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Chapter Text

Hyperdrive travel worked through three stages, and it was only during the first and last that serious danger existed. The ship used it’s sublight engines in an burst to accelerate rapidly, using its hyperdrive to shroud the ship in a frictionless negation bubble. The risk peaked as the ship transferred from realspace to hyperspace, and the bubble burst. For an instant the ship was exposed to reality at relativistic speeds. During a standard trip this was milliseconds in a journey, but the risk was that if the ship impacted with any object substantial enough to resist the wave of force released as the bubble burst both would be destroyed in an enormous burst of energy. No matter the size of the ship, there was no surviving such an impact. The challenge was that the acceleration time for every ship was different, and at the velocities achieved by an accelerating starship even fractions of a millisecond could result in massive distance variations. The same was true for deceleration, but the coordinate plotting of shipboard computers meant that the risk at the end usually only came through accidents; meteorites or the like.

The problem with gravitationally unstable hyperspace travel was that it required constant vigilance while also being staggeringly uninteresting for the most part- the interference meant that every jump had to be relatively short, lest they be pulled too far off course, but the nature of repeated jumps meant that the danger envelope was being repeated much more regularly than on a standard long-haul jump. If something went wrong, it needed to be handled extremely quickly, or the entire ship could be exposed to all manner of destruction. Further, even though the crew now had the procedure for rapid turnabout hyperspace jumping down to a science, the fact that they were making an abundance of short trips meant that the turnaround added up fast, making the total journey almost interminably slow.

Finally, to top it all off, the length of the overall journey meant that Phoenix was loaded up to the gunnels with essentials. Everything nonessential to its function had been stripped away besides minimal personal effects. Sabine had a single sketchbook and set of pencils to last her the entire, forecast fifteen month round trip. Shin had even less- with the donation of her sketchbook to the Chimaera, and her general lack of personal belongings, she had her clothes, her lightsabre, her toolkit, her nest (that Sabine had made very clear was absolutely a necessity to a bunch of technicians who really didn’t get the message), and her armour.

The Death Troopers hadn’t complained at all- but then again, that was hardly unexpected. The Phoenix’s contingent were more lively and active than most, but that level of activity just about rose to reading non-fiction books and instruction manuals to improve themselves. One or two of the more energetic ones had started to make additions and amendments to some of the literature they had consumed. None of which required anything beyond a powered datapad, and as they navigated at remarkably close quarters to a vast array of stars, power was something they were not short on. The Verd’Wren were harder to please, but they had taken that as a challenge rather than an obstacle. They hadn’t even been travelling for two days when a pair of the more senior officers approached her and Shin.

“Countesses. We have an idea.”

Stopping at that, Sabine fought the urge to roll her eyes at their dramatization. While she was glad to have them, she had grown so used in her career to working with various flavours of humourless officer and emotionless trooper that their very human displays were still an adjustment. Nevertheless, she was interested- the trip was promising to be exceptionally dull, and she would welcome almost anything to break up the monotony.

“We’ve all been training for a while, but we were talking and… and we realised that we have been neglecting one area. Given that we’ve got a lot of time and energy but basically nothing else, we thought we could make it into a game.”

Sabine could feel her eyebrow rising. The Imperial officer within her was fighting hard against the Mandalorian commando. Shin looked equally confused, but nevertheless gestured for them to continue. As her countess and self appointed champion ever since the Empress had promoted her, Shin had seemingly taken it upon herself to act as Sabine’s intermediary with the marine contingent on the Phoenix and their household. Sabine found it strange, but she did very much enjoy watching Shin act as the noblewoman she technically was now.

“We’ve rounded off a section in the barracks. There’s enough space for an arena and watchers. We wanted to make something of a tournament. Get people properly involved. Lieutenant Zahra has already given us the ok, but she required that we get you to sign off on it first.”

Sabine smirked at that. It did sound like Zahra; her first lieutenant was a stickler for rules, but her blood ran hot and she was a fan of violence. They had fallen into something of a routine over their time serving together. If there was an Imperial regulation Ellian felt needed to be followed, she would take care of it discreetly and it wouldn’t arrive anywhere near Sabine’s desk, lest her ingrained desire to bend rules lead to another outcome. When a request actually arrived to her it was because her second in command wanted it to happen, but couldn’t quite bring herself to break the rules that brazenly. It never failed to amuse her, but it worked as a system and minimized friction.

“That sounds like quite an event. If Lieutenant Zahra has no objections, I see no reason not to allow this. No weapons or serious injuries though; we don’t have either the facilities or the manpower to sustain a significant rate of personnel attrition.”

The Mando’a nodded, before taking his leave, his subordinate following in his tracks. Sabine felt a pair of lips on her cheek as Shin pressed a kiss to her face, before her wolf loped off after them. Sabine smiled at her obviousness; despite her much calmer disposition, Shin still favoured combat and violence as a means of interacting with the world. However, now she felt she could do so on her own terms. She was settled and secure, and Sabine could admit to feeling the same way. The Phoenix was their personal kingdom, and while Sabine was its unquestioned lord, Shin knew that it would always be a tower for her defence.

However, Shin clearly had something different planned. Sabine took care of a variety of duties around the ship, ensuring its components were running smoothly. The constant adjustment of course and direction were trying on any ship, but her tech crews were very effective in their roles and the ship was equipped with enough spare parts to replace almost every component in the vessel several times over. Wherever she went, however, Shin was nowhere to be found. Sabine would have worried more, but she trusted that the Phoenix and the Force would let her know if anything was seriously wrong, so she went about her business. As the hours stretched on she began to worry though. Shin wasn’t in her nest, their quarters, or the mess. The engineers hadn’t seen her around, and the verd’wren were lingering in the way they did when they were brewing some form of mischief.

It was only when she arrived at the impromptu sparring arena in the barracks that the scheming around her reached its zenith. The whispers grew ever more intense and feverish, and the weight in the air seemed almost palpable, until Sabine was grabbed from behind by strong arms and pulled into a hug, Shin’s scarred cheek rubbing against her temple and sending shivers through her. Relaxing into her soul partner’s arms, Sabine allowed herself to be encircled and supported. However, Shin was unwilling to allow her to just wait in the embrace for too long, instead spinning her around and making some distance before her.

