look; they were, weren't they?"

Veeran glances up at the holo, suppressing a grin. "Kuati nobles," he replies. "Of course they were loaded."

Subara utters a short, barking laugh and appears to slap his knee. "I can see the captain's face now, wait till I tell him!"

Veeran shrugs again. "It was a good haul."

"What's with the modesty? You did good, kid." The Weequay man shakes his head. "You should be happy about that."

"Yeah." Veeran's gaze wanders from the holo to the distant stars visible through his viewport, tiny pinpricks of light blinking against an ocean of black. He's not sure what he feels at the moment. But he's bringing home the treasure, and he didn't get any of their people killed, so that's something. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Ain't no guessing about it." Subara smiles again, a proud, paternal sort of smile. "We'll see you soon. Go get some rest, enjoy your victory." His mouth curves in a sly smirk as he adds, "Boss."

Veeran rolls his eyes, fingers reaching for the hyperspace lever, trying once again to hide a grin. "Whatever you say, old man."

The light from the projector fades, and the ship leaps forward, taking Veeran and his crew with it.

.


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They exit hyperspace in a remote sector in the Outer Rim, far from the prying eyes of the Sith, the Hutts, and the feeble remnants of the Galactic Alliance, where Hondo's small fleet of ships is already gathered. The largest of them, an old Liberator-class cruiser affectionately named the Mukmuk after a few of Hondo's favorite (and long-dead) pets, waits at the heart of the formation. As their small freighter settles into the larger vessel's hangar bay, Veeran rounds up his crew. "All right, we're here. Let's get this stuff unloaded."

While the others gather the treasure, Dorian scoops up one of the larger duffel bags and follows Veeran to the hatch. A faint meow drifts in from the other side.

"Sounds like someone's eager to see you," his brother says.

Veeran strides down the ramp before it's even finished lowering, just in time to see his best girl dart forward. Leda leaps up into his arms, purring contentedly as she rubs her head under his chin. He runs his fingers along the soft fur of her throat in response. "Yeah, I missed you, too."

Dorian stops next to him, readjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder, and leans in close to Leda. "Hi, Mom."

Veeran scowls at his twin. "Stop calling her that."

"What?" Dorian reaches out and scratches Leda behind her ears, eliciting another satisfied purr. "She likes it."

"She does not, she's just putting up with you because she doesn't know what an idiot you are."

"I—" Dorian's voice takes on Hondo's accent as he mimes being stabbed in the heart. "—am wounded."

"I heard that!" a familiar voice echoes from the hangar entrance, and Veeran looks up to see their captain striding toward them. The old Weequay pirate lord spreads his arms wide in greeting. "And I could not be more flattered, my little linguist – though your inflection could use a bit of work. Ah!" Hondo stops in front of them and surveys the returning crew. "My sweet children, what gifts do you bring me today? Subara says it was quite a haul, yes?"

Dorian deposits his duffel bag on the deck at Hondo's feet. "Plenty more where that came from."

"Show me, my boy, show me."

Dorian passes a hand in the air over the bag, and the clasps come undone. Hondo grins even wider and wags an approving finger at them both. "Such talented children," he says as he tilts his chin down to examine the bag's glittering contents. "Hello, what is this? Do my slightly less than youthful eyes spy a seal of Kuati nobility on these very handsome, very expensive trinkets?"

Hondo bends down and plucks a crystal-studded diadem from the bag and holds it up to the light. Each jewel sparkles. "Such craftsmanship."

"That's not all!" Yaanis and Jax arrive bearing full satchels in each hand, plus a few slung across their backs; Yaanis offers one of the bags to their captain. "Check it out. They're all like this."

Hondo draws forth a large handful of cred chips from the satchel and breathes in deep. "I do love the smell of illegitimately acquired credits in the morning." He drops each of the credits back into the bag and claps his hands together. "Well done, my clever corsairs! Take these goods to the treasure room, and then everyone to the galley where Parspino has prepared a most exquisite dinner for us!"

Dorian picks up his duffel bag. "So nuna fried rice and greens again?"

"Impudence!" Hondo exclaims as Dorian grins and ducks past him. Veeran is about to follow when the captain waves a hand at him. "Wait a moment, my boy, I want to speak with you."

Leda meows expectantly, and Veeran lowers her to the deck. "Yeah, go on," he tells her, "I'll be right there." He straightens up as the felinx pads away, and finds Hondo looking at him with an uncharacteristically serious air.

"I hear you had a couple of close calls today."

Veeran's stomach plummets. "How did you—?"

"Uh, uh, do you think you can fool Subara so easily?" Hondo shakes his head. "My boy, you forget that we raised you. A successful raid on a Kuati ship, and you can barely even smile after?"

Veeran inhales sharply and flings a hand at Dorian's retreating backside. "I don't know what the hell's wrong with him, he never used to make mistakes like that, not paying attention and being a damn moron—"

"Easy, my little Starskipper, slow down." Hondo reaches up to pat his shoulder. "Everyone makes mistakes sometimes – yes, I know, even myself, if you can believe it – and your brother is no exception. The important thing is that you have come back to us safe and sound, and because of your skill and leadership, we are all much richer than we were this morning." He spreads his arms at his sides. "Now let's not waste any more time worrying over things that didn't happen when a feast awaits us! Come, come!"

Veeran nods wordlessly and follows after his captain, trying to ignore the way that sinking feeling in his stomach refuses to fade.

.


.

The Mukmuk's mess hall is nearly full by the time Dorian Starskip arrives there, with most of the crew already sitting down with their meals and chatting loudly. The air, rather than having its usual scrubbed-clean metallic tang, is aromatic with spices and far warmer than any other part of the ship, and Dorian suppresses a smile as he spies a large pan of fried rice among the (admittedly numerous) dinner offerings. He likes to tease Hondo, but in truth, nuna fried rice and greens is one of his favorite food combinations, and he wouldn't care if they ate it every single day. He'd much prefer that to some of the other… experimental cuisine Parspino has graced them with over the years. Not that the old Tholothian man is a poor cook – far from it, in fact. But he's a far more adventurous eater than Dorian will ever be, and fancies himself a true gourmet.

In any case, Dorian knows better than to express any of his less favorable food opinions out loud, especially after the talipepper nerfloaf incident.

He grabs a tray and heads for the food. Jax runs up behind him, impatient and jittery as always, tapping his fingertips against the bottom of his own tray. Dorian glances back at him, arching one eyebrow, and Jax stops tapping and presses the tray to his chest. They approach Parspino together, and the older man smiles as he lifts the lid on a giant, steaming pot.

Jax leans in front of Dorian to see what's in the pot. "Is that kadda root soup?"

"You bet!" Parspino ladles heaping portions of the thick, golden soup into two bowls and sets them in front of Dorian and Jax. "Enjoy! And make sure you try it with the seedbread, I baked it special." He points to a basket at the end of the row and nods encouragingly.

Dorian takes the bowl of soup with a small smile. "Looks delicious, Parspino." He helps himself to some of the rice and greens, two slices of the bread, and a cup of bantha milk, then heads for a table near the back of the room, where Veeran and the rest of their crew are already seated. Dorian settles into his usual spot across from his brother and notices Leda sitting patiently in his lap, waiting for her share of the meal. The felinx meows in what he assumes is a greeting, sniffing the air. Dorian raises both eyebrows and nods toward the soup, and Leda meows again.

"Oh, come on," Joor says from further down. "Don't let that thing eat at the table, what are you doing?"

Veeran locks eyes with Joor and proceeds to feed Leda from his hand, a subtle smirk on his lips as the felinx licks each of his fingers.

"Disgusting." Joor shakes his head, glancing around for support; the only murmur of agreement comes from his right, where Shadow sits in all her usual gloom. "I'll be laughing hysterically when you're hurling your guts out tonight."

"Hey, maybe instead of listening to me hurl, you could find something else to do tonight." Veeran glances around at the others and shrugs one shoulder. "Or someone."

Dessa rolls her eyes and jabs her elbow into Veeran's side, but she's hiding a smile, too. Yaanis— well, there's no other word for it, Yaanis actually giggles at the remark, and Jax snickers into his caf. Gelki either doesn't hear or doesn't get the joke; she just keeps shoveling food into her mouth. Dorian blows on his soup, waiting to see what the response will be.

Joor gives no indication of being the least ruffled by Veeran's taunt; he just smiles back at him and says, "Maybe I will." He stands and stretches his back, and his smile takes on a sly, wolfish quality. "What do you say, Dess? Fancy another go at it?"

Dessa looks at him over the rim of her mug. "Not on your life."

