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Chapter Text

Chapter 1-2: Children of Dathomir 

They say as you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

I can't speak for everyone, but as a semi-truck bulldozed my car, it was impactful experience (pun intended), at the very least. Can only recall pain and everything going white. I would have appreciated it if someone would have told me there was a chance that I would reincarnate as a Zabrak in Star Wars. 

 Yes, you read that right.

Chapter 1:

For the longest time, Milo was not even aware of anything but the warmth.

It was a warmth that surrounded him and would rumble from time to time. While Milo had no consciousness or thought of time, he did begin to acknowledge another within this warmth with him.

It probably had been there the whole time, but lately, neither could avoid bumping into the other. 

At first, Milo attempted to push it away, but it made him feel cold, so Milo stopped after a few back-and-forth bumps. This also made the other stop pushing, and an even greater warmth seemed to radiate off it, so Milo moved himself closer till they were touching.

And then there was peace.

Until there wasn't, suddenly, the warmth was rumbling more consistently, and the warmth seemed to tighten. Neither Milo nor the other liked this and tried to push on it. 

Then Milo felt pulled, smushed even, and everything was cold, loud, and bright. 

He didn't like it, not one bit. He wanted to go back. Milo let out a cry of protest and felt the air go into his lungs.

Milo wanted to return, but he felt himself being prodded and then set down on something. Milo hears voices around him, but when he opens his eyes, everything is blurry and bright. Too bright.

Milo soon makes out raised voices and the cries of another. They were extremely loud but seemed to understand Milo's issues, so Milo answered with louder cries.

More mummers from whoever was in the room could be heard before the wailing other is placed next to him.

They are warm , and Milo finds himself settling. The other wiggling mass also stills, and suddenly Milo feels as though he is not alone.  Something links together and Milo feels no longer alone and his first official conscious thought is voiced alongside that of another voice.

"I know you."  

Six months later:

At six months, Milo was starting to comprehend what was going on and recall his past better, but still, most of his time was spent sleeping and trying to sit up. 

So far, Milo figured he reincarnated, if that makes sense, and thanks to watching Star Wars the Clone Wars show, he figured out that he was born within the confines of Dathomir. Milo figured this was probably one of the worst spots to be born since this meant he was a male Zarbak, and they didn't have the most leisurely lives amongst the NightSisters. 

“ I think she is done providing us with food, Milo,” a voice informs in Milo's head, leading to the subsequent juicy discoveries of this whole situation.

When Milo reincarnated, his best friend Griffin went along with him (he was in the passenger seat), and they were twins born with some type of force bond that enabled them to communicate telepathically. 

It was rare for a Nightbrother to have magick or Force abilities, so they both agreed to keep it on the down low since NightSisters could not be trusted. It would be obscure at their current age.

Having Griffin with him had been grounding and comforting with the drastic changes in their lives. 

Back to current events, Milo grimly had to agree with his twin, their mother (if she could even be called that)for the past week lessened nursing them till today when she had not visited once.

While the Nightsister had shown no affection for the twins, she had never missed a feeding and had always ensured we were breathing in our basket crib before she slept. 

Their six months of life had all but been within the confines of their mother's room, where a few random Nightsisters might peek in, but mainly, it was just their mother. They had never met their father, but based on the culture, he was likely killed or sent away. 

“ I think you might be right. But why now? It's not like you and I can go hunt for food; we barely can sit up and crawl.” Milo whines back.

With some effort, they both turn over on their bellies and manage to push themselves up to sit up before leaning into each other in exhaustion. 

“ Ugh, well, if this is the end of free food, I expect you to donate your foot to the cause of nutrients.”  Milo thinks to Griffin, who makes a garbled grunt, which might sound adorable to others but has been frustrating since they were able to speak six months ago using their mental links. 

“ Oh, have we already reached the stage of cannibalism so soon. ?” Griffin snarks back.

“ You're right. We should give the lady one more hour ,” Milo replies 

“ How kind. But shouldn't the one who doesn't have force abilities be the one used as food? ” Griffin asks.

Milo makes a cry of outrage and clumsily tries to push Griffin. This sadly results in both falling back on their backs. 

“ Nice one, genius .” Griffin snarks.

“ Shut up, and I bet you I am just a late bloomer with the Force. When we get older, I am going to go all Yoda on your butt till you beg for mercy. ” Milo threatens. 

They had begun to guess that Griffin had abilities with the force and the theory that their force bond was thanks to him. While Griffin seemed to have this sense about things from time to time, it was mainly just how well Griffin could feel Milo's emotions, and if he was about to fall, that made them guess it was force-related. 

Milo didn't get such feelings, but it didn't necessarily mean he lacked the right amount of midi-chlorians since his connection with Griffin was too strong not to include some force ability.

“ If we live that long .” Griffin huffs and bonks heads with Milo.

“ I think we may need to rethink our no-crying policy,” said Milo; when they both had begun communicating, they agreed that since they were amongst the NightSisters, it could prove safer not to draw attention to themselves. 

The two would babble to work on speech, but other than that, no Nightsister could claim to have heard any other noise from the two. 

Suddenly, they heard footsteps of three people approaching; one was their mother (they figured out her gait while walking), but the other two were a mystery. 

Their mother was the first to enter. While the twins had no expectations of a great destiny, they did note that their mother stood out from the stereotypical witches by being a horned Zabrak herself (meaning they were likely full-blooded Zabraks since NightSisters were a race of their own). She quietly made her way to stand beside our crib and face the upcoming strangers.

These two strangers would provide the twins with the last pieces of information about their situation.

“ Oh shit, tell me that's not the creepy NightMother ?! ” Griffin hissed in Milos's mind.

Sadly for Griffin, he was correct; while she didn't quite look like she did in the show, the garments and headdress hinted that it was Mother Talzhin. Sadly, their mother ended up confirming it for them. 

“Mother Talzhin, I am pleased to inform you that they have been weaned and are ready to join the males.” their mother stated. 

“ We are so dead, ” Milo states. If they were born during Mother Talzhin's reign, they would be within the lifetime of the Clone Wars and the Empire, neither of which were ideal times to be alive. 

Talzhin loomed over the crib and placed her hand to cover both infants' heads.

“ Milo, what's she doing ?” Griffin asks, his voice edging into a panic. 

Milo couldn't find the energy to reply, too anxious to take his focus off the women above them. 

A green-like mist seemed to envelop the two momentarily before it dissipated. 

“They have… potential.” Talzhin mummers before lifting her hand away and looking to the third person who had stayed by the door, “Come forth, Savage. Meet your kin's offspring.”  

“ I'm sorry whaa ?” Milo thought. They were related to Savage ?! 

The Zabrak in question appeared within the eyesight of the twins; he looked young. He was young enough to have only recently been considered an adult instead of the matured male they had seen in the show. 

“ Milo, not to be a Sherlock here, but there is no way, if this guy is that young, that Feral would be our dad, right? That would be all kinds of wrong!! ” Reasoning Griffin. 

Milo glanced at his brother and realized they probably should have been more suspicious that Griffin's coloring was red (Milo's coloring was an orange ember and only a few shades from being considered red). They knew that red was a possible coloring of Zabrak, but it was rare. Until now, they were not even sure of when in Star Wars they were born; they had not thought it was possible that it could relate to the one iconic red Zabrack they knew of from Star Wars.

“ Kriff, I think our dad is Maul ,” Milo exclaims.

“ That can't be right. I mean, how is that possible?! When on Earth was the Sith Assassin supposed to find himself a lady ?! ” Griffin questioned.

Fortunately, Savage also shared their disbelief. “My brothers’ offspring, Mother ?” he questioned.

