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Chapter Text

It was a day like any other on the dark, gloomy world of Dromund Kaas. There was a constant drizzle of rain, wild beasts roared off in the distance, and the air was thick with the omnipresent aura of danger, rage, and fear.
Thunder rippled off somewhere in the distance. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up a world as black as night. The storm was worsening, and on Dromund Kaas, that could have deadly consequences.
A figure cloaked under a black shroud stood under an awning, watching as a small, red child took advantage of the light rain to play outside, jumping into puddles. At the first sound of thunder, the watchful attendant turned their face to the sky, noting the thick, black storm clouds on their way in. The child noticed, too, and even though there was clear disappointment in her yellow eyes, she ran to her guardian without prodding, taking them by their offered hand. Pale flesh, undoubtedly human, whose fingers were slender and nails were unevenly long and ragged clutchined the deep, dark red of the child’s hand.
“I hate this place,” the child whispered with a pained sigh as they stepped back indoors.
I do, too, thought her guardian, but she did not put a voice to her thoughts.
The interior was dark yet immaculate. Trophies from far off planets lined the walls of the grand entryway, displaying in no uncertain terms the absolute might of the one that owned them. The cloaked guardian knew some of the stories attached to them, the way lightsabers had cleaved through flesh, earning screams and then deafening silence.
“Mummy,” grunted the Pureblood.
She eased her hold then, realizing that the pain of the memories had caused her to squeeze too hard.
“Zhevrua, Crissy!” came an alien voice then, and both looked to find that they were approached by a petite, blue, Twi’lek woman with kind, round eyes. She folded a towel against her chest and said, “Dinner’s ready.”
“Rattie!” With a delighted bounce in her step, the Pureblood zipped over and took the Twi’lek’s by the hand, looking back for her mother to follow.
“Are you alright, Crissy? Oh, darling, you look awful.”
“Crissy” waved a hand in reply, stepping ahead of Zhevrua and the Twi’lek to lead the way through the mansion until they arrived in a small, crowded room. A set of bunk beds flanked two walls, a series of boxes took up another, and in the middle of it all was a cheap table and chairs that wobbled. Waiting for them was another Twi’lek, a lime green male with dark rimmed blue eyes and a muscular - if starved - frame.
“Evening,” he grunted.
“Evening,” Zhevrua chirped back, taking the seat next to him, and the Twi’lek’s gruff features lit up in a smile at her presence.
“Sez’kojem and I have spent the day cleaning,” spoke the blue Twi’lek as she took up the seat opposite him. “Everything should be perfect for our Master’s master’s arrival.”
“Until it isn’t,” Sez’kojem sighed. “Old bastard will fuck it all up, I’m sure.”
At the first hint of a swear, Crissy, who had not yet been seated, leaned over and clapped her hands over Zhevrua’s ears. Rattie cast a glare Sez’kojem’s way.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Crissy drifted to the other side of the table then, taking up the only available seat next to Rattie. In front of her was a plate of mush, a blended up version of what everyone else was eating. When she ate, she did it slowly, carefully.
“So, Zhevrua,” Rattie piped up after sending Crissy a worried look, “what were you learning about today?”
“Sith things,” she grumbled, suddenly a lot less cheery. “Father wants to take me to Korriban.”
Across the table, Crissy lifted her head.
“Didn’t know?” Rattie whispered.
Crissy shook her head, putting a hand to her forehead.
“Not that it’s any real surprise. She was always going to be Sith.”
“But at eight?!”
Sez’kojem just shrugged. “I don’t understand them any more than you do.”
“Mummy? Are you alright?” Zhevrua had swapped back to Basic.
Mummy’s fine, but Korriban? That awful world full of awful Sith? Why would he take you there? You’re so young!
But she couldn’t speak any of what was on her mind, so Crissy waved the concern off with a flap of her hand. She went back to eating then, trying to make it seem like she was fine, but she had lost her appetite and found it hard to swallow.
I need to speak with Dzihdon. He can’t take you there! He can’t! I don’t care about the history of Sith and Purebloods; I won’t let him!
“Crissy, you look like you need to lay down.”
Her head was spinning. Exhaustion, starvation, and worry was causing her hands to shake.
“You can finish eating later. Let me help you."
Rattie reached out, helping Crissy out of her seat, offering a shoulder to lean on until Crissy could flop onto an uncomfortable mattress.
Sez’kojem reached out for Zhevrua then, pulling her seat closer so that she could lean against him.
“Is this my fault?” she asked him.
“No. Never. Only his.” He flicked his eyes up. “Thank you for dinner tonight, Rattie.”

Another morning on a cruel world. The storm was fierce that morning, and the thunder rattled the house. Crissy watched the rain streak across a near black sky from the safety of a window, sitting against it on the wide ledge. It was a sight she had seen countless times and one that she had never learned to appreciate. She hated the rain, the storm clouds, the deadly lightning. And when she closed her eyes against the view, she dreamed of warm sun on the sand, the gentle roar of waves lapping a golden beach.
“Think he’s still gonna arrive in weather like this?” Sez’kojem’s voice brought her back from her paradise.
She gave a silent nod. Nothing would stop a Sith determined enough. He just might be a bit late due to the weather, nothing more.
For the occasion, Crissy had changed from her thick, black cloak. She now wore a hooded gray, long-sleeved, knee-length dress over a pair of matching leggings. Her long, black hair had been loosely braided, draped over one shoulder. But neither Sez’kojem nor Rattie had also dressed up.
“Met him before?”
She shook her head. Not in person.
“The master of our Master,” Sez’kojem pondered. “Almost makes me tremble imagining what kind of freak he must be. No, I’ve never met him either. Dzihdon usually goes to his villa, not the other way around.”
What’s so special about this occasion?
“My Lord! Welcome!”
“Ah, that must be him,” Sez’kojem jumped to attention. “Doubt he wants to be shown around by someone who can’t speak Basic. Stay safe, Crissy.” And with that, he had disappeared down the hall, and all she could hear was, “My Lord, I hope you have had a safe journey. Is there anything I could get for you?”
I suppose that’s my cue, too.
Crissy dropped from her perch, turning the opposite way down the hallway, making a few turns until she finally came upon an office. Zhevrua was sat at a desk, reading some ancient text, and across from her was a beast of a Sith Lord. He was a Pureblood with crimson flesh covered in the characteristic ridges, one that formed a brow that strengthened his piercing glare. His eyes blazed a golden color, and his eyelids featured a set of five, golden piercings each. His body was a wall of muscle, cloaked under a set of black robes and gray armor. At Crissy’s approach, he lifted his head, and she felt her blood freeze to be locked in his gaze.
“Is Darth Apophius here?” he asked. His voice was deep, dripping with authority and thick with the characteristically Imperial accent.
Crissy nodded.
He’s here. It sounded like Sez’kojem was taking him to the dining room.
He read her thoughts easily, nodding. “I do doubt that he has any interest in food. Save him from the aliens and bring him here. No, Zhevrua, you stay.”
Disappointed at the fact that she was trapped, Zhevrua cast a look to Crissy, but she had bowed her head and deliberately averted her gaze. After a pause, Crissy turned and left, looking for Apophius. She found him just where she thought: in the kitchen, sampling Rattie’s cooking.
In stark contrast to Dzihdon, Apophius was a small man, short and lanky, with wrinkled features and red eyes rimmed with black. His gray hair was neatly slicked back, and he wore modest black and red robes.
My Lord, Crissy bowed deeply. When he didn’t notice her, she again thought, My Lord, but put an emphasis on it as though she were screaming through her mind.
Now he turned to her, his red eyes darting over her figure with interest.
“Vine cat got your tongue?” he joked, stepping closer.
My master has requested that you follow me to his office.
“Then lead the way.”
And so she did. As she walked, she was overcome by the uncomfortable sensation that she was being probed by him. Years ago, she had been taught how to keep Force users out of her head, and she called upon the knowledge now, putting up a wall between her and Apophius. She could tell he was frustrated, but better that than her secrets be laid bare.
My Lord, she then bowed, allowing a hole in her defenses enough for her thought to be heard.
“Interesting slaves you have, Dzihdon,” Apophius spoke, stepping into the room, passing a last glance at Crissy as he paused behind Zhevrua. “And who might you be, little one?”
Under his gaze, she was terrified. Crissy felt the urge to step in, an unbearable need to protect her daughter, but obediently kept in place, her head left bowed.
“Zhevrua, my daughter,” Dzihdon introduced her.
“She has too much of a head on her shoulders to be your child,” Apophius commented, looking at what Zhevrua had been reading. “Influence of her mother, perhaps?”
“I doubt it.”
“Mmm. How old are you, Zhevrua?”
“Eight, my Lord.” Her voice was but a squeak.
“Eight…” he spoke the word slowly as he mulled something over. “I can sense your connection to the Force, little one. You’ll go far, with the right guidance.”
“Are you implying something?” Dzihdon growled.
“How does this red child not know something that her slave mother has mastered? The child’s mind is an open book, but the mother put up a wall the moment she sensed me in her mind. Where did you learn this, slave?”
“Does this matter?”
“Quiet, apprentice. Slave, speak.”
Crissy deepened her bow.
I’m sorry if I offended you, my Lord. It was a reflex.
“Tell me. Now.”
From my mother and father, agents of the Empire. To tell her truth made her wary. She could feel Dzihdon’s displeasure, the fury rising off of him in palpable waves, and she trembled.
“Agents of the Empire? And she birthed you a child with the red marks? Dzihdon, where did you get this one?”
“Rishi.”
I ran from my Empire. So, I came to be a slave.
“A just punishment,” Apophius nodded. “But it doesn’t explain why you remain in bondage when the gift of the Force clearly rests within you.”
Crissy and Dzihdon both jumped. She dared to look up at him then, staring at him with widened eyes.
“So, you’re not blind,” Apophius snapped at Dzihdon, “just greedy.”
“Master, there is no gift to her, merely a small connection.”
“Quiet! Whatever her connection may be, the Emperor has clearly decreed that she should be trained as a Sith, and for your defiance, I should strike you down. No,” he shook his head, “you may still be useful. And you,” he reached out a hand and curled his fingers, and Crissy felt herself pulled towards him with a jump that blew her hood off.
The face of Crissy was that of a once beautiful woman. Her green eyes glittered like jewels, and her lips were a natural red tint against her pale flesh. Raven black locks outlined her face perfectly. But her features were marred by a rope tied across her mouth, digging in deeply and leaving an angry, red band against her cheeks. At a few points along her cheeks, tears had formed, and warm blood trickled down her chin. With a snap of his fingers, Apophius broke the rope, and it fell away from her face. At the realization, Crissy’s eyes welled up with tears, and she clapped her hands against her face - and just as quickly regretted it.
“Tell me your name.”
She looked back at him then, uncertain of how to respond. Her name? She hadn’t used it in many years. Even “Crissy” was just a nickname given to her some nine years ago. That’s all she had ever gone by - fake names. But she had to give an answer.
“Vremla,” she finally said in a voice crackly from disuse.
All Apophius did was smile.
“So be it, Apprentice.”

Chapter Text

A cold drink on a rainy night. A bustling bar, filled with a platoon of soldiers, drinking and giggling about the ignorance of the slave revolt as they happily watched a yellow Twi’lek dance on a stage, her golden outfit catching the light in a dazzling way as she shook her hips. Slave girls of varying species clambered about the soldiers, whispering seductively and being groped and taken aside for their efforts. The only one in that bar that night that wasn’t a part of that rabble - besides the quiet bartender himself - was a figure hidden underneath the hood of her violet coat. She was Sith, a double-bladed saber resting on a hip, and she was fully armored - save for her exposed belly - in violet plating over gray fabric. She was sitting at the bar, drinking something fruity, something which the bartender periodically refilled without even asking.

“Here you are, my Lord,” he said, putting another glass down in front of her.

Quickly, she reached for it, bringing it up to her violet colored lips - the only thing visible under the shadow of her hood. And in a few gulps, it was empty again. With a sigh, she leaned over the counter, resting her head on her plated arms.

Her mind wandered. Between her fingers, she fiddled with a small, round, metal object - a pendant hanging off a simple chain.

A pair of loud feet thundered behind her, and she cast a glance up to watch a man in full, deep red armor sliding onto a stool beside her. His skin was tanned and his narrow eyes a pale gray. His long, black hair was half pulled back and draped elegantly over his shoulders. He had prominent cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, the sort of face that would make any woman swoon. But he was obviously Sith. Besides his armor, he had a set of tattoos around his mouth, trailing down his neck and a lightsaber hanging off his hip, its exposed crystal glowing a very grayed red.

“Two of your finest,” he told the bartender. His accent was thick, his voice deep and proud. “And one more for the lady not-so-subtly checking me out.” He had a cheeky grin, one which she wanted to tear off his face.

“Careful with her, my Lord,” spoke the bartender as he worked to fulfill the order.

“Careful? Why should I be?”

“Listen to the only man with sense in this room,” she snapped. “Whatever you have to say, I’m not interested in listening.”

“Aw, don’t play so hard to get,” he teased. “I’m only trying to talk.”

A surge of fury. She pulled off her hood, revealing long gashes of dug-in scars across her cheeks, and asked of him, “Tell me I’m beautiful. Go on. Do it.”

He just stared at her, blankly, looking between the hideous scars that characterized her face and her haunting eyes, green, dark, and sunken.

“Lose you for five minutes, Emi, and you’re already getting into trouble,” came a teasing sigh, and the pair looked to see that a small group had joined them.

The speaker was a blue Twi’lek with mischievously purple eyes. She was small, short and thin, wearing a red outfit. There was a blaster hanging off each of her hips, and she noticeably was not collared.

Behind her was another Sith but a rather peculiar one. He was a Twi’lek as well, pink-skinned with lime green eyes and a trail of branding down his lips and throat. He wore Sith robes, black with gray accents, and Vremla quickly noticed his lightsaber. At his side stood a verifiable monster, a hulking beast standing some seven or eight feet tall, with jaws full of fangs, clawed hands, grayed out flesh, and a massive sword resting on its back.

“Never call me ‘Emi’ again,” the red armored Sith growled.

“‘Emi,’ I quite like that,” the pink Twi’lek laughed. “Good one, Vette.”

And the blue Twi’lek stood a little straighter for her pride.

“I am Emereid Dionae, of a line of powerful Sith. You will not mock me, alien scum.”

“You’re too loud is what you are,” grumbled the violet Sith, shyly putting her hood back on. She fixed her attention on the Twi’lek Sith and said, “I’m Vremla. I don’t see members of your species become Sith very often. What’s your name? I think I should try to remember it.”

“Ujic’korun,” he told her.

Vremla searched his eyes and found knowing. He had recognized her as one of his own, a former slave, even if the significance of her scars had gone over the younger Emereid’s head.

“Why bother with him?” Emereid asked. “He’s just some alien masquerading as Sith.”

“At least I earned my place. You were coddled through the Sith Academy.”

“I was not coddled!”

“Quiet,” Vremla groaned, putting her fingers to her forehead. “You’re acting like a child.”

Muttering something under his breath, Emereid turned to Vette, reached out a glass for her, and said, “Here, take it. For a job well done.”

“Sweet.” With a bounce in her step, she stepped over to accept the gift, but after one sip, went, “Ugh! How can you stand this?”

“Too strong for you? Should’ve known better; Imperial liquor is too much for an alien.”

She made a face. He ignored her.

Vremla then found the glass that Emereid had ordered for her, grabbing it and sniffing. It reeked of booze, and when she took a sip, found its taste to be horribly strong. It wasn’t something she enjoyed, but she drank it anyway. At least Emereid was kind enough to pay to get rid of the headache that he was currently causing.

“It is an acquired taste,” Vremla came to Vette’s defense after she had gone through half of her own drink. “Are you really with him?”

“Met on Korriban. He needed me to get him through the tombs. Guess that makes us partners now.”

“You would’ve been a slave.” She looked to Emereid for comment.

“Good work deserves a reward,” was all he said.

“And you?” She looked to Ujic’korun now.

“Had the displeasure of meeting Emereid at the Sith Academy. When I thought I’d be free of him, we happened to be taking the same ship to Dromund Kaas.”

“He wanted to make sure I’d be okay,” Vette spoke up, and Ujic’korun averted his eyes.

“We take care of our own,” Vremla nodded.

“Your own? What could you possibly have in common with them? You’re clearly of pure blood, like myself, especially with such a Sith name as ‘Vremla.’”

“What does it matter what family I was born into? I won’t use them as a crutch to prove I should be dominant, as you clearly do.”

She could feel the waves of fury rising off of Emereid as a palpable heat and just rolled her eyes.

“I have better things to do than argue,” she grumbled, standing.

She made sure to pay before she left but left swiftly, walking out into the dark, foreboding city to find that the rain had stopped. There was a faint mist rising up from the puddles, making the black buildings look even more eerie. Vremla hailed a taxi, giving the droid driver coordinates to an apartment.

She was let off right at the balcony of her apartment. Transfering a small sum of credits for the ride, she then unlocked and opened the glass doors. Waiting for her at the door was a beast most people would want nothing to do with.

A nexu cub, small but still heavily armed with a mouth full of vicious fangs and oversized paws featuring thick, deadly claws. Its fur had a purple tint to it up until its hair-less, rat-like, pink, forked tail.

The nexu made a mewl-ing sound, rubbing its head against her plated leg, and with a grin, she reached down to pick it up. It wasn’t a light creature - any bigger and she wouldn’t be able to manage without calling upon the Force - but she was determined to hold it nonetheless.

Vremla took the nexu to a bed - a very basic, metal thing - and set it down. Then, she began the process of undoing and stripping off all her armor, leaving her in just her black undergarments. Her pale flesh was unfortunately and absolutely covered in scars, from the lightning wounds that sprawled across her arms and up her neck to lines of lightsaber cuts down her back. On her right shoulder was a branded symbol, Dzihdon’s mark forever tying her to him.

She saw her body in a floor-length mirror and knew that she was ugly, marred by a man that derived pleasure from dealing pain, and now the only one that would ever want her would be him. There was a time in which she would’ve been considered beautiful, and she had built her worth off of it. Never again.

Vremla found a light, violet robe and put it on, gratefully hiding her body before sliding into bed. The nexu crawled up within reach, pressing its face under her hand.

“You’re so adorable, Violet,” she whispered, rubbing the nexu’s head and scratching under its chin.

A very grateful Violet closed its four, orange eyes, soaking up all the attention. And Vremla enjoyed the softness of Violet’s well groomed fur.

It had been a few weeks ago now that Vremla had been set out to slay a beast. Apophius had set her upon a nexu terrorizing Imperial citizens. An uncommonly large beast, there were a few parties interested in its capture, so Vremla, with her uncommonly strong ability in the Force to charm animals, had been sent to either capture or put down the monstrous nexu. What she had discovered was a defensive mother doing her best to protect her last cub. Such motherly fury could never be contained, and so Vremla brought the nexu down, taking the cub for her own and giving it the admittedly uncreative name of “Violet.”

Maybe one day Violet would grow to become as large and fearsome of a beast of war as her mother. Until then, Vremla was grateful to just not be alone.

Rolling over, Vremla reached out off the bed to the floor, searching for the coat she had not even bothered to hang. Pulling it to her, she rummaged through a pocket, and upon finding nothing, frantically searched all other pockets. But nothing came up. She hopped to her feet and searched the floor, scattering her armor as she searched through it, but still, there was nothing.

“Zhevrua?!” she gasped. In a moment, her fragile world had crashed.

“What’s that in your hand?” Vette asked, inquisitively peering at Emereid.

The two had rented a room for the night. It was an opulent space, paid for with the grand wealth of Emereid’s family, complete with two, full-sized beds. “Hope you don’t snore,” had been Vette’s only comment at the prospect of sharing a room with him, though he did sense fear in her all the same.

“Don’t know, don’t really care,” Emereid told her, spinning a flat, circular object through his fingers. “Vremla dropped it. You want it?”

Without an answer, he tossed it to Vette before beginning to strip out of his heavy armor. Turning her back to him shyly, Vette instead put all her attention on the little thing in her hands. It hung off a dainty chain, and with a finger following the curves, she examined the swirls of gold across the surface. Her finger found a button, hidden away on one end, and upon pressing it, the object split into two halves, held together by a hinge, and upon the lower half stood the holo image of a Pureblood child.

“Emereid?” Vette called, blushing at the sight of him shirtless with just a loose pair of trousers on.

“Hmm?” he went, stepping closer to examine the figure in her hands.

“I think we should get this back to her.”

“I don’t particularly care.”

“Emereid! Have a heart! I’m sure this means a lot to her.”

He saw the look in her eyes, a look of pure determination, and knew that he would know no peace.

“Very well,” he sighed.

Chapter Text

“You seem troubled.”

“It’s nothing, my Lord.”

She had been summoned to Darth Apophius, meeting him at his office in the Sith Sanctum. From behind a desk, he looked even smaller, but Vremla knew it was deception. As small as he appeared, she knew that he was deadly. 

“It’s not nothing,” Apophius read her easily. He was unnervingly good at that. “Confront your fears and grow.”

“I shall.”

He was the same man that encouraged her not to receive medical treatment for the gashes across her face. As they slowly healed, infected and burning, she was to use the pain and the anger and turn it into strength. 

A dark presence. Sensing it made her shiver, and she turned to find Dzihdon approaching behind her. 

Vremla had seen plenty of him in the past three years. Sharing the same master was agony. It was surprisingly difficult to unlearn old habits, and every time she was near him, she found herself fighting herself not to slink away in fright and bow. She had to keep her chin high and act like a proper Sith. 

He eyed her with derision, with the same piercing glare of a man who had something precious stolen from him. But in front of his master, he held his tongue. 

“Dzihdon, you look well,” Apophius commented, his almost cheerful demeanor seemingly blind to the obvious tension in the room. “How’s the little one?”

“Her training progresses. She will be a model example of a Sith.”

Vremla had to dip her head. The thought of Zhevrua going through Sith training still made her sick, especially now that she truly knew all that it entailed. 

“I dropped her in the middle of the jungle,” Dzihdon continued. “She will find her way home, or be swallowed by the beasts.”

“Perhaps she’ll find her mother’s talent for charming them.”

Stop talking. Stop encouraging this! She’s eleven, damn you! 

“We can hope,” Vremla said instead, feeling Apophius’s red eyes upon her. 

“She has quite the legacy to live up to.” He tapped his desk in thought then said, “Of course, I didn’t bring the both of you here for no reason. I have tasks for you. Vremla, the beasts around my estate have gotten more wild lately. I’ve lost five good slaves to them already. I trust you can handle that?”

“Right away, Master.”

She dipped her head and left in a hurry. She was glad that her work had nothing to do with Dzihdon.

Vremla had worked with him in the past, not as Sith, but when she was still a slave. Dzihdon had taken her across the galaxy when he could, unwilling to leave his favorite toy behind. And with her skill for spy work that she had ingrained in her since childhood, she was often useful in more ways. 

Spies. Vremla paused. Intelligence headquarters was right next door. She wondered if her family was within…

“Better get moving.”

Dzihdon. His gruff voice snapped her back to attention, and she turned her head up to face the man that stood nearly a foot taller than her.

“I can smell your fear,” he grinned, a ghastly thing accented by his golden snake bite piercings. 

“You have no power over me.”

“Really? And I’m sure that’s why you hide your face from the world. You’re nothing, and you know it. It’s why your own family disowned you. You have no worth except as a slave, so when you’ve finally tired of masquerading as a Sith, it’s time you come back to me, where you belong.”

Rage. Vremla reached for her saber. Dzihdon grinned. 

“Wow, someone has a complex.” 

Startled, Vremla turned to find herself approached by Ujic’korun. The Twi’lek came to a stop beside her, putting a hand on his hip. 

“What has our Empire come to, training alien filth to be Sith?” Dzihdon spat. “To hide behind them, you’re truly pathetic.”

Slapping Vremla away, he moved past. 

“I want to kill that guy,” Ujic’korun declared. 

“Get in line. Thanks for… showing up, I guess. But why bother?”

“We said yesterday that we need to stick together.” He shrugged. “That’s all, really. Have fun.”

She watched him step away.

Dzihdon had an impressive estate, but it was dwarfed by Apophius’s. Sculpted gardens made way to a dark, two-story mansion, windows aglow, casting a ghostly illumination about the building in the shadows of the storm. A group of slaves worked to keep the vegetation pruned, and Vremla nodded to them as she approached. 

She had been here a few times, mostly to browse Apophius’s collection of tomes. He had many, many slaves, much more than Dzihdon had ever bothered with, all working to keep the estate pristine. His home was the envy of many a Sith Lord, but to maintain it, it wasn’t uncommon for slaves to be worked to the bone. 

Still, as unstable a collection of slaves as he had, one had managed to survive here for many years, well into her old age. Vremla found her waiting for her at the large glass doors, head bowed. 

Her hair was long and gray, streaks of brown still defiantly popping up here and there. Her clothes were faded and worn, covered with patched up holes. And when she lifted her head, Vremla saw the lightning scars that spidered across her face, destroying her eyes. The blank stare she regarded Vremla with was haunting even if her overall demeanor was friendly. 

“Are you the one my Lord sent?” she asked. 

“Yes, Caylisa.” 

And she lowered her head so that the old slave could reach for her face. She felt the way her thumb dipped into the deep scar across her cheek and shuddered. 

“Vremla!” Caylisa gasped, backing up a small step. “Are you well, dear?”

“As well as I can be. I’m told that the beasts have been terrorizing you all?”

“Five dead, more injured. Thank the stars for Gosro. The poor boy has his hands full fixing everyone up.”

Lightning flashed nearby. The thunder rippled loudly. 

“Goodness, the storm’s bad,” Caylisa said, jumping. “Help me inside. We won’t be able to hear each other out here.”

“Of course.” Vremla hooked her arm around Caylisa’s. “Where would you like to rest?”

She pulled open the door to the grand entryway. 

“The sitting room.”

The first room on the right. It was a large, well lit space with comfortable, deep violet seating that formed an oval, glass tables interspersed between them. The walls were lined with shelves displaying a vast collection of bashed, burned, and broken Mandalorian helmets. It was the perfect space for Apophius to sit any guests so that they may be awed by a reminder of his power while he spoke with them. 

Vremla led Caylisa to a couch, and the slave grabbed it by the back, guiding herself along to the front. She sat at the edge of the seat, leaning forward intently as Vremla took a spot adjacent.

“The forest predators have been awful. It’s never been like this. Every now and then, we’d get an attack, sure, but it feels like they’ve been specifically targeting us these few days.”

“Do you think someone is riling them up?”

“A possibility, but to what end? To destroy Apophius’s power base? The deaths of a few slaves have never meant anything to him.”

“If you cause enough of a problem, someone is bound to take notice. Maybe it’s not about the slaves. Maybe it’s about the person who’ll come to check on this.”

“Apophius has had many apprentices. If they want someone specific, this is an awful way to do it.”

Vremla thought on that.

“They’d most likely get me here, seeing as I’m his newest apprentice.”

“Do you have many enemies?”

“Only Dzihdon. And he knows better than to kill me. Plotting like this is too smart for him, anyway.” She tapped her chin. “I won’t figure out anything until I go and look.” She stood.

“Of course, dear. Good luck, and be safe. Return here once you’re through. I’ll be sure you are well fed for all your troubles.”

Vremla had a soft spot for vicious predators, especially those of a feline variety. Nexus were her absolute favorite, but she had always loved vine cats, kraykjas, and vorn tigers as well. None of that love meant anything to her now as she carved a hole through the last of a small pack of vine cats. 

Something had absolutely made the jungle predators mad. She could sense it in them, an uncontrollable, blind fury. 

Stalking along the rain-soaked path, she looked for any clues. But the rain had already washed away everything. Stepping under a tree, she got on her knees and closed her eyes, reaching out with the Force for anything she could latch onto. She could sense the predators, furious and mad; the slaves back at the estate, worn and worried; and finally, something, someone…

She opened her eyes and stood. This wasn’t a populous area. No one came out this way unless they meant to. Grabbing her lightsaber just in case, she walked along. 

She kept her mind focused on her quarry, stalking them like the predators she favored. But they never moved. Either they weren’t aware of the danger, or they were hoping for it, and the possibility gave Vremla pause.

And then she came upon the target, a machine sitting in the center of the beasts’ territory. She eyed it suspiciously, stepping closer cautiously. Hacking into the controls, she discovered that this was indeed the cause of the issue; the signal that the machine output drove the jungle predators mad, and in their haste, they came upon the only inhabited location with miles, thinking that the poor slaves were the cause of their woes. Working quickly, she shut it down.

“I have a rifle trained on you. One wrong move and you’re dead.”

Her heart froze. For one dumb moment she had stopped paying attention!

“Turn around slowly.”

Female. Deep. Non-Imperial. Authoritative. Vremla obeyed. 

“Now, pull off that hood and let me get a good look at you.”

Vremla did.

“Good…”

A shadow in the jungle moved ever so slightly. Reacting quickly, she loosed a bolt of lightning, and when she earned a cry in return, she knew she hit her mark.

A moment’s grace was all that had given her. Just enough time to cloak herself in the Force, disappearing from view. Using the Force as a tailwind, she ran towards her target, grabbing her saber off her belt. And once she was upon them, she lit up her black and purple double blade, slashing across them. 

Stepping back, she eyed her prey down. A muscular woman, human, with a shaved head and tattoos swirling around the left side of her face. She was fully armored with thick yet sleek plating. A sniper rifle lay out before her, and Vremla snatched it away. 

“Cheap trick,” the assassin spat, clutching her belly, hunched over. An angry, orange line glowed across her armor. 

“You wanted me,” Vremla spoke, keeping her saber out as a reminder. “Why?”

“Someone’s put a bounty on your head, Ariacris.”

She grinned. Vremla took a step back. That name, it was like gunshot to hear it!

“Who? Tell me who hired you!”
“Get under your skin, did I? Heh. Revealing the name of a client is bad for business.”