Joor laughs. "Heard that before, haven't I?" He picks up his tray and nods toward the door. "Well, you know where to find me. Nell?" That last is directed at Shadow, whose attention is focused on the soup in front of her. "You coming?"

Shadow gives a slight start and looks up at Joor, then wordlessly gathers her meal tray and follows him out of the galley.

"That was mean," Dessa chides, pushing Veeran with her shoulder.

"You thought it was funny," he returns, scratching between Leda's ears. "Besides, he deserved it. 'That thing'… Should've let her walk all over his tray."

Dorian shakes his head at his food. "So vindictive."

"Don't you start." Veeran aims an accusing finger at him. "I'm still mad at you."

"You're always mad at me."

"And for good reason."

Dessa props her elbows on the table and rests her chin in the palm of one hand. "You guys are so cute when you fight."

Veeran rolls his eyes at that and returns to his food. Dorian dips the seedbread into the soup and takes a bite, listening to bits and pieces of the various conversations around him. The oldest members of Hondo's gang are at the next table, discussing the highest stakes they've ever played for at cards and dice, while some of the middle-aged crew are arguing over which of the most recent galactic-scale wars was "the best war." Further away, he picks up fragments of an ongoing debate over which pre-Vong holostar was the steamiest and another more serious one about the Sith Empire's latest round of communications restrictions. (Though the holostar debate sounds fairly serious, too; he's already learned way more than he needs to know about the seductive talents, provocative good looks, and physical dimensions of mistresses Roseen Seraph, Koy'tiffin, and Wynssa Starflare, and he's pretty sure all three camps are ready to die on their respective hills.)

The conversations ebb and flow, and Dorian continues to eat, listening all the while. He's scraping his soup bowl clean with the second piece of bread when Hondo stands up and calls for everyone's attention.

"My friends!" He lifts both hands in the air, looking more like a benevolent monarch than a thieving pirate lord as he grins at his followers. "My friends, my friends… today is a good day for the Ohnaka Fleet. Eight of our own – yes, you know the ones I speak of, there they are, my very talented children!"

Dorian glances over his shoulder, avoiding direct eye contact as some of the older pirates whistle in approval. He shrugs at them and waits for Hondo to continue.

"Yes, these eight intrepid buccaneers brought home a bountiful treasure, one which will help see us through these dark, dangerous times." Hondo looks down at the floor and shakes his head, his voice growing grave. "And yet… and yet, my friends, I fear it may not be enough. For even as we sail with our mighty fleet, these Sith and their forces conspire to strangle the hyperspace lanes, cutting us off from even our most secret routes, depriving us of our livelihood, our freedom…" Another dramatic pause as Hondo touches a weary hand to his brow. "Our profits."

A murmur of discontent ripples through the room, but Hondo motions for silence. "Please, my friends. As much as it pains me to say it, I am afraid that mere fortunes are not enough to stem this tide of darkness. What we need is something singular, something spectacular, something so valuable that most beings would kill their own mothers to get it…"

Hondo pauses again, a small smile on his lips. "What we need… is the Chalice of Tears!"

Jax leans across the table and whispers, "The what?"

"The Chalice of Tears," Yaanis whispers back.

"What's that?"

Yaanis shrugs. "I don't know."

Dessa shushes them both. "Be quiet and listen!" she snaps under her breath.

Jax makes a face at her, but he and Yaanis both fall silent as Hondo continues to explain.

"Legend has it that the Chalice of Tears was a relic of incredible supernatural power, capable of healing any who drank from it, no matter the sickness. They say it was cast many, many millennia ago by the Queen of the Dead and gifted to the King of Thon, her mortal lover, who guarded the gate to her lands."

Jax chuckles under his breath. "Is that what they used to call it? Must've been some fertile lands."

This time Dessa shoves Jax hard to silence him. If Hondo notices the altercation, he doesn't show any sign of it.

"The planet of Thon was cut off from contact with the rest of the galaxy long ago, the only safe hyperspace route lost to the depths of history… until now!"

More murmurs throughout the room, some skeptical, some confused. Dorian looks up at their captain; the enthusiasm doesn't slip from Hondo's face for even a second.

"Yes, I know, you are asking, 'How can this be?' Well, my friends, all I can say is that this little piece of information comes from a very reliable source, and they tell me that even now, other factions may be descending upon the secret road, intent on finding Thon and taking the Chalice of Tears for themselves. 'But Hondo!' you ask, 'If the planet has been rediscovered and the way to it is known, what chance do we have of getting there before these thieves take the treasure for themselves?'" Hondo chuckles lightly and wags a finger at the assembled crew. "That, comrades, is where our secret weapon comes into play. My source tells me that only those gifted with the Force may make the passage, and that all others who attempt to step foot on the planet are driven to madness and death. So you see, we are in luck!"

There is a very long, very dramatic pause as those final words sink in, and then Hondo flings his hand in the air. "Veeran!"

Dorian looks over in time to see Veeran freeze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Yeah?"

"I want you to take your crew to Thon to find this Chalice of Tears, before someone else beats us to it!"

Veeran glances at Dorian and sets the spoon down in his bowl. "You want us to go alone?"

"Absolutely! You have proven yourselves dozens of times over – haven't they, my friends?" There's a chorus of hearty agreement from the older members of Hondo's crew, and a few of them reach over to slap Veeran on the back. "And after today's successful acquisitions, well… I can think of no better group to send on this job, or one that I trust more. And besides, if the rumors are true, the rest of us would probably go crazy and never return alive, so it is best not to tempt fate, I think."

Hondo lowers his arms and gestures toward the food table behind him. "Now finish your meals, my friends, and rest up. Tomorrow we make way!"

The din in the mess hall quickly returns to its usual level as Dorian and the rest of the table sits in stunned silence. Veeran doesn't respond with more than a few muttered words when some of the older men pass by him, offering wishes of good luck and smooth sailing. Dorian wonders how much of the support stems from a genuine sense of camaraderie and pride, and how much stems from relief that they won't have to travel to the planet of madness and death themselves.

"So," Jax says, pushing the last of his braised shaak around with his fork. "Looks like we're going to the lands of the dead. You guys feel lucky?"

No one answers, not even to tell Jax to shut his mouth. Dorian meets Veeran's eyes across the table, but even his brother is silent.

"Yeah," Jax continues with a sigh as he looks down at his tray. "Me either."

.


.

"You know, you guys could have said something instead of waiting to spring it on us when we woke up."

Veeran crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes at Joor, who hasn't stopped complaining the entire way to Thon. "If you hadn't run off from dinner, you would have heard it with the rest of us. And anyway, it wouldn't have made a difference. We're here now, and that's that."

Joor doesn't rise from his seat, but Veeran can sense the flicker of heat, a hint of kinetic energy held in check. "Still, you should have told us." The other man glances to his left and shares a commiserating look with Shadow, who is stewing silently in her own seat. "This whole job is ridiculous, even for Hondo."

[Ridiculous or not] Gelki says, [we follow the captain's orders. Today, that takes us to Thon.]

"Where apparently we might go insane and die," Joor retorts bitterly. He looks around the room, his eyes settling on Dorian, who sits in his customary place in the far corner, holding a datapad. "Oi, is that the info Hondo gave us? Let's see it."

Dorian looks up from the datapad with a mild expression, fixing his eyes on Joor. "What do you want to know?"

Joor extends an impatient hand to him. "Would you just let me see it already?"

Dorian shrugs and throws the datapad with a quick flick of his wrist, sending it sailing across the hold. Joor snatches it out of the air and turns it right side up, scrolling through the data with an increasingly deep scowl.

"What the hell is this? Royal lovers and a gate to the underworld… this is why we're going to some forsaken planet on the edge of nowhere? Sounds like a damn fairy story." He turns the datapad on its side and squints at whatever is on the screen. "And what the hell is a gallows tree?"

"It's where they used to hang people," Dorian says. "Still do, in some places. Most of the legends say that the Chalice of Tears can be found under one, or inside one."

"Right, because that makes sense."

Veeran notices that subtle tightening around Dorian's mouth, the kind he gets sometimes when he thinks everyone around him is a moron. His brother pauses long enough that the silence becomes uncomfortable, before finally replying.

"The story goes that the King of Thon was eventually murdered by his younger brother, who coveted the throne and stole the chalice for himself. When the Queen of the Dead discovered the crime, she commemorated her lover's passing by planting a tree in the field where they first met, and hanging the traitor from its branches."

"The gallows tree," Dessa says.

Dorian glances over at her and nods. "Exactly."

Joor throws his head back with a groan. "That's the stupidest story I ever heard. If this magical chalice was really as powerful as that legend says, why didn't she use it to bring the king back to life?" He leans toward Shadow, looking for confirmation. "Right?"