Shin’s armour was in place, as ever, her helmet left in their quarters. However, it took Sabine a moment, but as she saw what was in her wolf’s hands she froze, a giddy feeling bubbling up from inside her. Shin clearly saw her gaze, and smirked a wry half smile, her eyes fixed upon Sabine’s.

Thrawn smiled at the pale haired girl as she held the objects up to him. It had been a fascinating query; Mandalorian culture was well documented in the Imperial Archives. Much of the Imperial military had been in thrall to the legend of the Mandalorian forebears of the mighty Clone Troopers. Thrawn had always felt that the Grand Army of the Republic was the true pedestal to admire, himself. A genuine refinement of a vicious personal combat doctrine, re-worked to be better suited to the galaxy at large. It was a simple truth that it was only with the influx of Kaleesh that the Mandalorian royals had managed to reconsolidate their rule, and it was only with the unmatched prowess of Kenobi that the self-destructive devotion to strength of Mandalore was tamed.

Mandalore was only part of the equation. Even Shin was not blind to its failings; how could she be, as one so intimately connected to Sabine. The colourful young engineer had, after all, only come into Imperial service and found her footing after being on the receiving end of a particularly nasty aspect of her own society. No, Mandalore was only a part of Shin Hati. Another was the demesne of Baylan Skoll, and his alone to know. A part of her, small at the moment, but growing ever greater, was Imperial. The fact that she had been collaborating with him in such a way definitely hinted that she was becoming comfortable within the bosom of Imperial hierarchy. All of that paled in comparison to what she was, in her heart and soul. Shin Hati was a Jedi.

Thrawn knew little and less of the Jedi, and Imperial records were sketchy at best, with much of their collected knowledge and wisdom destroyed in the wakes of Order 66 or the Battle of Endor. Thrawn had come more than close enough to the mystical knights of the force to last him a lifetime, with both Ezra Bridger and the children of Clan Kryze on Peridia proving to be more than small annoyances. While he had little regard for them as commanders, their absolutely inhuman ability to act as borderline unstoppable, virtually untrickable spanners in the works of even the most resilient and comprehensive plan was mystifying. When Thrawn had been found by Grand Army detachments at the border of the Uncharted Regions, the general word among the troopers had been that the only way to safely fight a Jedi was with another Jedi. At the time, he had scoffed, especially as Order 66 swept the overwhelming majority of their faith into oblivion. Then he had seen Lord Vader in action. Followed by General Kenobi. And then Ezra Bridger. Armies or fleets, superweapons or numbers, nothing was ever guaranteed against a Jedi. No normal creature, human or alien, could ever have survived what Lord Vader overcame Vrogas Vas. Thrawn had sifted through the wreckage of at least a hundred rebel fighter craft left as ruins in his wake. No ordinary person could have done what Ezra Bridger did alone over Lothal- an entire Imperial fleet demolished by the actions of a single man. Thrawn may not respect their faith, but hard experience had taught Thrawn to respect the Jedi.

And a Jedi had, seemingly almost by accident, fallen into a relationship with a die hard Imperial loyalist. It was a relationship that would never have survived in the old Empire- Palpatine and Vader were too hateful, and the Inquisitors too suspicious and powerful. But the new Empress, for all her dark mysticism, was different. She didn’t hate the Jedi, and she understood them well enough- while she wasn’t one of them, she was infinitely closer to them that either of them were to a mere mundane like Thrawn. So, when Thrawn came and explained his request and the reason for it, she had simply laughed and given him the information he sought with an open hand. And the proof was here now. In one hand, a cortosis veined pauldron, fashioned of a whitened Beskar-Durasteel alloy and shaped with the inky black of cortosis into the form of a snarling wolf’s head, the Imperial icon respondent at the top of its forehead- Thrawn’s only request in the design, and one that Shin had happily accepted. In the other, a simple but elegant lightsabre. Thrawn couldn’t imagine the complexities behind lightsabre combat for a non-force wielder, even one clad in armour as fine as the plate of Clan Wren, but Shin insisted, and Thrawn couldn’t deny the seeming inevitability in her eyes. The components had been easy enough- the Empress had plenty of spares. A kyber crystal was more troublesome however. The Empire’s demand for high quality crystals was immense, and Shin insisted that it had to be perfect. Thrawn could appreciate a perfectionist edge, but it did make the process far more troublesome than it needed to be.

“These are for you. I wanted them to be perfect. I want us to practice. To train. The force is speaking to me- I can hear it in my dreams, and now I hear it when I wake. It is whispering of destiny- of our purpose in that destiny. But I can hear it telling me of danger too. I see you, all the time. Us fighting. You dying. I will not let that happen. I won’t let you die. I might not be enough to save you by myself…”

Sabine interrupted Shin with a finger to her lips. Shin’s eyes crossed as she attempted to focus on the intervening digit, and Sabine had to constrain a laugh.

“Thank you. From my very heart, thank you.”

Shin seemed to melt at that, pulling Sabine into a hug, but it lasted much less than she was expecting, as her wolf pulled back to look her straight in the eyes.

“Time doesn’t exist in the force. It is, it always has been, and it always will be. Visions in the force are gateways to the future, but it is our actions that guide us there. I am one with you, and you will always have me, but I need you to take this seriously. You matter to me more than you can even imagine, and I will not let you walk willingly to death. I need you to choose to take them both. Please take them both.”

Sabine felt a wave of cold wash over her. There was no humour or happiness in Shin’s words, just dread and cold certainty. Sabine had little time for prophecy or legend, but Shin truly believed every word. Enough to force the issue with her now. The pauldron meant everything- Shin was returning her gesture, wanted to take the step, to fully acknowledge their bond. But she wasn’t willing to do it without the lightsabre. It wasn’t going to be a hard choice for Sabine- she didn’t hate lightsabres, and it was a miniscule price to pay for her wolf- but Shin had never, even once, placed a demand on her. They talked, and they made requests, but demands weren’t something that they did. Shin was spooked, and Sabine didn’t understand it. Taking her hands and their contents in hers, Sabine pressed her forehead against her wolf’s, and breathed out. Stamping down on her instinct to close down, she breathed in again, before speaking gently.