“They are the sons of your younger brother, someone who was lost to us when you were seven years of age.” Talzin answers and then curses everyone, adding, “He had developed powers at a young age, granting him the honor to begin training amongst the NightSisters until a Force wielder took him without consent. His Master provided us with the ability to carry his line through insemination.”

“ Argh, that's just sick, ” Milo gagged.

“ At least this means we aren't some clone or tube baby ,” Griffin says before they focus back on the conversation around them. 

“As you have already completed your rites and trials, you will be their guardian till they come of age,” Talzin informs Savage, who does not seem thrilled but not upset by this news either.

“As you command, Mother.” Savage bows respectfully before looking back down at his new charges. 

“ Do you think Uncle Savy here has food ?” Griffin asks Milo.

“ I mean, it looks like he's in charge of keeping us alive, so he better, ” replies Milo.

In perfect sync, both infants begin cooing and raising their arms to reach their newly discovered Uncle. Savage seemed to soften a little at this before resuming his imposing poker face.

With a glance at the woman in the room, Savage picked up his tiny charges with expert efficiency with a twin on either arm.

“Once they gain their markings, you will return them to me. Until then, raise them as children of Dathomir.” Mother Talzhin said and placed each hand on one Maul offspring. 

“The firstborn and eldest shall be named Wraith…” Mother Talzhin said.

“ Seriously? ” Milo grumbled, unimpressed; he could feel the great amusement of the name change from Griffin and had to refrain from the urge to swipe at him with the NightMother still touching him.

“ And the youngest shall be named Dread… inform me should he show signs of anything unusual.” Talzhin finishes and strokes Griffin's cheek before disappearing in a haze of green.  

“ What ?! ” Griffin cried and even made an out loud squawk in horror, “ Where does she get off on these names?! Maul, Savage, Feral, and now this ?! ” Griffin demanded while Milo let out a squeal of delight. 

“ Oh dude, and here I was thinking my name was stupid, but now I think if anyone is going to Dread introductions its-OW,'' Milo couldn't finish because Griffin managed to whack Milo's arm. 

“Is there somewhere I can request long cloths I could use for them ?’ Savage asks the Sister, ignoring his charges as they smack each other. 

“Some of the males by the hangar might know. Unless you want to catch the eye of a Nightsister, leave Nightbrother.” She states and turns her back on them. 

With that, Milo and Griffin are taken away from their mother, whom they will see only two more times in their life and only once, knowing it's her. 

 Chapter 2:

Milo and Griffin were taken through the temple's confines, which matched the show's interpretation, meaning it was spooky but awe-inspiring. 

Savage brought them to the hangar, where there was indeed a group of adult Zabraks with their little tent community (likely where they were for mating). Five strong, mature Zabraks were seated around a big fire and doing various tasks.

“Brothers, I am here to request any cloth you can spare for my charges,” Savage said and momentarily dipped his head in respect. 

An older Zabrak with yellow coloring looked up and chuckled, “You are still a whelping yourself, and yet you already have two to look after.” 

“I already completed my rites and coming of age ceremony; I am a fully fledged Nightbrother, and it is within my ability to raise them,” Savage stated, his grip tightening on Milo and Griffin slightly.

The Zabarak merely chuckles, gathers some cloth, and creates complicated knots to create a sling and a huge pouch. Without promoting, another Zabrak comes forward and, glancing at Savage for permission, takes hold of Milo.

“Haven't heard of twins being conceived and both making it out of the womb. Normally, the stronger one will kill the other.” the second Zabrak muttered and looked at the infants in slight wonder.

Soon, the Yellow Zabrak places the pouch to fit securely and wraps it around Savage's back, which Milo is lowered into. 

Milo found it surprisingly comfortable and felt secure enough that Savage could likely run, and the pouch would stay in place. 

“ Oh, this is nice, ” Milo says to Griffin and coos at the older Zabraks in thanks, earning chuckles from the adults around the camp. 

The sling that had been made is placed so that Griffin is securely nestled into Savages' chest. 

Griffin was glad these adults were helping their young uncle while also feeling sad that these men were in the situation they were in with the Night Sisters. Griffin grabs the Yellow Zabrak's hand and offers a weak squeeze and grunt (he was six months old and couldn't be faulted for the lack of grip) as thanks. 

“You're a tame one, aren't you? Better be careful it doesn't get you killed.”The Zabrak said, though not unkindly, almost a bit sad. 

“ Let them try. I'll bite the fingers off anyone who dares. ” Griffin thinks and bares his newly appeared teeth (at the beginning of the month, the two had begun teething, which was almost too painful to handle). They were currently not much to look at, but there were four-pointed canines that would eventually become very impressive.

Savage grunts in approval of his youngest response before telling the adult, “They are of my kin; there's nothing tame about us.” 

 The yellow Zabrak gives Griffin a playful growl before looking back up to Savage.

“Best of luck to you, little Nightbrother. Raising whelpings is not an easy feat,” he says, returning to his group without another look or word. 

“ I forgot that Zabraks have two hearts, although it sounds more peaceful than I thought, ” Griffin comments as he leans into Savage, lulled by his steady hearts beating. 

Some hours later: Griffin's POV

Savage took a run-down speeder vehicle from the fortress and returned to the Zabrak's village. The ride was long, and no matter how hard Milo and Griffin tried to view the planet around them, the speeder was going fast enough that most everything was a red blur, so they fell asleep. 

The twins awoke to the speeder slowing down abruptly, causing yelps from the twins.

“ Are we there already? I can't see anything other than this guy's back. ” Milo asked Griffin, noting that the sky indicated they hadn't gotten far enough.

“ No, we seem to still be in a forest region. Something must have stopped him. ” Griffin replied.

Savage got off the speeder and took a sniff of the air. He removed a metal cylinder from his belt and swiftly sprinted through the trees. The male's steps didn't even create sound as he almost seemed to glide through the forest. Griffin thought it was lucky that the older Zabraks from before did an excellent job securing them with the cloths. Otherwise, Griffen was confident they would have both gone flying in the air.

“ What he kriff is he doing? ” Milo grunts, no doubt bonking Savage with every step.

“ Uncle Savy has decided to go off-road, is what he's doing. He took a good whiff of the air and thought it was a good time to go Parkour, ” Griffin muttered.

After hearing a click, Griffin watched the cylinder Savage carried become a rather long and terrifying spear.

“ Oh no, I was wrong. Tarzan here is actually about to kill something or someone. ” Griffin stated, trying to think about the fact that if anything tried to kill Savage, it would likely have to go through Griffin and Milo first like a fleshy vest.

Savage Pov:

Savage kept a steady pace to avoid jostling his charges. He had heard their stomachs growling when he had picked them up and had been maintaining vigilance for easy prey on the way home since the journey would be too long for two hungry Zabraks. 

As Savage trudged through the dense forest, the musty scent of the boar filled his nostrils. He followed the trail, the spear ready for the hunt. The sun shone through the trees, casting a dappled pattern on the red forest floor.

Suddenly, he heard a loud crash of leaves and branches, and the boar appeared before him, snorting and pawing the ground. The boar was a brown and tusked creature standing 3 meters tall. Its long tails and claws tipped with poisonous bacteria could kill its prey with a slight scratch. 

The infants began to cry and wiggle, but Savage ignored them to ensure awareness of the boar. While Savage was a skilled warrior who had killed many boars, the slightest mistake could lead to his death and the whelpings. He lowered his stance to ensure he was near eye level and antagonized the beast with a growl and show of teeth. It charged with an enraged squeal straight for them.

Savage stood his ground, his spear held in a firm grip. As the boar neared the point of feeling its rapid breaths, Savage sidestepped it so that he thrust the spear into the boar's side when it zipped by him. It collapsed onto the forest floor, its breath coming in short gasps.