The Twi'lek woman answers with a contemptuous nod. "That's right."

"There, see?" Joor settles back in his seat, as if he's won some great victory. "And another thing – how could the queen have hung the brother from a tree she'd just planted? Was it a magical tree, too?"

"It's an ancient legend," Dorian says icily, "passed down over thousands of years and changed by every culture it ever touched. It's not bound by the rules of logic or nature or physics. And since we know that strange forces exist in this world—" The datapad leaps violently from Joor's grasp and flies across the room to land in Dorian's outstretched hand. "—I think we should at least give the magical tree and the magical chalice the benefit of the doubt."

"Either way," Veeran cuts in before Joor can respond, "the legends and Hondo's information all link the chalice to the tree, so that's what we're looking for."

"The chalice or the tree?" Jax asks, clearly struggling.

"The tree," Veeran and his brother say in unison. Dorian smirks at him and shrugs, and Veeran suppresses an answering grin.

Across the hold, Joor rolls his eyes and slouches in his seat. "Yeah, we get it, you're twins; why don't you make it a little weirder?"

Veeran opens his mouth to fire off a retort when the ship lurches beneath him. Yaanis's voice calls out from the cockpit: "We're here!"

A quick glance through the open cockpit door confirms it – the stretched and spiraling starlines are gone, replaced by deepest black and a large silver disc mottled with splotches of darker gray.

Thon.

Veeran enters the cockpit and leans over his friend's shoulder. "Anything on the scanners?"

Yaanis shakes his head, his suckered fingertips traveling lightly across the controls. "No sign of any ships, Sith, Hutt, or otherwise. Looks like we're alone."

"What about on the surface?"

"I'm not picking up much there, either. Remnants of ancient technology, looks like maybe an old beacon that's still partially active? But no cities, and very few lifeform readings." He glances up at Veeran. "Doesn't seem like there's much life down there."

Veeran purses his lips and stares out at the planet, looming larger in their viewport with every passing second. It doesn't feel wrong, exactly, and there's nothing in his sense of it to indicate it would be a danger to non-Force-sensitives, let alone to anyone gifted with the Force. But still…

He shakes the feeling off and stands up straight. "Take us down."

They descend toward the surface, passing through a thick layer of fog to land near the site of the ancient beacon, a freighter-sized clearing in the middle of an all-but-lifeless forest. It seems like as good a place to start their search as any, even if it is pretty bleak. Veeran leaves the cockpit to gather up his gear, and when the ship touches down – with hardly a hitch, yet another thing that belies the rumors about this place – he is the first one off.

The fog is present here on the ground, too, completely encircling their landing area, so thick he can only make out the trees beyond the clearing. They appear as little more than dark, smudgy shadows, tall and thin and wraithlike, devoid of all foliage. The forest floor is covered in debris, though most of it appears to be twigs and sediment without the layer of decaying leaves he would have expected to find.

The others exit the ship behind him and wander about for a moment, taking in their surroundings. He turns halfway back to look at them, keeping an eye on the tree line.

"This place gives me the creeps." Jax looks around the clearing and runs his hands up and down his arms. "And it's cold."

"Must be winter here," Shadow says, her accent even thicker than usual.

"Pretty mild for winter," Yaanis points out, shifting slightly away from Shadow when she glares at him. "What?"

"I don't know, I think it's always like this." Dessa closes her eyes and tilts her head back. "Can't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" Joor says, exchanging an irritated look with Shadow.

"It doesn't feel like a normal forest; even in winter, that spark of life is still there, buried deep within the trees and the earth. But this…"

[It's not dead] Gelki cuts in. [It doesn't feel dead.]

"Yeah, well it doesn't feel alive either." Veeran waves dismissively and turns to look at the group. "We'll cover more ground if we split up. Everyone pick a partner—"

"Oh come on, pairs again? We did that last time."

Veeran works his jaw as he stares at Jax. "Fine. Since Jax is afraid of the undead forest, we'll go in groups of three."

"Hey…"

"But there's eight of us," Yaanis says.

"Kriffing hell." Veeran points at Dessa and Yaanis. "You two, with me. The rest of you, divide up however you want and go that way and that way." He doesn't wait for them to start moving, turning away to gather his things and close up the ship instead. There's a bit of grumbling behind him, but he ignores that, too. Once the ship is sealed and he's ready to go, he turns back to see Dorian standing by himself just beyond the shadow of the ship – or where its shadow would be, if this planet wasn't completely blanketed in fog – and he walks over to stand next to him.

"It's decay," Dorian says unprompted, too quiet for the others to hear.

Veeran glances at his twin; Dorian's eyes are on the shroud of fog, or on something beyond it, he's not sure. "The hell are you talking about?"

"That feeling. Not dead, not alive… it feels like decay." Dorian draws a long breath and looks up at him. "Decomposition. Rot. Putrescence—"

"Okay, I get the picture." It's Veeran's turn to look away. "But that doesn't make sense anyway. If it's decaying, that means it's dead, and we've already established that this place doesn't feel dead."

"Did we establish that?"

"Look." Veeran leans in close, glancing past his brother at the rest of their crew. "Would you stop psychoanalyzing the forest and just… keep an eye on the others? Jax is a coward, but he's right, this place is creepy as hell, and I'd rather not stay here any longer than we have to."

Dorian snorts softly and gives him a wry look. "Fine. Race you to the mysterious relic?"

Veeran grins. "You're on."

After another snide remark from Joor and another dumb joke from Jax, the groups finally set off, each of them going in a different direction. Veeran opts to take the route deemed most difficult by their ship's scanner – there's no way he's going to listen to anyone else whine about him taking the easy way out – and it soon becomes apparent why. The further away from the ship they travel, the denser the undergrowth becomes, with countless stunted saplings impeding their path. They spring from the fog like spidery fingers, grasping weakly at skin and cloth. Veeran smacks them away as he walks, and wonders how much quicker this would go if he had a lightsaber.

"We're never going to find anything in this soup," Yaanis grumbles, picking his way through a tangle of thin, anemic branches. "What's a gallows tree supposed to look like anyway?"

"How the hell should I know?" Veeran pushes another little tree out of his path, bending it so far its trunk starts to splinter. He glares at the sapling and trudges forward. "It has to be big if it's the oldest tree in this forest."

"Probably creepy, too."

"Naturally," Dessa says. She stops and turns to face them. "We should split up."

"What?" Yaanis looks between her and Veeran. "Why?"

Veeran rubs a hand across his mouth and exhales forcefully. "She's right, we're not making any progress like this. We'll split up and signal if we find something."

"I still don't know what we're even looking for!"

Veeran rounds on his friend. "A big damn tree! The biggest, oldest, weirdest tree in the forest, and if you happen to see a magical chalice sitting next to it or under it or on top of it, you're probably in the right place!"

Yaanis snorts out an angry breath. "Oh right, that should be easy." He draws his blaster and walks past Veeran and Dessa, heading toward the brightest patch of fog. "If I meet some horrible end in this place, I'm coming back to haunt you forever, Veeran Starskip."

He can practically hear Dorian taunting him about the use of his full name. "At least you'll be able to sense whatever's coming before it kills you," he snaps back. From the corner of his eye, he catches Dessa watching him. "What?"

"Just admiring your patience and maturity."

He presses his mouth in a thin line and gestures after Yaanis. "You know what? Go with him, I don't care, it doesn't matter. I'll find this thing on my own." He turns away from her toward the murkiest stretch of fog.

"Veeran, it was just a joke, don't be a baby." He waves at her over his shoulder and senses a flare of annoyance in response. "Veeran!"

He doesn't look back until he's well away, and by then, she and Yaanis are both gone, swallowed up by the fog. "Joke, my ass," he mutters. He looks up and around him at the barren canopy, thick branches reaching like desperate, gnarled hands toward the gray sky. Dismal would be a mild way of describing it; despite his warning to Dorian about psychoanalyzing the forest, he can't help feeling like his brother was on to something with all that decay talk.

He's not sure how long he trudges through the woods, or whether he's following a straight path or wandering in circles. Nothing is distinct enough to stand out, just an endless procession of weathered trees and spindly undergrowth. It isn't until he nearly trips over a massive tree root that he notices something new.

It's not just one root – it's a whole web of them, thick and snakelike, twining in and out of each other's paths as they slither across the ground, unbound by the earth. He follows them to their source: a tall tree with most of its dark outer bark flaking off, revealing an ash-gray layer beneath. The tree extends so high up, he can't see the top of it; he can barely make out its naked, crooked limbs through the fog. It isn't the biggest tree he's ever seen in his life, but it's definitely the tallest, creepiest one here.