“What is it, Shin? You’re afraid, and I… I don’t understand. I’m not like you. The force is just a word to me. I trust you, and I will take everything you can give me without hesitation, but can you… can you make me see?”

Sabine could see Shin melt with her acceptance of the offering. It was simultaneously relieving and terrifying; Shin had clearly hated presenting the ultimatum, but she also felt it was important enough to go ahead with anyway. Nodding briefly, Shin placed the objects in her hands aside, and raised her hands up to Sabine’s head. Making eye contact, Sabine gave Shin a gentle, encouraging smile, and with a swallow Shin closed her eyes and tensed.

The world was barren but bright, with windswept steppe spanning out far and wide all around. The sun beat down, but there was no warmth in it; its light blue and toxic. The star hung low in the sky, dominating the horizon, swirling, roiling currents visible on its surface. Yet, despite the furious power and immense size of the star above them, the world was cold, Sabine’s breath freezing before her as she exhaled. Looking around, the expanse seemed empty and abandoned, but on closer inspection this was not true. Across the ground, running like ink, shadows and colours seemed to flow. A figure could be seen in the distance, running across the steppe, fleeing a mass of roiling shadow and darkness. The world seemed to distort and twist and suddenly the figure was in front of her- Sabine could recognise her colours easily enough. The image was distorted and dreamlike, the details blurred and imprecise, but the armour was decorated in her oranges and purples from top to bottom.

Sabine couldn’t admire it, as the  swirling mass of shadows seemed to split and divide and a reddish blade of light emerged and slashed vertically down at her doppleganger. The other Sabine threw her arm up, the beskar gauntlet catching the blade, but the force of the strike carried them to the ground. The shadows seemed to coalesce, forming a snarling wolf’s head that roared into the sky, but then it’s jaw split and opened impossibly wide, before it lunged towards the armoured figure on the ground. Scrambling back, the other Sabine scrambled backwards, pulling a sidearm and opening fire, but the bolts disappeared into the mass of darkness. The return strike removed the figure’s weapon and hand, and a hauntingly familiar scream rang out. The other Sabine scrambled backwards, clutching her severed hand, before tripping over her own feet. Falling hard, she tried to rise again, but her time was up. The blade of scorching light emerged from the front of her throat as the mass of darkness plunged it through the gap between helmet and gorget.

It was a strange sight, watching yourself die. Sabine knew it would be quiet- a lightsabre through the throat would see the throat filling with blood and scarred debris, and the severing of the spinal cord rendered the body immobile and broken. The shadowed figure seemed almost taken aback themselves for a moment, only to be distracted by a bloodcurdling howl. It was a sound Sabine recognised well from her nights trying to comfort and help Shin as she rolled and shrieked, tormented by memories of times past. Turning, Sabine could see her wolf, rushing towards her fallen corpse; Shin’s features blurred, impossible to make out, and then the vision was spiralling away, and Sabine was returned sharply to reality.

Sabine shot backwards, breathing heavily and eyes wide. Shin was looking at her, nearly desperately. Sabine didn’t even think, lunging forwards and pulling her into a hug. They stayed there, just holding each other for a while as they both calmed down. Eventually, they separated, and after basking in silence for a few moments, it was Shin that spoke.

“Do you see now? I can’t let you die. I just can’t.”

Sabine didn’t say a word. Reaching out, she ignored the pauldron (no matter how much she wanted to grasp it and never let it go) and grabbed the lightsabre. Lifting it up, she hit the activation switch, and the bright blue blade extended. Closing her eyes, Sabine nodded to Shin. She did see. And she would not be letting it happen.

Chapter Text

Blue met white as blades of light crashed together. Sizzling and hissing as they made contact, the two combatants pressed against each other, the bright light reflecting in the visors of the two armoured figures. The crowd around the arena was hooked, sitting on the edges of their seats. In the two weeks since the area had been established, it had become a primary source of entertainment on board, and the duels between the Countesses had become highlights. Early on they had been hilariously one sided- the low powered training sabres were utterly incapable of applying enough force to the beskar plates of either of the fighters to cause any great degree of disruption, so they were tests of skill. While the captain was a perfectly capable fighter, the jedi was far faster and more used to fighting with a blade.

As spectacles however, even their training was excellent. Each time, they started slow, before accelerating rapidly, blades turning into whirling vortices of light, occasionally interrupted by the hissing and flashing of contact. The Captain was still the inferior swordswoman- she had some skill and she was likely stronger than the Jedi, but blonde’s preternatural speed and inhuman reflexes meant that she was left in the dust- but the gap was closing. Not quickly, and the Major had been clear that there would likely never be a day the captain would defeat her, but fast enough that the fights now looked like dances, and less like a hopelessly outclassed victim desperately trying to fend off the onslaught of their foe.

TC-831 had seen more of the galaxy than most people alive. Her face told that story; with the end of the Clone Wars, the source genetics for the original Fett clones was degrading. The Empire had sought all manner of possible options to help to alleviate this, especially after the ferocious fighting of the Harrowing, and while they had eventually been able to stabilise the original template they had also diversified their genetic sources. They were still Clone Troopers, but their gene donors varied widely, as did their worlds of origin. Kaminoan Clones were still held in the highest regard, but they didn’t hold a monopoly on the production of high quality troopers.

TC-831’s batch had not been born from one of those. Instead, she and her sisters had been the offshoots of a cut price Imperial frontier operation to secure a power block to make a move on the Throne. One in five had been born with genetic defects that were apparent at a glance. One in three had defects in the aging modifications that rendered them unsuitable for lengthy Imperial Service. Nevertheless, the price was such that a small army had been amassed when Lord Vader arrived on his tour of the Rim, ensuring the loyalty of the local governors. Their commander, realising he would never be able to hide his scheme from Lord Vader, turned his forces against Vader’s Fist. It was a hopeless fight, but just under a hundred of them had been able to hold out until Vader slaughtered their commander. Less than a hundred cut-price, defective clones had held back the force of the 501^st legion, and for their skill they were taken to the Core. Director Hemlock required subjects for the Death Trooper Programme, and the survivors had been taken, kicking and screaming, into the labs.