Her hand moved. Before Vremla could react, she felt a bolt strike her chest. Her armor protected her, but the force of it was enough to knock the air from her lungs. 

And in a moment, she was knocked onto the ground, letting out a cry as her unprotected head hit the soft earth. Her assassin came upon her, holding her down with a vibroknife in one hand. Vremla reached out to hold it away from her neck, trying to take a swing with her other arm, but she was fast enough to hold her back. Her legs, then. Jabbing her knee up, Vremla caught her between the legs, giving her enough of an opening to throw her off and crawl away. 

Before she bothered to get to her feet, Vremla jolted the assassin with another bolt, and while she was stunned, she got up. Taking in a deep breath, Vremla unleashed her rage into a storm of lightning.

“Stop! Stop!” the assassin cried out, and she did. “If you kill me, you’ll never know who wanted you killed. But if you pay me…”

“You think I can’t get that information off of your corpse?” Vremla raised an eyebrow.

She saw the fear in her assassin’s eyes. Perfect. 

Grabbing her fallen saber, she lunged. In a last ditch effort, the assassin raised her sidearm, but she never managed a shot. In a moment, her head was rolling across the mud. 

The kill wasn’t satisfying. It only left more questions open than answers, but she’d be damned if she would pay someone for her life. She searched the body quickly and found what she was hoping for: a datapad. But it was heavily encrypted and would take some time to crack open. 

She knew my name . This fact bothered her more than anything, and seeing as she hadn’t gone by her birth name in many, many years, it was her only clue. Who knows my name? Dzihdon? Apophius? My family? An ex? Who’d want me dead the most?

There was only one option until she got that datapad open. But, she had made a promise to Caylisa, so leaving the corpse to be chewed apart by scavengers, she made her way back to the estate. 

Vremla was greeted warmly with tea and a dish of hot food. Apophius’s slaves were amazing cooks, and she made sure to tell them as such as partake of it. Around her, several of the younger slaves gathered to hear her tale of wrestling a giant of a woman in the middle of a ferocious storm. Overdramatized, of course, but where was the fun in telling it accurately?

When she had finished, she called Caylisa into another room, a comfortable space that Vremla had once used as a bedroom. It was well lit with a bed in one corner, hidden by a screen, and a desk nestled amongst a host of shelves filled with tomes, artifacts, and holocrons that she had once poured herself over. 

“It wasn’t an accident that the beasts came here,” Vremla spoke, sitting on the edge of the desk while Caylisa had taken the padded chair.

“I had suspected as much.”

“They wanted someone to come looking. They wanted me. Apparently, I have a bounty on me.” 

“A bounty on a Sith? You should tell Apophius immediately. That won’t be tolerated.”

“Maybe…”

“You don’t want to?”

“I don’t understand. She knew my name. My real name. I haven’t used that since I ran off of Dromund Kaas as a teenage and became ‘Skyala the space pirate.’ There’s only a handful of people that know my real name, and he’s one of them.”

Caylisa sighed.

“He wouldn’t want to hunt you, dear.”

“Maybe I’m being paranoid, but-”

“I understand. Sith games are beyond me. But Apophius treasures you above all his other apprentices.”

“What do you mean?”

“For years, Apophius has trained only the strongest. They are brutes, perfectly suited for combat, but only combat. Look at you. You’re nowhere near their level, but you have a head on you that they all lack. He sees a different sort of potential in you. He sees himself. He sees an heir, I think.”

“What are you going on about?” Vremla laughed. 

“Apophius is old. He’s Sith; he wants to secure his legacy. But he lost his only son and wife years ago. He wouldn’t want his legacy carried on by the brutish Sith he trained, but now he has you. You have the clever mind that he does.”

“If that’s true, then he’d be the only one to ever think so. I’d love for him to tell that to my mother. She thought I was good for nothing but to be a high status wife.”

“I hope one day that you can truly feel as though you’ve proved her wrong.”
Vremla paused. She looked around. She swung her legs idly.

“I wasn’t aware Apophius had a son.”

“A precious thing,” Caylisa leaned back. “I remember him fondly. His mother died in childbirth, so I raised him. Then… we were attacked, and I couldn’t protect him. Apophius blamed me for his son’s death.”

Vremla looked upon Caylisa’s scarred features softly.

“I’m sorry.” She dipped her head, paused, and hopped to her feet. “You all should be safe now. Thanks for dinner. I should be going.”

“Yes. You’ve done quite well. Thank you. I’ll be sure to let my master know what you’ve accomplished.”

“Don’t mention the bounty to him.”

“I- Very well.”

Hard work surely deserved a reward, not that Vremla really needed much of an excuse to end her day at the bar. It was quiet today, thankfully. She saw one booth being treated to a dancing Twi’lek and a few other scattered patrons on her way to her favorite spot.

“Yoohoo! Vremla!”

She stopped and turned, finding a familiar blue Twi’lek waving for her. In a booth she hadn’t noticed sat Vette, Emereid, and Ujic’korun. Emereid looked bored, perhaps peeved, sitting there with a scowl on his face between the two Twi’leks. He seemed relieved to be approached by a fellow human. 

“I thought you two couldn’t stand each other,” Vremla commented. 

“We kept bumping into each other, so we’ve reached an accord,” Ujic’korun told her.

“You should feel lucky, alien. Being friends with someone like me will help you go far.”

“Shut your mouth; we’re both apprentices. Sit with us, Vremla, before I’m tempted to take his head off.”

She was hoping for quiet, but very well. Vremla took a spot beside Vette. 

“Hey,” Vette spoke up, rummaging through a pocket, “I’ve got something for you.” And she pulled out the hololocket. Placing it in Vremla’s outstretched hands, she continued, “Emereid found it. He was looking all over for you so he could return it. I’m sure he just wanted an excuse to get to talk to you again.”

“Vette…” Emereid grunted, clenching a fist. 

“Thank you then, Emereid. This thing means the world to me.”

Vette elbowed Emereid teasingly, grinning at the way she had made Vremla soften for him.

“But if you’re going to use this as leverage then…”

“Don’t worry. I know you’re not interested.” Beside him, Vette looked a little deflated. “The kid in the hololocket, yours?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re taken, then?”

“No.”

“So, you were beautiful,” Ujic’korun leaned against the table, head in hand.

“Unfortunately. Until he made sure I wasn’t anymore.” 

“You’re still beautiful.”

“Heh, you couldn’t say that last night.”

“I was just a bit stunned is all.”

“Smooth,” Vette muttered. 

“So, what sort of accord did you guys reach anyway?”

“If we’re going to keep bumping into each other, might as well not make life harder. Maybe we’ll even help each other out when needed,” Ujic’korun explained. “Want in?”

“Oh, why not?”

“We should toast to it,” Emereid decided, waving over a server. 

He gave an order, and before long, there was a glass before each of them.

“To begrudgingly being allies?” Vremla offered, raising hers.

“Sounds good to me.”

Chapter Text

“Caylisa told me all about your work defending my slaves.”

Another day welcomed by standing before Apophius at his desk. Nearby stood a Zabrak, one of Apophius’s slaves. He leaned against a wall, his features cloaked in shadow. 

“It was a targeted attack. Have many enemies, Master?”

“Oh, I’m certain I can think of many. They’re not as fun as allies, though. I hear you’ve become partners with the apprentices of Darth Baras and Darth Zash.”

He knows that already?

“Of sorts,” she admitted. 

“Better to make powerful allies than powerful foes. And it’ll make it all the easier to keep an eye on them, as I’m sure will be necessary. Their masters are crafty, to put it lightly.

“Speaking of making allies, I think I should send you off to the war on Balmorra. The Resistance has been striking back hard, and there’s been a call put out for support. I want you to be amongst them. It’s a good opportunity for you to make friends and for my legacy to be spread. Besides, it’s about time you saw true war.

“To that end, I spent yesterday evening making arrangements for your own starship. A present that has been long overdue.”

My own starship? She couldn’t keep herself from smiling.

“And I believe you’ve met the Zabrak before,” Apophius continued, sweeping a hand towards the slave. “He’s trained as a medic and not so bad with a blaster either. I’m sure you will find him most useful. I’m giving him to you.”

“Thank you, Master.” She dipped her head to hide the scowl she was making. Her? Owning a slave? The very idea made her stomach turn.

“You may go now. Be swift. Be ferocious. And maybe make sure not to leave your poor nexu here on Dromund Kaas?”

With a nod, she walked away, the Zabrak following close behind. Once they were out of earshot, resting in a secluded corner, she paused. 

“Gosro? Shouldn’t you be helping the wounded?” 

“What, you think I’m not good enough to have them fixed up already?” He gave her a cheeky grin. He was tall, deep-skinned, with his face covered in the black and gray tattoos standard amongst his people. He had a bald head, dotted with a myriad of horns. “Don’t forget, he does have an actual, Imperial doctor at his place.”

“Right. It is good to have you with me.”

“And I do appreciate a change of ownership.”

Vremla frowned. “I don’t own you. Here, let me just…” She came up behind him and removed the collar. “There.”

He took a deep breath in and out. He stretched his shoulders and sighed. 

“That’s much better.”

“If you’re with me, you’re to be considered a free man. Partners?”

“Absolutely. But don’t think I won’t call you my Master if it’ll get me out of trouble.”

“Whatever you like,” Vremla told him with a snicker. “Come on. We need to make a stop for my apartment.”

“You live like this?” Gosro grimaced once Vremla had opened the door to her bare bones yet still messy apartment. 

“It’s not that bad.”

“You’re an alcoholic,” Gosro noted the empty bottles.

“That’s nothing new.” 

A loud roar from a tiny body. The two looked to find Violet, teeth bared and growling at the visitor. 

“Oh no, you’re a crazy cat lady, too?” Gosro groaned. 

“It’s only one nexu,” Vremla assured him, crossing the room to scoop Violet up. 

“One is too many.”

Vremla frowned at him, softly petting Violet’s head. The nexu calmed down almost instantly, assured that the Zabrak was a friend. She set her down then and let out a huff.

“Heavy. She’s getting so big.”

“And when she’s full grown, how do you expect to control her?”

“That’s why we start small. Anyway, take a look around. If there’s anything you think we need, grab it.”

“Oh yeah, let me just collect all these glass bottles. Maybe I can just throw them at people.”

“Smartass.” Vremla searched through a pile and tossed him a blaster pistol. “What do you think?”

Gosro looked it over and asked, “Why do you have this?”

“There’s something simple about blasters that I still enjoy. One or two?”

“One. Is this what you used when you were a pirate?”

“No, these were my parting gift from Dzihdon.” She took the other just in case. 

“He let you have guns?”

“He knew I’d never hurt him. But, we need to get moving. If you have any more questions, ask them on the ship.”

“Lead the way then.”

It was a beautiful ship. Small, sleek, black, a Fury class vessel all to her own. With Violet scampering at her heels, Vremla approached with a sense of awe and pride. Behind her, Gosro whistled. 

“Better than anything you’ve owned before?” he asked her.

“Smaller than the one we had, but this is much cleaner. Pirates… Their ship was as run down as you might imagine.” 

With a shake of her head at the memories, she approached the door. Gosro waited for Vremla to enter first, and upon rounding a corner, she found herself in a lounge area complete with a holocommunicator. A quiet protocol droid worked to keep the space tidy. 

“Another present from Apophius, I see,” Gosro commented. 

“Today keeps getting better.” 

She took a quick tour, finding her quarters, the medical ward, the crew’s quarters, a meeting room, cargo hold, and engine room. Everything was immaculate and the medical ward was fully stocked. It was perfect.

Vremla drifted into the cockpit then, sitting in the captain’s chair. The cushions molded to her body, comfortable and protective. It’d been a while since she had flown a ship herself, but of course she did know how. Sending the proper clearance codes, she set the computer for Balmorra, and before she knew it, they were surrounded by the sight of white streaks across the perfect blackness of space. 

“Been a while since I’ve seen this sight,” Gosro breathed, and she found him leaning against the doorway. 

Sitting back, Vremla nodded. “I feel free.”

“How does this compare to the first time you left Dromund Kaas?”

Vremla rested her head against her hand. 

"A bit less scary, I suppose. Hopefully this time I'll end up better than being sold as a slave on Rishi."

“Geez.” Gosro scratched his chin. “Now that you’re Sith, want to take a detour to Rishi?”

She smiled. “Maybe… But we have a job first.”

“If you keep doing Apophius’s jobs, you’ll never get to have your revenge.”

“Maybe I don’t want revenge.”

“Eh? What kind of Sith are you?” He looked down at her long and hard. “You only want Zhevrua, huh?”

She gave a nod. 

“I need to make Apophius happy. I need to become a Sith Lord. Only then will Dzihdon let me see Zhevrua again. That’s all that matters to me.”

“And what then?”

“I’ll be the best mom I can be.”

Gosro sighed. “I hope you can be.” He looked out the window as they continued to careen through space. “It’s nice that you have something to look forward to.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Thinking about people I once knew. People that are probably dead by now. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m here if you need me, you know.”

He put a hand to his face and snapped, “You’re probably the best Sith in this whole damned galaxy, you know that? Don’t change.” 

He sniffled. Vremla frowned, but she wasn’t about to pressure him. She turned her face back to the window. They had to be getting close by now, and then there it was: Balmorra. Green, brown, blue, and vibrant . Worlds different than dark, stormy Dromund Kaas. 

“You were born here, right?”

“Aye.”

“It’s a beautiful planet.”

“It was. Then the Imperials moved in.”

True enough. “Time to land,” she said.

She got to work inputting clearance codes so that she could land them in the Sobrik spaceport. The landing was smooth, gentle, with just a small jolt as they touched down into the hangar. Vremla flipped a switch to open the doors and stood. 

“Coming or staying?”

“I’m with you. What about the kitty?”

Vremla looked at Violet, ready for adventure - and the prospect of hunting - and frowned. She had never taken the nexu into a warzone before, but perhaps it was time to start. 

“Violet will come, too.” From the main room, she heard an incoming call. “What now?” she groaned as she went to answer.

She had a feeling it would be Apophius. The figure of the old man stood tall upon the holoprojector, his hands held behind his back. 

“I sense you’ve arrived on Balmorra,” he greeted her. “Right on time. Interesting developments have been taking place, and your presence will be needed to ensure victory. Seek out Darth Lachris. I’ve sent you her coordinates.”

“Right away, Master.”

She gave a shallow bow. His visage disappeared. 

Turning back to Gosro, she asked, “Ready?”

“Right behind you.”

Sobrik was quite the city, a bit of the Empire there on the core world of Balmorra. It was busy with soldiers being sent out across the planet, resistance defectors looking to sell information for safety, and the ranking officials plotting in front of computers in every building. 

“Look what they’ve done to this place,” Gosro complained. 

Vremla nodded. There was, admittedly, a part of her that felt comfort in seeing the dark architecture of the Empire, complete with flags of the insignia at every turn, but what beauty had been lost to build such a city?

“We’re not staying in Sobrik, at least,” she assured him. 

Something caught her eye. A flash of red, a flash of blue. She turned and could’ve sworn that she saw Emereid and Vette heading off. 

“They’re here too?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s a couple of Sith that I kept running into on Dromund Kaas the last couple of days. Think I just saw one.”

“Feel like saying hello?”

“No reason to. Let’s keep moving.”

She checked the coordinates on her map. They were in for a long taxi ride. 

“Sundari, eh?” Gosro said as he peered over her shoulder. “Get us a ride, and I’ll get you there.”

“Oh good. I like not having to drive.”

The taxi service wasn’t hard to find. Transferring a sum of credits to the droid overseeing it, Vremla rented them a two-seated speeder. True to his word, Gosro took the pilot’s side while Vremla picked up Violet and sat in the passenger’s.

Gosro was a good driver, and the ride was comfortable and smooth.

A lift against the cliffside brought them down to an Imperial base, nestled in a valley. There was a hum of activity, soldiers gearing up for an approaching battle. They stood a little straighter as Vremla passed by. Finally, she came upon an elevator.

“Stay down here. I’m sure it’s all higher ups up there, and they won’t like being joined by an alien.”

“No worries. Someone has to look after Violet, anyway.” He grinned and nodded for her to go on ahead, finding a spot against the elevator that he could lean against. 

“Anyone gives you trouble-”

“I’ll be sure to mention I’m tied to you. Don’t worry.”

“Right,” she nodded, and without wasting any more time, she stepped aboard. 

“Do you know the worst part, Governor?” She heard the voice from above, strong, Imperial, and female.

“I didn’t- I didn’t…” A man being choked.

She reached the top but didn’t approach the door. There was such darkness on the other side, a presence she sensed that felt as though it was suffocating her.

“Exactly. You didn’t even own up to your mistakes. That’s why the Dark Council gave this planet to me.”

She stepped into the room. Just as she thought, there was a Sith Lord choking a man dressed like an aristocrat. And watching it all with sick amusement was Dzihdon. He raised an eyeridge at Vremla’s approach, and she made sure to appear as cool and calm as possible. 

“Get on with it, Lachris,” he encouraged the other Sith.

“Wait, you called him Governor,” Vremla piped up. “Let him live, and you can get much more out of him.”

“Not a bad idea,” the Sith admitted, and she let him drop.

The Governor quickly scurried away, and Lachris approached Vremla, looking her over. Vremla took the opportunity to size up Lachris as well. She had pretty, black hair in a fancy style, red makeup that accented her eyes quite well, and wore an outfit that was both stylish and functional. And judging by the earlier confrontation, she had a sense of fairness - for a Sith - or perhaps just practicality. 

“I hadn’t realized I was getting more support. And you are?”

“Vremla, apprentice of Darth Apophius.”

“Another one? Oh, no matter. I’m Darth Lachris, and I’ve been tasked with cleansing Balmorra. More Sith can only bring much-needed dignity.”

Dzihdon snorted. Vremla crossed her arms. Lachris went on as if she hadn’t noticed. 

“You see, Balmorra has a problem.” And she pulled a holocom from her robe. 

An old soldier, scarred from many battles and wearing a suit of armor that matched, appeared upon the device, saying, “My friends in the resistance. I won’t take much time. The Empire says it owns Balmorra. The Republic says ‘It’s yours! We’re gone!’ But you and I both know Balmorra’s won with sweat and tears, and my boys will stand by your side until everyone know it.”

“Grand Marshal Cheketta, formerly of the Republic Army,” Lachris explained. “Officially, he and his troops went rogue after the Republic withdrew from this sector.”

“Charismatic,” Vremla commented. 

“A fool,” Dzihdon spat. 

“Both, and that’s what makes him a problem.”

“Isn’t this a violation of the peace treaty?”

“Not so long as the Republic denies any official involvement. Cheketta and the resistance are based in the Balmorran Arms Factory - home of the brightest engineers in the galaxy. I’m told the factory’s generators are inexhaustible, its defenses cutting-edge, its barricades block our scans.”

“I’ll crush it all to dust.”

“And what? Alert the whole resistance and get yourself killed? I’d say be my guest if it wouldn’t cause this mission to fail. Failure isn’t an option, but rest assured, I can slip into any base.”

“However it’s done, I don’t care, so long as Cheketta falls. Obliterate the factory defenses. Lower the barricades that block out scans, and I’ll have an army at your back. And if you can… bring me proof of Republic involvement on Balmorra. We’ll expose their lies on a galactic stage.”

“It will be done.”

She gave them a nod, and they were dismissed. Vremla and Dzihdon filed out of the office and into the elevator. Behind them, the doors closed, and Vremla reached for the controls. 

An invisible hand gripped her around the throat. Spitting swears, she struggled against it, but it just as quickly let her go. Falling against a wall, she gasped for breath. 

“So is he done coddling you now? Does he think you’re tough enough to go out there and pretend to be Sith?”

He was so much taller than her, and she felt that now more than ever. His presence filled the room, and it was suffocating.

“I am Sith,” she spat through gritted teeth, loosing a bolt of lightning. 

He blocked it easily, scowling down at her. 

“Pathetic, just like always.” 

He tapped the controls, bringing them down in the span of a few short yet agonizing seconds. 

“You’re not worth trying to discipline.” The doors opened. He stepped out, catching sight of Gosro and Violet. “Really now? So pathetic.” And with a shake of his head, he walked away.

Chapter Text

Working with Dzihdon was not the plan that Vremla had had, but she was certain it was the one that Apophius had for her. A test, she supposed, to work with her most hated enemy and still keep calm. But Dzihdon was surely making that as difficult as possible. He had no head for subtlety, only for brutality. It was in his nature to brandish his two black and orange sabers and leap at every foe in sight, crushing them under a few brutal swings, and it was in stark contrast to Vremla’s own preference for stalking through shadows, subduing her foes quickly with a calculated swing. His needless violence and incessant shouting were going to drive Vremla mad.

But she did find herself starting to understand why Apophius liked powerhouses. 

Breaking into the Balmorran Arms Factory was surprisingly simple when you had such a ferocious predator at your side. Over a pile of corpses, the two made their way inside. 

“I’m surprised that you’ve been able to keep up,” Dzihdon taunted her, catching his lightsaber after his throw had taken off someone’s head. 

“And I’m surprised you’re not dead when this is how you work.”

“You should know better than to doubt me.” He caught sight of Gosro and laughed, “What’s wrong, alien? See someone you know in the pile?”

Gosro said nothing, just glared, long and hard. 

“Don’t you have something better to be doing?” Vremla snapped at him. 

She made her way to a set of controls, tapping away. Another layer of security down. 

“If you keep talking back, I think I’ll just have to make you quiet. Keep moving.”

He purposely bumped into her as he moved along. 

“Just put up with him,” Gosro stepped up to her and said. 

“I have, for years, ” she reminded him. “But I’m getting sick of doing things his way. Let’s try…”

She cloaked herself with the Force, and with a bit of extra effort managed to do the same for Gosro and Violet as well. Stalking her way along past the enemies that Dzihdon was occupied with slaughtering, she was able make her way to each console, defeating the security. All it took was trapping the mind of anyone nearby in a dark haze. 

Vremla waited, rather smugly, for Dzihdon at a set of doors leading to their target. Finally, he arrived, reeking of sweat and death. 

“Have fun? It’s time to move.”

She led the way into a room full of consoles. Because hacking was her expertise, Dzihdon gruffly took up a guard position as she sidled up to one and began tapping away. 

“Can’t you work faster?” Dzihdon snapped at her.

Grumbling something obscene under her breath, she finished and announced into her comm, “Darth Lachris? I’m lowering the barricades to the Balmorran Arms Factory.”

“Perfect,” her please voice buzzed back into her ear. “We’ll start scanning the interior now. Hold on… someone cut through this interference!”

The image of Cheketta appeared on the screen before her. Determination and grit were written across his features. 

“Pardon my interruption. I’m Grand Marshal Cheketta, formerly of the Republic Army.”

“You’re the fool still clinging to hope that you can save this world,” Dzihdon grunted, stepping over to confront the hologram.

“And you’re a Sith that thinks too highly of himself. I’m not a complete fool - once I realized you planned to lower our defenses, I sent a few friends.”

Footsteps. The Sith turned to find themselves approached by a Togruta Jedi and two soldiers in Republic armor.
“Jedi Knight Ralon Nys, reporting.”

“Tempest Squad, reporting.”

“Fresh ‘volunteers,’” Cheketta explained with a sly grin, “who’ve take a leave of absence to join the Balmorran resistance. Taste of what’s coming.”

“You stupid man,” Dzihdon told him, smirking as he pulled his two sabers. “You’ve sent them to be slaughtered.”

“If that’s true, I’ll shed a tear.”

Dzihdon leapt through the air, his murderous intent a visible red aura about him. His orange sabers slashed and hacked, making swift work of one soldier before the Jedi came in to block the blow with his own green blade.

“Get the other one,” Vremla told Gosro, and she took her saber and ran into the action. 

Ralon Nys sensed Vremla approaching from behind, pushing Dzihdon away as he whipped around to meet her attack. They shared a few blows, she found an opening and took it with a swirling slash, and he managed to leap away. 

Dzihdon came upon him. The much larger man had many advantages, from his greater strength to his unstoppable rage, but the calmness of the Jedi helped him evade every blow. As he was preoccupied by the Sith, Vremla took up the opportunity to blast him with lightning. The flash of violet hit its mark, and in his moment of pain, Ralon Nys dropped his guard, long enough to be hacked in two by Dzihdon. Vremla turned away and holsted her saber. 

“Can’t stand the brutality, slave?” 

“I’ve seen worse.”

Stepping past the smoldering corpses, Vremla arrived back at the control panel, bringing up Lachris.
“Can you hear me? This channel is still open… did Cheketta send a Jedi?”

“All the good that did for him,” Dzihdon scoffed. 

“They tried to claim they weren’t with the Republic.”

“I’m sure they did. My people are performing a full scan of the factory now that the defenses are down. Let’s see… A hyperspace beacon? The Republic is flying reinforcements straight to the Balmorran Arms Factory and bypassing our defenses.

“Dozens of ships. Republic Special Forces. This is how they did it during the war.” She shook her head and sighed. “Multiple strike teams, strategic objectives, one Jedi per military squad. They took entire planets. 

“They know we see them. They’re rushing to land now!”

“We can stop them from the ground,” Vremla told her.

“Agreed. Take out the landing platforms and guidance systems. I’ll have attack squadrons blow those ships out of the sky.

“Fail me now, and we perish with Balmorra.”

The transmission ended. Dzihdon gleefully cracked his knuckles.

“Time for a blood bath,” he grinned.

“No,” Vremla snapped, “we’re doing this my way.”

“What makes you think that I’d listen to you?”

“Because Apophius sent me here obviously knowing that you’ll get yourself killed by being the stubborn bastard you always are. Now shut up, and get in line.”

There was anger in those narrowed eyes, but there was something more there, too. He seemed almost impressed.. Not thinking too much on it, Vremla cloaked herself, Dzihdon, Gosro, and Violet in the Force and led the way outside. The area was heavily patrolled by Resistance personnel, but as long as everyone was cautious enough, they would be none the wiser to their presence. 

And it was working. Vremla stalked around, hacking into the guidance systems and shutting them down. She stalked her way up landing pads and rigged the shuttles to explode. Any time any soldier began to catch on to their presence, Dzihdon snapped their neck, bringing them to a quick, silent end. 

Then, Lachris announced over their comms, “Only a few targets remain airborne - and they’ve got nowhere to go. But one transport slipped past us. I’m sending in ground troops - you intercept that ship at the factory’s landing pad. No one survives this attack!”

The attack was moving smoothly, all according to plan. Vremla led the way into the hangar and dropped the cloaks. She put a hand to her forehead and breathed deeply; what an effort that had been to maintain.

“Not so bad,” Dzihdon admitted, and he put a hand on her left shoulder.

Vremla’s whole body froze. Her heartbeat quickened, and he noticed quickly, smirking. 

“Can’t go on?” he then asked. 

“I’m right behind you.” She tried to sound tough, but her voice was like a whisper.

He moved ahead, lighting up his dual sabers to clear the path. 

“You alright?” Gosro stepped up to Vremla and asked. 

“I don’t like being touched,” Vremla snapped back quickly, unintentionally. “Let’s just get moving.”

Gosro frowned but followed. Dzihdon was clearing the path quite well, and they found him, grinning with a murderous fury, cutting an officer in two. Vremla lit up her saber and helped out, jumping into the action and fending off a group of three with a few spins and jolts of lightning.

“Do you remember when we did this years ago?” Dzihdon asked her after the last body had dropped. “Did Apophius really send you? Or are you here because you missed working with me?”

“You sicken me.”

“So you say.”

“Be quiet.”

“I’m getting under your skin.” He was all too pleased. 

I want to tear that grin off your face! A threat she could never even dare to speak, much less act upon. 

He was moving on, though, and she was glad to follow. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gosro, looking worried, and she realized how obvious it was that she was stewing. 

A deep breath in and out. She had to regain composure. She couldn’t continue to be bothered by Dzihdon, surely!

“The fleet may be lost,” they overheard a voice say as they approached, “but my Padawan and I can hold the Imperials while you regroup.”

They saw Cheketta, speaking with Jedi in front of a shuttle.

“I want you to get the non-combatants and the wounded off Balmorra…” he noticed them then, his face turning grim. “After we handle this. You’re damn tough, you know that?”

“Shut up and defend yourself, old man.”

He saw the flash of Dzihdon’s sabers and snarled, “Weapons out!”

Cheketta threw up a shield about himself just before Dzihdon blasted him off his feet with a blast of dark Force energy. For that, the Jedi and his Padawan pounced upon him, and Dzihdon was lost in a whirl of blades, keeping them off of him as he searched for an opening. The Jedi found one first, slashing Dzihdon across the ribs. 

He was vulnerable, but not for long. Vremla jumped into the action, slashing at them both, taking their attention as she deflected all their blows artfully with the two ends of her violet saber. 

Gosro aimed and took a few shots at the Padawan, producing a few holes into his back. Reeling in pain, Vremla found enough opportunity to stun the master before slashing the student across the belly, and he dropped. 

Dzihdon had recovered from his moment of pain, and he made that known by throwing his sabers at the Jedi. Vremla had to dash away lest she also be caught, but there was no time to be furious. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Vremla loosed a brutal bolt, and it caught the Jedi. He was brought to his knees, and Dzihdon immediately took his head off. 

A cannon’s bolt blasted into his back, and Dzihdon let out a cry as he was brought down. Turning, Vremla found Cheketta, on his feet and aiming his cannon right at her. 

Using the Force as a cloak, she seemed to dissolve into the air. Cheketta grit his teeth. His carefully aimed bolt thwarted, he took to spraying a line of fire through the air, but Vremla dashed ahead of it all. She speared him from behind, and he fell, clutching the hole. 

“Good fight,” he gasped out.

“Yield,” she warned him, stepping in front of him with her blade still drawn.

“You will receive no more resistance from me,” he promised. “Listen, I know how much the Empire wants to expose the Republic’s… involvement in Balmorra. Publicly. I can confess the truth of the invasion - if you help my men.”