Veeran pulls his comlink from his belt. "Guys, I think I found the tree." He waits for a response, but there's only a weird static, higher-pitched than usual, and then the device goes completely dead. He turns it over, tapping it against the palm of his hand. "The hell…?"

Something shifts beneath him, nearly knocking him over; the roots at his feet begin to twist and writhe, churning up a fine dust as they spread apart to form a path between them, and a black, person-sized hole opens in the base of the ashen trunk.

"Well that's not normal." Veeran looks over his shoulder to see Dorian standing there, one eyebrow raised. His twin huffs a sigh and steps carefully to his side, avoiding a few stray roots. "I take it we're going into the gaping maw of evil?"

Veeran smirks and returns his gaze to the hole. "I guess so."

Dorian offers him a flippant bow and gestures toward the tree. "After you, brother."

Veeran draws a deeper breath and advances toward the tree, eyeing the gnarled roots on either side as he passes them. The fog is still thick around them, so thick he can hardly make out anything beyond this one tree. His thoughts wander to the others, wondering where they are, if they've encountered anything this strange.

He ducks his head to peer into the hole. "It's a staircase," he says, surprised. The misty light from the forest barely pierces the darkness, but he can sense it goes a long way down.

"Down the hole we go," Dorian murmurs in a sing-song voice as Veeran squeezes through the opening and descends the first few steps. "Down, down, down, unto the abyss."

He nearly tells his brother to shut up, but he can't quite make his mouth form the words. There's something down there, something… pulling him. Part of him wants to turn back (he should, he knows he should), but the rest of him wants to know what's down there, why it feels familiar, why it wants him.

The stairs spiral downward beneath his feet, and he continues to descend in pitch black darkness, his fingers occasionally brushing against what feels like a wall of cool, moist earth. It smells like earth, too, rich and heady and maybe a little musty. He closes his eyes and breathes it in, remembering what it felt like to play in the dirt as a kid, watching salamanders and gokobs scurry about in the undergrowth, and trying to climb the massive kingwoods that grew near the mountains. He never made it very far before he was called back for classes or meals, but if he could have, he would have spent all day out there.

He doesn't realize that he's started dragging his fingers along the earthen wall again until the dirt starts to flake off, no longer moist, but dry and dusty against his skin. He yanks his hand back, annoyed by the change, and notices the air has gone from cool to frigid. Before he can think more of it, he sees a faint glow down below, and he hurries down the last few steps to pass through an opening like the one in the tree…

…and finds himself in a white room, so pristine it shines. Even though he's never actually seen it in person, he knows this place intimately. He has visited it in his imagination more times than he can count.

"So the creepy tree stairs lead to the operating room from hell." Dorian advances into the room without hesitating, his eyes sweeping over the rows of shelves and the carts and computers and of course, the table at the center, raised and illuminated like some sick altar. "Makes sense."

Veeran looks behind him at the opening they came through; is he going crazy, or is it smaller than it was before?

"This isn't right," he says, shaking his head. "We shouldn't be here."

Dorian plucks a scalpel off of a nearby tray and twirls it between his fingers, watching the brilliant overhead lights reflect off the blade. "You shouldn't be here, but me… I'm not sure I ever left." He drops the scalpel with a clatter and steps onto the dais, and he runs a hand along the edge of the operating table. "Is it how you pictured it?"

"Yes," Veeran whispers. Lights reflecting too bright off sterile walls, blood and antiseptic mingling in the air, the array of instruments, the table… gods, the table. He wants to tell his brother to get down from there, to turn and run back the way they came; he doesn't want to see that reverent expression on Dorian's face, not here, not in this place.

He glances over his shoulder to see the entrance reduced to half its former size. What the hell?

A clicking sound draws his attention back to the center of the room, where Dorian holds a pair of forceps in one hand. He opens and closes them, click click click. "What's the matter, Veeran? Felinx got your tongue?"

Click click.

Click.

Dorian tosses the forceps onto the tray next to the scalpel and smirks. "You wouldn't have lasted a week, you know. And then I would have ended up here anyway. Doesn't seem fair, does it?"

That harsh, clinical assessment sits heavy in his chest, each word spoken with a casual ruthlessness that drives the air from his lungs. There's no excuse, no apology… there's nothing he can offer except himself, and it's already too late for that.

"I know, I know, it should have been you." Dorian rolls his eyes and rounds the edge of the table, hopping off the dais to walk right up and take Veeran's face in his hands. "Don't feel bad, little brother. You couldn't have saved me. You weren't strong enough."

Veeran releases a shaking breath as his eyes begin to burn. "This isn't you. My brother would never—"

"Never what? Never blame you for your failures? Never tell you that this is all your fault? Never expose you for the stupid, pathetic coward that you are?" Dorian lowers his hands and shrugs, his mouth twisting to imitate a smile. "Wish I had a brother like that."

Veeran holds his tears in check, but only barely, and tries to shake his head. "Dorian…"

His twin stares up at him, feigning contemplation. "It's okay, Veeran. You'll get over it, like you always do." Dorian releases him and raises both arms to take in the entirety of the room, eyes never leaving his as he walks backward toward the operating table. "And I'll still be here."

Before Veeran can answer, another voice responds, a thin, reedy voice that drags up his spine.

"As you always should have been," the doctor says as he enters the circle of computer carts around the table. He wears the same long gray lab coat that Veeran remembers, and underneath a black tunic and black pants of vaguely military cut, just like Malleus and Pravus and all the others. He sniffs disdainfully in Veeran's direction. "But why are you here?"

Why is he here? There was something he was supposed to find, something important, something…

"The chalice." He fumbles the words, pushing through a haze to remember. "We're here for the chalice. We have to find it."

The doctor's dark eyes light up at that. "Ah, the Chalice of Tears. Quite an ancient legend, and not one I would have expected you to put any stock in, unimaginative child that you are." He waves a hand toward the table, and Dorian climbs onto it and begins to strap himself down. "What need have you of such a prize?"

Veeran stares slack-jawed as his brother secures the ankle restraints and moves on to the leg straps. What is he doing? "Dorian!"

His brother ignores him, adjusting the straps with deft, practiced hands. He wants to rush the table and rip Dorian out of it, but his legs are mired in place, sluggish and unwilling just like back then, pathetic coward.

"Let him go," he pleads as Dorian continues to tighten the straps.

The doctor doesn't acknowledge his plea; he crosses the room to a row of cages, each home to some grotesque organism the likes of which Veeran has never seen. "If you wish to stave off death, perhaps I could offer an alternative method? Let's see…" With long, agile fingers, he plucks a trio of vials from the shelf above the cages and presents them like an offering. "I've nearly perfected this method – though we would be so much further along if they would stop dying on me."

"I didn't die on you," Dorian interjects from the table.

The doctor looks past Veeran with an approving smile. "And I do appreciate it, my boy. Here, let me assist you with that." He sidesteps Veeran, deposits the vials on the tray with the scalpel, and makes his way to the table; Dorian lies completely still as the doctor secures the wrist restraints and pulls them tight. "There we are. You don't want any slack."

Veeran summons every ounce of his strength to move forward with slow, plodding steps. "Let. Him. Go."

The doctor looks up at him and sighs, and he gestures to indicate something behind Veeran. "Very well. But I'm afraid you'll have to go through him first."

Veeran spins around to see a familiar Devaronian man standing there among the ghostly trees, his lips spread wide across a sharp smile. "Been a long time, brat."

Veeran takes an instinctive step back. "No. You're dead. I saw you die."

"Wrong." Darth Malleus advances on him, still a giant to his eyes, still exuding absolute confidence and brutality and power. "You saw me get shot. Big difference."

Malleus's fist slams into his chest, and Veeran stumbles backward, gasping for air as another punch lands, and another. He falls hard on his back, feels tree roots digging in as the Sith Lord's deep laughter beats against his eardrums.

"Same old brat. It's nice to know some things never change."

Veeran frees himself from the roots and scrambles to his feet, reaching for his blaster, only to find it missing from his holster.

"Uh, uh, uh, little Jedi." Malleus holds something up between them, and Veeran's heart thunders as he recognizes the black hilt of a lightsaber. The Sith tosses the weapon on the ground between them and flashes a savage grin. "Pick it up, Starskip."

Veeran takes a step toward the lightsaber, but Malleus holds up a stopping hand.

"Nope. That's not how we do things here." He draws his own weapon and raises it with both hands to his shoulder. "Better hurry, brat. I won't wait all day."

Malleus's saber ignites, casting a bloody glow across the trees around him. There's a warning voice deep inside Veeran, one that has always stayed his hand when the others have pushed for more, one that he's been ignoring more frequently these last few years as just this once became what will it hurt and no one will know and isn't this what you really want? He ignores it now because he has to; he doesn't have any other choice.