Savage observed as the life ebbed away from the animal and felt a deep satisfaction. He had done it – he had provided for his infant charges. The infant named Dread seemed to sleep restfully, while Wraith seemed to fuss over the minor activity that had just occurred. Savage rumbled in contentment to know that they appeared already adapting to life as a Night Brother.   

“ Perhaps they shall further bless our clan even though there are two of them .” Savage thought. 

The NightSisters believed that twins meant two runts could not kill the other and would be weak excuses for warriors. It's why the few born are killed by the NightSisters, regardless of whether they are male or female. 

It was likely that it was due to who their sire was that saved them from termination. Most NightBrothers (Savage included) desired for twins to be spared and given to the males since every Zabrak should have the right to learn Dathomir's ways and be given the chance to survive the rites of Coming of Age. But, of course, such opinions were ignored.

Savage removed the spear from the boar's body and began the journey back to the speeder, dragging the boar in his right hand, his load a little heavier.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: The Provider 

Chapter 3: Savage Pov (just for a minute)

Savage returned to the run-down speeder, dropped the boar to the ground, and gathered some dry twigs and branches around him. He found some Rinor ( Rinor was a type of plant that had several green blades. It was native to the forests of the planet Dathomir) and gathered enough that it could be used as a primitive nest for the infants. Savage planned to stay for the rest of the day and, after successfully preparing the food, would need to seek a resting place further away to avoid predators investigating the smell of cooked meat.

He then arranged the wood into a neat pile and removed flint and steel from a small pouch on his belt. Savage struck the flint and steel, sending sparks into the wood and eventually creating a small flame. 

He felt Dread stirring and heard yet another sound of hunger from his stomach. He rubbed his tiny back quickly to soothe him a little longer into a doze. While they seemed well behaved, Savage wanted to be able to get the food done while they were calm. 

 To keep a better eye on Wraith, Savage carefully shrugged off the back wrappings and placed the small child on the Rinor blades next to him. Wraith seemed restless and attempted to sit up, but Savage quickly placed gentle pressure on Wraith's chest to keep him down. Interestingly, Wraith quit moving and relaxed into his bed with a huff. 

Savage chuckled at what almost seemed like the child was pouting.

“Be still, small one, and your patience will earn you meat,” Savage said out loud to provide the child with, at the very least, something to focus on. Wraith's eyes zeroed in on Savage, almost making him believe the little Zabrak could understand him. 

“You will be a clever hunter when you grow up. A hunter learns more from observation than conversation.” Savage drawled while bringing the boar closer to the fire and infant.

He crouched over the fallen boar, its thick fur matted with blood, drew his hidden blade from inside his clothes, and set to work on the beast. His deft hands quickly cut through the thick fur and skinned the carcass with quick, precise motions. Savage even explained every step he took aloud to Wraith. When he was done, he cut the boar into thin strips and hung them around the fire to cook on spiked branches. After that, the recently awoken Dread was placed next to his brother, who seemed to relax Wraith fully in his presence. 

“Good. There is no greater bond than that of kin and brotherhood.” Savage thinks to himself as he turns the meat. 

As if to prove him wrong, he began to hear grunts and squeals, and taking a glance, Savage looked to see Wraith had Dread's hand in his mouth. 

Dread began making a puny, snarl-like noise and repeatedly whacking at his brother's face. 

With a sigh of resignation, Savage confirms that Wraith was not biting his brother's hand off before gathering the newly cooked meat and sitting in front of the two. The smell of food quickly made the antics end, with two pairs of eyes looking at the meat with animalistic hunger.

Savage brought a small piece of meat to Wraith's mouth, who opened his mouth, revealing the tiniest canines that Savage had ever seen. Savage gently fed the boar strip to the infant, ensuring his sharp claws didn't cut the boy's mouth. Wraith chewed and swallowed it and let out a sound of delight at a better selection of meat. 

Savage reached for another strip of boar and held it up to Dread, who had expressed discontent for being selected last but opened his mouth with equal eagerness as his brother. 

Savage fed the strip to the second infant, who also successfully chewed and swallowed the boar despite it being their first time eating meat. He continued this process, alternating between the two infants until all the cooked boar strips were gone. 

Savage removed another chunk of meat to cook for himself and, while waiting, cut the boar pelt into three sections, two being relatively small. He folded and strapped the most significant piece to the speeder while cutting into the other two. He began to fashion the pieces into cloaks. While the infants would grow accustomed to the hot days and cold nights as infants over time, they were more vulnerable to the cold till then.  

By the time his meat was ready, his kin were adorned with rough but functional cloaks that kept their bodies draped but with openings for their arms to move freely [he made a poncho reader].

Savage quickly ate his meal before extinguishing the fire. He carefully gathered the infants, placing them back in their pouches on his body. After securing everything, he hopped onto his speeder and drove it to a more secluded area, far from the smell of cooked meat that could attract predators. 

After a quick scan of the darkening surroundings, spotted an ideal tree and climbed up to a high enough branch where they would sleep for the night, leaving the speeder away from plain sight. Savage carefully moved Wraith to the front of his chest and kept a secure grip on him and Dread. 

The infants seemed content and settled down for the night. Savage felt the very moment their breathing slowed. Savage would remain awake for the night, leaving himself a moment to address his new situation.

What made these twins so desired by the NightMother? What made this lost brother so desirable that they were even watching male offspring?

Savage reminded himself that they would be returned to the NightSisters, so thinking about what lay in store for the infants might make it harder to follow NightMother's wishes.

Then there was his younger brother Feral to think about. While every NightBrother was raised to be prepared to look after the young, Feral had not yet completed his rites and was still learning about the importance of looking after the tribe's future. Savage could see Feral not feeling so inclined to assist in whelping upbringing and instead go on a hunt or listen to the Warriors' stories. Alas, the boy would learn the responsibilities of adulthood whether he wished it or not. 

In the distance, he could hear the howls of wild beasts, a reminder that the forest was not a safe place, especially at night. But Savage knew how to navigate these dangers and felt no fear, although his charges stirred slightly.

“I know not of this lost Brother of mine, but as my Kin, you will have my strength until the day comes for you to use your own,” Savage tells them while taking in their scent. The sooner their scents imprinted on him, the sooner he could always be able to track them. As was expected of the providers of a clan.

Third Person Pov:

As the boys slept, both had strange dreams. 

Milo dreamt he was late for a college course and running through campus with nothing but his shorts. He made it to the classroom door but was stopped by Yoda, who spoke to Milo with a voice sounding a lot like Darth Vader, “I am your Father.” is all he said, and kept trying to swat at Milo with a slab of meat. There was a strange moment where Milo felt as though he was wrapped around a rope that was oddly comfortable and warm but was getting pulled away from him. He didn't know why it mattered, but the more the rope was pulled away, the colder Milo felt. Milo didn't like the cold, so quickly began pulling it towards himself.

There were a few moments of tug-a-war, but Milo used the old trick of standing his ground and waiting for the other side to slip up. There was a moment of slack in which Milo pulled with all of his strength, making the other side speed toward him. From that point on, the rope didn't pull, and while it sagged slightly, it remained well connected to Milo. Warmth returned to him in full force, meaning that he had won whatever that was. Milo would later awake, only remembering the piece of meat and anticipating his next meal. 

In his dream, Griffin found himself engulfed in a sea of darkness, accompanied by the horrifying sounds of metal being crushed and an unbearable wailing noise so horribly tortured that if Griffin had control of his body, he would flee from it. The wailing sound was a cacophony of piercing screeches and agonized howls of pure madness.

It was a sound that made Griffin's bones ache and beg for it to end. It never did.

Griffin wanted to cry, but it was as if Griffin didn't have a body, just a self of being and feeling (which didn't make much sense to Griffin). Whatever this thing was, it felt like it was swallowing Griffin whole. Griffin didn't know how to but was attempting to struggle against it.