“You want to surrender?” Vremla raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the defiant grand marshal?”

“It’s just us now. None of my boys left to inspire. Let the Balmorrans and the non-combatants leave. Treat the Republic soldiers fairly, as prisoners of war. Help them, and I’ll tell everyone we violated the treaty.”

“Very well.” And with a nod, she sheathed her blade. “The Empire isn’t without mercy. We can come to an agreement.”

“I… appreciate that. Hmm, sounds like your troops made it inside.”

So they had. Vremla turned to greet them, standing proudly before them as they saluted to the Sith.

“Sir! Squad 815. Darth Lachris sent us to reinforce your position.”

“Take the grand marshal into custody. We’re done for now.”

“Understood.”

As the soldiers carried out their orders, Vremla stepped over to Dzihdon, finding Gosro kneeling there.

“He’s alive,” Gosro announced. 

“I know.” She could sense it, that disgusting, hateful life, still hanging on.

“What should I do?”

“Stabilize him. I can’t let him die here.”

“I… I see. Right away.”

Lachris was perfectly pleased upon Vremla’s arrival back. She had gotten her confession, a highly valued prisoner, her new base of operations, and most importantly, caused riots on Coruscant. Perhaps the war would come again. Vremla was sure she wanted that. 

It didn’t really matter much to Vremla herself, though. After sending Gosro ahead to procure a taxi, Vremla stalked along, lost in her thoughts, until she saw something that did matter to her.

“Dzihdon!” Vremla barked, and the Sith, a few meters ahead, paused. 

“Coming with me?” he asked. 

Narrowing her eyes, she dared to step closer.

“I believe I’ve proven to you now that I can be Sith.”

He crossed his arms and offered a grin. “I’ll admit: I may have been wrong about you.”

“You were.” She made that known very sternly. “I saved your life back there. I believe that deserves a reward.”

“And what might you want?” 

The twinkle in his eyes made her sick.

“Zhevrua,” she told him. “I want to speak with Zhevrua. Let me call her.”

The twinkle in his eyes changed. “Very well.”

He reached into a pocket and pulled his personal holo-communicator, tapped in a command, and there on his palm, the blue tinged figure of Zhevrua appeared. She was the same little girl Vremla remembered. She was drastically different. The same eyes, the same braided hair, but she held herself differently now, prim and proper, dressed like an acolyte.

“Father,” Zhevrua spoke. Even the way she spoke seemed too different for three year’s time. 

“Zhevrua, your mother wishes to speak with you.”

Zhevrua’s eye ridges furrowed. 

“Why?”

“Zhevrua,” Vremla breathed, stepping closer. Her body trembled, and she tried to reach for Dzihdon’s holocom. “It’s so good to see you, little one.”

“Is it? Is it really?” Zhevrua turned on her with fury. “I thought you’d be glad to finally be rid of me.” The figure turned back to Dzihdon. “Father, I’ll be going back to my studies. I await your return.”

And she was gone. In her absence, Vremla could feel a cold hand around her heart, wanting to tear it apart. 

“What did you do?” she finally said, a breathy whisper. 

“ Me? I’m simply teaching her to be Sith. What have you done?”

“Nothing!”

“Is that true? Weren’t you the one that attempted to smother her in the crib?”

Her heart stopped. 

“Oh yes, she knows. Did you think you could keep it secret forever?”

Her mouth opened, but words failed. Her legs threatened to give way, and she felt sick. Dzihdon looked upon her and grinned. 

“You pretended for years that you loved that girl, but I’m not the one who’s ever tried to hurt her. Who’s the villain, really?”

Chapter Text

“ Was that Crissy’s voice? ”

“ She called. ”

Rattie stood in the doorway to Zhevrua’s room. The Pureblood was sitting at her desk, bent over the tomes she had been left to study. 

“ Oh! Is she well? ”

“ Don’t know. Didn’t care. ”

Rattie blinked, then put on an awkward smile. 

“ What do you mean, little one? ”

Zhevrua’s eyebrow ridges furrowed. 

“ You know what I mean. ”

All Rattie could do was frown. 

“ Well… Dinner will be ready in an hour. ”

“ Thank you, Rattie. ”

She almost felt like bowing, but she had never done so for the young Pureblood. Softly, she closed the door and walked down the hall

“ Sez’kojem! ” she then called out, running to find him. 

She had a good idea where he was, but when she stumbled into the trophy room, he was nowhere in sight. The space was half-cleaned, and they knew better than to leave a job undone. 

Composure, she reminded herself. She knew where he had to be, and she stepped into the training room adjacent. 

“ My Lord, ” she announced herself immediately. 

The Pureblood before her paused. She was tall and muscular, with deep orange skin and intensely red eyes. She had a training sword in hand, standing before Sez’kojem. Rattie averted her eyes. 

“ Dinner will be ready within the hour, ” she announced. 

“Oh, perfect,” said the Pureblood. “Slave, we may take a break.”

She waltzed out of the room, and Rattie waited until she was gone to step up to Sez’kojem. The green Twi’lek was crumpled over himself, holding his ribs. She could see blood.

“ My love, ” she said, cradling his head between her hands. 

“ I’ll be… fine, ” he promised her. “ Crazy bitch doesn’t think a dummy is good enough. ”

“ Go to the doctor, ” she told him, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “ I will finish preparations. ”

She hated to see him stumble away, but Sez’kojem was a proud man, and she truly did still have a lot of work to do to prepare dinner. 

“Is that you, Twi’lek?” Emereid had stopped in the middle of the spaceport once he had caught sight of Ujic’korun.

“You could call me by name.”

“It’s more fun to- By the Emperor, what is that smell? Have you been swimming in the sewers?”

“Being Darth Zash’s apprentice has certainly proven to be interesting thus far.”

“Go, go,” Emereid shooed him off, a hand to his nose. “Go learn what bathing is.”

Ujic’korun pouted and said, “And here I wanted to give you a hug for being such a good friend.” He took a step closer but paused, catching sight of something behind Emereid. “Is that Vremla?

Emereid turned and saw a figure hidden under a violet cloak. Who else could it be?

“Vremla!” he called, charging over. “Didn’t realize you were on Balmorra.”

She kept her head bowed, giving no comment.

“What?” He smiled, clapping a hand on her shoulder as he joked, “Did that nexu get your tongue?”

The muzzle of a gun pressed against his ribs. His eyes widened, and he looked down, finding Vremla’s finger on the trigger.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled.

And he quickly, cautiously pulled his hand away. 

Away she went without another word, drifting down the stairs and disappearing to wherever her hangar was. 

“My apologies, my Lord!” came the nervous shout of a Zabrak, and he looked to find the medic approaching him. “She reacts very strongly to being touched, I’m afraid. Please don’t hold it against her.”

“She was beautiful,” Ujic’korun commented. 

Emereid frowned and asked the Zabrak, “Are you hers?”

“Friends, my Lord.”

“Then hurry along and make sure she doesn’t do anything foolish.”

“Aye!” And he ran.

Emereid put his hands on his hips and sighed before noticing Vette smiling at him.

“What is it now?”

“Nice to see you have a heart.”

“Be quiet.” He turned to leave. “It’s time I left. Going to Nar Shaddaa, Twi’lek?”

“How’d you know?”

“Good guess.”

He walked away. Ujic’korun stepped up to Vette, and she turned to listen.

“Are you sure you want to go with him? He doesn’t respect you. He’ll never respect you.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad. He only gets snappy when he’s grumpy-”

“He’s always grumpy.”

“That’s fine. But, he didn’t even use the shock collar when I still had it, y’know, so I can handle a bit of grumpiness.”

“Mmm.”

“And hey, what else am I going to do?” she shrugged. “I’d better go before he gets even grumpier. Toodles!”

“Vremla?” Gosro kept his voice low and gentle as he stepped onto the ship, finding her laying across the couch, holding onto Violet.

“Let’s get off this planet.” A whisper.

“Let’s. Where should I take us?”

“Just let us drift through the galaxy.”

“Right away.” 

“Nar Shaddaa, right?” Vette asked.

Emereid sat himself down in the lounge, pouring himself a glass. Without raising his eyes, he told her, “Yes. And thanks to our new Captain, I can sit back and relax until we’re there. Feel like joining?”

“After last time you offered me a drink?”

“I think this would be much more to your taste.”

She shrugged and came to take a seat with him, and he gave her a half-full glass. 

After a quick test, she decided, “Well, it’s drinkable. Guessing I did pretty good if you’re giving me a treat.”

“Something like that.”

He leaned back, putting an arm over the back of the chair. His eyes searched the ceiling, noticing everything and yet nothing at all.

“Or maybe you’re just bored,” Vette spoke up. “Guess life’s not so exciting when you’re not killing, huh?”

“Killing isn’t what I live for.”

“Right, I suppose you haven’t been the worst Sith I’ve ever met.”

“And you haven’t been the worst Twi’lek.”

“Is the worst Ujic’korun?”

“By a mile,” he grinned. He paused to think and frowned. 

“Something on your mind?”

“No.”

She knew better but let it slide. Pausing for a minute to drink, she eventually spoke, “Remember when I was telling you about my family?”

“Your mother and sister? What about them?”

“I started thinking - what does a Sith’s family look like?”

“I see.”

“Come on! If I’m telling you about mine, you might as well tell me about yours.”

Emereid sighed. Vette’s eyes were upon him, large and pleading, like a cute dog that was hard to ignore. 

“I was born on Ziost,” he finally told her. “My mother and father were both Sith, as were their parents and grandparents before them. We lived the life of luxury in a large mansion attended by slaves.”

“Wow, sounds pretty great,” Vette muttered, resting a chin on her hand. Somehow it was exactly the story she had expected. 

“I always thought so.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “Now I’m beginning to think that it was incredibly lonely.”

“Huh?” Vette raised her head.

But before he could elaborate, Quinn’s voice came through on the comms, “My Lord, five minutes until we arrive on Nar Shaddaa.”

“And I’m sure Baras will be calling quite soon,” Emereid grunted, downing the little bit left in his glass before he stood. He saw Vette, looking disappointed, and promised her, “We’ll talk some other time.”

Why do I promise her these things? He pondered as he walked away. Why am I so friendly with her? She’s a Twi’lek, formerly a slave but still my servant. He shook his head. By the Emperor, I need to take Quinn with me before I become too soft!

“ Where’s Sez’kojem? ” Zhevrua asked as she entered the dining room, a large space filled by a long table that never had all its seats filled. 

“Don’t speak in their tongue,” the older Pureblood chided her from where she sat at the far end, being served by Rattie. “How uncouth.” 

“What’s it to you?” Zhevrua snapped back. 

“Oh, you’re right.” She put a hand on her spiked chin and grinned, “I shouldn’t expect much from a slave’s child.”

Rattie saw the features on Zhevrua’s face change - widened eyes, clenched teeth - and quickly begged, “ Can we please not fight over dinner? ”

“There won’t be a fight,” she was promised, all the while flashing that infuriating grin back at Zhevrua.

It was too much for the little girl. Whipping around on her heels, she blasted the door shut behind her and stomped away. Rattie bowed her head. There was nothing she could do.

“Gosro?” Vremla found the Zabrak in the captain’s chair, arms crossed, surveying the stars.

“Want your seat back?”

“Keep it. How do you feel about going to Nar Shaddaa?”

“The cesspool of the galaxy?” He wrinkled his nose at the thought. 

“Just a little bit of underworld fun.”

“A little.” He snorted at that. “But you’re the boss. I’ll take us there. Any particular reason?”

“I have a contact there, someone who can help me with something.”

“Mmm,” Gosro went with a nod, inputting Nar Shaddaa into the ship’s computer. “Can we talk about… earlier?”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Doubt that. But listen, just like you promised you’ll be there for me, I want to be there for you. It works both ways.”

“I do appreciate that.”

“Then, hey, I’ll start. If I seemed distant at all on Balmorra it was because I couldn’t stop thinking about the people I once knew. I couldn’t help worrying about where they were, what they are now. Were they with the Resistance or working begrudgingly for their Imperial overlords? Were they still alive or were they gone already or, even worse, enslaved? My family, my friends, my boyfriend, I’d give anything to see them again, y’know.”

“I understand completely.”

“I know. So is there… anything you want to talk about?”

“Not right now.” Not ever.

“Alright. I’ll get us to Nar Shaddaa. Go and rest until we arrive.”

Late that night, after the dining room had been cleared and the kitchen cleaned until it was glittering, after the Sith had gone and retired for the night, Rattie stopped outside of Zhevrua’s room and gave the door two gentle knocks. 

“ Come in .” She heard a sniffle when it was said. 

Rattie entered and softly closed the door behind her. She saw Zhevrua sitting up in her bed, knees drawn up to her chin. On the nightstand beside her was a stack of plates and a cup, remnants of the dinner that she had enjoyed alone. 

“ Dishes are there, ” Zhevrua pointed them out. “ Dinner was great. Thanks. ”

“ I’m glad you enjoyed, ” Rattie told her, but she left the plates untouched, drifting over to her to sit beside her on the bed instead. “ What’s on your mind, little one? ”

“ Nothing, ” she snapped back, eyebrow ridges furrowed. “ I just hate Unela. ”

“ All she can do is provoke you. She would not harm her master’s child. ”

“ I’m just a slave’s child to her. I’m not! I’m not! ”

“ Zhevrua, do you hate your mother? ”

Silence. 

“ You don’t hate us, do you? ”

“ Of course not! ”

“ We are slaves as well. Do you hate your mother? ”

“ She’s the one that hates me! ” Zhevrua screamed, and like a ball, she crumpled in on herself, sobbing. 

Rattie’s eyes turned low, and she rubbed Zhevrua’s back. “ Who told you that? ”

“ Father told me. I wanted to know why she never called. He said she had abandoned us. That she had tried to kill me after I was born. ”

Rattie paused. Then, narrowing her eyes, she snapped a word that Zhevrua didn’t know.

“ What? ”

“ Don’t repeat that. ” She put a hand to her forehead and sighed. “ There’s so much you don’t know, Zhevrua, and you’re too young for me to tell you. ”

“ I’m eleven. ”

“ You’re a child. Children should not know such things. ” She stood. “ Your mother did a wretched thing, it’s true. There was darkness in her heart, but she freed herself from it, and she does love you. She loves you very much. She begged not to be taken away to train as Sith on your account alone. Crissy could not bear to leave you. ”

“ Then why did she never call? ”

“ Sith games, I imagine. Wait here, little one .”

She left the room, walking down the hall until she was certain she was out of earshot from everyone. She wailed, spitting swears.

“ My love, you never use that language .”

Rattie turned to find Sez’kojem, patched up from his earlier wounds, as he came to embrace her, and she wept against his chest. 

“ Dzihdon told Zhevrua everything. ”

“ Everything? ” 

“ That day we found Crissy standing over Zhevrua’s crib… ”

“ Everything… ” Sez’kojem whispered knowingly, squeezing Rattie tighter. 

“The child thinks her mother hates her. I don’t know how to explain. I was thinking of Crissy’s notes, but I don’t know what’s written in them. I just remember her saying they were for Zhevrua.”

“ I’ll look them over. ”

“Zhevrua, it’s Sez’kojem,” he later announced at the door before letting himself in.

She was in bed, blanket up to her chin. Her yellow eyes looked awfully more red, and she turned them up to him as he entered. She hadn’t been sleeping. 

“You don’t have to read them tonight,” Sez’kojem said, grabbing her dirty dishes off the nightstand to replace them with cloth covered in a sloppy handwriting, “but you should have these.”

“What are they?” asked Zhevrua, lifting her head and plucking one from the pile. 

A fabric marker had hastily been scrawled across cloth scraps. A quick scan of the pile revealed that every piece of cloth was different, and she did recognize a few, saved from various projects.

“Songs, I think. Crissy wrote them as you grew up. They’re yours now. I’ll give you more as you grow up. Goodnight, Zhevrua. Do you want me to leave the light on?”

“Please.”

“Alright. We love you, little one.”

“Love you, too. Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

“Vremla, am I correct? Have you arrived on Nar Shaddaa?”

Promptly upon their arrival on the Hutt-controlled moon, Apopius had called her.

“Just a short trip to pick up something I needed. I trust this isn’t an issue?”

“The opposite. In fact, I was about to send you there myself. You see, I have been having some issues with my slave driver. He hasn’t responded to any of my calls. I don’t like being ignored. I need you to find him and see what’s been keeping him. Make sure he remembers that service to me is the most important thing in his life.”

“Right away, Master. Oh, and about Balmorra: you could have warned me about Dzihdon.”

He grinned. “Where’s the fun in that, apprentice?” And the call ended. 

“Vremla?”

“Let’s just get this job done.”

She led the way off the ship, and Violet trailed close behind, eager for adventure and blood. With a sigh, Gosro quickly patted himself over to make sure he had everything then jogged to catch up with her. 

“We’re going to make my stop first,” she told him. “It shouldn’t take long. Just a quick ride to the Promenade.”

“Not wise to keep Apophius waiting.”

“He can get over it.”

They stopped outside of a store front. “Droid parts and more!” a sign promised them. Vremla checked something on her datapad and opened the door. 

“Rhinla?” she called.

“ Skyala! ” 

The ecstatic cry from the Nautolan welcomed Vremla inside her shop. She was teal-skinned with blue markings down her head of lekku. Her figure was thin and lean and she wasn’t afraid to show that off, wearing a tube top and tight-fitting pants. 

She had been holding a datapad, reviewing her stock of droid parts, when Vremla arrived, and she dropped everything, running forward to embrace her. 

“ Darling, how long has it been? ” She seemed close to tears, pulling down Vremla’s hood to place a soft kiss on her forehead. “ You look well. ”

“I look mangled.” She pulled her hood back up to hide her face - and her blushing. 

“ But you’re alive. And that’s all that matters. Years, we’ve worried about you. When you sent me a message, I sobbed like an infant. ”

Vremla looked away and asked, “Is Jylvana here?”

“ No, off on Tatooine, last I heard. A lot’s happened, darling. ”

“You’re on Nar Shaddaa.”

“ I couldn’t stand to be in Raider’s Cove anymore. All the sights… You should’ve been there, and you couldn’t, and there was no way for me to get revenge. Seeing the Nova Blades every day was an insult. Seeing Oesrae… even more so.

“ I came here. Similar atmosphere, and I could do pretty well for myself by selling droids. Jylvana thought it was boring. Left pretty early on. Heard she’s taken up bounty hunting. ”

What a coincidence. But, realizing she hadn’t yet introduced her friend, she looked to Gosro and said, “Gosro, this is Rhinla Iokkant, my best friend back when I was running around Rishi. Rhinla, Gosro, the man who’s here to keep me from getting killed.”

“ I bet she’s keeping your hands full, ” Rhinla told him. “ And the nexu that followed you in?”

“Tamed. Named her Violet.”

“ Really? You named the purple-furred creature ‘Violet?’ You are so hopelessly uncreative. ”

“And somehow she manages to give herself fake names,” Gosro joked. 

“ You should hear where those names came from. ”

Vremla tapped her foot and snapped, “This isn’t why I’m here.”

“ I know, I know. ” Rhinla grinned. “ But after so long, I had to tease you. Well then, tell me what it was that you so cryptically mentioned in your letter. ”

“This.” She produced the datapad from a pocket and handed it over. “I can’t get it open.”

“ Ooh, a puzzle. ” The way Rhinla’s eyes lit up was like stars in the night sky. “ Oh, you just about had it, ” she said after a few taps. “ Are you being hard on yourself again? Are you eating well? Sleeping well? ”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“ It matters to me. Well, there you go. ”

She handed it back and Vremla started going through the files. Before long, she let out a sigh of frustration.

“Nothing!” she snapped. “I don’t understand. There’s contracts here but none with my name.”

“ Contract? ” Rhinla cast a glance at Gosro who looked equally confused. She took the datapad from Vremla. “ I don’t see a ‘Skyala Bryamar.’ ”

“Look for ‘Ariacris.’”

“ I don’t see… No, there. No! It’s just the faintest fragment of a contract! I’m sure I can… The security on this is something else. Did you piss off someone in the SIS?”

“Working for who I work for, it’s a possibility,” Vremla sighed.

“They wouldn’t bother with bounty hunters, would they? There’s no consequences if they get caught hunting a Sith,” Gosro interjected. “Imperial Intelligence, perhaps?”

“Also a possibility,” Vremla crossed her arms and grumbled.

“ Darling, what have you been doing the last twelve years? Oh, don’t you give up hope on me. I’ve gotten pretty good at this slicing business. I’ll get to the bottom of this. ”

“Thank you.”

“While she’s doing that,” Gosro piped up, “think we should take care of what Darth Apophius wanted?”

“Probably. See you in a bit, Rhinla.”

“ Bye bye, ” she chirped, waving them off.

But Gosro hung back for a second to ask, “Where’d she get ‘Skyala’ from?”

“ Skyldan, her smuggler grandfather. ”

“And Ariacris?”

“ Her real name, but she hates it, so don’t go repeating it. ”

“Vremla, then?”

“ Think that one’s after her Sith grandmother. ”

“Wow, ok. Now I’m dying to know where she got ‘Zhevrua’ from.”

“ ‘Zhevrua?’ ” Rhinla repeated with a blank stare. She shook her head. “ Ask her. I’ve never heard that name before. ”

She waved him off then, and Gosro sprinted to catch up with Vremla, but she was patiently waiting for him just outside the shop. 

“She seems nice,” he commented as he fell into step with her. 

“She’s wonderful.” Vremla nodded. 

“Wonderful?” He was grinning. 

“Don’t give me that look.” Her cheeks burned.

“She called you ‘darling.’” 

“Yes- Well- You see-”

“You can say ‘girlfriend.’ It’s fine.”

“Not girlfriend. Rhinla doesn’t do relationships.”

“Friends with benefits, then?”

“It was a different time of my life.” She sighed and stopped in front of the droid running the taxi service. “Corellian Sector,” she told it, paying quickly before getting in. Once seated, she looked back to Gosro and continued, “I was young and dumb, but Rhinla was my best friend.”

“Must be good to see that things have stayed the same.”

“Everything feels so different now, but… yeah.”

The room that Vremla and Gosro entered was empty and eerily silent. The floor was lined with bodies, the slaver’s guards that had been cut down by the bolts of an assault cannon. The walls were lined with rows of man sized cages, and it made both of them squirm. All were empty, carved open by the handiwork of only one possible tool.

“Rival Sith or a Jedi?” Vremla asked as she touched the bars. Cold. We’re late.

“Eh, I’ll vote Jedi.”

“Really? I was thinking Sith.”

“Hey! Over here!”

Startled, she looked to find that one cage wasn’t as empty as all the others. In it stood one man, a pale human man, slumped over, holding his midsection. 

“My Lord,” he dipped his head respectfully as she stepped over. “I- I apologize for this.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“We were raided. A Jedi and a Republic soldier. I’m willing to bet that some of the slaves this round were Republic soldiers themselves.”

“You don’t know?”

“Hey, I don’t ask questions. I just buy and sell the lot for Apophius.”

She resisted the urge to snap, instead saying, “Tell me about the Jedi.”

“Zabrak. Small. Pale. Likes pink.”

“Pink?”

“Both of her sabers were that color, as well as her outfit.”

“Then she shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“We can hope, my Lord.”

“And the soldier?”

“You can see the work of her cannon. Imagine someone tall enough to hoist that around, dressed in the Republic’s armor.

“They destroyed the cameras, but I doubt they managed to destroy the footage. Get their faces, and hunt them down.”

His breathing was becoming hampered, and he slumped against the bars, his fists clenching tighter. 

“Vremla, I can fix him up,” Gosro offered. 

But in a moment, she had whipped out her saber and plunged it into his heart. He dropped without a sound, and she stepped away, satisfied. 

“I can’t stand slavers,” she told him. 

“Fair enough,” he said, but the quickness of the kill had left him a little stunned. “I think… I think the computers are this way.”

He pointed to a door, and she led the way through it. Shuffling up to the computers, she started slicing her way in. Gosro stepped over beside her, watching intently as she worked. 

“You make it look like it’s nothing.”

“Intelligence operatives for parents will do that to you. There we go.”

It wasn’t much to go on, but for the few brief seconds each camera was able to record, they saw a tall, dark skinned, human woman in Republic armor, aiming her sidearm. Just at the edge of the screen was their Jedi companion, a small, pale Zabrak woman dressed in loose, white cloth, accented by a bright pink cape. Vremla scoured through the video until she was able to get a clear shot of both of their faces. 

“Who else just wants to delete the footage and let them get away with saving some slaves?” Gosro offered. 

“Can’t do that.” She saved the images and stepped away, calling up Apophius on her personal holocom. “Master, I’m afraid I have bad news. Your slaves were freed by a Republic raid. They’re long gone, but I have their faces. I will find them.”

“I’m sure you will,” was all he said, and he ended the call.

“Is that faith or fury?” Gosro asked. 

“We’ll see.” With a sigh, she pocketed her holocom, took one last look around the room, and shrugged. “There’s nothing left for us here. Let’s check back in with Rhinla.”

She didn’t make it far before she received another holocall, however. Pulling the communicator back out, she was greeted by the figure of a familiar apprentice.

“Emereid?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Remember how we said we would aid each other? I’m here to call in a favor. How would you like to aid me in taking down a traitorous Sith Lord?”

“Hmm… Tell me where I should meet you.”

“I’m sending you the coordinates. Be swift.”

The call ended. Vremla uploaded the coordinates on her map. 

“We’re letting Rhinla wait, then?”

“If she had urgent news, she’d call. Besides, never miss a chance to earn a favor from a Sith Lord.”

Chapter Text

“How did she make it look so easy?” Zhevrua grumbled at the mirror, watching herself try and horribly fail to braid her hair. 

There was a knock, and Zhevrua said, “ Come in ,” and the door opened to Rattie.

“ How are you, little one? ” Rattie asked, stepping over. “ Trying something with your hair? ”

“ Trying. ” Raking her fingers down her black locks, she undid all the progress she had made. “ Mother always made it look easy. I can’t even do a braid. ”

“ It takes practice. Let me. ” 

Rattie stepped behind her, taking Zhevrua’s long hair into her hands. She got to work, slowly but methodically braiding before tying it off.

“ Your mother loved to style your hair differently every day, ” she then said. 

“ I remember. It was fun. ”

“ She tried showing me some, but honestly I hardly remember it. ”

“ You’re better at it than me. ”

“ Practice, little one. ”

“ Yeah. So… Did you want something? ”

“ Hmm? Right. Your father’s set to be home by the end of the day. Did you get everything done? ”

“ I read everything, I put up with Unela, and I’ve meditated on the Sith Code. Still, Father’s going to find something I missed. ”

“ Just make him happy. ”

“ I’m trying. Really. ”

“ I know. Well, I should go. I’ll bring you something to eat in an hour. ”

“ Thank you, Rattie. ”

Rattie turned to leave, noting Vremla’s notes scattered about Zhevrua’s desk.

She’s reading them. Good. And she left, not knowing that these were notes that Sez’kojem had not intended for Zhevrua to read.

“I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind,” Emereid spoke as Vremla approached him. 

They had set up a meeting in the Imperial data center, finding a quiet, remote corner to have their talk. Vremla quickly noted that Vette was not in attendance today, replaced by an Imperial soldier with black hair, blue eyes, and the most impeccable uniform.

“No Vette?” she asked.

“I was tired of hanging out with a yappy alien. Don’t look so concerned. She’s back on my ship, unharmed. I don’t know why you care so much.”

“If you don’t understand basic decency then I really have nothing to say to you.”

“My Lord, we really should get to that meeting,” spoke the Imperial.

“Right. Vremla, meet Captain Malavai Quinn, Quinn, meet Vremla.”

“And Gosro.”

“And the Zabrak, too. We are here to do battle against a traitorous Sith, one Lord Rathari. I know I’m strong enough to beat him on my own, but the honorless scum is sure to use dirty tricks. And so, I’ve called you.”

“Your plan?” 

“I just need you to lie low and wait. If Rathari calls in reinforcements, then I will need you to dispatch them so I can focus on the main target.” 

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Truly. Oh, and you should know, I’ve made a deal with a few Republic soldiers as well, so try not to kill them.”

“You? Making a deal with the Republic?”

“Do not treat me like a fool. It was strategically beneficial, just as allying myself with you was.

“Now then, we move.”

Vremla and Gosro, cloaked in the Force, crouched behind a crate, peering out as Emereid stepped over bodies to his target: a hooded cyborg with unnaturally grayed flesh. 

As headstrong as Vremla had thought Emereid was, she now saw first hand his might. He had leapt into that crowd of foes, dispatching them each with a few neat blows, and as he approached Rathari, he looked as though he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Lord Rathari,” he spoke in his low voice. “Finally, we meet face to face.”

“You showed.” Rathari grinned. “You lack your master’s caution; I applaud that.

“Dellocon, Baras’s lackey is here. So say your piece, and do it before I kill this would-be assassin.”

Beside Rathari was a much smaller man wearing an Imperial uniform.

“Baras is insane and paranoid!” he belted out. “I was a faithful servant, and my cover was intact! Did he expect me to accept being murdered for reassurance? Just wait for death?”

“Comes with the territory,” Emereid reminded him bluntly. 

“I will not accept this!”

“Dellocon and everything he knows of your master’s operations are mine now,” Rathari gloated with a smirk. “In a hundred years when I am legendary within the Sith, you and Baras’s deaths at my hands will not even be a footnote. But I would never lower myself to duel a mere apprentice. You haven’t earned the honor.”

Emereid gray eyes narrowed rather darkly, spitting, “A Sith Lord should be a man of his word.”

“So naive. Lies and deception are important weapons in every Sith’s arsenal. These men are my elite guard, trained to take on Sith. Half of them could kill you, but I don’t like to play favorites.”

“Your men are going to be a little busy with my men.”

“Time to move,” Vremla then told Gosro. “Stay hidden. I’ll take care of the fighting.”