Veeran summons the lightsaber to his hand where it activates on contact, its crimson blade a twin to the one Malleus wields. The Sith Lord smiles again.

"That's right, Starskip. Let's see those fangs."

Malleus hurtles forward, and Veeran snaps his blade up to block the first strike, a punishing overhead blow that vibrates through his bones. His joints bend under the assault, and for the briefest instant he pictures those frail saplings snapping as he shoved his way past them. He used to wonder what it would be like to be as strong as Malleus, unyielding and unstoppable and completely unafraid. It seems like such a pointless wish now.

The instant Malleus disengages his blade for another attack, Veeran twists out from under him and puts as much distance between himself and the Sith Lord as he can. Malleus laughs and chases after him, giving him no respite as he initiates a series of quick strikes aimed at his center.

"I'm not impressed, brat. You're gonna have to do better than that!" Malleus punctuates his statement with a vicious horizontal blow; Veeran raises his own weapon vertically to block and barely manages to hold the other man at bay. He's had a fair amount of training with melee weapons under Hondo, but none of it prepared him for the reality of lightsaber combat, the strange combination of weightlessness in each swing and gravity as the blades collide, and the inability to properly leverage the weight of his weapon against his opponent's as he would with a normal sword or staff. Against a fully-trained Force-user with Malleus's experience, he doesn't stand a chance.

"Don't tell me you're giving up already?" Malleus shoves him backward and swings from his shoulder; Veeran regains his footing and parries, gritting his teeth. "Come on, what happened to the stubborn brat who tried to take on Pravus by himself? I know he's still in there."

He can still see Darth Pravus's manic, knife slash of a grin, and the blood of murdered Jedi spattered across his face. Pravus had died by Malleus's hand that day, but if Veeran could have done it, he would have run the bastard through himself.

He hurtles forward, thrusting his blade at Malleus's undefended left side. The Sith Lord pivots to block, grinning as he does. "That's it," Malleus urges, a note of pride in his voice as he parries and tries to bat Veeran's saber out of the way. "Don't hold back, Starskip. I know you want to kill me, just like you wish you could have killed him."

One year, two months, and five days, that's how long Veeran was a prisoner there. And during all that time he took every beating and every insult, never knowing which day might be his last, training himself not to cry when they came for him because the ones who cried were the ones who died. Don't hold back? As if he ever would. After all, they trained him not to.

Veeran nearly buckles under another powerful swing, but even as he strains to fend off his opponent, he starts to realize something: Malleus is insanely strong, yes, but he's also predictable. So far he's had Veeran on the run with his strength and reach… but Veeran knows how to fight, too, and he's faster.

He dodges a wide swipe and takes several quick steps backward, just out of reach of the Sith Lord's deadly blade. The path forward is suddenly so clear, he wonders how he didn't see it before.

Veeran deactivates his lightsaber and twists to avoid another overpowered swing, ducking under and past Malleus's extended arm to line himself up with his enemy's shoulder. The Sith Lord tries to correct, but before he can, Veeran ignites his saber into his leg, eliciting a howl of rage. Malleus stumbles backward, swinging blindly as he reaches down to cover the wound with his other hand, and in that moment of inattention, Veeran slips under the blade and slices up, severing Malleus's sword hand from his arm. The Sith's lightsaber blinks out as it clatters to the ground.

Malleus doesn't fall. He sways wildly on his feet, eyes bulging as he holds up the cauterized stump of his arm in disbelief. Veeran takes a step toward him, ready to finish it—

"Mercy," his enemy gasps between two wheezing breaths, tucking his injured arm into the folds of his tunic. "Mercy."

Veeran lowers the saber slowly, still holding it between them. "What?"

Malleus presses his remaining hand to his mouth as he coughs again; it comes away smeared with blood, and the Sith Lord stares down at it before lifting his eyes to meet Veeran's. "I hated that place, but I… I did what I could, I made you stronger…" He sets his mouth in a grim line, laboring with each breath. "Have mercy…"

Veeran squeezes the lightsaber hilt tighter, feels the grip dig into his palm as an intense heat sweeps through his body, prickling under his skin, fogging his brain. Have mercy? Just let him live, after everything? Why the hell should he? Why should he show even one shred of compassion for the person who made his life hell, who stood by while the doctor and Pravus and the other Sith Lords all had their way? No way, no kriffing way. If that deep down whisper is telling him not to end this sadistic bastard's life, he can't hear it anymore. The only thing he hears is the steady thrum of the lightsaber in his hand.

(isn't this what you really want)

It is. It's what he wants more than anything.

Malleus staggers where he stands, eyes glazing over. "Mercy," he mumbles. "Have mercy."

Veeran reaches out and takes him by the shoulder, and he pulls him very close, as if in an embrace. "Sorry," he says, "but that's not how we do things here."

He plunges the lightsaber into the Sith Lord's stomach, listening with deep satisfaction as Malleus groans and sputters for air – only the groan isn't as deep as it should be, and the torso leaning against his is too narrow, too light…

He pulls back just enough to make out his brother's dark hair and wiry frame, the red blade still hissing in his gut.

"No!" Veeran releases the saber hilt and catches Dorian in both arms, and they slump to their knees together. "No, no, no, no… no, Dorian, this isn't— I wasn't—"

Dorian's eyes close, and he smiles. "It's okay, Veeran. You couldn't have saved me."

His brother's body goes limp in his arms, the threads of their bond violently and irrevocably snapped, and no matter how many times he pleads with him to come back, to wake up, to open his eyes dammit, there's nothing, there's nothing, gods there's nothing – and that's when the scream finally comes unstuck, roiling bellowing shattering from his lungs.

The roots of the gallows tree rise from the earth on all sides, twisting to form a cage around him, and he thinks that's fitting, because if anyone deserves to die a prisoner on this cold, desolate world, it's him. He clings to Dorian's body, weeping into his hair, pathetic coward, it should have been you, this is all your fault. None of it matters anymore. He killed his own brother.

"Veeran!"

His eyes snap open, and he looks up to see Dessa and Yaanis hovering over him. "Stars and moons," Dessa breathes, settling back on her heels. "Don't ever do that again."

"What…?" His heart is racing, and he reaches a hand up to touch his face, expecting it to be slick with tears. Nothing. "Do what again? What happened?"

"I don't know." Dessa hugs her arms against her body and looks around at their foggy surroundings. "It was like… like we walked into a dream or something."

Veeran allows Yaanis to help him sit up; he notices his friend's antennae are pale and drooping. "You all right?"

Yaanis nods, but the glassy shine to his eyes says otherwise. "I am now. Whatever it was, it… it wasn't real." He exhales with a tremor, his breath condensing in the frigid air. "It couldn't have been real."

The scream still aches in Veeran's chest and in his throat, and it's all he can do to focus on his current situation and not on the pure torment of holding his brother's lifeless body in his arms. "No," he confirms, swallowing back bile at the memory. "It couldn't have been."

They help him to his feet, and before letting go, Dessa reaches up to kiss his cheek. "I'm glad you're okay."

He returns the gesture, her skin cold against his lips. "You too."

Yaanis pulls his collar up around his neck and rubs his arms with his hands. "I'm starting to think wherever this thing is, it doesn't want to be found."

Veeran takes a sharp breath, the freezing air pricking his lungs. "I'm starting to think this thing doesn't exist at all."

Dessa and Yaanis exchange a look. "So what should we do?" Yaanis asks.

Veeran lets his gaze wander as he finds the place inside of him that belongs to his twin, the steady flame that warms and endures despite everything life has ever thrown at them, and feels the answering touch of Dorian's mind. He holds on tight to that feeling.

"To hell with this place," he says. "Let's get back to the ship."

.


.

Their trek through the forest might be almost peaceful, Dorian thinks to himself, if it weren't for Jax's incessant rambling or Gelki's heavy, twig-snapping footsteps, or the near total absence of life around them. Somehow he has ended up at the head of their little troupe, scouting the misty surroundings for clearer paths and keeping an eye out for anything that might indicate the presence of a mystical chalice.

"Let's say we find this thing," Jax is saying behind him. "Is Hondo planning to sell it? Seems like a waste, if you ask me."

More twig snapping from Gelki. [He seems to think it will bring in a great profit.]

"I don't know, a cup that cures any sickness? I'd hold onto that if it was me. Might come in handy."

[This is true.]

"I mean, think about it. Hondo calls himself a pirate king, but imagine if he had the ability to heal people from anything, even bring them back to life. He'd be a kriffing god."