Before long, Griffin felt his energy being completely drained by the darkness, to the point where he feared he might cease to exist.

At that moment, Griffin sensed more than saw a glowing, sturdy rope wrap around him, tugging him away from the encroaching darkness. The darkness howled and fought to swallow Griffin, yet the rope persisted. After a struggle, it succeeded in drawing Griffin away from whatever it was. From then on, Griffin slept deeply and wouldn't recall his dream.

Milo/third person POV :

Milo awoke feeling both invigorated and inexplicably weary, a curious blend of energy and exhaustion coursing through his veins. His thoughts quickly turned to his next meal, a familiar hunger gnawing at him. 

"Griffin, are you up yet?" Milo inquired, casting a glance at his twin brother, whose form lay sprawled nearby.

"No," Griffin groaned, his voice emerging sluggishly, softer than usual in Milo's mind, as if weighed down by an unseen burden.

"Then who answered back?" Milo teased.

"You know, I was really basking in the serene sound of your silence earlier. Any chance we could hit rewind on that?" Griffin quipped, though his voice lacked the sharpness needed for a full-fledged argument.

"Alright, your royal pain-lyness," Milo chuckled, but the amusement was laced with concern. "Seems like you woke up on the wrong side of our uncle. Are you okay?"

"Dunno. Feels like I had the life sucked out of me or something," Griffin replied, his words tinged with a weariness that resonated with the morning air.

Their uncle interrupted their banter, leaping nimbly from the tree branch to the forest floor.

"I hope he doesn't plan to go hunting again with me strapped in front," Griffin complained, recalling vividly the terrifying visage of a boar charging at him before he lost consciousness the previous night.

"Speak for yourself; I, for one, am in desperate need of sustenance," Milo declared, his stomach emitting a low, insistent growl.

"Riiiiiiight, you just keep your mouth to yourself today, or I swear I'll learn how to put you in a chokehold," Griffin warned, clearly irked by the fact that Milo had, in a fit of hunger, gnawed on his hand.

"Oh, relax, it's not like I actually ate it, did I?" Milo defended himself, recalling the moment of weakness. He had been so ravenous, and Griffin's arm had seemed to taunt him, waving carelessly in front of his face. How else was he supposed to react? It had been an instinctual response, his Zabrak nature taking over for a brief, uncontrollable moment. Fortunately, the bond of friendship and camaraderie between the twins was stronger than Milo's primal drive to satiate his hunger.

As the Force would have it, Savage got the children settled in their pouches and took them to a river after a small ride on the speeder. Savage carefully went knee-deep in the river and caught two fish with his bare hands. Savage quickly cooked them after gathering the resources to make a small fire.

After a repeat of last night's meal (though this time Griffin was given the first bite), Savage gave them a quick rinse-off from the river before they set off on the speeder, heading for the Nightbrother Village. 

The Journey took the rest of the day with the environment changing from forest to mountains. The dense foliage of the strange forest thinned out as the speeder climbed higher, revealing the jagged peaks of mountains against the clear red sky. Trees gave way to craggy rocks and sheer cliffs, creating a breathtaking landscape.

Soon after, the iconic Nightbrother village is in sight. While it looks almost exactly like it does in the show, there are some differences (likely animation shows would only do so much for a planet you rarely see).

The Nightbrother village was nestled among the mountains, its buildings made of dark ancient stone, and with the sun setting, it cast an otherworldly glow on the village. The village gleamed in the fading light; a jumble of strange furs, side tents, and bustling Zabraks of all ages set the village lively. It was a mesmerizing and otherworldly sight, almost like a painting come to life.

The male Zabraks were adorned in unusual furs and clothing and moved in a flurry of activity, their bodies in constant motion as they wrestled, skinned animals, and cooked over open fires. Some were dressed in intricate fur garments, while others wore simple loincloths. Children darted between the adults, playing games and helping with various tasks. The village was a hive of bustling energy. 

Milo couldn't help but feel a bustle of excitement already imagining all these things he and Griffin could do here. 

Chapter Text

Hey everyone this is not an actual chapter but wanted to inform those who read this that while I have been working on the current chapter it’s going to be released sometime next month (I have finals and they got to come first). There is a chance that it can be done earlier but wanted to give y’all a worst case. Thank you readers !!

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: The Plan 

The Plan

Five months of living in the Nightbrothers’ village had been a significant improvement compared to life living with the Nightsisters.  

The Zabraks had been pleased by two new additions to the ranks. Few of the elders had taken it upon themselves to even assist Savage in becoming more confident in child-rearing.  

Where before, the only social interaction outside of each other was when their mother was providing them with food. The young infants now had variations of stimuli from when Savage would take them through the Village and sometimes leave them in the hands of an elder.  

At the end of the first four months, the twins couldn't help but truly view Savage as their Guardian and grew a child-like enjoyment whenever he was around. While the boys wouldn’t describe Savage as a particularly soft male, they realized they didn't have to tip-toe around him after a period of testing the waters with him.

The twins gained confidence that their Uncle wouldn't eat them or leave them in the woods for being unfiltered versions of themselves (the twins had vivid and extreme imaginations at times). 

Savage was predominantly the one with the boys since Feral was still training to reach his Rites of Passage and gain his full markings (twins had noted that the Zabraks did have some striping from birth; the typical intricate and full tattoo markings were applied after they completed the Rites).

However, when Savage was off hunting or training, it was up to the youngest uncle to look after them. 

The twins viewed Feral as the worst babysitter because he did not like the responsibilities of raising them and not seem to pleased the attention Savage gave them.  

He was never abusive or had harmed them in any way, but he was never proactive in looking after them and was a tad neglectful. However, this worked in the twins' favor since it allowed them to plan for the future, and see if Griffin could work on using the force.

Currently, the twins were inside the main room of a three-roomed building made of rough stone and wooden beams. The walls adorned with richly colored animal furs and intricate pottery, giving the space a warm and cozy feeling.

A large fire pit takes center stage in the main room, surrounded by mismatched furniture, tools, and weapons. The well-lived-in home gave off the scents of woodsmoke and spices mixed with the sweet scent of burning incense. It lacked some of the more industrial luxuries they had in their past lives, but to them it felt more like home than anywhere else could compare.

“Do or do not. There is no-” 

“Milo, you were not seriously about to quote Yoda at me right now, right? Cause that would be VERY unwise.” Griffin threatened while straining his arm towards a rock. It was wedged between a corner on the other side of the room from them.  

Milo called it the Alderaan because it looked just like the planet did after “A New Hope.” 

So far, Griffin had not gotten the rock to so much as even wobble, much to their disappointment.

Milo had also been trying but had yet to feel any indication that he could use the force. 

Still, they were optimistic to see some promising results as long as they kept at it.

“I’m just trying to lighten the mood here,” Milo replied while working on crawling.

He almost had it down; he just needed his limbs to keep him up long enough to move forward. 

“Well, you're not,” Griffin resorted back before allowing himself to ungracefully flop on his back on the fur rug they were sitting on.

Milo, chuckling at Griffin's dramatic flair, and in an attempt to distract his friend, lifts himself onto all fours, making Milo wobble slightly. He was very determined as he pushes himself forward a few inches but the ends up losing balance and landing face-first on the rug.

Griffin can't help but giggle (their infants, you cannot expect them to be able to chuckle) at Milo's attempt, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Close, Milo, real close. Just a bit more practice, and you'll be able to reach the rock before I can even get it to float to my hand."

“Wanna take a break and instead talk about how we will handle living in a universe about to go to hell?” Milo suggests.

“Sure. I’ll start with the suggestion that we do not stay around here long enough to be given back to our psychotic grandmother. ” Griffin stated.