And she leapt from the shadows just as the Republic troopers Emereid has mentioned prior did. They seemed surprised to see her, but seeing as her lightsaber was pointed at Rathari’s men and not them, guessed quickly that she was with Emereid.

“I’ve underestimated your resourcefulness,” Rathari grumbled.

“A fatal mistake.” And he sprang. 

Blaster fire rang out. Vremla blocked a few bolts as she charged forward, sweeping her double-blade into the crowd of Rathari’s elite with a spinning motion. They all immediately turned their attention towards her, and she quickly shielded herself as they began to pummel her with blaster shots. She picked out one and blasted him with a bolt of lightning, stunning him. And as the Republic’s blasters finished him off quickly, she picked another to slash apart. 

Behind her, Emereid’s battle against Rathari raged. Rathari lashed out with a furious swing of his saber, and Emereid met it. With lightsabers locked, the two struggled for dominance, until Emereid found his opening and blasted Rathari with the Force, breaking away.

Rathari’s men were thinning by the moment. Vremla slashed her blade across one’s abdomen, adding another to the death toll, and she quickly turned and blasted another with a display of lightning. A blaster bolt clipped her in the shoulder, and she let out a small cry, turning on the perpetrator, but the Republic had already gunned him down. 

Emereid’s fight was going similarly well, trading blows with Rathari easily, pushing him back until he was standing at the edge of the platform. Rathari afforded the drop one quick glance of acknowledgement, and in that moment, Emereid carved a line through his armor from his shoulder to his hip.

Dropping to his knees, Rathari gasped, “I yield! Never have I witnessed such raw power.”

“It was foolish to stand against me.” And he turned and saw the last of Rathari’s men fall.

“The day and the planet are yours, I freely pass the scepter.”

Reaching out with the Force, Rathari found Dellocon where he had been cowering, picking him up by the neck and snapping it in an instant.

“I was looking forward to doing that myself,” Emereid grumbled.

“You are above such trifling tasks. It’s clear to me now - someday you will rise above your master. Grant me mercy so I may live to see it. Honor me with some small hand in it.”

“You will be my minion,” Emereid decided. “You will be called into service when I see fit.” 

“Yes. I shall wait with patience for your summons.”

Vremla turned away then, holding her shoulder. Gosro emerged from where he had been waiting, and he quickly worked to mend her wounds. 

“Probably should check them over, too,” she said.
“You were hit the worst. I’ll get to them in a moment.”

Vremla sighed and nodded. Gosro worked quickly, and Vremla felt the relief of her pain dulling. Then, he turned to the Republic. It was then that Emereid came to join them. 

“Alright, Sith,” the Republic commander spoke up, “your objective has been met. May we go?”

“You have served me well, Commander. Leave in peace.”

“Alright men, you heard the Sith. Let’s get back to our neck of the woods.”

And after Gosro was done checking them over, they were gone. 

“Do you really think it was wise to let the Republic go?” Quinn asked. 

“We had a deal. I’m a man of my word.”

“You really have a high standard for yourself,” Vremla commented, stepping up beside him.

“A Sith should have honor. It’s what separates us from the common riff-raff.”

“Not many who believe that.”

“Unfortunately true. Back-stabbing, lies, deceit - these things so commonly associated with Sith pollute our name. We become so obsessed with power that we lose all honor. Even my own master, Baras, has. It can be infuriating working for him.”

“But you do it anyway.”

“Of course, but in my own way.”

“My Lord,” Quinn interrupted then, “I don’t mean to rush you, but I believe that we should get moving.”

“What’s wrong, Captain? Don’t like Nar Shaddaa?”

“Baras and I don’t agree on many things, but he’s certainly right when he called this the armpit of the galaxy.”

“Welcome to the underworld,” Vremla commented. 

“A warm welcome indeed,” Emereid said. “Lead the way back to the ship, then. I’ll be right behind you.”

“I will clear a path for you,” Quinn promised, dipping his head before going on his way.

“Quite the loyal one you’ve got there,” Vremla hooted. 

“He’s blasted boring. ‘My Lord’ this, ‘My Lord’ that. I can hardly stand him.”

“And here I was thinking you would love having a suck-up to inflate your ego.”

“He’s infuriating.”

“Well good thing you have a charming, funny companion waiting for you back on your ship.”

Emereid grumbled something under his breath.

“Is the only reason you hate Vette because she’s an alien? By the stars, Emereid, get your head out of your ass.” 

“I don’t hate Vette. She’s one of the good ones.”

“Emereid, she’s just a Twi’lek you bothered to get to know. Do you know anything about Twi’leks?”

“Of course.”

“From a Twi’lek’s point of view or an Imperial’s?”

“What’s the point of this?”

“Ask Vette about her culture. Open your eyes a little to the world outside. I promise you, it’s way more interesting than whatever version you were taught.”

“You’re not going to let me go unless I promise, huh?”

“If you don’t, then I honestly see no reason continuing this partnership.”

“Very well,” Emereid conceded with a sigh and a flap of his hands. 

“I think you’ll enjoy it. Now then, you’d better go. I’ve got business of my own to be taking care of. You can expect me to call in your debt some day.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Rhinla said as soon as she saw Vremla enter. “Bad news first: I don’t know any more than I did an hour ago. Good news: I’m in contact with someone who may be able to help: a bounty hunter who says she knows the contract but will only speak to you in person.”
“I can do that. Would you arrange a meeting?”

“ Already done. I’m just that good. You’ll find her on Tatooine. She’s a Cathar, kind of small, black and white fur and the prettiest blue eyes… ”

“It’s Jylvana, isn’t it?”

“ I think she’s just dying to see you again and doesn’t want to admit it. ”

Vremla sighed. “Just like her.” 

“ Some things never change. ” Her eyes shifted, and she took in a deep breath. “ You’ve changed, though. ”

“I’m just the same as I’ve always been, I promise.”

“ No. ” Rhinla shook her head. “ You’re hiding your pretty face. Your hair’s undone. Your makeup’s a mess. You’re more pale than usual, and you’re too thin. You always think I can’t notice the little things about you. ”

“Rhinla, I’m doing fine. I promise. Just Sith stuff, you know?”

“ Just let me worry about you, Skyala. ” She sighed, shook her head, and continued, “ I’m going with you to Tatooine, and I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. I’m more stubborn than you, and you know it. Besides, I’ve got some business I need to take care of there. ”

“And your shop?”

“ Let me worry about that. Come on then. ”

Vremla led the way, and behind her, Rhinla pressed a few buttons, locking down the shop and arming the security. She made a motion for Vremla to continue leading them to the spaceport, and so they went.

“Hey, you’re back,” Vette greeted Emereid and Quinn upon their return. 

Quinn refused to talk to the Twi’lek, casting a judging glance at her as he moved on to the cockpit, but Emereid did pause before her. 

“Get bored?” he asked her. 

“Course not. 2V’s such good company, didn’t you know?” 

He couldn’t help but to flash a grin. 

“Well that’s good, because I don’t think you would’ve liked Nar Shaddaa too much. Just had to go in and make friends with the Republic so I could hunt down a Sith Lord. The usual.”

“Sounds awful. You should tell me about it.”

“Soon as I report back to Baras, promise.” He stepped away to go, but quickly paused. “Vette, wait for me in the engine room. I’d like to talk.”

“Uh, ok.”

A quick report to a very pleased Baras later, Emereid approached Vette. He could sense confusion and worry, but she crossed her arms as he approached and put on a cheeky grin. 

“Got a story for me?”

“In a minute.” He sighed, thought, and proceeded, “I come from a powerful, wealthy Sith family. We’ve had as many slaves as you have stories. Twi’leks, mostly - my father loved pretty Twi’leks. I’ve never thought of aliens as anything more than a lesser species. I regarded them as worth nothing but to be property.”

“Well… what do you think now?”

“I’m uncertain,” he admitted, putting a hand to his forehead. 

“Vremla spoke with me on Nar Shaddaa. She encouraged me to learn about Twi’leks from your point of view, and on my way back to the ship, I realized - all these things I believe are things my father taught me.” He put his fingers to his brow and spat, “My father was honorless scum.”

He turned his eyes upon her again and asked, “Vette, do you think you could teach me about Twi’leks?”

Silence.

This was a mistake.

But before Emereid could grunt, “Forget about it,” Vette’s face lit up in a grin. 

“There’s so much I could tell you! Where do I start? How about…? Or maybe…?”

“Breathe, Vette. There’s no need to explain it all in a day. Besides, we have a job for Baras. You can think of where to begin while we work.”

“So, you’re taking me this time?”

“I learned my lesson on Nar Shaddaa: the Captain is dreadful.”

“Should’ve listened to me.”

“I’ll be sure to from now on.”

“ So, Tatooine then? ” Rhinla asked once they were on the ship.

“Dromund Kaas first. I have to make a quick stop. Gosro, could you take care of that?”

“Aye.”

And as he disappeared, Vremla flopped down onto the lounge. She couldn’t help but feel as though she was suddenly crashing from a sugar high. Reuniting with Rhinla had been so exciting that she had all but forgotten about what Zhevrua had said to her on Balmorra, but here on this quiet, dimly lit ship, it was all she could think of. 

A furry nose nuzzled her hand, and Vremla looked to see Violet. She couldn’t help but to smile as she stroked Violet’s soft fur, and she sensed the nexu’s worry.

Rhinla sat across and asked, “ What’s on your mind? ”

“Sith things. Hand me a bottle, would you?”

“ You can’t drink all your problems away. ”

“Well I sure can try.”

Rhinla crossed her arms. “ If we’re going to be on Dromund Kaas soon, then you should stay sober. ”

“Just a little drink.”

“ No. ”

“You’re irritatingly stubborn.”

“ You think you’re any better? ”

And to that, Vremla couldn’t help but to smile and chuckle.

We’re just the same as we’ve always been, aren’t we? She could recall so many times she had tried to drown her problems in a cantina only for Rhinla to join her and try to talk to her down.

Would she still support me if she knew the truth? That I did the worst thing imaginable to my own daughter?

Chapter Text

“We’re here,” Gosro announced over the com just as Vremla was drifting into a nap.

“Alright,” she muttered sleepily, forcing herself to sit up and get to her feet. She yawned and stretched and adjusted her armor.

“ Am I coming or staying? ”

“Staying. Have fun.”

“ Oh, I’m sure I will. ”

She had that devious look in her eye, and Vremla knew that the moment she stepped off the ship, she’d be saying goodbye to all her alcohol.

“Am I going?” Gosro then asked before she could think on that further. 

“I’d like it if you would.” And she led the way off the ship.

Following behind, Gosro said, “You never did explain why we’re here.”

“Didn’t I…? We’re going to Imperial Intelligence. We have faces but no names, no information. If we plug them into Intelligence’s database, we might get a little more.”

Imperial Intelligence was just ahead, a looming pillar of secrets on the Kaas City Skyline. Situated next to the Sith Sanctum, it was far from the most foreboding monolith in the area, yet still, people avoided this place. And there they were, walking right up to it and into the path of one of its agents. 

“My Lord, excuse me,” he said sheepishly with a dip of his head.

But Vremla stepped into his way to make him stay put.

He was a small man, short and skinny and remarkably unassuming. His skin was paler than Vremla’s own with dark circles and wrinkles around his eyes, showing his age. His black hair was cut short and kept neat and his green eyes lacked any spark of life.

“Tell me your designation, agent.”

“Watcher 52.”

“I have need of you.” She said it quickly after, no pause for thought, as if the reply was unnecessary from the start. 

“My Lord, I live to serve.”

Her eyes narrowed. Gosro took a pace away from her. Suddenly, the air had become a lot more suffocating.

“Husband, is something the matter?” came a voice, stern and female.

They were joined by a tall, curvy woman with deep, red toned skin that noticeably bore the ridges of the Purebloods. Her black hair was shaved, and her piercingly golden eyes looked over Vremla judgingly.

“My Lord,” she spoke with a glare, her eyes staring into Vremla’s own with a challenge. 

“Minder 34,” the Watcher introduced. 

The air was tense. Gosro coughed.

“Go,” Vremla finally said. “I only need your husband.”

“As you wish.” And she was gone without even a dip of her head.

Vremla watched as she stepped away. The Watcher tugged at his collar. 

“Forgive my wife,” he then said. “She’s always been so curt. But in her youth, she was one of the Empire’s finest.”

“And now she watches over and punishes her own people for any insurrection. What a fine career change.”

“All that is necessary, my Lord. Now then, tell me what it is you require.”

“I need you to plug in a couple of faces to your databanks. Darth Apophius wishes to know the names of those that dared to spite him.”

The mention of her master’s name seemed to resonate with him, and with a nod, he led the way back inside. It was a dark space, with agents in their pristine uniforms working in hushed tones. They paused briefly to note the arrival of the Sith then returned to their duties. 

And in a moment, her escort paused, saying, “My Lord, your slave can go no further.”

“He’s not-”

“Rules are rules,” Gosro said, secretly grateful. He found himself a seat and told her, “I’ll be here.”

He found the air much less oppressive after she had disappeared further into the building. 

The Watcher took a seat at his desk, took the dataspike that Vremla had for him, and plugged it in, finding the images she had isolated for him. 

“Beautiful,” he commented in a whisper, plugging them into a database and waiting as the computer did the rest. 

He tugged at his collar again. Vremla paid it no mind and looked around the room. She found Watchers and Minders glued to computer screens, a Fixer or two running around making sure everything still ran, and Ciphers standing by to give reports and receive missions.

“Do you share your master’s appreciation for Imperial Intelligence, my Lord?”

“I suppose I do. Anything interesting happening, as of late?”

“You know I can’t give mission specifics, not even to you, my Lord.”

“I will accept vague answers.”

“I doubt that there’s anything worth your interest.”

She frowned. “I heard Jadus is gone, replaced by his daughter. What’s your opinion of Zhorrid?”

“I believe if she has her father’s disposition, she’ll be a great asset to Imperial Intelligence.”

How wonderfully vague.

“There has to be something fun going on.”

“Nothing that you might… Well, Darth Malgus has been working on something recently. Maybe someday soon he’ll have need of a Sith trained by Apophius?” He paused to think and a smile touched his lips. “I remember working with Malgus in the war. Now, he’s recruited my daughter. I’m quite proud.”

“You have children?”
A short pause. “Just the one. An agent, like her parents before her.”

Right. 

He pulled his collar from his neck, squirming uncomfortably. Then, as if trying to release him, the computer dinged, signaling that the program was done.

“My Lord,” he spoke, and directed her attention back to the screen. 

She pulled herself from her dark thoughts and looked to see what had been found. 

“Xakora, Jedi Knight,” she read aloud, “and Major Seliari, spec ops. Ooh, the big guns.”

The Watcher transferred all related files to the data spike and handed it back to her. 

“I’m glad to have been of assistance,” he said, dipping his head. “Is that all?”

“Go.” She stood to leave, letting him pass through first. 

Vremla found Gosro just where she had left him.

Lifting his head, he commented, “He sure left in a hurry.”

“Good. Let’s go back to the ship.”

He glanced at her with concern; the dark cloud that surrounded her had grown heavier, but there was nothing to say. So he followed her in silence to a taxi.

“ Welcome back, darling! ” Rhinla warmly greeted her. “ Find everything you need? ”

Vremla wagged the dataspike with a smile. “Being Sith sure has its perks. I’ll look at it on the way to Tatooine, if one of you could pilot.”

“ Gladly. Have fun, Gosro. ”

“Oh,” he spoke, put on the spot. “Yeah, I can take care of it.”

And once he was gone, Rhinla stepped up to Vremla and asked her, “ Can’t you take a break? ”

“Too much to be done to take a break.”

“ You still need to fix your makeup. ”

Vremla sighed. 

“ It is quite a mess. ”

“Fine, fine. But only a short one.”

Vremla went for her quarters, finding a mirror there, and lowered her hood. Rhinla hadn’t been lying. She had let her makeup and her hair go into such a disarray. 

“ It’s very unlike you. ” Rhinla’s voice echoed her own thoughts. 

“I’ve been running around without a break.” That’s true, isn’t it?

She felt a hand on her hair and shivered, pulling away instinctively. 

“ Only me, darling, ” Rhinla’s voice whispered so gently into her ear. 

She let herself loosen up and be calm. Rhinla would never hurt me, she reminded herself as the Nautolan’s hands worked knots out of her hair. 

“ You always had the loveliest black hair, ” she said, “ and the prettiest face. ”

“Not anymore, huh?” She was focusing on her makeup now, fixing it up, making herself presentable. 

“ Still beautiful. ”

“Not with all these scars. He wanted to mark me, so I could only ever be his, forever.”

“ Tell me about him. ”

Having her hair done by someone else was so soothing.

“Sith Pureblood. Big, ugly, scarily powerful. He’s got those ugly piercings Purebloods seem to favor. I hate the ones in his eyelids the most. I ripped one out, once.”

“ Serves him right. ”

“Yeah. He got me on the neck for that one.” 

Rhinla spied the lightning scars scrawled across her neck and frowned. 

“He had power and wealth. I was his pretty little trophy.”

“ But you’re more than a pretty face. ”

“Oh, and he loved that, too. I was smart and strong. He loved breaking me. He loved using it in warzones. I could drop my accent like this,” she perfectly shifted into a more Republic dialect, “and do the ‘I’m a runaway slave, please save me from my master’ routine.” As an Imperial again, she sighed, “Dreadful thing.”

“ But you feared him, so you did it, and you never ran away for real. ”

Vremla could only nod. 

“ Tell me about Zhevrua. ”

You shouldn’t know that name, she thought, but then again, she was dying to tell her anyway. “My little girl.”

“ How old? ”

“Eleven, now.”

“ You were quite young. It must’ve been very tough. ”

“Extremely. I don’t like to think of it, but I didn’t even want her.”

“ Of course not. Who would want a child in such a situation? ”

“Nobody sane.” Her makeup was done, and as Rhinla continued to brush her hair, she sat back and sighed. “I do love her. Very, very much.”

“ I don’t doubt it. ”

“But it didn’t happen easily.”

“No, it wouldn’t. Where’d you come up with her name? It’s a very good one.”

“Dzihdon named her. He loved her from the moment she was born, and he wanted to give her a proper, Pureblood name.”

“ Does she look more like him or like you? ”

“Mmm, like him, except she also quite resembles Vlemtia, my grandmother.”

“You quite respect your grandmother. You must be happy about the resemblance.”

“Of course. But it took forever to see myself in her. I didn’t want anything to do with her after she was born. I suppose that makes me like my mother, doesn’t it?”

“ Don’t compare yourself to her. She chose to have you but abandoned you anyway. You had no choice, and you learned to love in the end. It’s not the same. ”

“I… Thank you, Rhinla.” She has so much faith in me; there’s no way I can tell her the truth!

“I saw my father today,” she switched the subject. “And my mother. She looks the same. My father looked worn. Neither recognized me.”

“ You are quite different from the teenager that ran away. Even your voice changed a bit. ”

“I suppose it did.” She touched the valleys of her scars.

“ And your singing voice? ” Rhinla pried in a playful tone.

“I haven’t sang in years.” 

“ How very unfortunate. ”

Vremla just closed her eyes. It was just another dream she had given up on, nothing more.

“My father told me that my sister had made it as an agent. She’s even working with Malgus now. She’s either a damn good Cipher or her parents’ name has elevated her.”

“ Do you want to find her? Do you think your sister would recognize you? ”

“I never want to see her again.”

Rhinla gave a surprised blink. “ The way you always talked about her, you were the best of friends. ”

“She abandoned me like the rest of them. Worse than the rest of them. She left me with Dzihdon.”

“ I see. ” Her tone was somber. “ Skyala, I want you to know, Jylvana and I- ”

“I already know. There was no way either of you would’ve been able to get on Dromund Kaas if you had anyway.” She sighed. “Do I look good now?”

“ Always. ”

“Good. Then I have to get to work.”

“Everything good?” Gosro asked, watching Rhinla come into the cockpit with him.

“ We’ll see. ” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, staring out at the stars that streaked past, each reflected in her big, black eyes. “ She got her break. Now she’s looking at that information. ”

Gosro nodded.

“ And you? I hardly know anything about you, but you’re clearly not Imperial. ”

“Former slave. My old master gave me as a present to Vremla, and she freed me. Guess that makes us partners.”

“ Are you on her side? ”

He frowned. “Yes,” he finally answered, “but,” he paused to think again. “I think she’s a good person, I just think she’s desperate. And she’s willing to make sacrifices for power that I can’t condone.

“Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to-”

“ No, I want you to be harsh. She needs someone to listen to her, and she needs someone to kick her into gear. I see what you see, and I don’t like it. I worry. ”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Night had fallen over the rainy world of Dromund Kaas. Dzihdon still hadn’t returned, and Rattie stood near the entryway, waiting for him. Unbeknownst to her, Zhevrua was also waiting, hidden in the shadows…

The door opened. Dzihdon stepped in, and Rattie bowed to him, ready to help him strip from his armor. 

The perfect moment.

Activating her practice blade, Zhevrua leapt from hiding, screaming, “Bastard!”

She swung, but in just a moment, Dzihdon snatched the blade from her with the Force before cruelly backhanding her across the face. Stunned, Zhevrua took a step back, putting her hands to her face. She could feel hot blood dripping down her nose. 

“ Never address me in such a way again.”

He nodded to Rattie, watching in stunned silence, and stepped away for his chambers. 

Before he left, Zhevrua told him, “I hate you.”

“I don’t particularly care.”

“I hate you!” Zhevrua lowered her hands from her face to screech the words. “You’re awful, a liar, and I hate you! I hope you die. I hope Mother kills-”

Lightning flashed across the space, and Zhevrua yelped in pain, putting her hands over her face.

“ Do not go to her, ” Dzihdon barked at Rattie. 

“I’ve never lied to you, Zhevrua. I wanted to have you, while your mother tried multiple ways to kill you. But if you choose to stand against me despite that, then so be it. I will not tolerate disrespect.”

He turned away again, and Zhevrua let him.

“ Come, ” he spat, and Rattie went with him, leaving Zhevrua to sob.

Chapter Text

“What were you thinking?!”

She wanted to crumple in on herself, become small and hide away. She’d never seen Sez’kojem so angry , and the sight was scary. Tears pricked at her eyes, but when her face contorted, she felt a sharp pain, and slapped a hand over her mouth. 

“Unbelievable,” Sez’kojem spat. “He could’ve killed you, Zhevrua! The fact he spared you is a mercy!”

“I know.” A whimper. 

He stomped away a step and began pacing back and forth, putting his hands over his face. 

Finally, he stopped and turned to her. “Tell me why.” 

It hurt to talk, so she pointed to her desk instead, to the scraps of cloth and paper that sat on it. Sez’kojem examined it and quickly slammed his fist on the desk. 

“I never gave you this. You went snooping into things that didn’t concern you.” He let out a long, low sigh, bending down and knocking his head against the desk. “I never should’ve told you about these.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you see the doctor?”

“Father doesn’t want me treated.”

“‘Course.”

 He rolled his eyes as he straightened up, turning back to her, sitting on her bed with her knees up to her chin, trying not to cry and crying anyway. His features softened. 

“I love you, little one. I’m mad at Dzihdon, not you, I promise.”

He stepped over and sat beside her, putting an arm around her and pulling her in close. 

“Don’t do it again. Make him happy. Survive. I’m begging. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“ She’s just like her mother, ” Dzihdon grumbled from where he lay, face down, shirtless, receiving a massage.

It wasn’t often Dzihdon spoke in Twi’lek, and Rattie jolted a bit when she realized she understood what he was saying. 

“ It’s only natural, ” she told him. 

“ It’s infuriating. ”

“ Maybe so. Still, I urge you not to punish her so harshly. ”

“ It’s no less than my father did to me. ”

“ You killed your father. ”

“ He was weak. ”

Rattie sighed. There was no reason with the Sith. 

I hope and pray Zhevrua ends up nothing like you.

“ I saw her mother on Balmorra. ”

That caught her interest. “ Is she well? ”

“ She might manage to become Sith after all. She’s got her spunk back. She was even ordering me around. ” He chuckled. “ Still, I smelled her fear. She’s terrified of me. ”

Is there any surprise? Rattie recalled none too happily the long, tearful nights and all the times she had to patch Vremla up. 

“ I think I quite like her this way. ”

Yet another thing that took her by surprise that day. 

“ You… like it? ”

“ Perhaps. ”

And he shifted a little to get into a more comfortable position, closing his eyes. He was done talking.

I don’t like the way you think. She couldn’t help but to shudder. 

Still, she tried, “ You should invite her back home. ”

But he just grumbled, saying something she couldn’t understand. Rattie nodded, and her eyes turned low. 

“ Hello, Tatooine, ” Rhinla chirped when they landed in the spaceport. “ Jylvana really had to choose the worst planet, didn’t she? Those suns, this heat won’t be good for my skin. ”

“Staying on the ship then?” Vremla asked her. 

“No, no. I’m coming. I just need a coat. Maybe a hat, too.”

“What about you, Gosro?”

“Eh, I’ll head to the market. It’s a good opportunity for me to restock some supplies, since I forgot to do that on Dromund Kaas.”

“Alright then.” And to the nexu waiting impatiently at her heels, she cooed, “Oh, Violet, I don’t think you’ll like this planet very much. It might be much too hot for you.” 

But the nexu just growled, and Vremla sighed. 

“Very well.” 

Vremla led the way off the ship, followed closely by Violet and Rhinla, with Gosro walking a few paces behind. 

The spaceport was busy. Moisture farmers argued with Imperials for higher wages, a Rattataki woman in plate armor was asking around for information about a Devaronian, and a pink Twi’lek was approaching Vremla and her group. 

“ Cutie alert, ” Rhinla whispered to Vremla.

Vremla scowled but didn’t manage to respond before Ujic’korun greeted them.

“We meet again,” he said.

“Funny how that keeps happening.”

Ujic’korun nodded with a sigh, commenting, “And this is why we have that pact.”

“Is Emereid here, too?”

“Haven’t seen him, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Met up with him on Nar Shaddaa. He was rambling about honor.”

“Typical,” Ujic’korun muttered. “Emereid likes to make a big deal of it, but I don’t see the point. Sith are conniving, deceptive, backstabbing creatures. There’s no honor, just a lust for power. Why not embrace it?”

“Somehow, this feels a bit surprising to be coming from you.”

“Really? I thought you would understand most of all. These people, they’ve stolen everything from us. Now that we’re on the same level as them, don’t you want to hit them back?”

“I don’t know.” She uncomfortably fiddled her hood then asked, “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, the usual. Got a cult, learned that I have quite the ancestor within the Sith, killed a Sith to get my rightful inheritance, then realized that I can’t even wear it.”

He showed her a helmet designed for a human head.

“The helm of Lord Kallig,” Ujic’korun grumbled, spinning the thing between his hands. “What do you think? Cut it in half or bore some holes?” 

“A mask might be simpler. What are you doing on Tatooine?”

“Finding a pirate.”

“ Well, you’ve got one here, ” Rhinla chirped, and for the first time Ujic’korun acknowledged the Nautolan that had been not so subtly checking him out. 

“Uhuh,” went the Twi’lek, and he looked back over to Vremla and said, “His name’s Andronikos. Don’t suppose you’ve met?”

“Nope. Probably should try the cantina.”

“ What a coincidence. We’re headed there, too. I’m sure we can find something to talk about on the way. ”

“Right,” Gosro spoke up then. “I’ll just…”

“Go, go,” Vremla waved him off, wishing she could join. “Be safe.”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about him.”

Vremla grinned, and she elbowed Rhinla teasingly. 

“Come on, let the man go. I doubt he’s interested. Want to walk together, Ujic’korun?”

“If she leads the way.”

“ Fine, fine ,” went Rhinla, as she started walking ahead of them. 

Following, Ujic’korun asked, “How was Vette?”
“Wasn’t there. Seemed like Emereid was sick of having an alien companion, but he was sick of the Imperial one he had with him more. Tried to convince him he just needed to learn more about Twi’leks.”

“Like that’ll happen.”
“I don’t know. He seemed like he might’ve been up for it.”

“Doubt it. That man irks me to no end. Really has had everything handed to him, and he dares ramble about Sith honor.”

“What do you mean?”

“We studied together at the Sith Academy. Well, I studied, worked myself to the bone, all the while the Overseers tried everything in their power to keep me from succeeding. And for Emereid, they ship in every little thing that he needs so he can get his premier apprenticeship under Baras. The man hardly knew the Sith Code!

“And he dares talk to me as if I’m his lesser - we’re both Sith apprentices! He’s nice to you - you’re human, Imperial, and he’s attracted to you - but make no mistake about him. He’s just like any other Sith.”

“Then why’d you make a pact with him?”

“Because I’m smart. If the man cares enough about honor, he’ll honor his word, and I don’t need to be fighting him every step of the way.”

“And you wanted me to be part of it because…”

“In case you were the same as him. But no, you’re the same as me -  two people tired of being stepped on, craving power so that we can deal back every blow that was done to us.”

“I’m not like that.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

His eyes were narrowed, and his lekku twitched with the force of the rage that was kept within him. Thankfully for Vremla, growing uncomfortable beside him, they had arrived at the cantina, a large building the same color as the sand, bustling with all manner of visitors that wanted to get away from the unrelenting heat. 

At first glance, it was a nice market. Shopkeepers had set up stalls under large, inviting, colorful canopies forming a sort of rainbow in the otherwise rather monochrome desert. But around every corner was an Imperial soldier, and under their cool, cruel gaze, Gosro shivered despite the heat. 

I’m a servant of a Sith Lord, he reminded himself, carrying on anyway. I’ve been sent here to gather supplies for my master’s journey.  

He stepped up to the stalls, purchasing medical supplies, rations, anything he thought they needed and stuffing it into his bag. He watched the Imperials eyeing him. 

I’m not collared, and I’m armed. I don’t look like a Sith servant.