"He'd be a target," Dorian says, carefully bending a thin sapling out of his path. "And all of us along with him."

"Well yeah, I guess…"

Dorian stops and looks back at Jax. "And don't kid yourself that half the crew wouldn't turn on him in an instant if they thought he was keeping the thing for himself."

Jax laughs nervously. "Damn, that's cold, Dorian. No trust, huh?"

He shrugs. "I trust people to be shortsighted, and to do exactly what they think benefits them the most."

Jax groans and rolls his eyes. "Should've known you'd go all cynical philosopher on us."

"Sorry to ruin your fun." Dorian turns away and continues forward. He isn't particularly bothered by Jax's assessment of him; it isn't any worse than all the other assumptions people make about him, and if Jax can't tell the difference between cynical intellectualizing and a pragmatic observation, he's not about to waste time explaining it to him.

There's no snappy reply or grumbled complaint, and it takes a moment for Dorian to realize that the only footsteps echoing in the gloom are his own. When he twists around to look for Jax and Gelki, they aren't there.

"Guys…?" He pivots in a circle and finds each direction equally absent his companions. Closing his eyes and stretching out with his feelings, he searches for the distinctive marks they each leave in his mental space – but the Force is murky, turbid, suffused with the strangeness he'd tried to articulate to Veeran earlier. Even reaching for his twin brother, who normally burns so bright to his senses, yields little more than a muffled response. Maybe he should try to retrace his steps, figure out how and where he lost them…

The tree appears before him suddenly, emerging from the fog like a pale signal spire piercing through high clouds. He draws up short at the sight of it; the trunk is nearly twice the width of any other tree in this forest, and it's gnarled roots creep across the ground around it for a few meters before burrowing under the earth. He takes a single step toward the tree, and the roots start to writhe in their dusty troughs, twisting out of his way to form a clearer path to the trunk. As the roots settle into their new configuration, a dark, ominous hole roughly his own height opens in the tree.

"Well that's not normal." He looks over his shoulder for the others, but there's still no sign of them, so he pulls out his comlink and switches it on.

Nothing happens.

"Great," he mutters, tucking the device away. He turns back to the tree and follows the path laid out for him, glancing up to observe the branches spreading ghostlike through the fog. A gallows tree, with limbs thick enough for hanging. Even without the supernatural hole in its trunk, he'd know this was the one.

"Here lies Dorian Starskip." Twigs crunch beneath his boots as he places a hand on the trunk and steps inside. "He walked into a gaping maw of evil and never came out."

Instead of wood, he finds an earthen staircase inside, and he follows it down into pitch-black darkness, where the soil is cold and damp, pulsing with that same energy he sensed throughout the forest above – not dead, not alive, a decay that defies nature, deep and still and waiting. Yes, something is waiting for him down there, that much is clear. He might be afraid if he wasn't so curious…

The stairs end abruptly, opening on a large, dimly lit chamber. Dorian enters the room, trying to discern what might be hidden in the shadows, when a man's voice calls out from the center:

"Well if it isn't little Dorian Starskip, back from the dead."

A light above him turns on, casting the center of the room in flickering amber light, revealing not a stranger, but a young man wearing Dorian's very own face.

"Not what you were expecting, huh?" the man continues with a smirk. "Can't say I'm surprised; denial's been your thing for a while now, hasn't it?"

The lookalike wears the same black fatigues that Dorian's Sith captors used to wear, and a lightsaber hangs from his belt. Behind him, an equally familiar table glistens with the remnants of a failed operation. More lights flicker to life around them, and the doctor's laboratory takes shape, in the same state it was when Dorian last left it. The scattered instruments, the melted computer console, the circle of dried blood crusted at the base of the table…

His twisted doppelgänger leans against that table, one elbow propped on its stained surface. "You know, we've missed you down here. How's life been treating you?"

Dorian takes a steadying breath as he studies the phantom before him. "This isn't real," he says. "You're not real."

"Are you sure about that?" The doppelgänger tips his head from side to side, his expression full of condescension and pity as he pushes away from the table and crosses the room at a leisurely pace. "Because I think I might be more real than you are. I think that all of this—" He waves his hand in a small circle at Dorian's face. "—this quiet, sensitive, troubled loner act you put on for the world… that's not who you are at all. It's all just a mask you wear to hide from the truth."

Dorian backs up a step as the other man advances. "You're not real," he whispers.

"And what truth is that? I'm so glad you asked." His doppelgänger smiles and stops within arm's reach, and in this light Dorian can see eyes that shimmer with heat, a banked fire eager to burn. "The truth is that you died a long time ago, didn't you? Because Dorian Starskip would never steal from helpless women and children, and he would never, ever take a life, or treat death like a joke, or fantasize about doing half the terrible things that you do, let alone enjoy them. The truth—" He places his hands on either side of Dorian's face, drawing closer. "—is that I am you. I'm the mirror reflection you refuse to acknowledge. I'm everything you are and everything you will be, and the sooner you admit that to yourself, the sooner we can drop this pointless charade and finally be free."

His double releases him and staggers back a few steps, shaking his head. "Isn't it exhausting living the way you do? Aren't you so tired of putting up that front? Pretending you don't care, that you aren't bothered by the things they whisper about you, that you don't want to make them shut their damn mouths? How many of them would have survived what you did, huh? Wouldn't it feel good to show them real pain?"

Dorian wants to say no, wants to deny it with every fiber in his body (denial's been your thing for a while now, hasn't it?), but he can't even summon the words. He looks behind him at the entrance to the earthen staircase, but it's gone now, closed up tight. Shadows whisper at the edge of his perception, a blurred kaleidoscope of moments and people passing before his mind's eye, some of them clearer than others, suffused with want and need and a beauty beyond anything he dares to reach for, but all of them equally and forever unattainable. He turns on his dopplegänger with a growl.

"Get out of my head."

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" His lookalike smiles a sly, arctic smile. "I'm only showing you what's already there. It's not my fault if you're practically drowning in all the things you can never have." His eyebrows knit together as he tilts his head to one side. "I mean look, I get it, everyone needs dreams, right? Even people like us. I'll admit, falling asleep to the sound of the ocean would be nice, and falling asleep next to her would be even better…"

Dorian closes his eyes, trying to ward off the shadows. "Get out," he whispers. "You're not real."

His doppelgänger isn't deterred in the least. "Do you think," he continues, his flippant tone taking on an aggressive, razor-sharp edge, "that she would ever, ever, choose someone like you, when she could have anyone in this whole galaxy? Men who would lay the stars at her feet and raise her up above the blood and the ruin, and never give her any reason to be afraid? Do you honestly believe you could even begin to be worthy of her? You, a no-account orphan that the Jedi couldn't even be bothered to rescue, a hacked-up, failed experiment, a liar and a brigand? Is that what you believe?"

The questions – accusations – thud in his gut like heavy, jagged stones. "No," he says, watching each shadowy desire vanish before his eyes. "It isn't."

"Now we're getting somewhere." The doppelgänger takes a deep breath and spreads his hands at his sides. "All I'm asking is for you to accept me. Accept that this life you've been trying to live is the lie. Accept that you'll never have what you really want as long as you deny what you are."

Dorian swallows hard, and even though he knows it can't be real, that he shouldn't listen even if it is, he asks in too small a voice: "What am I?"

His mirror reflection dips his chin and smiles. "I think you already know the answer."

Those words strike a dark chord deep within – because he's known the answer for a long time, hasn't he? He's spent nearly half his life trying to hide from it, but that doesn't make it any less true. He may have left this place in body, but part of him will always be right here, exactly the monster they made him.

His eyes flit to the lightsaber on his doppelgänger's belt, a brief glance that doesn't go unnoticed.

"Gonna strike me down with my own weapon? Kill the externalized personification of your own inner darkness and everything will be fine, right? You're welcome to try, but it won't do you any good." The other man taps a single finger to the side of his head. "I'm in here, Dorian. I always have been, and I always will be."

A low rumbling noise fills the lab, and his twisted reflection tilts his head back to study the ceiling.

"Well, I guess that's it." He looks over Dorian's shoulder in the direction of the tree, and shrugs. "Looks like our time is up."

Dorian turns to see what he means, and the forest appears around him once more. His doppelgänger is gone, and so is the gallows tree, swallowed up by the fog, or maybe never there to begin with. A familiar sensation tugs at him: Veeran knocking at the door of his conscious mind, wanting to know if he's there, if he's okay. Dorian takes a deep breath, and then another, and he answers his twin with a reassuring mental nudge, hoping that this isn't a dream, too.