“Agreed. Although I do think we need to stick around long enough to learn how to not die out in this universe, though,” Milo says.

“Fair. We have plenty of time before we need to worry about that, so I say we push to the matter of deciding what to do with the knowledge we have about this universe.” Griffin says before adding, “I mean, do we change it or let it ride ?” 

“I think we should at least fix this planet; I always thought the Nightbrothers’ lives were kinda messed up. And I don’t fancy dying or being a brood stallion for these witches.” Milo replied and clumsily sat himself up.

They both shuddered at the very idea of being stuck with a Nightsister.

“If not fix, at least grab as many of these poor bastards as we can before abandoning the planet. What about events outside of Dathomir?” Griffin asked, trying to guide his typical mastermind of a friend through their plans.

“Well, I suppose it depends on what part of the timeline we are on. Seeing how young Savage is, I want to say Phantom Menace has got to have already happened.” Milo theorizes.

“I DID hear an elder mention that it was impressive for Savage to be only on his twenty-third cycle and already responsible for three Nightbrothers,” Griffin mentioned.

“This means that Maul would be 22, and that is how old the guy was when he got sliced and diced.” Milo says before coming to a realization. “Huh, I guess this means that you and I will be ten when “Attack of the Clones” goes down.”

“And thirteen at the end of the Clone Wars… I think our age is going to prove to be an obstacle.” Griffin warns.

“Eh, Brightside Skywalker was nine when he got picked up by the walking red-flag Qui-Gon. And at least one of those younglings during The Clone Wars episode "The Gathering" had to have been eight years old. So if they can do that, I am sure it won’t be too bad.” Milo reasoned.

Bringing up that episode reminded Milo of the episode after it.

Milo suddenly began squealing at the top of his lungs, startling Griffin and drawing in Feral, who apparently was just outside the house.

Before he can demand an explanation, Griffin gets overwhelmed by the over-projection of his brother’s voice inside his head, making him wonder if you could go deaf from their link.

“HONDO IS HERE!!!.” Milo cried out.

“Uh yeah, I know. I watched the show too, bud…” Griffin says before quickly getting interrupted by another blast of excitement from his friend/brother.

“NO. HONDO.THE HONDO. IS ONLY A LIGHTSPEED RIDE AWAY!HOLY-KARK-DO-YOU-THINK-I-COULD-MEET-HIM?! GRIFFIN-WE-OUR-GOING-TO-FLORRUM-EVEN-IF-IT-KILLS-US!” Milo demanded without taking a single breath.

If there was ever an expression that should earn someone a permanent residency in an asylum, Griffin figured Milos’s current expression would qualify.

“Okay, while I love this for you, and for the most part get it. I don’t think THAT should be one of our decisions that would be worth dying for.” Griffin answers since there was just a little too much sincerity coming through the bond on Milos's end for him to take that as an exaggeration.

As the conversation was about to continue, Feral finally reached the infant twins and swiftly picked up Milo. His expression showed a mix of frustration and, if you looked closely enough, concern.

“Making noise like that would be considered weak and even a hindrance elsewhere.” Feral hissed while doing a head-to-toe assessment of the condition of his charge.

That earned Feral a snarl from both boys, to which he growled in response.

“This is a waste of my time. I should be training, not looking after whelplings.” Feral said bitterly.

“OH, is that what they call what you do.” Milo projected with a huff, not that Feral could pick up on it.

“I know the guy is 15 years old, but you'd think that living here would kick the bratty phase of teenager-hood out of him,” Griffin commented.

“Feral is so lucky we plan to keep him and Savage away from Ventress.” grumbles Milo.

Feral took Milo to the large basket covered in leather and furs, which was used as the two infants’ cribs that was located in the one bedroom.

“Congratulations, you just caused us an extra nap time,” Griffin whined as he was picked up and placed next to his twin.

Milo swatted his brother’s arm in response. This triggered Griffin to respond in kind.

Soon, the two began an all-out battle of clumsy hits and occasional bites (biting mostly came from Milo).

“Sleep.” was all Feral said before walking back outside, unphased by the antics. Surprisingly, the grumpy teen returned and sat near the fire as he began to work on skinning and cooking food from a strange animal he had brought in with him.

“Savage must be coming home soon,” Milo commented, slightly out of breath from the exertion.

“Good, least he seems to like us well enough,” Griffin added, trying to downplay how excited he got when the older Zabrak was around.

Milo picked up on the excitement and smirked (or at least as close as an infant can get to smirking). He didn't comment on it and decided they needed to finish at least the big part of their plans before their Uncle showed up.

"Well, back to the topic, I vote we change what we can. We won’t be able to fix the Republic or even the Jedi Council because of our situation, but I think we might have some wiggle room outside of that.” Milo says.

“I want to help the Clones, not just by alerting them to the microchip thing but from working under the Republic. And I want to prevent some of the deaths. Like Heavy, Fives, Waxer, Boil, Hardcase, Jesse, and so many others. Heck, try to help Echo if we can.” Griffin stated firmly.

“We’re killing Pong Krell,” Milo adds.

“We’re killing Pong Krell.” Griffin echoes in agreement .

“I also vote we take a shot at Palpatine. We know where he will be most of the time. I mean, worst case, we just tip the Jedi off, though I doubt they'll listen.” Milo begins to contemplate whether a bomb or even sniping him in the head is possible.

“Oh, do you think we can get Blue Milk from places outside of Tatooine? I want to try Blue Milk,” Milo asks Griffin abruptly.

He was used to his companion jumping from topic to topic, so Griffin without missing a beat replied, “Pretty sure it’s found in a few other planets. While I almost just want to avoid the sand planet just because everyone seems always to end up there, it would probably be a good idea to try to prevent Shmi from dying.”

“Definitely up to trying…to do all this, we will need some help and backing for our plans,” Milo states.

“I doubt Savage and the rest of these guys would be game for allowing two kids to go off into the galaxy, especially since Mother Talzin seems to have an expiration date on how long we stay with them,” Griffin adds.

“It would need to be someone with connections and manpower…or at least someone we know who can get it.” Milo rambles; already seeing the path of possibilities ahead of them.

Griffin picked up on the tone and felt a sudden chill. It didn't feel bad, but it felt otherworldly, “Perhaps the Force?” he thinks to himself without projecting it to Milo. It felt like the atmosphere was holding its breath around them, anticipating, waiting.

“I take it you already have someone in mind.“ Griffin says and sees just a moment of hesitation from Milo.

“It’s not ideal, but in some ways, I guess it would be expected,” Milo warns, knowing that it would likely be one of the only routes, but likely still be a challenging path.

“OK,” Griffin states, still waiting for an answer.

“We would have a better chance of convincing them than anyone else we go to.” Milo drawls.

“Great. Who?” Giffin deadpans, starting to show annoyance.

“While I know we will fight it every step of the way; I think there will still be a lot of death despite our involvement with them.” Milo cringes .

“ Milo, ” Griffin warns.

“And it helps that they already know about Palpatine.” Milo finishes, not wanting to come out and say who directly in hopes that maybe Griffin would think of a better alternative since it was truly a bad idea.

There was a moment of silence and tension between them. Neither broke eye contact with the other.

The red Zabrak let out a huff and relaxed his shoulders.

“It’s Maul, isn’t it?” Griffin worded it like a question, but his tone said otherwise.

“I figured that way we could at least use the family card. We wouldn’t be able to with Dooku.” Milo says apologetically.

Griffin settled himself in their crib and looked up at the ceiling. “This is going to be a Karking mess,” he said.

Milo couldn’t help but agree.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Socializing

Dread felt overwhelmed, unsure of how much longer he could endure. His entire being was desperately yearning for freedom and an end to the agony. None of this was his choice.