TC-831 didn’t remember what happened after that. She thought she should probably be glad of that. What she did realise was that she was different. Her spark had died, and in its place was a solid, immutable pillar of certainty. The Empire was all. She would fight and die for the Empire and the Emperor. That was her purpose. That was her everything.

Since then, she had served under dozens of Imperial commanders, running the whole gamut from the most skilled to the most defective she could possibly imagine. She had served under Vader, earning the Blue of the 501^st. She had served under Secura, earning the waistcloth of the 327^th. She had served on Dreath, battling the ascendant Rebellion as her Empress fought tooth and nail to save the Empire. And she then she had been whisked away by Captain Wren and the Phoenix from Kuat. When the Captain had stated her intentions, TC-831 had felt the immediate urge to push back. To fight. But at the same time, she felt a pull, to the Phoenix. So she, and the squad she had with her, had boarded the ship, and set off into the stars. As their home travelled across the galaxy, the ship grew, but the Troopers aboard had always looked to her for leadership, and eventually The Captain had seen fit to appoint her as their commander.

The new arrivals were at once familiar and strange. The Mandalorians were easy to manage, and most of their rites were familiar enough. Her first commander had employed first wave clone commanders as training officers, so the principles that underscored their approach to combat and life were comfortable, but the longer they spent around each other the more the Death Troopers felt uneasy around the once born. They were loyal to The Captain, so they could be tolerated, but they were loyal to The Captain alone. They cared nothing for the Empress, and many actively disliked the Empire. That alone would have been near treasonous, but even in the language of combat the Mandalorians were just wrong. They were more akin to tribal champions, following a chief, than a force of soldiers. They cavorted and talked and sang and danced, and the near silent, ordered life of the Troopers was broken.

The trip through the stars had caused it to come to a head. Enoch had come to her and told her they would likely try something like this. The masked trooper’s words echoed with truth through the force, and she had striven to prepare, but the Mando’a commandos were faster than she anticipated and set up their fighting arena. The Death Troopers had generally avoided it- while she hadn’t barred them from it, few troopers sought the reckless savagery it offered- preferring to improve themselves through learning or more practical training. Nevertheless, some had, and the physical superiority of a Death Trooper was thrown into sharp relief when a particularly obnoxious Mando’a had been bodily thrown through the stands. The woman had fractured several bones and had nearly broken her spine, so the Trooper in question was on the receiving end of several sharp words from The Captain and… The Wolf.

The Wolf felt like she had been there forever, and yet TC-831 knew in her head that she was a relatively new addition. None of the Troopers could imagine the ship without her now, but her presence had caused something of a dissonance within the Troopers at first. The Troopers served the Empire, and The Wolf wasn’t part of the Empire. Certainly, their goals and motives aligned, but they were not the same. The Captain trusted her, but the Troopers found themselves instinctively following her will. She didn’t seem aware of it at all, but it was becoming harder and harder to separate their instincts. The Death Trooper’s own inability to act with disloyalty caused them to start to fray within, as their purpose and their duty warred with one another. They had found out that this was definitely in part the fault of the Pheonix- apparently it had something of a will of its own, or so the engineers said- but the very idea of ever harming the ship caused them revulsion at a fundamental level.  

While The Wolf’s more dedicated service following her return had caused the clash to abate somewhat, it was not gone. The Wolf had no rank. The Wolf was not Imperial. Her title reflected that. The Troopers fought to restrain themselves from saluting her, but could not refuse to grant acknowledgement. The first one to do it had come to her afterwards, as close to a mental breakdown as a Death Trooper could be. It was not a matter of doing the right thing; obeying the chain of command and doing the Empire’s will was so central to a Death Trooper that even the slightest variation was enough to undercut the pillars of one’s soul. She had been forced to improvise on the spot, and took an idea from a philosophical guide she had been reading; the woman’s mark was that of a wolf. Wolves could be tamed, and The Captain had clearly tamed this one. Thus, The Wolf wasn’t really an entity in her own right- by saluting The Wolf, the Death Trooper was saluting The Captain. That had been enough to calm the Trooper, and by giving such a leeway to follow their instincts, the name had spread like wildfire. Nevertheless, the dissonance had only been calmed, not removed. It had been enough of a worry that TC-831 had reached out to the Imperial High Command directly to request some official clarification of The Wolf’s role. The Empress’s action in promoting her had been exactly the thing needed, and now they were hers. Her pack.

She was their Major. She was their Wolf. Empire and Ship, in accord. Many hadn’t realised how much the clash had been affecting them until it was released, and with it their minds sharpened. Suddenly the Mandalorians were not so frustrating, just aggravating, like energetic children. The engineers were not merely comrades, but friends and allies, serving their Mistresses. She didn’t forget the lesson though. It had been strange, but her role had changed aboard the ship. Where once she was just the commander, now she had become something of a guide. The Troopers, freed of their dissonance, sought to expand themselves, and pressed against areas that were, to them, unknown. They began to grow their talents and abilities. She had worked through a number of documents expounding the benefits to physical and mental clarity of meditation, and had begun to practice, often sitting in her room for the hours she was assigned off shift and controlling her breathing and mind. While she noticed no obvious increase in efficacy, she felt more aware and acute, and as it was fully within regulations she saw no reason to stop.

One of the older Troopers, a first gen veteran commando who had seen action on Geonosis during at least one of the battles, had taken an interest in the Growth rooms on the Phoenix. It was one of The Captains first eccentricities, and had been diligently cared for by the Engineering staff, but the Death Trooper had spoken to the Wolf, and, urged on by her, had sought to learn more. Now he spent his off-duty hours tending to and managing the plants, and had already drawn up a requisition order for more materials ready for their return. One of the newest trooper had become fascinated by the artwork across the ship, seeing it with new eyes and a clear head, and had sought to modify their armour. With The Captain’s permission, he had decorated various sections of his armour with a small stylized Phoenix, copied painstakingly from one of the hangar walls. Leaping on board, many of the other troopers had requested he do the same with theirs, and now with The Captain’s leave he was experimenting with his own designs, varying elements of the original in tiny increments. TC-831 thought she approved; the idea of deviating too far at once filled her with nausea, but the small variations were just within the bounds of acceptability for her, and with The Captain on side she could admire the growth.