A voice interrupts his thoughts, calling to him from a distance, and he recognizes the modulated tone of Gelki's vocoder, interspersed with the sound of branches snapping. [Dorian, where are you?] The Gigoran crashes through the undergrowth, her blaster carbine held to her chest, stopping short when she spots him. [Mela's light, I thought you were lost.]

Dorian blinks and rubs his eyes with both hands. "I was," he mutters, turning in a full circle to take in his surroundings again. Everything looks the same. "Where's Jax?"

[I haven't found him yet, but I can sense a few people this way.] She points over Dorian's shoulder, where the fog is a little thinner. [My comlink is dead. Yours?]

"Yeah." Dorian rests a hand on the belt pouch where his comlink is stored. "Went dead right after…"

[Right after you found the tree?]

He swallows what little moisture remains in his throat. "Yeah."

Gelki straps the carbine to her back and utters a sound that the vocoder doesn't properly translate as she looks up at the misty canopy. [It was the same for me. But how can we both have seen it if we were apart? Is there more than one gallows tree?]

Dorian shakes his head. "I'm guessing there never was a gallows tree. Not a real one, anyway."

Gelki is quiet for a long moment. [Were we hallucinating?]

"Maybe." He stretches out with his senses and feels three distinct Force signatures not far away, in the direction Gelki indicated. "Come on, I think you were right about Jax and the others."

It doesn't take long to find them, though the sight isn't what Dorian was expecting at all. Jax and Joor stare blankly ahead as they roam around a small clearing, but where Joor's pattern of movement is plodding and predictable, Jax's is twitchy and haphazard. Shadow sits at the center of this strange dance, covering her ear cones with her hands. Jax is closest, and Dorian approaches him first.

"Jax—"

The other man spins around abruptly and smacks right into a low-hanging branch. "Ow! What the—? How'd that get there?" Jax glares up at the branch and punches it, then turns to look at Dorian and Gelki. "How long you guys been standing there?"

Dorian shrugs, looking past him at Joor and Shadow; the former is still wandering aimlessly around the clearing, mumbling to himself, while the latter is curled up in a ball on the ground, rocking back and forth. "Long enough."

Gelki brushes past him and places a large hand on Shadow's shoulder. Their Twi'lek companion stirs from her stupor and allows herself to be drawn to her feet. She clings to Gelki's arm for a moment, staring off into space.

"What's Joor doing?" Jax rubs his forehead where he bumped it and looks back at Dorian. "Were we all doing that?"

[I woke up in a tree,] Gelki tells him.

"Freaky." Jax shrugs his shoulders and moves to block Joor's path. "Hey, Joor! Snap out of it!"

Without warning, Joor whips out his blaster and spins toward them, and Dorian yanks Jax out of the way as a single shot flashes in the fog. Jax shouts obscenities in Basic and Sriluurian as he disentangles himself from Dorian's grasp.

"Spawn of a nerf-sucking shaak, what the hell?"

Joor's entire body shudders; he gives the blaster in his hand a surprised glance, and then his eyes go wide. "Nell?"

At the edge of the fog, Shadow looks up from the still-smoking blaster wound in her stomach and utters an unintelligible word before collapsing to the ground. Joor drops his weapon and stumbles to her side.

"Nell? Nell, are you— no, no, I didn't— I wasn't—" His hands hover over the wound, trembling. "We need to get her to the ship. Somebody help…" No one else moves, and he slams his fists against his thighs. "Somebody help!"

"She won't make it to the ship," Jax mutters next to Dorian.

There's fire in Joor's eyes as he jumps to his feet and launches himself at Jax. "You shut your mouth, you little worm, or I'll put a hole through your skull, I don't care what the captain says!"

Dorian and Gelki step between the two of them, Dorian shoving Jax behind him as Gelki blocks Joor from taking a swing.

"That's right," Joor sneers, "run and hide behind someone else like always, you coward."

Jax surges forward, and Dorian just barely catches him. "I'm not the one who shot Shadow, you stupid—"

"Jax." Dorian gives him a rough shake. "Stop it." He senses movement behind him, and looks over his shoulder at the thick shroud of fog.

"I heard someone yell; I think they're this way!" The voice sounds like Yaanis, though Dorian's still not sure he should trust his senses after everything that's happened. "Jax? Gelki?" the voice calls out again. "Dorian? Is that you guys?"

Yaanis enters the clearing a moment later with Veeran and Dessa in his wake, his presence flooding with relief. "It's them! Thought we'd never find you—" The Rodian boy draws up short as his big dark eyes take in the scene. "Whoa… what happened?"

Joor glares up at him and reaches out a hand. "Do you have it? Give it to me."

"Is she shot? Who shot her?"

"Just give me the damn cup!"

Veeran's eyes are unfocused, wandering from Shadow to the others, to Dorian, without really seeing any of them. "We didn't find it," he says distantly.

"You didn't find it?" Joor's hand clenches in a fist. "Did you even look? What the hell were you doing out there?"

Veeran's gaze regain its focus, and he pins Joor with an icy glare. "We did look, and we didn't find it because it's not real. It's just a stupid fragging legend."

Joor tries to lash out at Veeran with the Force, but the attempt is so clumsy it doesn't even merit a proper defense. Veeran just stands there, unmoving, and after several fruitless seconds, Joor's shoulders sag.

"You bastard," he says, gasping, his gaze fixed on the ground at Veeran's feet. "You don't care what happens. If I had your power, I could… but you don't care, you never have." His eyes narrow as he raises his chin to look at Veeran. "You think you're so big now, but I remember when you were nothing, just a weak little Jedi brat who couldn't take a punch without crying like a damn baby. If it was your precious brother dying, you'd tear this whole forest apart to find that cup, wouldn't you? But you don't give a damn about us."

"Joor," Dessa says in a quiet but firm voice, "there is no cup, and arguing won't help Shadow."

"It's Nell!" Joor rounds on Dessa with renewed fury. "Her name is Nell'araven, not kriffing Shadow. She's dying, and I'm the only one trying to do anything!" He covers his mouth with one hand, then lets it fall as he turns back to Veeran. "We still matter," he says, defiant and defeated both. "She still matters."

Joor finally gives up his tirade and bends over Shadow, muttering reassurances as he rests one hand on her brow. Her chest heaves painfully with each breath; Dorian has seen enough people in their final moments to know that she doesn't have long.

"I heard your cries," a resonant voice says behind them.

Dorian whips his head around and yanks his blaster from its holster at the sight of a cloaked figure standing at the edge of the fog, its face shrouded by a voluminous black cowl. Before he can think what to do next, someone fires off a shot from behind him, and he watches in shock as the figure raises one pale hand from beneath the cloak and casually deflects the blaster bolt up into a tree.

"That won't be necessary," the figure says with complete calm. The voice is distinctly male, with a steady, soothing cadence. He lifts his head just enough for Dorian to make out the line of his jaw beneath the hood. "You were calling for help."

The back of Dorian's neck prickles at those words. "Who are you?"

"Someone who can save your friend's life." The cloaked figure turns his head a fraction, and even though Dorian can't see his eyes, he can feel them boring into him. "Who are you?"

"Never mind all that!" Joor cuts in. "You said you can save her? Well can you?"

The stranger doesn't move. "I can," he says, still looking in Dorian's direction. "How did it happen?"

"Why does that matter?" Joor growls, though he swallows hard when the cloaked man turns his silent stare on him. "It was an accident," he continues, eyes going wide. "I didn't mean to shoot her, it was— it's this forest, it— it made me do it."

"I see." The man kneels at Shadow's side, opposite Joor, his dark cloak billowing around him. "And did the forest also compel you to bring your weapons with you in the first place? Did it force the blaster into your hand?"

"What? No, but I—"

"Then perhaps, Joor Rilleksen, the flaw is not in the forest, but in your own heart."

Joor gapes at the man. "How do you know my name?"

"Is that really your most pressing question when your friend is dying?"

In the ten years that he's known Joor, Dorian has never once seen him display a single emotion that wasn't fueled by disdain or rage or boredom or his own smug sense of superiority; but now he watches as the other man struggles to hold back tears.

"I didn't mean to hurt her," Joor says in a small, trembling voice. "She's my only friend, I would never hurt her."

"That's what they all say," the man murmurs with cold neutrality. "If you only knew how many times I've heard it."

A sob wracks Joor's entire body, and the last of his strength crumbles away. "I didn't mean to… please, you have to save her, I didn't mean to…"

One pale hand flashes out lightning quick and grasps Joor firmly by the chin; the other hand touches Joor's cheek, catching his tears along the edge of one finger. The cloaked man collects the rest of his tears swiftly before releasing Joor and turning his attention to Shadow.

"What's her name?"

"Nell," Joor sputters, dazed. "Nell'araven."