He realized he was rushing. It was time to get away, get out of there and head back to the nice, safe, air-conditioned ship. He wasn’t the only alien there, but he sure felt singled out.

He slipped between buildings, taking the fastest way back, walking calmly, then speed-walking.

Before he could break into a run, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dropping his bag, he whipped out his pistol and pointed it in the face of his attacker. 

But the face before him was that of Zabrak, a Zabrak he had once known. 

His legs were weak, and a film of tears clouded his eyes, but it was him, the man he loved and spent so many sleepless nights worrying for. He was light-skinned, blonde, his chin length hair slicked back. He had the softest, kindest features. And from the look in his sweet, golden eyes, he had not forgotten Gosro. 

“Dostune, is that…?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “I thought that was you in the market.” 

“I-” He had to hold his head or else it would’ve spun right off. 

“Easy, easy.” Dostune set a gentle hand on his arm. “Geez, what are you doing on Tatooine? And in Imperial territory, no less?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“Yeah,” Gosro nodded. He glanced away and began, “I was taken in a slave, taken to Dromund Kaas, serving some scary Darth. Then he gives me as a gift to his apprentice, and suddenly she’s freed me.”

“I thought you might’ve been a slave, but I didn’t want to think of it.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m fine now. That apprentice, Vremla, she’s nice. She came from slavery, too. Treats me like a proper person. And well, cause I know the boat she’s in, I’m more than happy to help her out. So I’m here.

“Now tell me about you.”

“After you were gone, I didn’t know what to do. I kept making arms for the Empire, until one day, I’d just had enough.

“It’s a long story, but I’ve been hanging out with Republic Spec Ops for a bit now. Really nice bunch. There’s even a Jedi Master on the team.”

“A Jedi?”

“Zabrak, kinda small but very strong. Loves pink. Loves people. We follow her intuition to help us save our own from being sold as slaves. We just came from Nar Shaddaa where we saved a bunch of Balmorrans.”

“Oh, geez.” Gosro put a hand to his forehead. “Tell me there’s not a woman on your team who’s really tall and has a cannon.”

“You mean Seliari…? Gosro, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, talk about coincidences.” He swore something under his breath. “You attacked a shipment of slaves that belonged to Vremla’s master. Now she’s after you.”

“But doesn’t she hate slavery?”

“Yes, but… Look, there’s a lot going on.”

“Gosro, if you need an out-”

“No. Well, yes, but no. Like I said, I’m determined to help this girl. And I think I have a plan, but I’ll need some help.”

“Anything.”

And he told him, kissed him on the cheek, and made his way back to Vremla.

Stepping downstairs into the bar, Ujic’korun promptly parted from the group to conduct his investigation while Rhinla led Vremla into a private room. 

“Well if it isn’t Skyala…” came a voice from a dark corner, and Vremla found a pair of shining eyes glaring at her from the darkness.

“Have you been hiding there the whole time just waiting for me to show up?”

“I thought it’d be funny.” A cathar stepped into view. She was small but bulky, dressed in shiny, golden plate armor, and armed to the teeth with a blaster pistol on each hip and a pair of vibroswords on her back - and perhaps an arsenal of more hidden weapons to add to it. Her fur was white, patterned with a gradient of gray and a few black spots, and her short, messy hair was black. Her large, ice blue eyes, which took up a good portion of her face, were at once beautiful and coolly scary. 

“It’s good to see you, Jylvana.”

“Mhm.” She looked Vremla over. “Too much purple,” she concluded. 

“Well I think it’s not enough purple.”

Jylvana smirked. “Sure you do.”

Vremla smiled, too.

“So, tell me how you’ve been.”

“Well enough,” Jylvana shrugged. “Took up bounty hunting, been working my butt off, but still didn’t manage to get into the Great Hunt this year, so I’m pretty frustrated about that, but honestly? I’m having a great time keeping track of a couple of the competitors. There’s a newbie, some giant Rattataki woman, and she’s managed to piss off the most popular Mandalorian entrant.” And with the most devious, toothy grin, she added, “I cannot wait to see how this ends.”

“Sounds like you’re doing pretty well, then,” Vremla said with a chuckle.

“Yep. You remember Imurr though, right?”

“Your brother?”

“Mhm. I’m also having a good time keeping an eye on him. Seems he’s gotten himself in trouble with Rogun the Butcher.”

“Oh no. You’re not helping?”

“Tell me why I should. He got himself into this mess; he can deal with it himself.”

“You’re such a good sister.”

“The best. I should get a mug.” She crossed her arms. “Now tell me about you.”

“Oh, you know, slavery.” She shrugged that statement off so casually. “Then I’m discovered Force-sensitive, and suddenly I’m a Sith apprentice.”

“A Sith Lord.” Jylvana whistled. “Someone’s moving up in the world.”

“Not quite yet.”

“But soon.”

“I hope.”

“Mhm.” Jylvana shifted her weight to her other leg. “Well, I know why you’re here, and it’s not to catch up on old times. Heard you got a bounty on your head. A couple million credits of a bounty.”

“Wow. That’s more than Oesrae got for me.”

“Someone really wants you dead.”

“Do you have any idea who, though?”

“Not a clue.” Jylvana shrugged. “No names attached. Just a drop site for your head as proof of the kill.”

“Is it a bad time to ask if you only brought me here so you could collect?”

“Very funny,” Jylvana snapped with a glare. “I accepted the contract, though. Figured it may buy you some time. With how hush the employer is being, they really only want one hunter on their case at a time.”

“So you’re here to make someone think it’s being worked on. Thank you, Jylvana.”

“ You’re such a softie, ” Rhinla teased. 

“We promised to have each other’s backs,” Jylvana growled. “That doesn’t just change because twelve years have passed and everyone’s got a new job. Good luck with this one, though, Skyala. It’s an old contract, but it seems that changing your name saved you. But now, they know who you are.”

“Then they should know that I’m Sith. I promise, I can handle myself.”

“Right. You’re certainly not the same girl I saved on Rishi twelve years ago.” Her large eyes, always so firm and unrelenting, betrayed a sliver of pain, but in a blink it was gone.
“Right, I shouldn’t keep you. But if you wait another few years to contact me again, I’m killing you for free, understand?”

“I’ll be sure to check in, I promise.” She backed away towards the door. “Thanks for everything, you two.”

“ Bye bye, darling! ” Rhinla chirped, waving a friendly hand. “ Alright, Jylvana, I have a contract for you… ”

But whatever it was, Vremla had already gone.

And that’s when a call came through on her holo communicator.

Vremla dipped into a different room before she answered. And there, she saw a face she hadn’t seen in a long time, an old man, his face worn and wrinkled, his hair gray and falling out, but most aging of all were his lifeless eyes. He was dressed in a lab coat that was a touch too big for him.

“Aria-”

“Vremla.”

“Right, Vremla. I trust you haven’t forgotten me.”

“I could never forget you, Doctor Bonmar.”

“I doubt that’s from any affection.”

She grunted and furrowed her brow.

“Why are you calling me? I doubt Dzihdon would like this very much.”

“Almost certainly not,” he shook his head in agreement. “But I’m sick and tired of working for that man, and I’ll accept any consequence that comes my way. Listen, it’s Zhevrua.”

Immediately, her heartbeat quickened with panic. 

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?”

“Yes, but also, yes. They got into a fight. Dzihdon struck her. I checked the wounds, and they’re not severe, but he’s not letting me treat her.”

“Defy him.”

“I’d love to, but Zhevrua won’t let me either. I fear for what’s on her mind.

“If they’re fighting now then I can only imagine that it’s going to get worse. Sith children always seek to rise above their parents, and apprentices always wish to usurp their master. It’s a deadly combination, and we both know who’s more likely to die.”

She put a hand over her chest. Oh, how it hurt…

“Whatever you’re doing, however far you are on this journey to becoming a Sith, you need to do it faster. You have to save Zhevrua before Dzihdon kills her.” 

“He- he wouldn’t.”

“He can and will, and his apprentice, Unela, has been happily cheering him along into that direction.

“You know what to do, Vremla. You need to gain power and you need to do it fast, through whatever means necessary. I can’t keep patching that child up.”

“I understand.” A hush, and she hung up on him and pocketed her com. 

What a high she had been on, to see her old friends again. But now the world had stopped. The bustling cantina seemed still and silent as she passed through, heading up the stairs to find her way outside.

“Vremla!” Gosro’s voice broke her from her trance, and she turned up her head to face him. 

“I’ve gotten everything we need, but more than that, I think I saw that Jedi from Nar Shaddaa.” 

“Did you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Show me. Now.”

Chapter Text

“So, they’re not coming with us anymore?”

“No, Rhinla has her own life, and Jylvana’s going to try learning about whoever hired her. It’s just us, now.

“Truly, I wish you weren’t a part of this, either. But other than dropping you off on Balmorra, I don’t know what to do. And I’d be scared you’d die if I did that. I couldn’t.”

“It’s fine. I’m alright just traveling with you for the moment.”

They had left the safety of Mos Ila, now traveling across the sunbaked sands that stretched for miles, the only markers being the pillars of stone rising here and there. 

Gosro led the way, taking Vremla to where he had supposedly seen the Jedi. And though he may not have had the Force, he could still tell that something had changed in Vremla. The palpable anger radiating off of her was as strong as it had been on Dromund Kaas, and oh was it suffocating, even if he doubted it was aimed at him. Oh, how he feared her anger…

“Starting to feel like we’re going nowhere.”

The accusation made him wary, and he quickly promised, “It was out here, I swear. It’s just hard to find anything when everything is sand.”

“That it is.” She nodded and paused, looking around. She noted Violet, following along as always, and sighed.

“If only the Jedi had left anything back on Nar Shaddaa, we could’ve had a scent trail. Still…”

She watched Violet stalk away, after something that had caught her eye. 

“Oh look, womp rats,” she then realized, pointing a small group out, hiding in the cool shadow of one of the stones. 

“What about them?” Gosro asked as he stepped closer to her. 

Sit, she called out the silent command, and the nexu stopped and sat immediately, looking back at Vremla with annoyance. Then, turning to Gosro, she said, “I have a plan, but you’ll need to cover for me.”

“Why do I not like where this is going?”

She didn’t respond, instead stepping over to the womp rats. They stood as she approached, baring teeth and swishing their fleshy tails as a warning. But she wasn’t afraid.

“Calm,” she spoke, her voice gentle, soothing. 

And she paused, closing her eyes as she entered a meditative state. She could sense the rats, their fear transformed into anger. When she reached out, she was met with resistance, but reaching out with a calming tune, they relaxed. 

I need your help, she asked of them, and they understood. 

They were simple creatures, easy to talk to and easy to convince. She could sense their anger wane and their fear evaporate.

When she opened her eyes, there were the womp rats, calm and waiting. 

“What…?” Gosro whispered. 

“I probably should explain.”

“You really should.”

“I have a way with animals. Even though any Force user can, I seem… better at it than most. Apophius always commented that I picked these skills up very quickly, and honestly, I’ve always been able to communicate with them, to some extent, even before I was trained. I just didn’t think anything of it.”

“And now I finally understand how you can keep a nexu around. So, why the rats?”

“They’re quick, nimble, and unassuming. They can spread out and search, and we can sit right here and wait. This is the part where I’ll need you to protect me.”

She stepped into the shade and sat, crossing her legs, bowing her head, and closing her eyes. 

“I can see what they see,” she told him, “so watch over me while I locate the Jedi.”

“Alright.”

She let her mind wander, and away it drifted, weightless, bodiless, until it found the rats. 

Hunt, she gave the command, and she put in their minds the picture of the Jedi’s face. 

They squeaked and ran, scurrying away in search, and her wandering mind passed over them in turn, seeing scenes of sand and stone, smelling the tempting scent of meat, feeling the heat of the suns on their fur and flesh. She felt their muscles burn as they ran, racing over the sand, but for them it was easy, familiar, and they bounded along with ease. She learned in an instant what they knew; every seemingly random stone was a marker in the sand that they recognized. 

She smelled the air through their nose. There it was again, that scent of meat, and she felt a hunger in her belly that was hard to ignore. She pushed it from her mind, reminding herself of the target.

A figure on the sand! One of the rats had found a humanoid figure, and Vremla took control of it so she could peer closer. 

She stepped closer, being wary not to get too close. From her vantage point, it was hard to see, and when she raised her head, she was nearly blinded by the sun. But through squinted eyes, she saw horns. 

Vremla broke the connection, raising her head with a smirk. 

“Found her,” she said. She got to her feet, commanding, “I’ll take the lead, you’ll cover me.”

“Understood.”

And she ran; using the Force as a tailwind behind her, she retraced the womp rat’s steps, and in moments she found her way upon the Zabrak that she had spotted. 

Reaching out, she blasted the figure off their feet, stepping over them with her saber in hand, but there she paused. 

“You’re no Jedi,” she whispered, bewildered.

It was a Zabrak, for sure, but male. His eyes, wide with fear, stared up at her, pleadingly. 

Vremla withdrew her saber, returning it to her hip with a sigh. Turning her head behind her, she watched as Gosro arrived behind her, ready to give the unfortunate news.

But instead, he spoke first, shouting, “Dostune!”

And he ran to the other Zabrak, kneeling down to check his wounds. 

“I’m sorry,” Vremla raised an eyebrow, “do you know him?”

“Yes,” Gosro breathed, “and I can hardly believe my eyes, either. Dostune, that is you, right?” His hand reached for Dostune’s face, his thumb brushing away sand.

“Yes,” he seemed just as shocked, wincing as Gosro’s thumb found a scrape, but he paid it no mind. “Gosro… I don’t know what to say.”

“You could start by cluing me in,” Vremla told him.

“Right,” Gosro nodded as he began to treat Dostune’s scrapes. “Vremla, my boyfriend, Dostune. Dostune, my Sith friend, Vremla.”

“Sith?”

“Charmed. Didn’t you tell me he was…”

“I said I was afraid he was gone. Dostune, tell me what’s going on.”

He cast a fearful glance at Vremla before settling on the comforting view of Gosro. “I was saved. Once you were gone, I kept working at the Arms Factory. There wasn’t much else I could do. But the Imperials ended up taking me in as one of their slaves. Just when I thought it was over for me, Master Xakora broke me out, along with many more Balmorrans captured alongside me. She-”

Vremla waved a hand, cutting him off. 

“You mentioned Xakora.”

“Yes?”

“I’m looking for her. Tell me where she is, and you’re free to go.”

“Vremla, really?”

“It’s nothing personal, but he does have the information I need.”

“And what do you want her for? You’re Sith, right? That’s enough to tell me that it can’t be good.”

“It doesn’t matter. You will tell me.”

“No, I won’t. You can’t scare me, Sith.”

“No?” Lightning danced at her fingertips.

“Vremla!”

“I won’t tell you. I’m sure she’s far off planet, anyway.” 

He was her only lead, and she would not be denied. So, she reached out to blast him…

Before she suddenly came tumbling to the ground. 

Gosro was on top of her, holding her down. In a frenzy, she blasted him off, turning back towards Dostune, but he was running. 

“If you go after him, I’ll gun you down,” Gosro spat, and she turned to find him, aiming a blaster at her head. 

“Stand down, Gosro.”

The venom in her voice, the lightsaber in her hand, it was so very unnerving. But he narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip around his blaster. 

“Let him go, Vremla. Let her go. This hate isn’t like you. It has nothing to do with you. This is Apophius’s fight, not yours.

“You know he’s my Master. You know I follow his command. Now, I’ll say it one more time,” she lit up her saber, and it burned furiously, “stand down.”

“Or what, you’ll cut me in half? After all I’ve done for you? Vremla, listen to yourself! Listen to me! They were all Balmorrans. My people. They were set to be slaves. Our people.”

“It doesn’t matter. My wishes don’t matter.”

“Why don’t you have a backbone?!” he screamed at her. “Aren’t you Sith?”

She told him, “I am Sith, but-”

“Then help these people! Defy Apophius! Let the Jedi go and lie, lie, lie, like every Sith has ever done.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Right, I shouldn’t have expected an Imperial to have any sympathy.” Gosro rolled his eyes. “I thought you were different because you had lived through slavery, but at the end of the day, an Imp is an Imp.”

“Don’t act for a second like I don’t know the hardships. I was a slave for much longer than you.”

“And what a hard job you had, doing nothing but laying on your back and opening your legs!”

A force blasted him in the chest, toppling him to the ground. When Gosro looked up, he saw the face of Vremla, seething, and he saw something there that made him turn away. 

“We’re doing this job,” she snapped at him. “We’re making Apophius happy. Then I’ll drop you back off on Balmorra where you can die in the war for all I care.” She walked away from him, commanding sharply, “Come.”

He watched her retrace Dostune’s steps, calling on Violet to help hunt him down. He watched her go, never looking back to see if he followed. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling so very weak. 

“I apologize. I came as quickly as I could, but I should’ve been faster.”

A voice, female, gentle, and he looked to see her, the Jedi, dressed in white robes, a pink cape billowing behind her. Across her chest was a glittering, gold piece of armor, and her two lightsabers hung from either side of her matching belt. Her shoulder-length, gray hair was well kept, half pulled back with a gold clip, and each of her five horns was decorated with a gold ring.

“Master Xakora?”

“Yes.” She smiled down at him, reaching down with a hand wrapped with gold strands. “And you’re Gosro, right? Dostune called me when things went south.”

She pulled him up, and he found her grip to be firm, her arm quite strong. He wiped the sand off of his clothes, minding his stinging cheek. 

“Her eyes,” it was the only thing he could think about.

“Yes…” She looked so apologetic.

“She’s not this type of person…”

“The dark side is very alluring.”

“She has a kid. I don’t-”

“I know.” And she put her hand on his shoulder, and he paused. “I won’t give up on anyone. Let me take it from here. Her holofrequency?”

He gave it to her, and she pulled her personal holocom and called Vremla. She answered quite readily, her fist-sized figure appearing on Xakora’s palm.

“Sith, you’ve attacked one of my people,” Xakora spoke, her voice firm yet even.

“And you attacked my Master.” There was venom in her tone.

“Your master had captured innocent Balmorrans to work to death as slaves. I’m not standing by to watch that happen. And by the sounds of it, you wouldn’t have wanted that to happen either.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“But it does. And I’m sorry anyone ever told you otherwise.

“Let’s try to settle this peacefully, Sith. There’s neutral ground on Alderaan for us to talk, and there’s no more fitting place to discuss peace. I’m sending you coordinates. I’ll be there, waiting.”

And she ended the transmission.

Chapter Text

Xakora did not let Gosro return to Vremla. Instead, she took him with her, and together they took a speeder into the Republic friendly town of Anchorhead. They met up with Dostune again there, but there wasn’t much of a word to pass between them. Gosro kept his head low, and Dostune reached for his hand, and that was that.

Xakora led them into the spaceport and through to the hanger in which her ship waited. It wasn’t what Gosro had been expecting. Instead of something humble and Jedi-like, he was greeted by a large, militaristic Thunderclap model starship. 

They made their way up and inside, and the interior certainly matched the exterior with its emphasis on function over form. Gosro found a middle room complete with a planning table and holo terminal, a medical bay, barracks, a storage room filled with crates, some opened to reveal munitions and explosives, and of course, a weapons locker. Finally, he spotted the only Jedi-esque room in the ship, the captain’s quarters, with a comfy double-bed, messy desk, and a cushioned section for meditation. He spied a few people around, too, ordinary, plain-clothes civilians, looking up from their card games to stare at the newcomer.

“Looks like the Major is still out,” Xakora commented. 

“Think something’s wrong?” asked Dostune.

“No, she would’ve called me. And the Lieutenant’s with her, so they’ll be fine. I’m going to spend some time alone. Please show Gosro around, Dostune.”

“Of course.” And the two watched as Xakora disappeared into her quarters, shutting the door behind her.

“What do you think?” Dostune then asked. 

“She’s shorter than I expected.”

“Maybe a little,” he chuckled in agreement. “She’s good. Honest, kind, and patient and very strong - everything you ever heard about Jedi as a kid. She’s been traveling with these guys for a while now, freeing slaves, helping people still struggling from the war, and other things that are above me.

“And I’m here. Officially I’m a civilian, so technically I’m not supposed to be here, but nobody really complains about the guy who’s really good at fixing tech and weapons.”

“Sounds like you’ve found a good spot,” Gosro grinned. “Thinking about joining the military officially? Always did like a man in uniform.”

He blushed, saying, “Well, maybe I’ll just have to consider it.” Clearing his throat, he moved on, “Well, I should give you the tour, and space is a little limited right now, but I’ll definitely find a spot for you to sleep.”

Everything hurt, her body, her mind, her heart. Vremla dragged herself into her starship, Violet whimpering behind her like a kitten. 

“Quiet,” she spat, and away Violet went, slinking away to sulk in her bed.

She immediately felt bad, but another stabbing pain to her chest made her turn herself away. She gripped at her heart and closed her eyes and hoped for it to pass. 

Vremla had a strong connection to her daughter, as a mother ought to. But she tried so hard to ignore it, knowing she could do nothing to save her daughter until she finally gained the power and status of a Sith Lord. Being an apprentice for these years, being away from her child, it was truly too much to bear, and to couple with it this bond through the Force, she wanted to scream.

And she wanted to cry. She had looked for Gosro on the sands, having bitten back the pain he had caused, but had found him nowhere. He had to have gone with the Jedi, and the bitter sting of betrayal cut deep. 

She set her heading for Alderaan and sat back. It would be a long trip, a long trip in an empty, quiet ship. Her eyes closed; she was so, so tired. And away she drifted to a fitful, restless sleep.

The twin suns beat down, harsh and hot, over the unlikely pair. A Sith and a Twi’lek, usually master and slave, but here they were, walking side by side.

“Why, that’s fascinating,” Emereid commented after Vette told him about lekku language. “That explains how the slaves could work so silently together, yet always knew what was going on.”

“And it’s how Ujic’korun’s been calling you names behind your back since Korriban.”

“He what?”

She smirked in that devilish way of hers.

“Alright alright,” Vette then said, stepping ahead so she could pause before Emereid, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Now, you’re going to answer one of my questions.”

“Very well.”

“Where did this whole ‘honor’ thing come from? Last I checked, not a part of the Sith.”

“Unfortunate, isn’t that?” Emereid sighed. He paused for a moment, then finally relented, “It was my mother that taught me honor. She was a Sith, but she was a good woman. She was slow to anger, true to her word, and unwaveringly loyal. She had amassed for herself a power base not through force, but from those that willingly followed her.”

“Wow,” Vette was visibly taken aback. “That sounds awesome! But what happened?”

“My father killed her.” And his brow furrowed,and his gray eyes narrowed. “I was eight. I watched it happen, but I was too young, too weak. My mother’s greatest weakness was her blind devotion to those she loved. She loved my father. He loved power.”

“That’s… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He got what was coming to him, years later. And now I own quite the nice property on Ziost…”

He pulled ahead then, leading the way across the sun-baked sands back into Mos Ila until he caught sight of a familiar, pink Twi’lek walking ahead of him.

“Hey, Ujic’korun.”

He stopped and crossed his arms with a huff, but still he grinned as Emereid and Vette approached him.

“Is that the first time you’ve used my name?”

“I can go back to calling you ‘Twi’lek’ if you’d prefer.”

Once again, they had managed to bump into each other.  It was no longer an annoyance, more of a curiosity, and perhaps something to look forward to.

“Where’s the big guy?” Emereid then asked.

“Khem? Got tired of looking at him. This is Andronikos.”

“Hey.”

“You certainly know how to pick your companions.”

“You’re calling me out? You, with your slave and your bootlicker?”

“Vette isn’t a slave.”

“Right. You’d probably prefer ‘servant.’”

“She isn’t that either.” 

He glanced away, as though he were ashamed. And Ujic’korun just grinned. 

“Right,” he said with a chuckle. “How things have changed.”

“I don’t know what-”

“Anyway, I have places to be. Goodbye, Emereid. Will I see you on my next planet?”

“Are you going to Alderaan?”

“Oh, joy.”

And he turned on his heels and stepped away, Andronikos following behind. 

“Could’ve stayed to talk a little longer,” Vette complained, “would’ve liked to have talked to his new friend.”

“You’re going to make me jealous, Vette. Am I not good enough for conversation?”

“When you want to be. Certainly better than Quinn.”

“Quinn! I wonder what he’s been doing.”

“Probably something incredibly boring.”

“Oh, without doubt.” 

He couldn’t help but smile, slowing his gait to match her step. 

She’s a Twi’lek! Something in him screamed. 

“You and Ujic’korun have been so much different than any Twi’lek I’ve ever met.”

“Huh?”

“All my family ever owned were Twi’leks. They were meek and fearful and clung to the shadows. Your spunk, your unapologetic attitude, I quite like it.”

“You really need to meet more Twi’leks. There’s a lot more to us than just being slaves.” And here her eyes lit up, “Matter of fact, I’m meeting up with some of my old friends soon.”

“Oh? Are you leaving me, Vette?”

“Scared?” She grinned. “No, I just hoped if I said ‘pretty please’ you’d take me yourself. You could come, too, since you seem so interested in my people all of a sudden.”

“Well, I was humoring Vremla.”

“Oh? Is that all?”

“Not anymore.”

“So does that mean you’ll come?”

“I suppose it does.”

The starship’s door opened, and in walked two soldiers. One Gosro easily recognized from the holo. She was tall and muscular, her body covered in white and red plate armor. There was a large assault cannon on her back and a pistol on her thigh; all in all, she was very intimidating to behold. She had deep, warm, brown skin, a head of short, reddish hair pulled back in a very small ponytail, and a blazing blue eye, the other hidden by a cool gray, cybernetic eyepatch. She was like fire, furious but beautiful.

Beside her was a man who was well-built and armored, and next to any civilian he would’ve looked large, but next to his CO he was magically dwarfed. He was a Mirialan, bright green skin decorated with some black tattoos on his chin and marred by a scar across his face. He had a head of black hair, pinkish eyes, and a no-nonsense look about him. A rifle rested proudly on his back.

“You’re back,” Xakora greeted, having appeared from her quarters after sensing their arrival. “Did you run into any trouble?”

“Just helping out some of our own,” the CO told her. “Though I thought Unuti here wouldn’t be able to fire a single shot; his eyes were glued onto that officer!” 

She laughed, a hearty chuckle, slapping him against the back with a force that made him lose his balance. 

“I was not distracted,” he snapped back. “I was keeping you in line and away from the ex-Imperial.”

“Right, right.”

“Seliari?”

She turned her attention back to Xakora, saying, “Sorry, Master Jedi. We were caught up helping Havoc Squad. They were investigating some bombings in Anchorhead and some more things above my pay-grade, so while they worked, we stayed behind to protect the town from any more attacks.”

“Oh, I see!” She smiled. “I’m glad to see that everything must have worked out.”

“Mhm.” Seliari nodded. “Havoc Squad just called us to let us know the threat was neutralized. And I know Unuti was disappointed he wouldn’t be able to spend time with the Lieutenant anymore.”

“Says the woman who invited Sergeant Dorne for drinks.”

“Oh, did you have fun?”

“No, I got turned down. Oh well. Life goes on.” She shrugged. “But Unuti did get the Lieutenant’s holofrequency.”

“Congratulations!”

He blushed a deep green, and glancing away muttered, “Thank you.”

“Well, that’s business for us,” Seliari spoke up then, her tone turning more serious. “And what about you?”

“Dostune and I were scouting when we found trouble,” she answered, and then, with a wave, she beckoned him and Gosro closer. “A Sith. Seems that the group of slaves we freed on Nar Shaddaa were set to be shipped to her master.”

There was a hush amongst the crowd of civilians. 

Xakora immediately responded, assuring them, “I won’t let a single one of you fall back into slavery. You will not belong to the Sith. I swear this.” And with a whisper, she told Seliari, “We should meet somewhere more private.”

With a nod, the Major led them along into the meeting room, shutting the door behind them. Gosro noticed one final member of the team had slipped in behind them.

He was the smallest of the soldiers, a man with brown, graying hair and intense eyes rimmed by implants. His armor was light, white and orange just like the Lieutenant’s. He carried a sniper rifle on his back and a blaster pistol on his thigh. A vibroknife hung off his hip. 

He glanced at Gosro briefly, taking note of his features just as Gosro had examined him. But he said not a word, putting his arms behind his back, standing stiff as a board, as he turned his attention to the Major and the Jedi. 

“Tell us more about the Sith,” Seliari said. 

Xakora nodded but said, “I think Gosro would know more than me.”

All eyes on him, and it certainly made him sweat. 

“She’s an apprentice,” he said, “and her name is Vremla.”

“Only a Sith apprentice?” Seliari raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t be hard to take her out, then.”

“Easy now,” Xakora urged her. “I believe Gosro would rather try to save her.”

“Go on.”

“She’s becoming desperate, and she’s not the person I remember, but that person has to still be in there somewhere,” he told them. “My old slave master is her Sith master, and I remember when she would come to learn and train. She was studying to be Sith, but she was always so sweet. She smiled and treated us all so kindly; she knew all of us by name, and was angry when her master worked us to death. Vremla’s whole reason for training is just to become strong enough to save her daughter. I don’t think she cares for anything else.”

“And there’s the problem, isn’t it?” Xakora said so somberly, and Gosro had to nod. “Love leads to the Dark Side. She loves her daughter so strongly, she’s willing to sacrifice anything for her. 

“But I’ve never given up on anyone, and I won’t give up on her, even if she is Sith. You want to try to save her, Gosro, and I want to help you. So, the plan is to go to Alderaan. I’ve already given her the coordinates for a neutral meeting ground. Gosro, you and I will go, no one else, and we will make her see the Light.”

“Are you sure?” Seliari asked. “She might get a lucky shot against you while you’re trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“The Force is with me. I will be fine.”

“If you say so. But I’ll be placing the team on high alert, just in case.”

“I appreciate it.” She closed her eyes, paused, then said, “We should talk about Tatooine, now.”