All in all, the Death Trooper contingent was growing and changing. They had all served together for some time now. Between the skills of the Troopers and the raw power of the Phoenix, the battalion had taken very few casualties over their engagements, and without the influx of recruits change had been slow in coming. But now it was coming in leaps and bounds. And with the forces on board, the Phoenix was changing too. The combat arena had initially been an area of cleared space in the centre of the training area, but the engineers had interpreted this as a challenge. Using some of the abundance of spare parts, they had constructed actual stands and a fortified barrier around the edge, which had proved useful in the more heated matches. The command staff had largely joined in- The Master had refrained, preferring to spend time with his droids and manage the ship- and their bouts had become things of great interest to the crew. The Lieutenant had been quick to participate, and had brutalised several competitors before eventually the Mandalorians realised that she had some level of grudge against many of them. That had been an amusing moment; the reality that their superior was quite happy to use grievous bodily harm as a mechanism for instilling her discipline would have filled most with terror, but the Mandalorians saw it as a challenge and rose to the occasion.

But Ellian Zahra’s savage brutality and calculated violence was nothing to the spectacle of lights presented by The Captain and The Wolf. They had originally trained at lesser trafficked parts of the day, but once the crew realised this their routines changed. The traffic at the arena was now directly proportional to their presence, so instead they came whenever it suited them, and the crew moved around them. It definitely felt like the crew’s game had been turned on it’s head, with the Countesses now seemingly revelling in disrupting the crew’s routine, but distractions were rare and everyone was more than willing to make the effort.

The blades of the two noblewomen moved faster and faster- to the untrained eye, they looked to be locked in a ferocious, teetering duel. TC-831 had seen enough of their fights to know the end was moments away. The Wolf always did this; accelerated faster and faster, pushing The Captain faster and faster, until eventually the white blade caught an exposed limb and the low-powered blade stung viciously enough to result in the unignited hilt of the other’s weapon crashing to the ground. And so it was again. With inhuman, nearly impossible speed the white blade snaked out and sought The Captain in the shoulder, between the plates of her armour. The sharp stinging burn wracked her side for a moment, and she lost control of her weapon. The white blade as at her throat the next second, and the duel ended. The two remained there for a few seconds, far closer together than would ever be practicable, the white light held at a steep angle so it floated beneath The Captain’s armoured chin.

The sabre deactivated, and both the women raised their hands to pull off their helms. They had made a decision early on that long hair was going to be annoying at best on a long trip, so they both bore a short, close cropped cut that fit well under their helmets. Both faces were shiny with sweat, and while they smiled for the crowd they were looking only at each other. The crowd burst into applause, but TC-831 had a different response. She could feel the call of the Phoenix from within, and she had learned not to second guess the magnificent craft. Pushing off of the post she rested against, she moved through the crowd, clearing a path, before gesturing for the Countesses to leave through the area she had made. Some of the more thoughtless Mandalorians (and it was always the Mandalorians) attempted to fill in the gap, but the murderous glare she shot them from under her visor made them back away at speed. The two women made their way out of the spotlight, shepherded away by the black armoured behemoth. The Countesses were quite caught up with one another, and the Trooper was more than willing to threaten any requisite violence.

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Night was strange on a warship. The purely artificial lighting and the constant surroundings of stars meant that a traditional light-dark cycle wasn’t really a thing. Instead, the day was divided into three, roughly even pieces. First, Duty shift, roughly analogous to ‘day’. Quite self explanatory, during duty shift everyone was ‘on call’. They were rarely needed, but they had to be active and alert. Most of the Death Troopers spent their time patrolling the ship, while the Mandalorian contingent largely positioned themselves at well trafficked locations to keep an eye out; security was not a huge issue on a sealed warship. The engineers were the ones whose duty shifts were the most intensive, constantly having to manage and adjust the engine output and modulate the shields to ensure the hyperspace jumps could be made safely.

Then, there was the Standby shift. This was mostly akin to morning or evening; the crew on standby were expected to be conscious and sober (not that anyone on the ship was likely to break that rule), but their time was their own unless an emergency called for it. This time was at the present dominated by the arena, but the other projects of the crew were also carried out; anything to avoid the constant cloying claustrophobia that came from the densely packed vessel.

Finally, there was the Rest shift. This would be considered off duty on most postings, but the realities of their situation prevented anyone from ever being completely off duty. In the weeks of travel so far, there had been two ‘all hands’ moments, with the entire crew roused regardless of their shift to safeguard the ship. However, it was as close as anyone in such a situation could ever come. As the name suggested, sleeping was the main priority, but the blessings of Project Necromancer prevented the Troopers from requiring as much as the ordinary mortals on board, so they tended to use it as a time to pursue personal self improvement. TC-831 tended to meditate, or read, or experiment with the resources available to her via the Imperial Academy server.

As a Clone, and a Death Trooper, she had very limited real possibilities for advancement beyond where she was now. By law clones were not permitted general command roles, and as a Death Trooper even the normal Commander roles were likely to be denied to her. It came down to a simple truth really; Troopers, clone or otherwise, were promoted within their legion. As a Death Trooper, she was not a part of a legion, and she never would be. She bore the heraldry of the 501^st, had earned honours with the 327^th, but she was not one of them, and as the legions had become more and more prestigious under the rule of the Empire they had become more and more tribal and insular. She was respected by the onceborn Troopers, and feared by them, but she was not and could never be one of them. Her current role as Master Sergeant of the Phoenix was nearly the highest she could go, and with The Wolf there was only a single rank she could rise. She had no real need for it, but she had decided that she wanted it, and so had sat and started to go through the learning and training required to qualify.

Which is how she ended up here, lying in her cot, clad only in a light tunic, her armour removed for maintenance, attempting to work through the Master Chief examination materials. It wasn’t an overly complex test; the main jump from Marine Trooper Master Sergeant was a widening of the managerial responsibilities, much of which she had already done at least a part of early in the Captain’s travels, when the Phoenix had only a skeleton crew and everyone was filling several jobs to make the whole affair work. The material was unsurprising to her; an amount of passed down knowledge, coupled with a few experimentally tested psychological theories and three philosophical treatises written during the reign of Emperor Palpatine that had a distinctly… Imperial bent. The loosening of the Empire’s grip under Empress Amidala had changed much, but the three works on the list were considered to contain enough valuable wisdom to retain them even after the fall.