The man rests one hand across Shadow's abdomen, right over the blaster wound, and he bends his head toward hers. "Nell'araven? Can you hear me?"

Shadow doesn't speak, but her left lek twitches slightly in a gesture Dorian has learned means a very reluctant yes.

"Good girl. I'm going to help you now." The man positions his hand vertically over the wound, and Joor's tears roll down his finger with unnatural speed, plopping one-by-one against Shadow's torn and melted flesh. The tears coalesce and begin to change color and consistency, forming a milky barrier not unlike a bacta salve. Shadow jerks suddenly and violently, mumbling under her breath in her native Ryl as the tears spread across her wound.

"You're killing her!" Joor tries to reach for Shadow only to rebound as if hitting an invisible wall. The mysterious stranger places his free hand on Shadow's shoulder to hold her still, sparing Joor only the briefest glance.

"Don't do that again," he warns. "I'm saving her."

Joor clasps his hands in front of his mouth, and his helplessness and despair bleed into the Force, mingled with the smallest current of irrational hope. Dorian finds himself shying away from the raw, unrestrained intensity of it, and he looks over to Veeran out of instinct more so than choice. His brother is watching the whole scene with an air of stony concentration; he may never quite manage the levels of indifference that Dorian is able to feign, but he's gotten good at keeping his true emotions concealed.

Not your fault, Dorian tells him, reaching across their bond. Veeran's eyes snap to his, and his jaw clenches as he shrugs one shoulder in response.

"How much longer?" Joor asks, rocking forward on his knees.

The stranger removes his hand from Shadow's abdomen, and Dorian glimpses a circle of gray, unblemished flesh. "It's done," the man says softly, lowering his hood for the first time since he appeared. He is human, middle-aged, with dark brown hair cut short, and brown eyes that warm as he places a tender hand on Shadow's brow. "Wake up, Nell'araven. Your friends are waiting."

Shadow's watery blue eyes open slowly, and the stranger snakes one arm under her shoulders to gently raise her to a sitting position. He holds her steady as she blinks and looks around her.

"It's cold," she mumbles, and Joor removes his jacket without missing a beat, wrapping it around her shoulders and carefully tucking the ends of her lekku inside before fastening it. "What happened?"

Joor smiles the brightest, purest, most relieved smile Dorian's ever seen from him. "You're okay," he says, taking Shadow into his arms as the cloaked man relinquishes his hold and rises to his feet. "You're okay."

Relief washes over their group like a collective breath suddenly exhaled. Gelki and Dessa kneel down on either side of Shadow, followed by Yaanis, and even Jax moves a little closer; they're all smiling in a half-dazed sort of way, talking over one another to ask how she feels, if she needs anything, to tell her they knew she'd pull through. The stranger turns and takes a few steps away from the others, stopping roughly midway between Dorian and Veeran, who still stand apart from the group.

"How did you do that?" Veeran murmurs, transfixed, watching Shadow as she reclines in Joor's arms. The man in the cloak follows his gaze to the pair, a faint smile on his lips.

"A little technique I picked up from a friend," he admits with a hint of wistfulness, "many years ago."

"I guess we didn't need the chalice after all," Dorian says quietly. "Just the tears."

"Indeed." The stranger looks over at him, and Dorian meets his gaze head-on. There's a distant, shadowed look in his eyes, as if he's seeing someone else, but it's gone in an instant, and the man schools his features once more. "I would advise leaving this planet as soon as possible. Tell whoever sent you that if the Chalice of Tears ever existed, it's long gone by now. You would do better to resume your usual piracy."

Dorian doesn't ask how the man knew they were pirates, or that they'd been sent here by someone else, or how he knew Joor's last name even though no one had given it. Instead, he offers a silent nod of agreement, and watches as Veeran does the same. Together, they rejoin their crew, leaving the stranger alone near the edge of the fog.

.


.

The cloaked man watches the young pirates depart for their ship, his gaze lingering first on the pair of twins, and then on the girl he healed, until one-by-one they're swallowed up by the fog. He should be leaving as well – it's clear now that the mythical relic he sought was just that, a myth – but there's one thing he's still curious about.

He turns away from the vanished strangers to find himself facing a tall ashen tree with thick, sturdy branches. A void opens in the trunk, and the cloaked man steps through it, emerging on a dark, barren plain. A harsh yellow sun is barely visible along the horizon, hidden behind a haze of rust-colored clouds. All around him, in every direction, as far as the eye can see, obsidian headstones sprout from the earth.

"Which are weeds and which are flowers?" a voice says from behind him. He doesn't turn to look at her, but he hears the dry ground crack beneath her feet. She stops at his side, close enough for him to see the feathery crest on her head ripple through the full spectrum of visible color before settling on a dull, steely gray. "I'm not sure it matters anymore."

"The choice always matters. That's what you taught me."

Her words take on a sing-song quality, rising and falling with the wind. "Save a life today, take a life tomorrow. Weeds and flowers, flowers and weeds, they all end up at the gallows tree." She draws a deep breath and sighs. "I wanted better for you."

He manages a faint, rueful smile. "I know you did."

Even without looking at her, he can picture the way her gaze grows distant, traveling over the arid landscape. "There are so many," she murmurs in a faraway voice. "So, so many."

He wants to face her, but he can't take his eyes off the endless sea of graves. "I'll fix it all. I swear I will."

"My poor shadowmoth." She takes his hand between both her taloned ones and pats it gently. "There aren't enough tears in all the universe to fix what you've done."

.


.

Aboard their ship and safely in hyperspace, Veeran finds his way to his quarters, where his brother is already sitting sideways on the bottom bunk, hunched over and hands clasped loosely in front of him.

"How's Shadow?" Dorian asks without looking up, staring off into space.

"Fine, I think." Veeran shuts the door behind him and walks over to the ladder, but instead of climbing into his bunk, he leans against the wall. "I don't know, I didn't really talk to her. Joor's been hovering over her since she woke up, and Dessa's with her, too. She says there's no sign of the wound."

Dorian nods, unmoving otherwise. Veeran crosses his arms in front of him and chews at the inside of his lip.

"He looked familiar, didn't he? I'm not crazy to think that?"

"No," Dorian murmurs, "you're not crazy."

Veeran shakes his head. "I know it was a good thing he did for Shadow, but… I didn't like the way he looked at me, like he could see through me, or— or inside me."

"Yeah."

He pushes away from the wall and begins to pace. "I wasn't sure he was real. I couldn't sense him at all… I thought maybe I was hallucinating him like the rest of it, but then he did that thing with the tears, and the Force just lit up around him… You felt that, right?"

Veeran stops mid-stride and looks to his brother for a response, but all he does is nod. More irritated with that small gesture than he should be, Veeran returns to his spot along the wall, crossing his arms even tighter this time.

"Someone that powerful… Who was he? What was he doing there?"

"I don't know." Dorian takes a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Maybe he was a ghost."

"A ghost? But he was real."

"But we couldn't sense him."

Veeran flings a hand toward the door. "How could a ghost save Shadow's life?"

For the first time since he entered the room, Dorian looks up at him, eyes narrowed. "How could a few tears save her life? I don't know."

His first instinct when faced with Dorian's anger is to run away; his second is to get mad at him in return. For once, he resists both those urges and walks over to sit down next to his brother on the bunk. "Whose ghost do you think he was?" he asks, nudging Dorian's shoulder.

Dorian doesn't look over at him, but Veeran can sense his irritation fade. "I didn't say I thought he was a ghost."

"Whatever, just answer the question."

"I don't know, that king from the legend, I guess? Or maybe the brother who killed him?"

The words are spoken innocently enough, but Veeran's mouth goes dry as he remembers the weight of Dorian's body lying limp in his arms.

(pathetic coward)

(you couldn't have saved me)

(you weren't strong enough)

"He wasn't a ghost," Veeran insists. "He was a real person, someone I've seen before, somewhere."

Dorian shrugs, his manner distant. "Yeah. He did look familiar."

Veeran hesitates, unsure how to proceed. What more is there to say? Neither of them has any answers, and they'll just end up going in circles, getting nowhere. After another moment's indecision, he stands and crosses to the door, lifting a hand to the control panel. His hand hovers there, frozen.

"Hey," he says, turning back to face his twin. "Are you… I mean, are we okay?"

Dorian looks up at him and takes a breath. "Yeah," he says, smiling wryly. "Yeah, we're okay."

Veeran offers half a smile in return, and if that sinking feeling that's been eating at him for days (for years, for so many years) still refuses to fade, well… he supposes there's nothing he can do about it, other than to move forward.

"Come on," he says, opening the door. "Let's see how Shadow's doing."

.