“That’s your cue,” Unuti said to Gosro, nudging him with his elbow. “Time to get out.”

“Right, right. Thank you, Master Jedi.” 

And away he went. Behind him, Dostune began relaying a message, but Gosro was gone before he could hear. 

With the door shut behind him, Gosro was finally alone. In his head swirled a million thoughts, a million worries, and a million regrets.

“Gosro, right?” 

As the ship drifted to Alderaan and Xakora slept, Gosro, wandering the ship, stopped at the sound of his name. There he saw Seliari, drinking something that smelled strong, sitting in the booth. With a wave of her hand, she beckoned him over, and he took a seat, uncomfortably, across from her.

“Ease up,” she told him. “I ain’t gonna bite you.” 

She took a sip from her glass, and he tried to relax.

“You drink?”

“I think I’d rather not. Thank you, though.”

“Mhm. Dostune was tellin’ me about you. Medic, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Lost our medic a little bit ago. Would be nice having one around again. Though the brass frowns when we put civilians to work.”

“I was part of the Balmorran Resistance, if that means anything.”

“Maybe. It tells me ya got guts, at least.” 

She drank again, and set her empty glass down, not bothering to refill it. 

“So, got any questions?”

“We went over the mission already.”

“Not about the mission. About us, the crew. Hard to work with people you barely know, ain’t it?”

He had to nod to that.

“So, ask me anything.”

He thought, then asked, “How long have you been working with the Master Jedi?”

“Hmm, about a year? No… maybe more than that.

“We joined together on a mission to save some of our boys. They call this peace, but there’s still skirmishes across the galaxy.” She sighed. “Xakora’s intuition was priceless. She got us in and out, no casualties, no major injuries. Since then we’ve been paired together to do it a few times more. Now, it looks like it’s permanent. Fine by me, you know? Wars ain’t won by stepping over the bodies of everyone ya love. Gotta pick ‘em up, too.”

“So, she’s the real deal, then, right?”

“That perfect Jedi ideal, the one that’s selfless and strong?” Seliari shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect, but Xakora tries damn hard to live up to it. Probably why she made it to Master so quick, or maybe they were just desperate for more after the Sacking of Coruscant. But don’t worry. She’s as sincere as they come, and she doesn’t give up on anyone.”

Gosro nodded. “I think I can already see that, honestly.”

Seliari smiled. “She’s got that way about her, makes you wanna believe her, makes you wanna fight, right? But she trusts too easily, so when people don’t show her the same courtesy, that’s where I come in.” 

She tapped her sidearm, strapped to her thigh, with a grin. 

“All these people here are my responsibility,” she went on, “and I’d give my life before I let anythin’ happen to ‘em. You’ve met Unuti and Jonali by now.

“Unuti’s my XO. Calm, rational, dependable, and he doesn’t like taking chances. A damn good man, and one I’m glad to have at my side. 

“And there’s Jonali. Quiet type, doesn’t speak unless spoken to or unless he’s got somethin’ important to add. Smart as a whip, got a good eye, and patient, too. Set him up somewhere, and he can make quick work of enemy forces.

“And there’s me. Some might call me brash and loud; my boys have given me the nickname ‘Firebird’ cause I squawk and set everything ablaze. But I earned my place here, so you can count on me.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate what you guys are doing here, and thanks for offering to help. I know this whole mission must seem crazy.”

“I think it’s crazy, stupid, and pointless,” Seliari admitted sitting back in her seat. “But I’ll do anything Xakora asks me to. Guess I’m soft like that.

“Well, you’d better finishing getting ready, right?”

“Right.”

“Zhevrua.”

An ominous voice that always carried nothing good. Zhevrua looked from where she was crouched over her desk in studies to find her father in the doorway, an obelisk that cast its shadow over her. 

“I’m studying,” she told him, waving her hand over her books. 

It had been a long day, one filled with training, training that mostly involved her getting battered around by Unela.

“It can wait.” And he crossed his arms, looking down at her with burning, yellow eyes. 

Zhevrua did remember a time when her father made her feel safe, when she was excited to see him return home after a long journey, excitedly rushing into his arms to tell him everything she’d been up to while he was away. And he’d listen intently before sending her off to play some more so that he could return to his work. 

And he’d be scary sometimes. Sometimes he’d snap at her, or he’d slap Rattie, or he’d toss Sez’kojem to the ground, or he’d choke her mother. But his weakness was Zhevrua’s sobbing, and if he’d see her cry, he’d stop and leave.

There was no softness here, no memory of the father she’d once thought would protect her from anything. She looked back at him harshly, trying and hoping to make her eyes, the same yellow as his, burn as hotly. 

“If you’re determined to hate me,” Dzihdon spoke, “if you’re determined to choose your mother over me, despite her wanting nothing to do with you, then so be it. 

“Become strong, Zhevrua. Grow up, and become stronger, and one day, I want you to face me again, with all of your burning hatred and all of mine. Kill me, if you can, or I’ll crush you and know that I truly did waste my time believing in you.”

And away he went, like a specter taking the darkness with him. 

And she doubled over herself and sobbed.

Chapter Text

She dreamt of a simpler time, a better time, of the sea and the sand and the golden sunsets over the waves. She dreamt of the salt in the air, the reassuring weight of a blaster on each hip, the sound of wet sand crunching under her boots. She dreamt of her hand held by another, and when she looked, she saw the face of a pale red Dathomirian, smiling with the most charming grin. 

And she felt the anger well up in her, throttling her awake. 

It took a moment to calm her racing heart, and when she did, she saw the planet of Alderaan sprawled out before her. Gorgeous lands of green, blue, and white, beckoning her to the surface. But then an angry beep from her comms alerted her that the Empire demanded her clearance codes, and she wiped sleep from her eyes and got to work. Quickly transmitting her codes, the Empire let her land in Thul’s spaceport.

“Gosro-” she called, then bit her tongue.

The ship was too quiet without him or Rhinla. She wasn’t used to being on her own. However hard it had been, she’d always had someone there to support her. 

Except for the day that she had been sold.

What, she wondered, was she selling herself to today?

But these were just her pointless anxieties, nothing more, and as she walked towards the door, she spotted Violet, waiting, and smiled. Yes, she wasn’t alone. Ever since she had taken in the young cub, she’d had a close, loyal friend.

Vremla reached out, petting the young nexu’s soft fur and scratching her chin until a purr rumbled deep in Violet’s throat.

“It’s dangerous,” Vremla then said. “You’ll have to stay here this time.”

She could both see and feel Violet’s displeasure, but impressed upon her that she had to stay. So, the nexu walked away, laying with a huff.

She was getting bigger, and Vremla knew that she’d soon have to find new arrangements for her. A full grown nexu would be big enough to ride and strong enough to tear through her foes - and that was a scary thought. 

I’ll have to invest in some armor, she told herself. Then to Violet, she promised, “I won’t be long.”

Let’s get this over with. And she patted herself down, making sure her saber and her blaster were in place.

Turning on her heels, she exited her ship, strolling through the clean, orderly spaceport. Soldiers exited a hangar, stomping through to join the amassing force.

Alderaan? A fitting place to discuss peace? Maybe years ago, but now the planet was embroiled in a bloody civil war, their previous ruler slain, with the two largest houses vying to steal the throne from Ulgo. She wished she’d taken more time to read up on the happenings, but at least she wasn’t completely in the dark.

She half expected to see Emereid or Ujic’korun. It did seem that they were always running into each other, but maybe she had outrun them. Maybe they’d outrun her. Maybe they just weren’t as fated to know each other as she’d begun to think. 

Did she really want Sith friends anyway? 

Pushing her way through the nobles and the soldiers, Vremla found a curious difference. Every Imperial soldier parted with haste to let her through, while the Alderaanian nobles, with none of the deference, practically challenged her to push them aside. She quite liked that, actually. There was something very comforting about being treated as just another citizen.

Vremla checked her map, noting the central location Xakora had picked, somewhere that sat neatly between Thul and Organa territories. It was a bit of a walk, to be sure, but she looked forward to her first time riding upon a thranta…

“Sure you only want to take Gosro?” 

Seliari stood with her arms crossed, seeing Xakora and Gosro off, all three standing in the hangar. 

“I’m sure. I don’t want her to scare her off by bringing a show of force. If things change, I’ll call upon you immediately, I promise.”

Seliari sighed but nodded.

“I think I know why you chose this planet, but it’s not a good place to be doing this sort of thing, not anymore. The planet’s in the middle of a civil war, and the Republic and the Empire are both backing their favorite picks. I’ll take my boys and try to help out, but be careful, Xakora.”

“Of course. The same to you, Seliari.” 

And she turned away and led the way out, but Seliari’s intense stare had fixed Gosro in place. He nodded to her, and she let him go, and Gosro jogged to catch up with Xakora.

“Ever been to Alderaan?” she asked him then.

“No, but I’ve heard a lot about it.”

“It’s truly beautiful. I was here once, a couple years ago now, probably just before the fighting started. That was the day I met my Padawan.”

Her eyes looked so focused on something that wasn’t there.

“Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no! I’m just thinking, I haven’t spoken with him in a while. I’ll have to check in.

“He’s a Jedi Knight now - a very fast learner - so he’s been off, helping the Republic on his own. But I still like to check in to make sure he’s doing well. Of course, I do know he’s fine; I can sense it, but it’s always good to hear his voice!”

“Ah, Master and Padawan end up pretty close, huh?”

She nodded. “He’s like my younger brother. And my own master was like a father to me. He was there for me when my whole world was destroyed…”

“Xakora?”

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughed it off. “Just getting lost in thought again. Let’s go save your friend.”

No one was there when Vremla arrived upon a clear, verdant field, forest on one side and a cliff face on the other. 

What could be taking them so long? She began to pace. 

Vremla sensed something and turned to see a pair of feline eyes watching her from the shadow of the forest, seeing if she would be an easy target. She stood proud and unwavering, staring back with an intensity of her own, challenging the cat to try something if it dared. But the message was received, and Vremla was left alone. 

Still, it did present quite an opportunity.

And Vremla knelt and meditated.

Xakora and Gosro touched down onto the field, slipping off of thranta back and bid them farewell for their work. The field was curiously empty, even despite the time that they had lost helping the unfortunate. 

But Xakora could sense another presence, a darker presence, and she reached out to stop Gosro from wandering too far from her. 

“Sith, I know that you are here,” she said. She sounded much firmer now.

Footsteps, and Vremla emerged from the forest, head low, face hidden by the shadows of her hood. For the first time since meeting her, Gosro felt shaken by this. A faceless Sith was truly a scary one. 

“Sith,” Xakora spoke again, “I don’t have to be your enemy. I know that you hunt me for power, but the power you seek will not save you. The dark side will tear you down, turn you into someone you aren’t, and destroy the woman that you are. I want to help you. Let me take you to the light. The Jedi Order will welcome you with open arms, and we will help you.”

“Help me? The Jedi?” She laughed. “Everything I do I do for my little girl. The Jedi would tear me from her, make me forget her, and damn her to a life of torment.” She put her hand over her chest and wailed, “I’m done living with this pain!”

“I promise you, I’ve known great pain. But the Jedi helped me through it, just like they can help you. Let us support you.”

“No, no!” Vremla’s hands tore at her hair in frustration. “The Jedi can’t help me! They’d tear me from everything that ever mattered to me! If you really want to help me,” her hand reached for her saber, “you’ll lie down and let me take your head.”

A flash of violet.

A flash of pink. 

In the blink of an eye, Vremla charged at them, bearing down on Xakora with her double bladed saber as Xakora held it off with her twin sabers. 

“Gosro, call Seliari,” Xakora grunted, trying her best to overtake Vremla.

“It won’t do any good.” 

She whistled, and from the forest erupted a series of roars. Seeing the realization settle over Xakora’s face, she took the opportunity to overpower her. But just before she could get in a devastating strike, Gosro’s blaster bolts ricocheted off her armor, knocking her back. 

“What are you doing?!” she snapped at him.

But he didn’t answer, instead narrowing his eyes and shooting her again and again, and she blocked each bolt with her saber as she inched closer.

Meanwhile, Xakora struggled against three vorn tigers. She cut a line down the white and blue fur of one, killing it quickly, just before another latched onto her arm, crunching down on unarmored flesh. With a cry, she blasted it in the face with a powerful blow of the force, and away it rolled across the ground, dead and bloody. Turning on the third, the smallest of the bunch, she saw it drop its tail and whimper. It had lost all will to fight.

So Xakora left it, turning her attention back to Vremla just as the Sith blasted Gosro with forks of lightning. He cried out and fell, a hand over seared flesh, and looked up to see the face of a woman he once called friend. 

Xakora pushed him out of the way just before Vremla’s lightsaber strike dealt the fatal blow. She then leapt into the space, dealing a barrage of calculated, powerful strikes with her twin sabers. The way she moved with such precision was almost artful, with each blow pushing Vremla back. Until finally, she had the opening she needed, slicing Vremla across her right arm.

Her saber fell from her grasp, and she screamed and crumpled to her knees, holding a hand to the wound, but Xakora had only made a shallow - but still devastatingly painful - cut. Xakora stood over her and sheathed her sabers. 

“I’m not done!” Vremla screamed defiantly, loosing a bolt of lightning.

But Xakora merely slapped it away, easily shielding herself from each of Vremla’s last ditch efforts until, finally, Vremla was panting, exhausted and in pain.

“It’s over,” Xakora sighed, and she looked at the Sith with a sadness in her eyes.

“Damn you!”

Xakora closed her eyes, nodded, and looked upon her again.

“I won’t hurt a defenseless foe. You are beaten. Forget this pursuit; I am not your enemy. 

“Your wound is not fatal. There is an Imperial camp nearby - I’m sure you saw it on your way here. Go, gather your strength and receive medical attention.

“Or if you change your mind, there’s a Republic camp just as close. Tell them Master Xakora sent you, and they’ll heal you. Goodbye.” And she turned away.

“You can’t just leave! Get back here and fight!”

Pausing, Xakora simply said, “No.” And she looked to Gosro and said, “Let’s go. There’s nothing to do here.”

“Gosro!” Her snarl stopped him in his tracks. “Leave with her, and I’ll hunt you across the galaxy all the same.”

He frowned, in pain, and spoke to her, voice barely more than a whisper, “Get help, Vremla, or die before you get any worse. Because you’re no better than any other Sith anymore, and I’m sure Zhevrua would be ashamed to see you this way. Let’s go, Xakora.” 

And away they went. With all her fury, Vremla stood, but she quickly stumbled, falling again. And there she lay, sobbing, coughing, choking on her anguish.

She felt a nudge, something soft and leathery. Turning her eyes up, she saw the face of a vorn tiger, the one that had fled, come back to check on her. 

“Do you want to help?” she asked feebly, reaching for its head. “Such a good kitty.” And she stroked its fur gently, and it closed its eyes with happiness. “I’m sorry I asked you to fight. Thank you for not leaving me.”

After a moment, she fought to get to her feet, using the tiger as leverage. And leaning against it, she marched forward. 

To Thul , she thought, relying heavily on the tiger’s knowledge of the terrain. 

Then, suddenly the tiger stopped and arched its back, roaring a low, heart-stopping sound. In the same moment, Vremla knew what it knew - danger. She reached for her saber, but before she could grab it, she fell. 

Looking back up, she saw the tiger, her support, crumpled in a heap, a hole burned through its skull. She felt its pain, a sharp spike of agony, over in an instant, and screamed. 

Determination and anger made her stand despite the pain, but in the same moment, the butt of a rifle crashed against her skull, and she was out like a light.

Chapter Text

“How are my favorite grandchildren?”

She looked up from scrolling through the holonet, smiling at the familiar face that had waltzed in through the door. He was an older man, hair more gray than black, with his age weighing wrinkles into his deep flesh, but his eyes sparkled with all the stories of a life well-lived.

“Careful, grandfather,” she teased as she stepped over to greet him, “you don’t want to make the Sith jealous.”

“To hell with ‘em,'” he grunted before tossling her neat, black hair. “You’re gettin’ taller every time I see ya, kid.”

“Sir, may I take your coat?”

They both turned to the Togruta standing sheepishly at the door. Their one and only slave, she wore a simple outfit that may be typical of any other resident of Kaas City. 

“I can take care of my own damn coat,” her grandfather grunted back. 

He, by comparison, did not look like a resident, nor did he look like he was an Imperial citizen at all. His outfit lacked any elegance, the simple leather and utilitarianism of a spacer, covered in belts that housed weapons, medpacs, and stims. 

He shrugged his coat off his shoulders and deposited it onto the nearby rack while the slave drifted away to the kitchen to prepare a meal.

Then he asked, “Where’s your sister?”

“Probably fell asleep at her desk studying again.”

“And your lousy parents?”

“Working.” She smirked. “Didn’t you raise one of those ‘lousy’ parents of mine?”

He just grunted, a scowl on his face of a man with many regrets.

“You like my father, at least, right?”

“Your father doesn’t have any balls. And your mother’s a straight bitch. Can’t tell who’s worse: her or her brothers.”

She snorted at that. Her uncles were both Sith Lords. 

“What’s with all the commotion?”

They turned, seeing a young woman standing on the stairs, looking down at them with sleepy eyes. 

“Oh, grandfather,” she then said, eyes widening a little at the realization.

She wasn’t anywhere near as put together as her sister, with dark circles around her eyes and her black hair in total disarray. She joined them in a few steps, and her father affixed her with his glare.

“How much sleep are you getting?’

“Well…”

“Not enough.”

“Alelau, what am I gonna do with you? You’re too young to be this overworked.”

“Grandfather, I’m seventeen. I’ll be working soon enough.”

“For Intelligence?” When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “Do you really want that? Or are you just letting your mother turn you into the second version of herself?”

Alelau just turned away.

“And you, Ariacris? What are you doing?” 

“Mother says I’m too lousy at everything to make it into Intelligence,” Ariacris chirped with a shrug. 

“To hell with that.”

“Well, it’s not like I care anyway.”

“You should start caring,” Alelau snapped back. “You’re not that much younger than me. You have to think about your future. You have to figure out how you’re going to serve your Empire. Or are you just going to be some barmaid?”

“Nah, I thought I’d marry some Sith Lord and live a lazy life raising his kids,” she spat back. 

“Easy now. You’ve been friends since you were tiny. Don’t turn on each other now.”

But the tension was too thick to be saved, and Alelau turned away with a huff, saying, “I’m going back to studying. Call me for dinner.”

And away she went, disappearing up the steps.

“She’s just like Mother.”

“That’s a little rude.”

“It’s true though.”

“Yeah.”

“I can do everything just as good as her.”

“I know you can.”

“But Mother never sees it. Alelau’s her star child, and I’m the regret.”

“Don’t say those things,” he hissed at her, but he could see it weathered into her face how deeply she had begun to believe those awful words. “Come with me. Now.”

He grabbed her by the arm, leading her up the stairs and onto the covered patio, where they were outside in the peace and quiet, as a light rain fell in sheets around them. 

“Your mother’s a bitch,” he told her again, sitting on one of the benches, motioning for her to join beside him.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry she’s like that. I should’ve done better.

“She was a Pureblood without the Force. I didn’t realize just how terrible of a fate that could be until my Vlemtia and I had more children. Our sons were Force-sensitive, and how Vlemtia doted on them both, training them to be as strong as her. And what thanks they gave, when they killed her for her power years later.

“But my daughter, I should’ve been there for her. But I was always out in the stars, doing the only work I knew how to do. And she grew up an unloved shadow. I’m not surprised she turned out this way.”

“That doesn’t really excuse anything, though.”

“No. No it doesn’t.

“Father says that if Intelligence isn’t my calling, the military is always accepting. And with my skill with guns that Mother will never recognize, they’d be more than glad to have me.”

“Or you might one day wake up and realize you’re Force-sensitive and be able to shove that in your mother’s face.”

“Wouldn’t that be the day? No, if either of us was going to be Sith, it’d be Alelau. Did I tell you she made an acolyte piss his pants?”

“That’s my girl.” And he had the proudest grin.

Ariacris paused before continuing, “I don’t think I’d like to be military either. I know what I want, but there’s not much opportunity for it here, and neither of my parents would ever allow it.”

“Your singing?”

She nodded.

“And the longer I waste being uncertain, the more Mother calls me useless. I’m about old enough for her to start trying just to marry me off. I wasn’t totally joking when I said I’d end up marrying a Sith. It’s all she thinks I’m good for.”

“Damn.”

“Grandfather, I need help. I need out . I can’t stand being here anymore. Nothing I ever do will ever be good enough. Even Alelau is turning against me now. Please, I’m begging, get me out of this hell hole.”

“And where do you intend to go?”

“Anywhere but the Empire. Far away. The Outer Rim. Where all the excitement is.”

“Kid, you do know I embellish those stories, right? The life’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I don’t care. It has to be better than here. I need your help, or I don’t think I have any options left. I hate it here, so very, very much.”

“Okay, Ariacris.”

“She the one you were lookin’ for?”

A voice interrupted her dreams.

“My master’s pet… That’s the one.”

Her grandfather’s face melted away.

She blinked slowly, and the darkness and the memories evaporated to reveal a dungeon. Lazily lifting her head, she caught sight of a large man, not much more than a shadow in her eyes. She noticed movement beside him, a second shadow, a man moving closer. 

She blinked again. Her arm ached and burned from its untreated wound, and when she looked, she realized that her arms were above her head with cuffs around her wrists and chains holding them in place.

Vremla looked back down, scanning her environment, but in the next moment, she realized, Chains!

Looking back up, she took note of them again, and panic ripped into her, but when she looked down, she saw that she was still in her armor, but she was missing her coat and belt. 

“Find anything useful in those?”

“Some supplies, not much more.”

She found the shadows again, huddled over a table. Staring at them, she could finally make out features. The larger man had dark skin covered in tattoos, shielded by his thick, plate armor that gleamed red in the low light. And the smaller wore black and red robes. He held his head high, his shoulder-length hair kept neat, his face freshly shaved, and his eyes blazed orange.

“Mind leaving that alone?” Vremla spoke up then. “I do need it.”

They exchanged a glance, and the Sith approached her. 

“I see you’re awake,” he spoke.

Vremla blinked a couple times, but she was certain she recognized his face.

“Arygael?” she asked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Keep my name out of your mouth, scum,” he snapped back at her. 

She frowned. He was one of her master’s apprentices, a young man that had achieved Lordship not long after Apophius had taken her under his wing. They’d never gotten along, but he’d always kept his distance before…

“Our master will be furious.”

“ My master is making a terrible mistake, slave.” And he spat at her. 

“You’re disgusting.”

“The words of a harlot mean nothing to me. You have no right being Sith. You can’t even overcome a lone Jedi, even when the cards are in your favor.”

“I’d like to see you try instead.”

“Once I’m done with you, perhaps I will. But first…” he pulled his saber off his belt, an intricately designed weapon, and when he lit it up he revealed a burning, orange blade, the same shade as the eyes that judged her. He pointed it at her, and the heat of the weapon threatened to bore a hole through her flesh. 

“I’ve suffered your presence long enough. Our master coddles you, treats you like his child, but you’re nothing more than a disgusting slave not even fit to lick my boots, much less pretend to stand side by side with me. Apophius should’ve thrown you to Korriban so we could both watch as you’d be torn apart by the true Sith - if you could have even made it passed the klor slugs. Instead, he fed you delusions of grandeur. I will correct his mistake.”

She weighed her options. Her saber was sitting on a table far from her, there were no beasts in sight, and the binds that held her also limited her abilities in the Force. Her legs were free and perhaps she could kick him, but with her arms still locked in place this would only delay the inevitable. There didn’t seem to be a way out.

But then, did she even want one?

She had failed her one and only task to bring the Jedi Master and her accomplice to their knees. Apophius would not look kindly on such a failure. And above all, her daughter hated her anyway. 

Should’ve been like my sister, was all she could think. Should’ve just been what I was supposed to, instead of causing all this. And I can’t even say, “I’m sorry.”

Vremla stared forward, watching as Arygael drew his saber back, preparing a strike that would cleanly cut her in half. She narrowed her eyes, refusing to look away, ready and willing to accept this retribution.

Then, a blaster shot.

Arygael fell, dead, from a clean hole through his forehead. Vremla looked up with shock, seeing his partner looming over her, but he just gently held out a hand, and upon it was her hololocket, open and displaying the image of young Zhevrua.

“Is she yours?”

“Yes.” Her eyes teared up and something inside her screamed, How could I be so ready to die when she’s still in danger?!

“I won’t be responsible for taking a mother away from her child.” He leaned in and began undoing her binds, telling her, “Apophius stole my family. I won’t be responsible for the same evil in the name of revenge.”

She was freed, and she rubbed her sore wrists idly before looking him in the eye. 

“You’re Mandolorian, aren’t you?”

He nodded, telling her, “Name’s Jairell.”

“He keeps your clan as trophies in his home.”

“Bastard,” Jairell grunted, handing her back her hololocket so she could cradle it against her heart. “But I’m not surprised. Years ago my father accepted a contract to kill Apophius’s son for some sort of Sith power play. Apophius took us all out as revenge, but he left me. I don’t know if it was negligence or spite, but I’ll make him regret it.”

“And Arygael?”

Jairell glared at the corpse and said, “Coward didn’t want to risk a fair fight against you, so he found me. But you weren’t his only target. Sith games.” He said that last bit with a snarl.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Still, Apophius is my master. Telling me how much you hate him isn’t the smartest move.” 

“Maybe,” and he smiled, “but something tells me that you want to make him hurt just as much as I do.”

“I can’t touch him. He holds the key to my freedom.”

“And I bet he dangles it over your head so that you do everything he says.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Do you want revenge, Sith?”

She paused, then finally said, “More than anything.”

“Then join me.”

She pursed her lips and told him, “There’s a proper way to do this, a way for both of us to get what we want. You want to tear down his power base, and I want power. There’s a way… and I have a plan.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Chapter Text

She had a bond with her mother, a connection through the Force, a blessing and a curse. For years, she had held onto it like a shining jewel, her last reminder of her mother’s presence, that one thing she had left. Even when hate had blossomed in her heart, she’d clung to that bond defiantly. 

It was never a warm thing, never that piece of maternal affection that she missed. It was an empty thing, something of a lost soul.

But something had filled it at last. 

And that was corruption. 

It was nothing compared to the darkness that emanated from her father, but it was there, and it stung so painfully to recognize. 

Almost as painful as the practice blade that cracked across her shoulders. 

She fell to her knees with a cry, looking up at Unela, at her cold features twisted into a grin. 

“Lucky shot,” she grunted. 

“Not lucky. You were distracted. If I’d been a Jedi, your head would’ve been rolling.”

Why should I fear the Jedi when you’re here? 

She stood back up, entering a fighting stance, both hands on her blade, her eyes locked on target. But Unela could see her hate. 

“Do I make you angry?” She licked her lips as if her hate were sweet candy. “Good. Maybe you can take that anger and make something of yourself, slave child.”

“Stop it!”

And she charged, but Unela easily overpowered, knocking away her blade before blasting her against the far wall. Zhevrua felt the air escape her lungs as her back collided before collapsing to her hands and knees.

That’s when Dzihdon arrived, stepping into the doorway, casting a long, dark shadow. He eyed Zhevrua with disdain but said nothing. 

“Unela,” he cast her attention to her instead. 

And as always, in his presence she stood a little straighter and smiled a little sweeter. She did everything but pull out a mirror to ensure her hair was neat. 

“Yes, Master?” she chirped, and Zhevrua rolled her eyes. 

“Report.”

“She’s just as I keep telling you, Master,” Unela was all too glad to say, casting a glance back at Zhevrua. “Such a waste.” 

She was so tired of hearing that. With all her fury, she reached out, snatching Unela by the neck with an invisible hand, pressing, pressing, pressing…

“Let her go.”

Her father’s authoritative voice snapped her out of it, and she let Unela drop. On her hands and knees, she coughed and sputtered before pushing herself back to her feet, grabbing her lightsabers. 

But before she could ignite them, Dzihdons black and red blade filled the space between them. 

“Enough,” he spat. “This training session is over. Now, with me.” 

And she, bristling with all her mad fury, had no choice but to follow. 

The door closed. Zhevrua was alone. She looked at her hands. 

“Father was proud of me.”

A tear trailed down her cheek. 

“How’s that? Too tight?”

“No. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

They had stopped at a Republic camp where Gosro had patched up Xakora’s wounds, paying special attention to the arm that had been viciously bitten by the vorn tigers.

“I don’t think she’s coming,” Xakora whispered. 

Gosro glanced away. “Didn’t expect her to.”

“I had hope.”

“Lost that a while ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Xakora nodded and looked away. Around her, the wind blew, the trees danced, the sun shone bright and warm over the blood-stained grass. An overworked medic hustled about between groaning, writhing soldiers, Republic and Alderaanian alike. 

“Where do you want to go from here?” Xakora asked then. 

“Home.”

“To Balmorra?”

“It’s about time I returned.”

“Of course.” She paused. “A lot of the refugees want to return, too. A lot want to go to Coruscant and try to find an easier life.”

“Can’t blame them.”

“No, neither can I.”

“Where’s home to you, Jedi?”

“Coruscant.”

“I’ve never been.”

“The upper levels are bright and beautiful.”

“And the lower levels?”

She gave a half-hearted smile. He just nodded and looked away. 

“What now?”

“I should call Seliari.”

She stood, pulling her holocom and calling her. Within seconds, Seliari had answered, standing proudly on Xakora’s palm, a smirk across her face, a helmet between her hands. 

“Good timing, Master Jedi. We just finished up here.”

“Leave it to you to hurry things along,” she joked, a smile spreading across her features. Finally, some good news.

“A giant cannon has many uses. We’re moving along to the next stop in the campaign. Care to join?”

“Of course.”

“Sending the coordinates. With you helping, we’ll be unstoppable.”

The call ended. Xakora put away her com and took a deep breath in and out. 

“Let’s go,” she then told Gosro. “There’s people counting on us.”