As a Death Trooper, TC-831 was calm. Permanently. It was literally impossible for her emotions to heighten to the point she would be considered anything other than tranquil to onlookers. She had heard that was why Lord Vader had been such a great supporter of the programme- the tranquillity of his legion helped to balance his moments of darker rage. However, calm didn’t mean peaceful. While it would never express itself as frustration, confusion or outwards consternation, real internal peace was hard for a Death Trooper. The mental dissonance from The Wolf was a case in point- all manner of things could unbalance them in ways that only made sense to other Troopers. But it was when the Empress acted immediately that TC-831’s wider suspicions became heightened. Death Troopers had a hole in their existences. A deep, gnawing pit that couldn’t ever be truly sated. Their inability to feel pain or fear dulled their response to it, but they could feel it, and it made any attempt to find real peace an immense challenge.

It was only on the Phoenix that that hole seemed to abate. When The Wolf began to sleep next to the reactor, and seek it out in her waking hours, they began to suspect something about the reactor was responsible. They began to suspect that The Wolf was like them, with a void in her soul that the Phoenix could fill. TC-831 began to get asked questions by the other Death Troopers about it and couldn’t answer them. That was when she started looking into philosophy for the first time; she had searched  ‘how to understand the world’ on the holonet and had been greeted by an array of offers for philosophy training. It was Inquisitor Tano that gave them the answer.

The Force.

The unseen, all-knowing, all-powerful force that surrounded all things and bound the galaxy together. It had been largely censored from Imperial records after the fall of the Jedi, but other interpretations of it survived. A report on the Witches of Brendok spoke of a thread, but instead of binding the galaxy it bound people and life together. TC-831 thought this interpretation interesting, but clearly limited; the Phoenix alone told her that life in its traditional sense was not the limit of this… energy. What’s more, Inquisitor Tano and the faintly annoying droid who spent so much time with The Wolf on their last travels had made it clear that the Force was endlessly divisible while still being one. Countless aspects.

And it seemed that whatever was done to the Death Troopers was in some way connected to the Force. That the hole in their beings was the place where their being should once have been. They were mutilated and broken, but in doing so they had become bound to this energy about which they knew nearly nothing. It explained much about the troopers of the surviving GAR legions and their nearly unbreakable loyalty to their Jedi commanders. She had seen it in the 327^th particularly; the troopers could barely function independently without being assured that it was something General Secura wanted. The gap needed to be filled, and she had been endlessly fortunate that it was the Phoenix that had done so.

But now she could feel something else. It was lurking just beyond her sight, imperceptible behind the comforting grey durasteel of the Phoenix’s bulkhead. She could not see it, but she could feel it. It was hungering even as it hid. And it was moving.

Her hand lunged out on instinct, and she felt a wave of the most surreal energy rush over her. Her hand was closed around something, but it was not there- not really. Instead, it was her essence that was doing the grasping, not her flesh. Looking sideways, she saw what she had in her hand. It was a grotesque creature, resembling a human cadaver opened from mouth to stomach in a clean vertical line, its jaws hanging open in a vile rictus grin. Its eyes were milky white and dull, and its proportions were entirely wrong. It was tall, tall enough to tower a full head over her, its limbs long and gangly and ending in wickedly sharp talons. Talons that were now wrapping around her arm as it attempted to dislodge her hand from its grip around the creature’s throat. It could find no purchase however, and she ignored the pinpricks of pain as it attempted to claw a path free.

“What are you?”

Her voice was sibilant and muted, barely more than a whisper. It felt strange to try to talk without the vocoder built into her helmet. Her senses were screaming that the thing was dangerous, but there was dissonance. Two voices seemed to be warring within her head. One she recognised. The familiar feeling of the Phoenix urging her to drive the creature away. To smash it into ruin and purge it from the blessed vessel. The other commanded her to stop. To release the creature. To surrender, and allow it in. The second commanded with a sense of desperate, abiding longing to be whole. To be complete. It promised that the wound within her would be closed, if she would just obey.

The Phoenix never commanded. It understood where her loyalties lay. The decision was made in moments.

The spectre disintegrated rapidly as she drove her other hand into its emaciated torso and ripped it in half lengthways. Its inhuman scream resounded around the room. TC-831 didn’t even attempt to put her armour on- time was of the essence and the irrelevance of her sinews in the contest told her that it would be of no help. Instead, she dashed out of the cell and charged as fast as possible towards the bridge.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lieutenant Zahra was thrown to the ground as seven feet of Death Trooper barged her out of the way. Looking up, with furious censure on the tip of her tongue, she stopped as she saw the scarred, ruined flesh of the enormous soldier wrestling with a ghastly wraith. The fight barely lasted two seconds before the trooper tore the wraith apart, but it was long enough for her to see the nightmarish creature’s taloned hands reaching towards where she had been only moments ago.

“Hyperspace wraiths.”

Pressing her code cylinder, the ship leapt onto alert immediately. Pushing herself to her feet, Zahra looked furtively around for any other assailants. Upon verifying that they were secure, she looked at her saviour. She didn’t think she had ever seen a Death Trooper without their armour, and the scarred ruin that was the woman’s flesh told her simply enough why. Even if the wraiths had inflicted any wounds, it would have been impossible to tell on the corpse like figure before her.

“Debrief, soldier.”

Snapping to attention, the trooper identified themselves and did as commanded.

“TC-831 reporting, Lieutenant. I was assaulted within my quarters by a creature demanding I assist it. I refused and destroyed it. I then sought to alert the Captain and the command bridge, but came across it trying to attack you.”

Nodding at the troopers succinct summation, Zahra raised her cylinder to her mouth.

“The Phoenix is under attack by hyperspace wraiths. Bring us out of hyperspace as soon as is safe. All congregations are to be under Death Trooper guard. All hands to boarding stations.”