In his two years of existence, this was undoubtedly the toughest challenge Dread had faced.

Dread's small frame tenses amidst the cacophony of juvenile chaos, feeling the world close in on him with relentless persistence. The air buzzes with the chatter of adults mingling, their voices a low hum compared to the shrill cries and giggles of their offspring. Some children dart past him, kicking up small clouds of dust. He sits, cross-legged on the cool soil, trying to block out the overwhelming sensations of sound and motion, but everything keeps pulling him back in.

A particularly riotous group of children shrieks as they topple over one another, causing a nearby Zabrak infant to wail in distress before its parent retrieves him.

Dread’s temples throb with the noise, his every instinct screaming for him to escape. He clenches his jaw, contemplating the best strategy for survival amidst this chaos.

It was the seventh day of the standard week, which meant the Nightbrothers gathered all the offspring at the center of the village for the dreaded "Bond forming" activities.

The adult Nightbrothers maintain a watchful but relaxed perimeter around the children. Some engage in artistic crafts, like the acid glyph calligraphy the clan is renowned for, using vials of hydraatis acid to create permanent markings on stone. The pungent smell of the acid fills the air, mingling with the earthy scent of Dathomir's soil. The Nightbrothers focus intently, sitting still and calm amidst the pandemonium as they etch intricate designs. These meticulous shapes and symbols stand in stark contrast to the chaos of the younglings, who bounce around like charged particles.

Dread watches them, the precise strokes momentarily entrancing him, before the spark of interest is drowned out by another tsunami of sound and a determined toddler still wrestling with the complexities of a single syllable.

"No," declared Dreads, his small voice rising to a higher octave, once again stopping the miniature whirlwind known as Imp. Dread thought that no better name could have been given to the bright yellow Zabrak. This two-year-old visionary had concocted a master plan to transform Dreads' face into a modern art masterpiece using nothing but a fistful of dirt and a generous helping of saliva—an unintended consequence of Imp's initial attempt to sample the earthy delicacy.

“Yes,” Imp insisted, trying to get his wrist out of Dreads’ firm grasp to try to continue his goal.

"No, Imp," he growled, attempting to dissuade the persistent toddler.

Imp scrunches up his tiny face in deep thought, pondering where else he might unleash his creative genius. Fortunately for him, his older cousin Rancor, completely oblivious to the looming threat, made himself an appealing target by keeping his back turned.

Imp squealed and darted off to wreak his chaos, much to the relief of Dread.

"You know, the more you flaunt that cheerful personality of yours, the more likely Savage and Feral might just decide to book you some extra quality time with Imp," Wraith quipped through the bond. He seemed to be having a more relaxed time with the children around him, who seemed more intrigued by chasing a beetle on the ground or wrestling than messing with Wraith.

“Ugh, ever since Feral changed a new leaf, I swear he’s been worse than Savage.” Dread groaned.

Feral had come back a new man when he returned with Wraith. It was unclear what all happened (Wraith had been out of it, and Feral had not discussed the story in front of either of them), but suddenly Feral was a constant and affectionate uncle to the twins. He even seemed eager to be the one left with the two when one had to go hunt or train.

It took awhile for Savage to trust and forgive Feral for what happened to Wraith. Dread still recalls that the first thing Savage did was punch Feral in the stomach once he got confirmation that Wraith was going to survive.

Luckily, they had settled back into their normal routine, and even more so now that Feral saw the twins as family instead of a nuisance.

That month had been exceedingly tough for everyone involved. Wraith, in particular, struggled significantly; his friend and twin brother was plagued by unrelenting nightmares that haunted his sleep, vivid and tormenting reminders of the ordeal they had endured.

The venom that had coursed through Wraith’s veins left a lasting mark, causing his heart to become permanently weakened, a shadow of its former strength, leaving him vulnerable and changed forever.

The healer had cautioned that Wraith might face difficulties when training began and that building endurance would be crucial for him to have any chance of finishing the rites and earning his markings.

Wraith had shared with Dread his belief that in a galaxy teeming with technological marvels and innovations, there must exist a place capable of mending his heart in the future.

Wraith seemed to be handling the situation with a calm demeanor and even jested, "In our previous life, my athletic abilities were comparable to a hibernating couch potato, so why strive for being athletically inclined now? Moreover, this could provide an ideal opportunity for my experts to shift into more scientific positions within the village."

Nevertheless, Dread was determined to guarantee that Wraith would never experience any physical constraints and, additionally, would continue to master the art of using the Force. In the aftermath of the snake attack, Dread delved deep into his emotions, meticulously retracing every step and action he had taken that might have unlocked his ability to wield the Force. The process was like sifting through a complex tapestry of experiences, each thread representing a moment or decision that could have sparked this newfound power. It, at times, made his brain hurt from all the effort, but he had begun to be able to show promising progress at long last.

Dread had been refining his skill in manipulating objects with increased precision. What once seemed like an impossible task now feels surprisingly straightforward, each day unveiling new opportunities and obstacles.

This practice had become a natural part of his routine, from effortlessly guiding small stones into his palm to shifting larger items like crates (though he mostly focused on smaller objects to avoid drawing attention from Savage or Feral). The more he practiced, the easier it became to move objects that he once struggled to even budge. Nevertheless, he still had a long journey ahead before his Force abilities would be truly beneficial to them.

While the progress was supposed to be a good thing, Dread was having doubts.

He's keenly aware that his progress with the Force so far leaned towards the Dark, feeding off raw emotion and passion to fuel his power. Memories of past warnings echo in his mind, cautioning against the pull of the Dark side and that the more you use it, the harder it is to reverse the path of being a Dark Force User.

Dread found that most of his meditation attempts were ineffective, yet aside from the attack, he sensed he might be nearing the realm of the Light side or at least the Grey side of the Force. He hoped this was the case. Without a mentor and relying solely on his memories of watching Star Wars, determining the best way to wield the Force was difficult.

According to Wraith, he didn’t appear any more sarcastic or moody than usual, so he must have been doing something right.

Speaking of his twin, he seemed lost in thought, failing to notice another child approaching, interested in the small wooden Rancor Wraith held. Feral had carved it for Wraith shortly after the attack, and it had become something he used to fidget with and ground himself during his planning and scheming, which Dread didn't mind. Feral had also crafted a figurine for Dread, a chirodactyl resembling a modified bat.

While Dread genuinely valued the figurine, he chose to hide it at home. He wanted to protect it from the other children and, in a slightly petty way, ensure that Feral wouldn't assume he was the favorite uncle, given Wraith's obvious fondness for the gift.

Dread swiftly moved to get in between Wraith and the would-be thief.

The intruder, frustrated by the unexpected barrier preventing him from claiming his coveted prize, began to fidget and fuss, even going so far as to try and push Dread out of the way.

This child was larger and a few years older than them, which meant that Dread would probably struggle more to hold him back.

"Relax, man, we gotta show these kids how it's done, with our epic adulting skills. We were 19 when we died after all, so that makes us their peers." Wraith sent through the link.

Wraith's attempt to be the bigger man took a nosedive when the kid in question let out an ear-piercing shriek of fury, bulldozed through the unsuspecting Dread, and transformed the situation into an epic tug-of-war over Wraith's prized wooden figurine.

"Dread, aim high, I'll go low," Wraith commanded, his voice sharpening, forgetting all about his past words.

Responding swiftly, Dread sprang back up and darted downwards, securing the child's legs in a firm grip. With a determined thrust of his shoulder and head, Wraith propelled the Zabrak child backward. Together, they maneuvered the child, who spun and tumbled onto the ground. Dread, with a fluid motion, employed the Force to cushion the child's head from the impact, allowing the rest of his body to thud heavily against the earth.

The commotion prompted Feral and the other Zabrak parents to approach. The latter lifted the crying child from the ground, while Feral crouched down to check on the twins quickly.