“You look like you have something on your mind, Vette.”

She jumped out of her thoughts to see him walk in. Emereid paused in the doorway, holding his hands up.

“I apologize. Is this a bad time?”

“You, apologizing to an alien?” she grinned, quickly regaining her composure and her spunk. “What happened to the big, bad Sith?”

“Ah, well, I’ve been thinking a lot, too, I suppose.”

“About?”

“You first.”

“No, you, I insist.”

He sighed, shaking his head, but conceded, “I was thinking about home, about family, and I started realizing…”

He paused, touching his long, black hair, pulling a strand of it, twirling it around his finger once. Vette hadn’t seen him do that before.

Finally, he said, “I think I’ve just always wished that I hated aliens.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s… hard to explain. I’ve mentioned my father before, right?”

“On Tatooine, yeah.”

“He kept many slaves, and many more after killing my mother. All beautiful women, mostly Twi’leks. You can guess why. 

“He killed them when he was bored of them and just bought more whenever he wanted. Money was immaterial, and they weren’t people, not to him. It was hard, knowing someone and suddenly they were gone. I think I wanted to forget that they were people. I think I wanted to hate them.” 

He sighed, thinking, and finally he looked at her again, long and hard. “It’s easy when you grow up in the Empire, when you grow up Sith in a mansion, tended to by slaves. They teach you that aliens are lesser, that to give them purpose as a slave is a mercy. I look at you and Ujic’korun, and I listen to everything you tell me - I promise I do - and it’s all very damning. I’ve met Vremla, and I think someone like her should never have been a slave, and now I’m thinking, why should anyone be? I’ve now met your friends, Taunt and the others, and they’re fairly brilliant, fun, charming. They’re not people without a purpose.

“I’m starting to rethink everything I’ve ever been taught, and it’s all very… difficult.”

With a sweet smile, Vette told him, “Well, I’m glad to help.” A mischievous spark appeared in her eyes as she added, “And hey, being with you has taught me a few things, too. Like that not every Sith is a bloodthirsty psychopath, and not every Imperial is a mindless drone like Quinn!”

“We’re teaching each other.”

“I guess we are.”

Quickly dispelling some thoughts from his mind at the sight of her cheery grin, he said, “You never said what you were thinking about.”

Her smile faded and she looked away, sheepishly muttering, “It’s not important.” Turning her eyes back on him, she said, “I’m just glad you seemed to get along with everyone.”

“And I’m surprised that you didn’t run off with them.”

“What, afraid you’ll lose me?” There was that devilish grin again. “Relax, big guy. I’m not planning on leaving any time soon.”

He didn’t want to admit how happy that made him. 

“Well, we should be landing on Alderaan soon,” he said quickly to redirect his thoughts back to the mission, back to Baras, back to that Padawan. “Feel like tagging along?”

“I’ll be ready in a moment.”

“Are you sure you’d rather bring the Twi’lek?” Quinn had asked as the pair readied themselves to leave the ship.

“Feeling a little butthurt?” Vette joked.

He ignored her, telling Emereid, “This is a royal society, a place where the Twi’lek has no place. She will inevitably make this situation worse.”

“Are you arguing with me, Quinn?” 

His voice was stern, his eyes narrowed. Quinn retreated back a step. 

“Of course not, my Lord.”

“Then you will stay on the ship as I ordered, and you will watch from afar and offer your advice, as I commanded. I prefer Vette’s handiwork on the field. I don’t care if that offends you.”

“Of course, my Lord. I’m sorry to have offended you.”

With a parting glare, Emereid gave a nod to Vette to lead the way off the ship. 

Once they had both exited and walked away a few paces, Vette complained, “Can’t stand him.”

“He has his uses.”

“Being a whiny baby?”

He grinned. “Sometimes.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re finally accepting me and all, but if you could beat that sense into his head, it’d be appreciated.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

With that promise, they entered the main part of the spaceport, where Imperial soldiers marched through to aid the Thul in their war. 

And where Ujic’korun was waiting, a hand on his hip, his weight on one leg. 

“Thought I smelled you,” he commented, a derisive look scanning Emereid up and down. 

“I didn’t tell you to wait for me.”

“Don’t worry,” Vette offered, “I’m doing just fine.”

“Right.” And Ujic’korun gave a nod. “Have fun on Alderaan then.”

He turned on his heels to leave, Andronikos following. 

“Hey wait.” Emereid picked up his pace to walk with them. “Did Vremla pass through here?”

“Not that I’ve seen. Why?”

“Don’t think I’ve seen her since Nar Shaddaa.”

He shrugged. “Busy Sith. Saw her on Tatooine. She seemed well enough. But if you’re that worried, call her.”

And so he did. Pausing - while Ujic’korun pushed on ahead - he pulled out his holo com and gave her a call. No one picked up. 

Vette saw his frown and said, “Worried?”

He didn’t answer. 

“It’s fine to have a bit of a soft spot, y’know. Doesn’t make you weak.”

He sighed. “Let’s just get moving.”

“The Jedi seeks to destroy you.”

Vremla gave this report in front of her master, settling Arygael’s lightsaber upon his desk. 

She had come straight from Alderaan to Dromund Kaas upon Apophius’s instruction. Did he think he could read her better in person? She dared him to try. She’d learned a long time ago how to not give anything away, and to lie was as natural as breathing. 

“I’m disappointed,” he finally said after studying her eyes. He picked up the saber, turning it over as though to confirm that it was indeed Arygael’s. “I had more faith in you, Vremla.”

“I underestimated her,” she admitted in a low voice. “It won’t happen again. She’s a Jedi Master - clearly she’s been training much longer than I have - with a squad of soldiers at her side.”

“Are you making excuses?”

“Of course not, my Master. I simply wished to tell you of the situation.”

Apophius thought on this. She tried to read his features, but he was just as good at masking his feelings as she.

“Perhaps I expected too much of you,” he conceded. “This sounds more like a job for Dzihdon.”

“Absolutely not,” she argued. “He’s an idiot. He’ll charge in and get his brains blown out just like Arygael.”

“He’s always been good before.”

“He had me. Don’t you know how many times he brought me along on missions? I was the one who had to keep him from getting himself killed. He’s just a brute. 

“Respectfully, Master, I think I’m the only one that can handle this.”

He leaned forward. “And why is that?”

“Because the Jedi thinks I should be saved.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“She’s another bleeding heart. She wants to free me - as if the Sith don’t have true freedom. I’m sure I can worm my way into her good graces, give a good sob story about how fighting her opened my eyes and how I want her to take me to Tython - or something along those lines. When she lets her guard down, she’ll fry.”

“And her soldiers?”

“Will just be icing on the cake after that.”

He leaned back now, fingertips pressed together. 

“If you think you can do it, then so be it,” he finally said. “Just don’t disappoint me again.”

“Thank you, Master.” She bowed her head. “The only thing I need is the locations of your other apprentices. I believe that she’ll be hunting them next.”

“I will send them to you.”

“I appreciate it. Just don’t say a word about this to them. I don’t need them messing this up with a twitchy trigger finger.”

“Of course not.” 

He leaned back in his seat, folding his hands over his lap. The meeting was over. Vremla dipped her head and stepped away. 

Step one - check.

Step two was the cantina where her Mandolorian friend waited. Jairell had saved her a spot at a booth, and Violet, sitting beside him, jumped to her paws as Vremla approached. 

“Getting along?” Vremla asked sweetly, petting her head.

“Better than I would’ve imagined,” Jairell admitted. 

He had a half-empty glass before him of something that smelled strong. Vremla called over a server to bring her some of the same. 

“Things are in motion,” she then said, settling down across from him. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“We can work more tomorrow.”

“Tonight’s for drinking?”

She smiled. “Perhaps.”

And that was when the server handed her a glass, and Vremla eagerly put it to her lips. 

“We have to wait for Apophius to do his part, anyway,” she then said. “So why not have a little fun?”
“Can’t argue with that,” Jairell told her, taking a sip of his own drink.

There was a party on Alderaan, the Organas celebrating their hard-won victory. The throne was theirs; the Panteer were avenged; and the Thul had been thwarted. What wasn’t there to celebrate?

But she’d never been much for parties. Drinking and shouting in revelry never interested her, so away she went, back to the spaceport, back aboard their ship. Xakora made her way for her quarters, cleaned in the time they’d been gone by their protocol droid. She touched the soft, pink sheets of her bed and thought about sleeping, but her mind was too busy. So she moved for the opposite wall, where a lightsaber hung proudly as the sole decoration. 

Kneeling, she whispered, “Master, I wish I had your wisdom.”

Her eyes closed. Her head bowed. Her mind wandered, trying to find peace, trying to connect to the Force, trying to see . But her mind was hard to calm, memories of a woman wailing for her children, orphans sobbing along the rubble-filled streets, a father clinging to a bloodied toy, and friends trying desperately to pull each other from the destruction clouding her mind.

“The Force has a will and it has a plan,” Xakora told herself, echoing the teachings of masters wiser than herself. 

And in her mind’s eye, she saw herself take the waiting, green hand of her master, whisking her away to the clarity she sought. 

Her sleep, in the end, was brief but restful. 

Vremla woke up in her armor, laying in bed, atop its faded, purple sheets. Sitting up, she held her pounding head between her hands. 

How much did I drink last night?

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, nearly stomping on Violet’s tail who had been sleeping there. Violet growled and Vremla apologized, and she got to her feet and walked out of her room.

Vremla stepped into her kitchen, finding Jairell there, rooting around for food. 

“This place is a wreck,” he snapped at her after hearing her footsteps. 

She found the trash, overflowing from all the cleaning he had tried to do - discarded bottles of booze, wrappers off of rations, and general filth. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” she tried to say. 

“It was disgusting. Catch.”

He threw something at her, and she caught it without thinking. A ration pack. Lovely. 

Stepping over to him, she set it on the counter and leaned against it. 

“What I really need is a glass of water and some painkillers,” she moaned. 

“You drank too much.”

“I had a feeling. You took me home?”

“Practically had to carry you. Kept trying to tell you to stop drinking.”

“I’ve always been a little stubborn.”

“A little.” He snorted. 

“Haven’t drank that much in a while,” she offered. 

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“I drink often , but not that much at once.”

“Right, that’s better.”

She just frowned. “Fine, fine. Move.”

Pushing passed him, she poured herself a glass of water, drank half, refilled it, then stepped away, heading out the door. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Later.” 

With more pressing, exciting , things on her mind, she made her way for her study, a small room dominated by its desk, littered with loose papers. Balls of crumpled paper dotted the floor. She reached for her datapad, sitting amongst the papers with song lyrics scrawled across them, quickly checking her messages. 

The one from Apophius caught her eye first, a short message telling her the current locations of his apprentices, spread across a couple planets. 

The second was from Jylvana. 

Good news: Nobody’s trying to kill you. Bad news: I still have no idea who it is that wants to kill you. Doesn’t mean I’m about to give up, of course. Who do you take me for?

Did a quick job for Rhinla: nothing much just wanted to scare the guy that stole from her. Easy. Now I get to devote all my attention to you. 

Did we forget to discuss my pay? Don’t worry, I’ll give you a friends’ discount. 

Now if you could give me a list of everyone that you’ve pissed off, that’d be helpful. Though something tells me that it won’t narrow things down much…

-Jylvana

Very funny , Vremla thought, but a grin had spread across her face. Things were finally looking up. 

Taking the datapad with her, she drifted back to her room. There, she found a mirror and pulled down her hood. Her makeup was a mess, her hair, once her pride and joy, was in complete disarray, and her eyes - she didn’t look at those for long.

Could use a shower, she thought as she took a wipe and carefully removed her makeup. 

She found a brush and ran it through her hair, brushing until she could no longer feel the tug of a knot, and paused to examine herself in the mirror. 

How ugly. The condemnation was all too easy to come to, and yet for once, it didn’t bother her. What had being beautiful even done for her? Ugliness meant no one could ever want her, and that was a very freeing thing. 

She found herself smiling at her reflection for the first time in years.

She didn’t redo her makeup. She didn’t style her hair. She just pulled her hood back over her head without fussing over how her clothes and armor sat on her body. Then, she left to rejoin Jairell.

Time to get moving.

Chapter Text

“Welcome, Jaesa,” Emereid said to her after ending his call with Baras.

He had told Baras of all that had happened, how he had raced to Hutta to confront Nomen Karr, how the might of the Jedi was nothing compared to his own - that of the dark side - how the Jedi Master’s perfect disguise of goodness had finally crumbled, falling to darkness in his desperation, an ultimately useless endeavor. Emereid described the way he had slain him, finding Nomen Karr pathetic, not worthy of stealing another breath from his presence. He told Baras that Jaesa had thrown himself at his feet, begging to be spared, begging to be saved from the liars of the Jedi and shown the true power of the Sith. Baras had taken all this in with glee, his cold mask not hiding the smile evident in his tone, as he congratulated Emereid and conferred the title of Sith Lord to him. 

Lying did not come very easily to Emereid. 

Truthfully, Nomen Karr still lived. Screaming, enraged, fallen to the dark side, Emereid had looked at the Jedi Master with pity, sending him back to the Jedi for healing. He never did like killing the fallen, the weak, the sick; after all, there was no honor in that. Throughout his journey, Emereid had refused to torture or maim in his pursuit of Jaesa - a trait of Baras’ that he wholly despised. He had left her old friend alive on Tatooine, brought her Alderaanian parents to Dromund Kaas to live a life of luxury, and tried to reason with the Jedi that had confronted him when answering a direct call from Jaesa to end the fighting. And as for Jaesa herself, she’d never begged and he’d never made a flashy show of the dark side; she simply went to him having seen his honor, a trait which the Jedi clearly lacked. 

“I am eager to begin learning from you, Master,” Jaesa told him. 

“In time. First, rest. Vette, could you show her to her quarters? Quinn, set course for Dromund Kaas. I will be in my chambers, should I be needed.”

As his crew moved behind him, Emereid drifted into the cool, dark, silence of his chambers. He set his lightsaber on a worthy pedestal, removed his heavy armor, and slipped into bed, feeling the exhaustion in his body as soon as his head hit the pillow. A fight with a Jedi Master was certainly not a simple thing. 

Sith Lord, he pondered this new promotion. Tell me again how coddled I’ve been, Ujic’korun. 

And he swiftly drifted away to sleep. 

He awoke many hours later, the most restful sleep he had known since he had first stepped foot on Korriban as an Acolyte. That all seemed like centuries ago, now.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he rose, brushing his hair, tying it back into the half-up style he always wore, and adorning his armor before stepping out to greet his crew. Vette and Jaesa had been sitting together, talking about something that ended as soon as they had caught sight of the Sith. 

“Master,” Jaesa greeted him, standing. 

“Easy,” he told her, motioning with a hand for her to sit back down. “Have we arrived on Dromund Kaas?” 

“Almost,” Vette answered. “Just a few minutes left to go, Quinn said.”

“I admit, I’m very excited about coming. And very nervous. Vette’s been telling me about Dromund Kaas and it sounds… so different from anything I’ve ever known. But I’m alright with that. I’m ready to begin this new chapter in my life, Master, as a Sith.”

“I know. And there’s much I can show you, but wouldn’t you like to see your parents first?”

Her face changed, and she gave a nod. 

“I didn’t want to ask,” she said, “but I haven’t seen them in years. I want… I want to make sure they’re okay, if that’s alright.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me, Jaesa. There are other things I should attend to first, anyway.”

“Of course. You must be very busy.”

He nodded and looked to Vette. “Any plans?”

“None. Think I’ll just hang out for a while.”

“You could join me.”

She shrugged. “Might as well.”

“My Lord,” Quinn interrupted then, stepping into the room. “We’ve arrived.”

“Very good.”

“I think I should spend this time restocking and refueling. Unless you needed me of course, my Lord.”

“No. The ship could use new supplies. Do what you will, Quinn.”

And with their plans made, Emereid was the first to step off the ship.

“So, what’s the plan?” Vette asked once she caught up.

“There is none. I just didn’t want Jaesa coming along with us.”

“So she would see her parents?”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re such a softie.”

“I believe you’re having an effect on me.”

“Oh, is that what it is?” She was grinning in that perfect, teasing way. “Come on, big guy, what are we doing?”

He checked for a chrono on the wall. Looked like it was evening in Dromund Kaas. 

“Cantina?”

“Sounds good to me.” 

There was a party in the Nexus Room Cantina that night.

“Think we’ll be allowed in?” Vette asked. 

“Who would stop me?” Emereid answered. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly a big, bad Sith.”

“Just stay close to me.”

And he stepped onto the lift, waiting for Vette to join him before pushing the button to send it up. They walked into a room bustling with Sith and elites, the highest of Imperial society mingling, drinking, forming beneficial alliances of one form or another. A few pretty girls wearing formal gowns, their hair in intricate styles, noticed Emereid as he walked passed, offering little waves, whistles, and winks. But he ignored them all. Instead, he noticed the Sith, the officers, all the people looking at him with interest - and at Vette with hate in their eyes. He glared at them back in challenge, instinctively shuffling a little closer to the Twi’lek. 

“Gonna say hi to any of your adoring fans?” Vette asked.

“Not interested,” he grumbled back. “Let’s just get a drink.”

He ordered something strong. As Vette ordered for herself, Emereid took a sip and let his eyes scan over the guests. Many a powerful Sith were in attendance, many that it would be wise to earn the favor of…

“You’re Baras’s apprentice, yes? I was hoping to see you,” came a soft voice.

Startled, he turned to the woman that had managed to sneak up on him. She was tall with tan skin, wearing an intricate, red dress hugged her curves and exposed her shoulders - and the curious ridges down her chest. Her black hair was meticulously styled into a neat bun, and a set of scars under her eyes coupled with her black makeup made her green gaze all the more intense. She eyed him up and down, but Emereid got the feeling that she wasn’t checking him out like many of the other girls had been. 

“You live up to the stories.”

“There’s stories about me already?” He gave a grin. 

“The best of us keep an ear out for the rising stars. Lord Emereid, right?”

“Yes. And you?”

“May I ask for a dance?”

She offered a hand, and Emereid gave her a curious look. Why dodge a simple question? Perhaps the answer would come if he just took her by the hand, and so he did.

To the middle of the floor they went, where they had ample space to move. He took her by the waist; she pressed herself closer. 

“You’re so tense,” she complained, her tone soft and teasing. “Have you never danced with a woman before? That’s okay; I’ll show you how.”

She led the way, and before long, he was easing into the pattern of steps and sway. All there was was the music, her body so close to his - her muscular body - and her eyes looking back up into his - a familiarly dangerous green. 

At the end of the song, they parted. 

Smiling back at him with those enticing, red lips, she said, “Just as I had hoped. If you want to take this further…”

She slipped something into his hand, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. Stunned, he watched her as she stepped away, parting with a wink and a wave, as she disappeared into the tide of bodies, just as suddenly as she had appeared. 

“Have fun?” he heard Vette ask then. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed. 

“Did I do something?”

“No, nothing.” But that tone, that look in her eyes - he knew better. “I’m just tired of all these guys assuming I’m a slave, so I thought I’d find where she dragged you off to.”

“Point out any man that tried to touch you, and I’ll kill them.”

Finally, a grin. “Nah, all I had to say was that I’m with you and they backed off. Appreciate it, though.”

He nodded, and finally he looked to see what the mysterious woman had slipped into his hand. A piece of folded paper, and within, all he saw were a set of coordinates.

“Thinking of taking her up on it?”

“There’s something strange about that woman,” Emereid replied. “I think I’d like to find out what.”

“Should I go back to the ship…?”

“I’m not planning on sleeping with her.”

“Thank the stars.”

And even if he had, this was no place to do it. The coordinates led him into the Kaas City expansion, the construction halted for the night, leaving it feeling quiet, lifeless, and eerie, even compared to the rest of the city, with its Sith looming overhead.

Following his map, Emereid slipped into a building, one that was very nearly done, missing only windows and doors. There in the darkness, he found the woman, standing with her arms crossed, illuminated only by the work lamp in a corner. 

“Was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” she said. Noticing Vette, she commented, “You’re not alone.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Only if you don’t trust her.”

“Then she shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Very well.” She unfolded her arms, positioning them behind her back, standing a little straighter, a little more authoritative.

“You asked for my name earlier,” she then said. “I don’t have one. But you may call me Cipher Eight.”

“Intelligence,” Emereid realized in a whisper.

“Hope that doesn’t break your heart,” she replied with a grin. “Had a feeling someone like you would show up to a party like that. I just had to convince you to step away somewhere more private.”

He noticed Vette’s lekku twitch. He hadn’t yet gotten the hang of lekku language - and he didn’t quite want to admit that he was trying to - but he believed that meant not to trust her, and he was inclined to agree.

“Well here I am. What was so important to go through these lengths?”

“A mission. From Darth Malgus.”

His face changed from distrust to surprised interest. She read him easily, grinning. 

“I’ve had the honor of serving Lord Malgus for some time. My Lord has noticed you. Not often does such a young Sith overcome such a powerful Jedi as Nomen Karr.

“We are on a mission, one of grave importance to the Empire. We are ready to move on to the next step in our plan, and for that, Malgus has given me your name specifically.

“Unless you think you can’t do it. We are fighting a Jedi Master much more powerful than Nomen Karr after all.”

“Don’t taunt me,” Emereid warned her. “I can do this.”

“Great news. We’ll take your ship, then. And don’t worry, Malgus doesn’t harbor the same prejudice as much of the Empire. If your Twi’lek companion can be of use, she will be welcome.

“Give me a moment to slip into something more comfortable. Then I’ll join you. Bye for now.”

She slipped around them, disappearing into the rainy night. Emereid and Vette exchanged a glance.

“I don’t like her.”

“I figured as much.”

“She gives me the creeps.”

“Intelligence types are like that.”

“Tell me I won’t have to share a bunk with her?” 

“I’ll give her to Quinn to keep an eye on.”

“Works for me.”

And with that, Emereid pulled his holocom and quickly put a call through.

“Jaesa,” he said once her figure had appeared on his palm. “Return to the ship. You’ll have to cut your visit short. We have work to do.”

He could see the disappointment in her gaze but still she dutifully replied, “Right away, Master,” and disappeared. 

He turned to Vette, and she nodded for him to follow. 

Darth Malgus, huh? Was all he could think as he took the lead. And an embarrassing wave of anxious excitement swept over him.

The Cipher was waiting for him in his hangar, arms crossed by his ship. That “something more comfortable” she had slipped into was an armored bodysuit, sleek and black with gray accents. Her hair and makeup was left much the same, and Emereid noted the sniper rifle slung over her shoulder. 

“How’d you get here so quickly?”

“A girl has her ways.” She nodded to the ship. “Sith Lords first.” 

As requested, he led the way aboard their quiet ship. Quinn was taking inventory of their supplies. Jaesa, who Emereid could sense the presence of but was nowhere to be seen, was likely to be meditating in her quarters.

“My Lord,” Quinn said as he stopped his work to greet him. “You’re back sooner than I’d expected.”

“Change of plans, Quinn.”

“Good, everyone’s here,” said the Cipher, stepping into a more central position amongst them. To Quinn she commanded, “Set the heading for Vaiken Spacedock. I’m sure you can do all your shopping there.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow and looked to Emereid.

“Do it.”

“Right away, my Lord.”

And he slipped away for the cockpit. Spying the ship’s holocom, Cipher Eight approached, punching in a holofrequency. 

“Need to make a call,” she quickly explained, and within moments, she had her answer.

The figure of Darth Malgus filled the space, glowing that ethereal blue. In a moment, Emereid was awestruck, staring at this man that symbolized the depths of power the Sith were capable of. 

“My Lord,” Cipher Eight bowed her head. “I have recruited Lord Emereid, as requested.”

“I see that.” His very voice commanded attention. “Emereid...” His eyes found the younger Sith, and Emereid stood a little straighter, trying very hard to maintain his composure. “The time for honor and glory is upon us. Make haste to the fleet.”

“Right away, my Lord.”

Was Malgus pleased? The dark lord’s expression was unreadable. And in another moment, he was gone. 

Emereid let out a deep breath that he didn’t realize he was holding onto.

“Alright,” a whisper.

“Star-struck?” Vette teased. 

“He’s one of the most powerful, honorable Sith in the galaxy,” Emereid lectured her. “He deserves respect.”

“You’re sweating,” she continued, smiling wider.

He ignored her.

“He’s decent,” the Cipher said then, folding her arms. “Not unreasonable, shows the little people respect… I’ll take it.” She uncrossed her arms. “I’ll go let myself get comfortable. Inform me immediately once we arrive.”

Away she drifted, heading for the barracks. 

“Now what?” asked Vette. 

“We wait until we arrive.”

“Doing? Do you plan on just pacing and giggling every time you remember you’re going to be working with Malgus?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then do you want to try calling Vremla again?”

Vremla. Emereid nodded, stepping up to the holocom to attempt to reach her. A long moment passed, but then she answered, standing there with her arms behind her back, a hood obscuring her face, and her long, black hair loose over her armor. 

“Don’t tell me you need help,” she said quickly, her tone curt.

“Just wanted to tell you you were right,” he said, putting on a little grin. “About Vette, Twi’leks, aliens... Thought you might want to gloat over someone like me humbly admitting I was wrong.”

“Hmm, maybe a little. Vette?”

“He’s telling the truth,” she told her. “He’s gotten a lot more bearable since you yelled at him, so thanks.”

“My pleasure.” She turned her gaze back on him. Why did it unnerve him so much? 

“Anything else, Emereid? I doubt you called me just to let me have the victory.”

“I’m becoming a different man,” he replied, feigning hurt. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you’re still alive.”

“I can’t die until I’ve won.” she answered. “And to that end, I’ve wasted enough time. Goodbye, Emereid.” 

She ended the connection. He stepped away, finding that he felt no better afterwards. 

“She concerns me,” he said, finally voicing it.

“Yeah. Can’t we do anything to help?”

“No. Not unless she wants us to.”

“Can’t you at least offer?”

“This is her fight, her chance to take her honor back,” Emereid explained before shaking her head. “But I made sure that I’d be in debt to her. I didn’t need her help on Nar Shaddaa, obviously. But inviting her along put me in her debt, and if she wants to call upon it, she can…”

“Who was that?”

The Cipher. Vette jumped at the sound of her voice, and Emereid felt his own heart skip a beat. How did she move so silently? Truly, Intelligence types were the worst.

Cipher Eight had reappeared in the room, staring at the holocom, as if the image of Vremla was still standing there. For the first time, she seemed bewildered. 

“An ally,” he answered, quickly calming himself. “I didn’t mention Darth Malgus or the mission. Just…” Does it make me sound too soft to say I was checking in on her? 

“What’s her name?”

“I didn’t-”

“I don’t care. Tell me her name.”

“Vremla.”

“Vremla,” Cipher Eight repeated the name in a whisper. 

“Know the name?”

“I’ve never heard it before.” She crossed her arms, and when she looked back at him, her eyes had that same sharpness back. “It is my job to keep track of potential security breaches, however. That’s all.” 

And away she went again. 

“Strange,” Vette commented. 

“Very.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Looks like we’re under surveillance now. Careful.” 

He patted her shoulder teasingly as he passed by, heading off to find Jaesa. A bit of lessons in Sith doctrine would be a fine way to pass the time.      

Chapter Text

Dzihdon and Unela were to be gone for quite some time. 

“I want the teeth of fifteen sleen, the claws of twenty vine cats, and the tusks of twenty-five gundark,” were the instructions he had left behind, giving Zhevrua naught but a training blade to accomplish the task. “If you do not achieve this by the time I return, do not bother returning home.”

“He will be gone for at least a month,” Rattie had said. “Do not fear. You will have the time.”

Sez’kojem had said something under his breath in a language she didn’t understand. 

But it saddened Zhevrua to no end to know that even her father despised her. As much as she hated him, to be loathed by both parents was a fate too terrible to bear. 

“I can’t afford to wait,” she said with purpose. The tasks felt insurmountable, and she knew she couldn’t afford to waste any time. 

And to that, Rattie just nodded. “He didn’t say you couldn’t return before he arrived home. Please, return every night so we know you’re safe. If you don’t, we’ll search for you.”

“I promise.”

With her big, sad eyes, Rattie bid her well, sending her off with a light bag of supplies: rations and a med kit. Zhevrua stepped out into the jungles of Dromund Kaas with her head held high.

Until she was out of sight of her Twi’lek godparents.

Her heart was racing. Every shadow made her jump, and the sounds and the growls gave her pause. The jungle was terrifyingly dangerous. The beasts could snatch anyone up and leave no trace but the blood that would quickly be soaked into the ground by the rain. 

Yes, the rain was just as bad as the beasts. It had quickly soaked through her light robes, chilling her to the bone. So she stalked, shivering through the wilds, her blade ever ready in hand. 

But then, she had no intention of hunting that day. Her quarry was much different than any of the beasts of the great jungles, and time was of the essence. Slowly but surely, she marched through the jungles that surrounded her father’s home until she came upon the first hint of civilization: a group of soldiers. 

They spied the lost child right away.

“A Sith,” one muttered. “Better to stay away.”

“A child,” another hissed back. “Look at her, she needs help.”

And without fear, she approached Zhevrua. 

“Are you lost?” she asked, kindly and sweetly.

Not that Zhevrua had any reason to fear the Imperials - she may have been a child, but she was Sith after all - but she instantly felt safe in the soldier’s presence. There was something so maternal in the Imperial’s brown eyes, and Zhevrua knew she could trust her.

“I need to get to Kaas City,” she said, trying to sound very brave and purposeful. 

“Of course,” the Imperial replied, knowing better than to question the desires of even a young Sith. “I can take you to Kaas City, but then I must return here.”

“That’s fine,” Zhevrua said. “Once I’m there, I know exactly where I’m going.”

And she nodded and turned to her commanding officer, and he just nodded knowingly and waved her along their way. 