The entire ship was already alive with activity, but on Zahra’s words the frenzied activity became a coordinated and methodical dance as crewmembers moved to their positions. Zahra moved back to her cabin with TC-831 behind her, and, reaching under her cot, she withdrew her blade. Her vibro sword had been lost some years ago after her unfortunate defeat at the hands of Skywalker and his allies, but in the chaos of the Galactic Civil War she had come into possession of a great many artefacts and trinkets. This one had been of born of her service aboard Tarkin’s Will. Most spacers could go a lifetime without encountering even a single hyperspace wraith, but the devastated ship had drawn them like flies to a corpse, and the crew had found many unique methods of repelling them. The black, stone blade of her sword had proven one of the most effective. Essentially useless in active combat, she had found that in the wake of wraith attacks an oily black liquid formed and slowly hardened into a shiny, glassy rock. She had taken some and used it as a weapon against the next wraith attack, and upon finding it successful, had started collecting as much as she could.

Upon her demobilization and stationing back on Gasrda, she had been flush with time, and had eventually fashioned this weapon from the collected material. She had never had a chance to use it. And if she was honest, her blood was boiling at the opportunity.

It proved its worth rapidly as the hair on the back of her neck stood up on end. Lashing behind her with the blade, it moved cleanly through the incorporeal form of the wraith, bisecting it at the waist. The wraith’s hideous features froze in a surprised seeming rictus as it was banished from the ship. Zahra wasted no time with armour- wraiths weren’t slowed by most physical materials, and the extra encumbrance would make her more vulnerable. Her thoughts were interrupted by the grunt of the Death Trooper beside her as it physically tore the head from the body of another wraith. She was still stunned by that- not only by the raw physical power at a Death Trooper’s disposal, but by the fact the trooper could interact with it at all. Wraith’s were creatures of hyperspace- they were entirely beyond the capacity of most living beings to harm or interact with, let alone destroy. On Tarkin’s Will, they had to resort to all manner of pseudo-spiritual charms and even Jedi arts to hold them away.

At that thought ice ran through her. Wraiths were famously attracted to force wielders, swarming upon them like moths to a flame. Major Hati would be their favoured target on the ship. Addressing the huge woman, TC-831, she asked.

“Where is Major Hati? Is she with the Captain?”

The trooper cocked her head and seemed to consider the question for a moment, before looking at her, the scarred ruin of her face calm and collected.

“The Captain and The Wolf are currently in engineering.”

Zahra didn’t even hesitate, rushing towards the reactor bay. She knew exactly where they would be. She prided herself on running a tight ship, and while Sabine never tried to keep anything from her, she knew a lot more than her captain thought she did. She knew what the reactor was, and the effect it had on the Phoenix. She knew that the ship wasn’t just a ship- she knew that far more deeply than anyone besides her and the Phoenix did. She suspected the Death Troopers had an inkling, given how much more willing they were to obey her than others, but her deal was between her and the Phoenix alone.

She didn’t even slow down on her way to the reactor. Her blade carved everything in her path apart. The Death Troopers appeared to be holding their own- whatever inhuman ability was possessed by her current shadow was evidently a gift of the programme. The Mandalorians hadn’t been so lucky- a handful of beskar clad corpses lay along the coridoors, with the remainder cowering with the non-combat personnel behind the cordons of Troopers. It was definitely the wise move, but she had no doubt it rankled something fierce against their pride. Nevertheless, they weren’t her concern now. She could feel the electricity in the air that preceded a ship dropping from hyperspace. With any luck that would spell a pause in this incursion.

However, as she approached the reactor, she could feel something in the air- a sense of exhausted malice. She had felt it before, many, many times. The air of many an Imperial ship had been suffused with it during the later years of the Galactic Civil War. Tarkin’s Will had been rank with it. Angry, bitter but tired soldiers. The weight of years of constant fighting and readiness. It had been absent from her life for some time, but with its return it seemed to settle into her bones and lay heavy upon her soul.

She didn’t even hesitate, forcing the door open. Inside it was a scene from a nightmare. Swarms of wraiths rushed over the normally sterile and clear room, thronging towards the two figures that stood in front of the thrumming reactor. Shin and Sabine stood back to back, blasters stowed in favour of sabres, beskar plate shining in the pure white brilliance of the reactor. The blue blade moved slowly, in controlled strokes that looked almost textbook. However, it didn’t even need to cut into wraiths. As soon as it made contact its immaterial foes exploded into a shower of mist. Shin was something else however, a veritable whirlwind of white and blue. Her alabaster blade didn’t have the same explosive results as Sabine’s, but it was clearly effective enough, and coupled with the constant roiling of the force in the room none of the assailants could even come close to them.

The Phoenix dropped out of hyperspace with an immense crash. The tension and energy in the air released in a thunderous crack. The wraiths seemed to flicker, their hands attempting to scrabble at nothing, seeming to try to claw their way back into reality, but they faded rapidly from view nonetheless. The frenetic motion of the defenders slowed and stopped, as everyone tried to take stock. In the reactor room, it was not over. A single wraith remained, flickering. Tension was visible across its form, clearly fighting to stay. Shin moved towards it, sabre ready, but Sabine’s gauntleted hand fell upon her shoulder and she stopped. Zahra nearly rushed forwards as her captain walked towards the wraith; only the aura of the Phoenix itself stopped her. It knew something she didn’t. So did the mountain of a trooper behind her.

Then Sabine reached forwards, and with a single hand hoisted the wraith into the air by its neck.

“You are not wanted here. Get off my ship.”

The wraith seemed to vibrate, then, in a blinding flash of light, it was gone. With it, the malaise cleared, and the warm, blinding ambiance of the reactor, the heart of the Phoenix, seemed to roar bright throughout the ship.

Chapter Text

A Star Destroyer rendered near immobile was a sad thing. As looming and powerful as the ship was, its real power was in its ability to travel fast to exactly where it was needed, and to see such a titan marooned was a worrisome thing. That was exactly where the Phoenix now rested. After their emergency hyperspace ejection, they were some way off course, forced to linger near the edge of a system orbiting around a colossal trinary array of supermassive stars. The bodies of the slain crew needed to be disposed of, the damaged systems needed rebuilding, and for Shin and Zahra at least, they needed to come up with some way of preventing the same thing from happening again.