"Dread will likely have a bruise from where yours pushed him, but no other harm," Feral remarked. Both adult Zabraks had been observing the entire scene unfold. Initially, they allowed the children to resolve their conflict independently, only approaching them once a victor had emerged. Of course, Feral had been prepared to intervene if the situation had escalated beyond control.

To other races, this might have seemed irresponsible, but the Nightbrothers were raised to value resilience and self-reliance from a young age. They were expected to sort through their own disagreements and recover from life's knocks without excessive coddling. Each challenge was seen as an opportunity for growth, rather than an adversity to be avoided.

The older Zabraks cultivated an environment that fostered independence and encouraged the children to stand strong and learn from their experiences. Individualism and determination were not merely traits but foundational principles that guided the upbringing of every young Nightbrother, shaping them into self-sufficient and formidable warriors as they matured.

"Scavenge has a few minor scrapes on his elbow, but luckily, he avoided hitting his head on the ground. He'll be more cautious about tackling two opponents simultaneously in the future," remarked the other Nightbrother as he took his child to tend to the cuts.

Savage swiftly appeared beside the remaining three, carrying a small jar of salve in his hand. The thick, herbal ointment glistened in the dappled sunlight as he unscrewed the lid. With careful fingers, he gently applied the balm to Dread's darkening bruise. The sharp scent of medicinal herbs filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the village.

"They’ll become fierce hunters soon. Did you see how they moved in unison? Most of their age still squabble over scraps," Feral declared while placing Wraith in his lap.

Savage grunted his agreement, the sound echoing with a deep, rough resonance that seemed to emerge from the very depths of his chest. Yet, as he did, a shadow flickered across his mind, casting a fleeting darkness over his thoughts. The prospect of the twins' future with Mother Talshin gnawed at him incessantly, like a persistent thorn buried deep in his hand, refusing to be dislodged.

Savage knew that the moment to fulfill his obligations was still distant. But as time marched on, and as he grew more attached to the boys, their laughter and innocence weaving themselves into the fabric of his daily life, the reminder of what lay ahead intruded more frequently into his consciousness. It was as if each bond he forged with them only served to amplify the looming weight of what he must eventually do.

Savage hadn't thought it necessary to tell Feral about the expectations for the twins once they grew up, but now, witnessing the bond and growth Feral had experienced, he was starting to question whether that decision had been an error.

Savage's musings were suddenly cut short by the persistent tugging of tiny hands on his leg. Glancing down, he saw Dread with his arms raised, a silent plea for attention. Letting out a gentle, unintended chuckle, Savage tenderly scooped up his little companion, settling him comfortably on his hip.

“Let us return home, this gathering is nearing its end, and it’s time for them to eat,” Savage says, his deep voice resonating with warmth.

Dread nestled against Savage's broad chest, finding comfort in the steady heartbeat that reverberated through him like a soothing melody.

They slowly wound their way back to their home in the village, leaving the day's adventures behind as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the path ahead.

Chapter 9: Wraith scheming

The symphony of circuits and wires calls to him.

Wraith sees the two engineer Zabraks tinkering with an array of unfamiliar devices. It’s just another part of his life that shows off a whole new world, all tied up in red cables and blinking lights.

Wraith makes his way over to them when he hears Feral’s voice, and when he turns his head, sure enough, Feral is heading towards him.

Wraith clenches his teeth and grumbles in displeasure.

He knows that tone: It’s the one that says no fun allowed. Wraith begins trying to make a run for it.

Wraith had been meticulously selecting the Zabraks that seemed to have the required skills and expertise to pilot, repair, and comprehend a typical ship.

Which just leaves the enjoyable task of persuading them to share their knowledge with him. Then there was the additional task to get his uncle to see that nurturing Wraith’s intellect over his cardio would be more beneficial.

Easier said than done.

Though Feral and Savage were cautious about Wraith overexerting himself and straining his heart, they continued to gradually build his endurance, aiming for him to withstand the physical demands once he reached the appropriate age for training. Then there was the fact that the adults kept the youths away from the engineers out of concern that they would get hurt or cause damage to whatever was being worked on.

“I want to go over there.” Wraith’s tiny voice complains while pointing to his intended targets. While two years old was old enough to speak, the twins still had to keep their vocabulary minimal to blend in better.

“Not today, storm is heading our way and we best get you inside,” Feral says as he scoops Wraith up and carries him back home. Wraith stares over his shoulder, trying to etch the scene into his mind.

Tomorrow, he promises himself. Tomorrow, I’ll get there. He has too much pride to let himself admit defeat after the first attempt. His dreams are full of tech and tangled wires.

The next day couldn’t come soon enough.

A few days later…

"Okay," Wraith sighs, exasperated and flopping down and landing on Dread, who had been attempting to meditate in hopes of creating a better feel for the Force.

"Honestly, Dread," Wraith muttered with a theatrical eye roll, "Four tries. Yep, four glorious attempts, all crashing and burning spectacularly, leaving Savage to brainstorm yet another round of stamina-boosting ‘activities’ for yours truly. Honestly, you'd think they believe I'm going to devour those Zabraks' cables like some kind of intergalactic spaghetti feast!”

"In their defense, your 'I love technology' and 'I'm hungry' aren't much different," Dread remarks, disentangling his twin's limbs from him with an air of exasperation.

“ As if I'd ever degrade such advanced technology with my teeth,” Wraith replies tartly

"If only I received the same consideration," Dread grumbled, wincing as he remembered the occasions when Wraith's unending hunger would lead him to pounce and bite at moving targets, which were often Dread himself.

“Please, I haven’t done that at all this month.” Wraith defends, earning a glare from Dread.

"And let's keep that winning streak going, Hannibal. No need to pull a plot twist where I’m back on the menu," Dread snarks before tilting his head in contemplation.

"I suppose we'll need to create a distraction to prevent Feral and Savage from getting involved," Dread suggests.

“My thoughts exactly…” Wraith agrees, and the two begin brainstorming.

Next day..

Mid-morning dawns upon the Nightbrother village, a flurry of activity already in full swing. Feral, with his growing characteristics of patience and precision, participates alongside his fellow young Zabrak aspirants through a series of intricate combat drills. Over the years, many had noted that Ferals’ fighting techniques had changed from being more impulsive to something more controlled and lethal.

Meanwhile, Savage stands tall amidst the bustling village center, his imposing figure a silent sentinel overseeing the day's proceedings. He assists a group of hunters in skinning a freshly caught kill, his deft hands moving with practiced efficiency. The pungent scent of blood and earth mingles in the air, a stark reminder of the harsh realities of life on Dathomir.

Amidst this backdrop of industry and training, Wraith and Dread find themselves embroiled in yet another scheme.

"Cut it out with the Mission Impossible theme song, Milo," Dread complains, moving toward his assigned spot in the plan.

Meanwhile, Wraith is strategically positioned, fiddling with his carved toy. Close enough to his future tech sensei’s location to quickly dash over, yet not so distant as to arouse suspicion from either of the Uncles.

“Just trying to set the mood.” Wraith defends, but does stop humming it through the bond.

Dread makes his way over to where a few hunters are tanning a hide, who don’t mind the youth being near since Dread was known to be well behaved (as long as Imp wasn’t around).

Dread's eyes twinkle with mischief as he notices a shiny, metallic gadget that, once activated, turns into a pink, energy-like knife—something clearly forbidden for young Zabraks like him. With a wicked grin, he leaps toward it, releasing a high-pitched, maniacal squeal that cuts through the air. Clutching the device firmly, he dashes off in an unsteady run, his red skin glowing with excitement as he activates it.