The speeder ride was swift, and Zhevrua was left off at the outskirts of the city. She thanked the soldier profusely and bid her well, waving her away as she returned back to her post. She hoped she hadn’t caused any trouble.

But for now, something more pressing guided her thoughts, and she walked into the sprawling city. It wasn’t her first time here - she had been here many times before with either Rattie or her mother, come to purchase supplies, often getting a present for the journey - but it was her first time here alone, and for the first time, she felt small and vulnerable, under watch of the great Sith sanctum, of Imperial Intelligence, of the citizens and soldiers and Sith that passed her by on the street. She tried to harden her eyes, to look very unafraid, to look every bit the Sith she ought to be. She wasn’t sure if it worked.

Thankfully, she was never stopped, never questioned.

She didn’t really know where she was going, but the Force guided her every step. Guided her to turn onto one street, to enter one apartment complex, to take an elevator, to arrive outside a door. 

And she knew without knowing where she was.

She raised her hand, giving the door a few knocks. No answer. She tried to open it then. It was locked. She attempted to slice through the lock, the way her mother had taught her. Nothing. The encryption was too much.

“Dammit!” she cried. “And I’m so close.”

“May I?”

With a start, she turned, hand reaching for her blade. But the man that had come behind her did not look threatening. He was small and weak, short of stature with a slim frame. Time had not been kind to him. His age wore lines across his face, and his hair was more dull gray than black. And his eyes, oh his eyes, looked so dead. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I thought you needed help, so I followed. I suppose I’m scarily good at that. I should’ve said something. I’m sorry.”

“How did you know I needed help?” she asked. Did I look that scared?

He smiled as if he could read her thoughts. “Just intuition. You come to my age, and you realize that intuition is just as good as the Force. May I?”

He extended a helpful hand. 

“If you think you can do it.”

And she stepped aside, letting him work. He examined the encryption, and in a matter of seconds, he had the door open. Zhevrua watched him with her mouth agape.

“How did you-?”

“Years of practice. May I ask what’s going on?

“I know; I’m sorry. It’s not my place to question a Sith. But, something tells me I may be needed.”

You might be right about that . Zhevrua peered into the dark room. “The Force led me here. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I know it’s important. If you want, you can join me. Um, what did you say your name was?”

“I don’t have one.” And he led the way inside, flicking on a light and closing the door behind them. “But, you can call me Watcher.”

“Watcher… You’re Intelligence!”

He nodded.

“Mum told me never to trust Intelligence.”

“You can trust a Watcher. We just watch over our foes, keeping the Empire safe.”

“And you’ll watch over me?”

“Of course.”

She paused.

“I’m Zhevrua, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Zhevrua.”

Maybe Mum’s wrong. He seems nice enough.

She didn’t know what she was looking for in this place, but still she took the lead, walking through the rooms slowly and carefully. The kitchen was newly cleaned, a bin filled with all manner of empty bottles. But the rest of the place was in disarray. Floors were caked in dirt, crumpled balls of paper were thrown every which way, and whatever surface there was in that bare bones apartment was coated in dust and violet fur. 

“It’s no way to live,” the Watcher said, “no way at all.” And Zhevrua had to agree. 

The bedroom was the first room with any life to it. The fur of the apartment’s yet unknown animal occupant blended quite well into the purple sheets, and the simple dresser was covered in gashes from powerful claws. A simple makeup set sat out on a low table, coated in dust, the mirror before it smashed and bloodied, and a hairbrush containing a mat of black strands lay out, the only thing the occupant had bothered with. A floor length mirror stood on the opposite side of the room. A hand had wiped away its dust coating recently, notably just over where the viewer’s face would have been. Their occupant was fairly tall, standing a couple inches higher than the Watcher.

“Nothing to see here,” the Watcher spoke up. “But there, through that door, I’d say that’s a study.”

Zhevrua followed his pointing finger, and the proceeding room was indeed a study. A layer of dust had also settled over the area, on every tome and artifact - this was clearly a Sith’s home - on the desk and its journals. One journal lay open, and Zhevrua drifted up to read it. 

“A diary,” she realized, and the Watcher came up to look, too.

And suddenly, he blanched, falling away, catching himself against the wall.

“Watcher?” she gasped, putting down the journal to tend to him. 

He had been so calm just a moment ago, watching over her diligently like a parent. Now, tears welled up in his deep green eyes. 

“Let me see that,” he begged, and she handed him the journal.

And he flicked through the pages, reading and weeping until he could bear no more, handing it back to her before sliding down to the floor, sitting with his head between his hands. 

She knelt down before him. 

“Sir?”

“I apologize for losing my composure,” he whispered. And then he fell quiet, and the only thing she heard was his sobs.

She just waited, waited and waited, until the man finally stopped, wiping his tear stained face off with his sleeve. 

“I am sorry,” he said again. “I recognized the handwriting. I thought she was dead…” He broke off into a whisper, looking off into the bedroom, to the smashed mirror. 

“Watcher, what do you mean?”

He took a deep breath in and out. “Who are you?”

“Huh? I’m Zhevrua.”

“Why are you here? Why did you come? What do you have to gain from walking into a random woman’s home?”

“It’s my mother’s house,” Zhevrua told him, and she saw his eyes widen, but he didn’t speak, and so she continued. “I think that’s why the Force led me here. I haven’t been allowed to see her in many years. I thought- I thought that’s why it brought me here. I thought she’d be here.”

“I’m glad she’s not,” he said, banging the back of his head against the wall and staring at the cold, dark ceiling. “I don’t know what I’d say.”

“I don’t-”

“I wish you were lying to me,” he carried on, closing his eyes to stop the tears from starting again. “But I know better. I know you’re not. Oh, you’re too old to be hers…”

“Sir, do you know her?”

And he looked at her now, his green eyes deep into her own, and she knew.

“You’re her father. You’re my-” She stopped herself, but then said it resolutely, “You’re my grandfather.”

He bowed his head again, weeping into his hands. And this time she reached out for him, taking him into her arms, and he reached out to hold onto her back, squeezing her tight. 

“You have her eyes,” he said, “her nose, her lips, her drive. Oh, this is the news I always wanted to have, but not like this.”

“What happened?” she whispered against his shoulder. Do I really look so much like her?

“She ran away, many many years ago, with her grandfather, your late great-grandfather. Her life here was too cruel, and she wanted to begin anew. I was sad, but I knew, and I did nothing. My wife, your grandmother, was less forgiving. She hired a hunter to bring them home. But the hunter found them dead instead.

“There is truly nothing worse than losing a child. But now, now I should be happy, but I… I do not know.” He let her go, standing before helping her to her feet. “I believe we need to leave now. We can finish talking about this in my apartment.”

She just nodded, tearing a blank page from the diary before shoving it into her bag. She wrote on the page, I hope you’re doing well, Mum. Please return home soon. I hope you don’t mind, but I took your journal. And I’m sorry, very very sorry. And she left it behind on the desk. 

He reached for her hand, and she took it, and he led her outside, walking along the streets again.

His home was actually not terribly far. Upon their entry, they were greeted by a Togruta, a woman about his own age with red flesh and pale yellow mantrals, dressed very modestly in simple, servant attire. She took his coat from him and eyed Zhevrua curiously, but nonetheless dutifully took her bag from her. 

“You’re soaked to the bone,” she chided, and there was a maternal warmth to her tone. “Let me find a change of clothes for you. We might have something your size from when his daughter was still young.” 

“Is my wife home?” the Watcher asked before she could leave.

“She arrived home earlier to change, then I believe she left for the cantina. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Perhaps it is better that she is absent.”

“She might be home within a few hours,” she offered with a kind smile.

“I highly doubt that. Thank you, Kala.”

And she dipped her head and turned away. 

“Mum’s old clothes?” Zhevrua then asked, and the Watcher shook his head. 

“We had two daughters.”

“Mum never mentioned a sister.”

That seemed to strike him more than anything else that evening. “But she has an older sister. They were thick as thieves growing up. I…” He stopped and shook his head. “My family is in tatters.”

“Sir? Grandfather?” she corrected herself quickly, and he looked at her so sadly. “How should I call you?” she then asked, and he looked sadder yet. 

“I do not know if I deserve to call myself your grandfather when I was not even a good father to your mother,” he admitted. “Whatever you choose to call me will suffice.”

“Grandfather it is,” she decided, and he started to cry again. 

He wiped his eyes immediately as the tears began flowing, knowing that it was time to finally talk. 

“You have an aunt,” he told her, taking her further into their home, up the stairs, into a room that branched off into three doorways and their porch. The middle door was open, and through it, Zhevrua could see a queen-size bed, situated in the middle of an immaculately clean bedroom, and truly it looked as though no one ever entered it.

“We had two daughters,” her grandfather continued, and she turned her attention back to him. “Your mother was our youngest. Two years prior to her, we had her sister, and she brought me immense joy.” 

He stepped up to the door on the right and opened it to reveal a bedroom. A twin-size bed took up one wall and a desk took up another. It was dusty, not with neglect but just merely with time, a room that hadn’t been used in too long. Everything was kept the way it’d been left, a utilitarian design of a practical child. 

“She’s an agent now, working for Malgus,” he said. “As an agent, she is nameless, so I hesitate…”

“I can keep secrets.”

“And you should know the names of your family,” he sighed. “My daughter’s name is Alelau. She was my wife’s golden child, and truly she excelled at everything she did. She had heaps of natural talent and a great study ethic. She’s made us very proud. She always has.”

He stepped out and closed the door behind them.

“And Mum?” Zhevrua asked. 

He waved a hand towards the left door. “See for yourself.”

So she crossed the distance without him, opening the door into…

Not a bedroom. 

What she stepped into was an office, a desk against the wall, the windows covered with thick curtains, screens across every available wall space, all off, but she imagined them displaying charts and information she couldn’t begin to understand. It was neatly kept, probably used daily, with nothing left out, nothing out of place.

“When your mother left home, when we found out she was dead, my wife decided to erase the fact that she ever existed. She turned her room into an office.”

Zhevrua backed away, closing the door. “But why?”

“I was too distraught for too long,” he admitted. “I didn’t know how to carry on without her. She was my daughter, and I loved her, and I wanted the best for her. My wife said we needed to forget she existed so we could move on. We needed to remove every trace of her. I used to sit in this room and weep for my loss, so she changed this place first.”

“I don’t understand how that could make anything easier.”

“It didn’t. But I pretended it did. I pretended she didn’t exist, told everyone I only had one child, told everyone I was so proud of her. 

“But to you I’ll say it: I had two daughters, Alelau and Ariacris, and they made my galaxy brighter than all the stars in the sky ever could. I loved them both with all my heart. Alelau may have been my wife’s golden child, but they were both so skilled at everything they tried, whether my wife recognized Ariacris’s accomplishments or not. 

“Ariacris, your mother, ran away because my wife was awful to her. We never should’ve had a second child - my wife couldn’t take it - and truly I am at fault as well, for not stepping in when my wife was cruel. Ariacris ran away because she had to, and I let her, for I only wished that she found some happiness out there in the stars. Instead, I was told she was dead. But you, you’re here, and you’ve given me all the hope in the world! Tell me, tell me what became of her, tell me where she is! I’m begging from the bottom of my heart to know!”

“I don’t know,” she then admitted, and his face fell immediately. “Mum never talked about her past or her family. I didn’t know anything about her parents; I didn’t even know she had a sister. I don’t know who she was before she belonged to my father, but sometimes, before bed she’d tell me stories about piracy. I don’t know if they were real or not.”

“They very well may have been,” he said. “She ran for the Outer Rim, with her grandfather the smuggler. So, she got swept up into piracy. I see.” He closed his eyes and paused. 

“Who is your father? Who did my daughter marry?”

“Mum and father aren’t married,” Zhevrua said. “Mum belonged to him, like Rattie and Sez’kojem. Like… Kala belongs to you.”

“A slave,” he whispered. “You couldn’t have told me anything worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, that’s not your fault. Your father, he’s Sith, isn’t he?”

She nodded, and he shook his head.

“I can’t touch him then. I can’t do anything. I… I really was useless and remain useless.”

He turned away, drifting back down the stairs, to Kala, setting out tea cups and filling them to the brim for the two. She saw them approach and smiled. 

“I hope these fit,” she said, waving a hand to the clothes she’d laid out. “They might be a little big on you.”

Zhevrua picked them up and inspected them. Just regular clothes, nothing special, but they belonged to an aunt she didn’t know. She smelled them, but all she could smell was age, having been stored for so long.

“Are you going to stay?” the Watcher then asked. 

She looked up at him, to his pleading eyes, and had to shake her head. “I promised Rattie and Sez’kojem I’d come home tonight.”

“Your slaves?”

“They’re my godparents,” Zhevrua said. “I don’t- I don’t believe in slavery. They helped Mum raise me. They’re family.”

He took that in and sighed, looking at Kala. 

“You were more of a mother to my girls than my wife ever was.”

Kala closed her eyes, folding her hands against her heart.

“I could hear you upstairs. I heard it all. I prayed every day Ariacris would return home safe and sound. Has the day come?”

“I don’t think so.”

And she nodded. 

“Those clothes were Ariacris’s,” Kala then told Zhevrua. “I kept several things of hers, hid them from my masters. They’re yours now. Take them. Just leave me… Leave me her toys. I,” she sheepishly glanced away, “want to hold them close, like I’m holding her.” 

“Kala,” he whispered.

“Forgive me, but I did raise them, and I do think of them as my own. I could never let Ariacris go, not ever.”

He nodded. “Her room is that way,” he told Zhevrua. “Go. I’d like a moment alone.”

Zhevrua looked to Kala, but the Togruta was sitting across from him, so Zhevrua went alone, through the door her grandfather had pointed out, finding herself in a small room, barely enough room for its bed. Atop the bed was the assortment of goods that Kala had stolen away. She saw the toys, stuffed animals of nexu and pritarr, and then she saw the holopictures, pictures of a young woman with long, flowing black hair and a smiling face, dressed to the nines, and another, of her arm around another woman, one with tanner skin but the same green eyes. 

“Mum,” Zhevrua whispered. “And,” she realized, “Aunt Alelau.” 

There were journals, too. Her mother certainly loved journaling, writing down her thoughts and feelings the archaic, more satisfying way. And there were song lyrics, too, interspersed between the journal entries complaining, “Mother is awful! I can shoot as straight and as true as sister, and she’ll complain that I didn’t do any better!” and, “Nathales is so romantic! He took me to watch a play, then we danced in the rain. My first kiss! I can’t stop thinking about it!” followed quickly by, “I can’t believe Nathales, dragging me out to watch him torment the slaves, like he thought I’d like it or something. They’re already slaves; we don’t have to make life harder! But I laughed because it’s what I thought he wanted, and I asked him to take me home, but he took me to his apartment instead. I’m scared to tell him ‘no.’ I think I need Alelau’s help with this one.”

Many more entries boasted many more sad tales, hardly a victory between them, until the final, “Nothing’s ever going to change. I just learned Mother is arranging for me to be married, to a Sith Lord no less. Nathales was awful. No Sith would be any different. I can’t stand being here anymore. Mother, if you’re reading this, I’ve taken the step off the balcony and now you’ll have to explain why a child of your perfect home is splattered across the pavement. I hate your guts, and I hope you suffer. To Father, why did you never stand up for me? Sister, I love you, and I’m sorry. Kala, I hope they don’t blame you.” 

She shut the journal and cried. 

At the end of the day, Zhevrua returned home. She found herself in the welcoming arms of Rattie, receiving a squeeze and a kiss on her forehead, and Sez’kojem tousled her hair. She settled into their loving embrace.

Wishing oh so badly that her mother had been there. 

Chapter Text

It was always good to return home.

Xakora saw the planet coming closer and closer, saw the skyscrapers and cityscapes sprawling out before her. She knew Seliari felt it too, easing them down, feeling that same sense of calm and longing. Oh, was the galaxy beautiful, but oh how the heart longed for home.

They were hailed by the Republic, and Seliari gave them the access codes they needed, and away they drifted towards the surface, landing gently in the spaceport. 

“Another successful landing,” Seliari commented. 

“Always,” Xakora told her. “Shall we?”

“Not like I’m in any hurry for this part,” Seliari muttered, but she stood anyway. "Debriefings and paperwork, joy.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“Brass is going to be mad we never found their guy.”

“We can’t revive the dead. But we did save all those innocents. That has to be worth something.”

“Mhm. 

Military meetings were never her favorite either, but she stood there with her hands together, listening in dutifully and offering her thoughts and memories when prompted. She said nothing of the Sith apprentice that attacked her - that would be a Jedi matter, not one for General Garza - and left once the meeting was over, leaving Seliari and Unuti to handle any of the required paperwork.

From there, Xakora found the refugees, giving them a smile and the good news that the Republic had opened their arms to them. The refugees that were tired of war were welcome on Coruscant, and Xakora passed around a sum of credits that they could start off life - hopefully - well with housing and food. But she could not give them more than a start. She hoped they would be well.

Those refugees that wished to return to Balmorra to help secure their home’s freedom made up a small group, just Gosro, Dostune, and a third, human. They would be sent home with a platoon of soldiers once the time came, but some things moved slowly indeed. She assured them that General Garza had plans for Balmorra and hoped that the general would be allowed to enact them.

To Gosro, she said, “I’m going to do the best I can.”

And he nodded, looking so defeated. Dostune took his hand, and the warm touch was enough to bring a smile to his face. Xakora looked at it all with a sense that she was an outsider. Jedi were not allowed to form attachments, and as much as she saw the reasoning in Vremla, she could not deny the power that it gave both Gosro and Dostune.

After bidding them all good luck, she turned away.

Xakora did not have any plans that evening as to where to go, but instead of her feet taking her to the apartment that she shared with Seliari, she found herself pulled to the ruins of the Jedi Temple. She often found herself here, whether she liked it or not, drawn by the Force to face the past.

She touched a destroyed column and bowed her head. She could still hear the explosions and the screams ringing in her ears even after all this time. 

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Xakora jumped, turning only to find Seliari behind her. The woman had changed from her armor into casual clothes, and while she had ditched her cannon, she still wore a pistol against her hip. 

“You’re always coming here,” Seliari continued with a grumble, coming up to stand beside her. “I don’t know why.”

“I don’t know either,” Xakora admitted. 

“Even when we were children. You’d come here and… I don’t know. You’ve always been so tied to the past.”

She didn’t know how she couldn’t be. She’d been a child when Darth Malgus had come with his Sith army, when they’d destroyed the Temple, slaughtering nearly every Jedi inside, and stolen Coruscant, only to give it back after signing their dreadful Treaty. Xakora had only survived because of her master, a man who’s quick thinking had managed to save many of the younglings, a man who’d always blamed himself that he couldn’t save all of them.

“They made a new one on Tython, right?”

Xakora nodded. She’d been to the Tythonian Jedi Temple just once. It was a respectable thing, and she certainly respected Grand Master Shan who had made it all possible, but it’d always paled in comparison to the years and years of tradition of Coruscant’s. 

“You couldn’t save anyone that day,” Seliari continued, staring at the same rubble Xakora was, “and now you want to save everyone. But you were just a child back then, and you’re just one Jedi Master now.”

She was right, and Xakora bowed her head. Seliari knew her better than anyone. They’d only recently started fighting together, but they’d known each other for many years.

“I still remember…” Xakora whispered, and she knew that Seliari knew what she was referring to.

Coruscant hadn’t yet recovered from that war, but the years directly after were the worst. Crying orphans, parents who had to bury their children, people who’d lost everything having to give up even more just to survive. That was how she’d met Seliari, all those years ago. Xakora’s master had encouraged her to help out by passing around food and listening to people’s stories, to learn first hand why the Jedi were needed in the world and to try to restore the people’s broken confidence in the Jedi. Seliari had been one of the orphans, a girl her age, angry with the world for taking her parents from her.

“You saved me all those years ago,” Seliari said, lost in the same memory Xakora was. “If you hadn’t found me, I would’ve wound up into one of these gangs or worse. You saved me, and you saved those refugees, and you’ve saved countless other people. You’re doing good just by being you, but if you keep wearing yourself thin, there won’t be any of you left.”

“I hear you,” Xakora said. “And I know you’re right. But truthfully, I can feel the Force pulling me a certain way.”
She knew Seliari was trying not to groan. The soldier had never understood the Force, but she did understand Xakora, and that bit of understanding was enough that Seliari would always respect whatever “wacky Jedi thing” Xakora had to say.

“Are you going to leave then?” 

“I don’t know yet. I need to make sense of the whole thing. I need to meditate on it.”

“Here?”

“No. Let’s go home.”

Home was a small apartment, a simple thing that Seliari had bought and let Xakora move into. Before Xakora could slink away into a quiet place for meditation, Seliari tossed a ration pack to her. The soldier nodded her over to their dining table, and there they sat, eating and chatting about anything except the war.

In the morning, Xakora awoke in her bedroll on the floor to her flashing holocom. With a start, she pulled herself up, tidied her hair really fast, and answered, smiling when she saw who had called. 

He was a young man, with his hair styled into a mohawk, wearing a leather, studded trenchcoat, hands in his pockets as he greeted her.

“Hey Master,” he said. “Just woke up? Wow, can’t imagine you oversleeping.”

Xakora checked her chrono and was shocked to find that her “morning” was really the afternoon. 

“It’s been a long week,” was all she could say.

“Hey, I’m just teasing anyway. We could all use a day to catch up on rest. Say, you’re on Coruscant, aren’t you? What do you say to meeting up?”

“I’d love that.”

“Great! I’m sending you coordinates. Wear something other than your Jedi robes. Brings too much attention. See you there!”

And he ended the call before she could remind him that she didn’t own anything other than Jedi robes. 

When she left her room, she found Seliari, dressed in loungewear, sitting across the couch, drinking her second cup of caf of the day while flicking through the news on the holonet. 

“Morning sleepyhead,” Seliari told her.

“It’s the afternoon. Why didn’t you wake me up?” 

“Because you’re cute when you sleep,” Seliari teased. And with a laugh, she said, “Because I thought you could use the rest. Any plans for the day? There’s still caf in the pot.”

“Araishh called. He wants to meet up.”

“Your apprentice? It’s been months since you seen him, huh?”

“Too long. But he wants me to wear something other than robes, and I…”

“You don’t own anything but robes, and he doesn’t own robes at all.” She snorted. “I know, I know. Maybe you can find something in my closet.”

“You’re a lot bigger than I am.”

“Oversized clothes are in style right now. You can at least try. Save some money.”

“I’ll just go like this.”

“Hey, if Araishh is warning you not to look like a Jedi, I’d listen to him.”

Xakora sighed. “Alright, I’ll look.”

Seliari’s room was no more well decorated than her own. Her bed was neatly made, and her armor and weapons had been recently cleaned, all laid out nicely on the shelving that took up one wall. Seliari’s wardrobe sat on the opposite side, and when she opened it, she didn’t find too many options. She really never did have the time to wear much other than her armor, and most of her other options were cozy loungewear. Xakora was surprised to find a rather nice gold dress and ornate, red jumpsuit among the options, however, something to wear on the dates Seliari never really went on - as much as she flirted. 

Xakora settled on a red top that would’ve been cropped on Seliari but was the right length for her and a pair of white pants that she had to roll up the ends of because they  were entirely too long. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she found that she looked so foreign. She didn’t remember a time before she was a Jedi, and she’d always felt so proud to don her robes. 

Seliari knocked and slipped in once given the okay, and she nodded in approval of Xakora’s choices. She found a coat for Xakora to complete the look, one with deep, internal pockets for her to slip her lightsabers into. Then she grabbed a golden belt, put a new hole into it, and handed it Xakora.

“Perfect,” she decided. “Streetwear is a good look for you.”

“It feels wrong.”

“It’s new. Enjoy it. It’s a day off, so you might as well dress the part. As for me, I’ll be lounging around all day. Me and the boys have the week off to recoup, so I’ll be catching up on all that rest I missed out on worrying about you. And,” she got a big grin on her face, beckoning Xakora a little closer, “Havoc Squad is off right now, too. Unuti was hanging around that CO last I saw him. Bet you he’s not leaving her apartment all week.”

“Seliari, that’s none of your business.”

“Oh, you’re boring,” Seliari said, but she was grinning when she did. “Go on then. Have fun. Tell the guy hi for me. Be safe, and let me know if you don’t plan on coming home for the night, or I’ll be running out there looking for you.”

“I’ll be fine, Seliari. No need to worry about me.”

“Hey, even Jedi need some backup. Be on your way then.”

Araishh’s meeting spot was among the upper levels of Coruscant, and Xakora passed by the people as a ghost, unfascinating, unnoticed, whereas her bright white and pink Jedi robes would have surely made everyone pause for a moment to notice her. She had to admit, she was used to that, and she enjoyed it, standing out as a beacon of hope. 

Xakora found Araishh right where he said he would be, leaning against a wall, head bobbing along to whatever tune he was listening to, paying no mind the passersbys that looked at him strangely. He took out his earpiece as she approached, smiling wide. 

He was quite possibly one of the only members of his species on Coruscant, a Chiss, with blue-gray skin, a royal blue mohawk, and blazing red eyes. His black, leather outfit made him look the furthest from a Jedi, but she knew better. She knew where he hid his lightsaber that she had helped him make on her one and only visit to Tython. 

“You look good in street clothes,” he said.

“I feel off. What was the point of this?”

“Just wanted you to experience what it felt like to be ‘normal.’ It’s your day off. Enjoy it.” 

He beckoned her to follow, and she fell into step beside him. He was a short man, standing only a few inches taller than herself, and so their strides matched quite well.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

“Yes. It’s good to see you doing so well.”

“Hey, I had a good Master to teach me.”

“And I had a good Padawan who learned so quickly. Though I’ll never understand the way you dress.”

Araishh laughed heartily. “Nobody expects the guy in the trench coat to be a Jedi. Works quite well for me.”

She understood that. In his old life, Araishh had worked as a spy for the Chiss Ascendency, and so the feeling of needing to blend in and be inconspicuous still remained even now.

“You still don’t blend in with that mohawk.”

“And your gold jewelry isn’t very Jedi-like, but you still wear those.”

Her little, golden rings around her horns were her most prized possession and one of the few luxuries she let herself have. 

“They were a gift,” she said. They had been a gift from Seliari the day she had left for the academy, a promise that they would see each other again - a promise kept.

“I know. I’m only teasing.”

Having reached the apartments, he unlocked his and let her inside. It was a small place, respectively utilitarian, its main room featuring a tiny kitchen, a small, round table with two chairs, and a door on either side leading to a bedroom and a bathroom. While sparsely decorated, she did note the holos featuring Araishh’s few, treasured memories of his life prior, including one of a much younger Araishh with much longer hair, arm in arm with a taller man, a Chiss with royal blue skin and neat, shoulder-length hair. 

“He’s gone and joined Imperial Intelligence now,” Araishh saw her looking, closing the door behind him. “He always said he would. It was a way to get out from under the Chiss Ascendency’s thumb and be - if just a little bit - more free.” 

Xakora nodded. “That’s the one that took you to Alderaan, right? It must be awful to be on opposite sides now.”

Araishh shrugged and sighed. “He offered to take me to the Empire with him, but I didn’t want to be Sith. I didn’t really plan on being a Jedi either. I just wanted to live, and then I met you. I’m happy with my life now. I have everything I’d ever dreamed of.”

“You don’t really miss Csilla at all then, huh?”

“Only him. Even my family tried to kill me for being Force-sensitive. They’d never accept me as I am now - not at all.

“What about you? You miss your family at all?”

“Oh, I barely remember them, to be honest. When they realized that I was Force-sensitive, they gave me up to the Jedi. They thought it was the best place for me, and I suppose they were right.”

She let her eyes wander as Araishh started to brew them tea. Alongside his memories, he had framed and mounted a poster of his favorite band, a pop group led by a Chiss woman, another runaway of Csilla. 

“Listening to anything new lately?” 

Araishh loved music and was constantly listening to a new band. And true to form, he answered, “Yep. Stellar Panic. Old group, but I only found them recently. Came out of nowhere, released one album, then disappeared again.” 

He showed her an image of the group on his tablet, a group of three girls who couldn’t be older than twenty-years-old, featuring a teal Nautolan, a black and white Cathar, and at their head, a pale human with long, black hair and green eyes. Xakora stared at her for a while, until Araishh took his tablet back and flicked it off. 

“Been up to anything cool?” he asked her. “Anything you can tell me?”

“Rescues,” she answered. “Same as before, but I enjoy it. But now we’ve been noticed by the Sith.”

“Uh oh.”

“An apprentice.”

“Not so bad then?”

“Darth Apophius’s apprentice.”

“Oh, that’s worse.”

“And I can’t help but feel bad for her.” She sank into a chair at the dining room table, putting her head between her hands. “Seliari thinks I’m too soft.”

“Hey, you are, and you always have been, but it’s not like there’s anything wrong with that. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here as a Jedi Knight. Why don’t you tell me everything?”

And she did, of their meeting on Nar Shaddaa, their confrontation on Tatooine, the promise she’d made to Gosro, and finally, of her failed attempt at getting through to her on Alderaan. 

“Geez,” Araishh went, leaning back in his seat. “That is a lot.”

“Do you think I’m trying too hard for nothing? I’ve killed Sith before. I’ve had to. I don’t know why she’s different.”

“Fate and the Force work in mysterious ways,” Araishh said, and Xakora heard the echoes of her teachings and her own master’s in those words. “You were destined to meet, and now you feel like you’re destined to help.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe you’ve been hanging out with Seliari too long. Maybe you need a Jedi’s opinion on this one. I’m about to head out for Tython in the morning - got a mission to report on. You should come with me. Maybe your fellow Masters can straighten your head about this one, because I’ve never seen you so worked up about something before.”

“You might be right,” Xakora sighed. “But Seliari and the others…”

“They’ll be alright. It’s just a little break to clear your head. You are on vacation, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. Thank you. Let me tell Seliari the plan, then I’ll meet up with you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning, Master. Try not to sleep in, alright?”