Savage and the other hunters, momentarily stunned by Dread's sudden burst of energy and his surprising act of thievery, quickly redirect their focus to the runaway toddler. In a seamless, synchronized motion, they spring into action, dashing after him. Their voices rise in a chorus of concern mixed with amusement, echoing through the forest as they attempt to catch the pint-sized troublemaker.

Meanwhile, Wraith takes advantage of the distraction caused by Dread and casually approaches the pair of Zabrak engineers. His orange skin almost radiating with excitement, he gives them a charming grin. The elder Zabrak arches an eyebrow as Wraith halts before him, breathless and eager. Wraith is unsure of what to say, hoping to exude confidence. "Need help?" he inquires. His voice is higher than intended, but with the vocals of a toddler, what can be done?

The two Zabrak engineers—one grizzled and angular, the other with a missing left horn and a perpetual scowl—pause their work for a moment as Wraith approaches. The elder narrows his eyes, sizing up the toddler before him with open skepticism. The younger engineer glances up from a tangle of scorched wires, blinks twice, and then looks around for the adult who was supposed to be watching this cub.

Wraith senses the scrutiny, the invisible calculus as they weigh whether he’s here to offer help or cause havoc. He squares his shoulders and fixes them with a look of unwavering confidence, chin held high as if it were a shield against all uncertainty. “I know electronics,” Wraith declares, each syllable loaded with what he hopes is gravitas, though it comes out in the high, earnest tone only a toddler can manage. For an instant, there is total silence but for the soft fizz of a capacitor discharging somewhere behind the workbench.

The older Zabrak’s lips twitch into a wry smile. “You know electronics?” he echoes, not looking at all impressed with the tiny two-year-old’s announcement.

“I’ve been watching,” Wraith insists. “I know what that is.” He points at a disassembled circuit board with the confidence (primarily because it resembled Earth technology and matched what Wraith had observed when watching them work). “It’s a power modulator. It keeps things from exploding.”

The scowling engineer snorts but doesn’t correct him. The elder glances at his companion, then back at Wraith. “Show me,” he challenges, sliding a battered electro-driver across the bench.

Wraith’s fingers tremble with anticipation as he picks up the tool. The elder lightly adjusts Wraith’s hold on the tool before indicating for him to continue.

Wraith mimics the swift, practiced motion he’s observed countless times, fastening a capacitor into place. The piece clicks in with a satisfyingly solid sound; Wraith’s heart races. The two engineers exchange a glance, acknowledging—without words—that the boy’s got at least one thumb pointed in the right direction.

“You’re too young to be considered for apprenticeship,” the elder says, voice softer now. “Maybe you can come back tomorrow. We might let you watch.”

Wraith’s eyes go wide, then even wider. He wants to leap onto the table and do a victory dance, but instead, he just nods—gracious and dignified—before carefully setting the tool back down. He pivots like a conquering hero and bolts away, legs pumping beneath him in a blur of orange and black.

He finds Dread dangling a foot off the ground, Savage's massive hand gripping the back of his tunic like a scruffed lothcat. His twin's face is scrunched in a pout, arms crossed defiantly, even as Savage's rumbling voice tapers off mid-lecture, one yellow-ringed finger jabbing the air for emphasis with each final point about "responsibility" and "dangerous weapons."

Savage glances around, his brow furrowed as he notices the absence of the orange blur that was Wraith. His gaze falls on Dread, and the towering Nightbrother slowly releases his grip, setting the pouting toddler down gently.

"Where's Wraith?" Savage inquires, his deep voice carrying a note of concern.

Just then, Wraith scampers back from the direction of the Zabrak engineers, his eyes bright with excitement. With all the earnestness of a two-year-old, he babbles animatedly to Savage about Zur and Muraa, the engineers, and how he wants to learn from them.

Savage's expression wavered between confusion and mild disapproval. Training the twins as warriors had always been his primary mission, yet the spark in Wraith's eyes, that undeniable hunger for knowledge shining so brightly in the young Zabrak, left him torn. On one hand, he felt compelled to nurture this intellectual curiosity, but on the other, he worried it might detract from their warrior training.

After a moment of internal struggle, Savage lets out a deep sigh, acknowledging the eagerness radiating from Wraith. He agrees to speak with Zur and Muraa, intending to gather their insights and perspectives on the matter. At the same time, Savage seeks a commitment from his eldest charge, ensuring that he remains dedicated to continuing his training as he grows older. The assurance is mutual, a blend of trust and hope for the future.

“Since you two seem to have much energy for trouble, you'll burn off whatever's left by sorting the healers' supplies,” Savage ordered while placing a hand on the twins’ shoulders, gently steering them to

The healer’s home, which sat perched on a ledge above the central gathering ring, its outer walls humming with the subtle, sappy aroma of ancient resin and the unmistakable funk of bitter medicinal roots.

Savage’s comforting shadow loomed behind the twins as he herded them up the winding path, every footfall a reminder that though they’d pulled off their stunt, there would always be another task, another trial, awaiting them.

The door was a heavy slab of petrified wood, adorned with dried blossoms and feathers.

The moment they stepped inside, the air changed—thick with the metallic tang of healing salves, pungent herbs, and the underlying scent of secrets. The room was a chaos of hand-carved shelves, each buckling under the weight of jars packed with preserved organs, jars of pickled fungus, and vials that sparkled with iridescent sand. At the center of it all, the healer himself, a stooped, wiry Zabrak matron named Vesh, was hunched over a basin, mashing bloodberry paste with a pestle that looked more like a club.

He flicked his eyes up, scanning the twins with a predator’s precision, as though he could divine every recent scrape and infraction just by scent. “Ah,” he said, voice like cracked leather. “Savages’ spawn. What flavor of trouble today?”

Savage answered for them with a respectful incline of his head, but his tone left no room for argument. “They need to be kept busy. Thought you’d have use for small hands and sharp eyes.” He gave the twins a nudge forward, then, with a pointed look—equal parts warning and challenge—pivoted and strode off, leaving Dread and Wraith blinking in the heady haze of tonics and antiseptics.

Vesh let the silence stretch, his eyes never leaving them as he wiped his hands on a rag that might once have been white. “Heard you were smart,” he said to Wraith, who nearly preened, “but even smart ones bleed.” Then he turned to Dread. “And you, little shadow—don’t touch anything sharp. My apprentice spotted you snatching that blade from your Kin earlier. I've enough sharp objects in here without adding your recklessness to the mix."

He gestured to a low bench stacked with baskets of dried rootlets and moldering leaves. “Sort these by scent and color. If I find one wrong, you’ll be doing it again.” His gaze softened just a fraction. “Do not try to ingest or you risk an early death,” and with a chuckle, returns to his work, his sharp ears tracking every rustle and whisper.

Wraith wasted no time, flashing Dread a triumphant grin and through the bond, “Told you it would work,” he said, elbowing his brother as they began making neat, haphazard piles of the bizarre flora.

Dread rolled his eyes but allowed a smirk as he sniffed at a twisted, blue-veined tuber, the smell so pungent it made his eyes water."Good thing you were right. Would've been a waste of all that sneaking around if it turned out not to be a power modulator after all," he answered back.

"Exactly!" Wraith replies with a grin, nodding vigorously. "One step closer to our grand plan of saving the galaxy with our combined genius."

Dread snorts and snatches a twisted root from Wraith's grip when he catches his brother eyeing it like it might be edible. "Those engineers are going to regret the day they let you anywhere near their precious equipment. The galaxy isn't ready for whatever chaos you're planning next."

Wraith rolls his eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. I'm a master of controlled chaos. Besides, it's all in the name of progress and innovation."

As they banter back and forth, they fail to notice an inquisitive gaze picking up on the twins communicating without speech… and that they mixed the Deathgrip root with the brittle bone herbs, which meant they would have to do it all over again.