Hyperspace wraiths were not common. In fact, for most ships they were surpassingly rare. They tended to congregate on ships of ill omen, rank with the misfortune of their prior owners, and most sentients willingly avoided such craft anyway. There weren’t any records at all, in all twenty thousand years of Republic history, that ever suggested an all out assault of the scale seen by the crew of the Phoenix only days ago, and nobody on the command staff wanted to risk another such onslaught. They could if they needed to especially with the fascinating abilities of the Death Troopers, but the nature of any naval vessel was that the majority of those on board were not direct combatants, and even the best guards in the world were useless when the enemy could appear from literally any direction. The only thing that had saved them the first time was the fact that the Wraiths seemed just as surprised at the trooper’s prowess as the personnel onboard. And no tactician would ever rely on an enemy making the same mistake twice.

The troopers had an inkling, but they could not explain it. They all said that they simply knew that it was their duty to fight the creatures, and thus they could fight the creatures. Shin was more helpful, but simultaneously useless to their planning going forwards.

“Hyperspace wraiths are force creatures. They are drawn to it, and seek to feed upon it, but it can hurt them. The Empire was a bad place for a lone Jedi. Baylan had to fight them more times than he would have liked.”

Sadly, the one and only person on the ship who could potentially throw more light on the subject had been comatose since she ripped the last wraith apart bodily. First Captain Wren lay on a cot in the medical bay, completely unresponsive. A pall hung over the ship in her absence- even the Phoenix itself seemed to pulse less actively, its heart beating with less life than before. Even Zahra could admit that she could feel her absence at a fundamental level. However, they had a mission, and right now they were marooned in the depths of space, hiding from the colossal corona at the centre of the system. They were well supplied, and time was not a pressing factor, but they needed solutions to their current problem.

The interesting thing for Zahra was working with Shin. She hadn’t pushed back when Zahra took over as acting captain, despite technically possessing seniority with her new rank, and aside from regular trips to the medical centre the blonde haired jedi had fallen smoothly into place as Zahra’s second in command. In particular, her knowledge on all matters relating to the force were brought up regularly; Shin wasn’t the most philosophical person, and had always seen Baylan’s lectures on jedi teachings as a trial to be completed for a reward, but her master was not prepared to see her loosed into the world ‘incomplete’ and had instructed her well.

At their command, Death Troopers had escorted teams of engineers around the ship to perform a full hardware check, while Chief Orol had scanned and purged any corruption from the vessel’s databanks. A team of droids had been assigned to calculate their location and plot the coordinates for their next move. And, at Zahra’s word, Shin had led teams of her house guard around the ship to collect the wraith essence from where it pooled. The inky black substance had appeared in huge quantities over the ship, and even ignoring the risk of it blocking the ventilation and interfering with the electronics it was a source of fascination for Zahra. Her sword had proven its value, and now there was a vast amount of the matter to work with. They had extracted twenty five tonnes of the stuff already, and thus far they had only scoured the main bridge decks; scans of the ship showed huge extra concentration of mass filling up cavities within the vessel, all of which needed to be extracted as fast as possible.

Nevertheless, the lingering question remained. They had no idea why the wraiths wanted to attack in such force, and more importantly with their information they had no idea of how to prevent it occurring again. Zahra had a number of ideas but, given that testing any of them would requiring potentially going back into open combat in hyperspace she wanted to make sure everything possible was prepared before they took any action. Even further, the low level miasma of listlessness that infested the ship in the wake of the captain’s incapacitation was something she wanted dispelled before making any attempt to travel again. They were deep in the realm of magic and myth with their current situation, and Zahra was more than willing to admit that she was somewhat out of her depth; she wasn’t going to do anything that could even give a hint of a weakness for the wraiths to potentially exploit.

Thus, the entire crew worked hard around the clock. The engineers never seemed to stop, and Shin, Zahra and the medical teams tried everything they could think of to try and get their captain functional again. And while good progress was made on two of the fronts, the other was more troublesome. As more and more wraith essence was extracted, Zahra set the engineers to work. From her experience with her sword, it was clear that the material posed a physical barrier to the wraiths that they could not pass through as they did with the regular armour of the ship. Zahra’s initial thought was that it was similar in nature to the obsidite used in the creation of the Black Room. The differences were more telling than their similarities, however. Shin avoided the Black Room like the plague, seeking to remain literally anywhere else on the vessel. At first Zahra simply thought it was bad memories from when she had first arrived with Baylan, but when she spoke to Shin it became clear it was more than that.

Shin described the Black Room to her as being genuinely hideous to experience; of the crushing weight that the black stone took on in the force. Shin had no such dislike of the new material, though she could definitely still feel it. Zahra asked her about it directly on the seventh day of their marooning:

“It’s a matter of purity” Shin had started, clearly working hard to think of the appropriate words to use.

“The Wraiths are creatures of the light side, but are born of the Cosmic Force. They are not unnatural or dissonant, but they are incomplete. Their essence is hollow, as it lacks the life and the unity the force brings, but they are not at odds with the nature of the world.”

A haunted look passed over Shin’s face as she thought about the obsidite room below. One of the first things she did after she gained a… more privileged level of access, was to investigate the source of the stone. It was quarried from Mustafar, carved from the living rock of the lava planet. And as a consequence it was suffused with darkness. Even Baylan, for all his willingness to explore and investigate the dark side, had cautioned her against ever going to the hell world. He always said that it was the world upon which love and hope died together. A betrayal of the force itself.

“The rock in that room is whole and complete, born from the unity of life, space and soul that forms the teachings of the Jedi. But that stuff… it is pouring with darkness. So much hate and malevolence is held in that stone, and in the planet it’s from. To be around that room is torture for anyone not fully devoted to darkness and misery.”

Zahra didn’t understand. Not really. But she knew that both Shin and her Captain had their feet in another world that she could never really be a part of. And she also recognized that it wasn’t her job to understand. The Empress understood their role, the Empress had given them command, so that role was important and it was Zahra’s job to assist them, no matter her own comprehension of their reasoning.

They didn’t have enough essence to fully shield every single corridor and access point in the ship, but it was an extremely excited Shin and TC-831 that provided the solution, and once they started talking Zahra could almost feel whatever gods were watching looking at them laughing at her. Of course that was their solution. It couldn’t be more in line with the nature of the Phoenix if it tried. She released a nearly exasperated sigh, before nodding at the pair of them.

-----

It took almost a month for the ship to be fully readied once again, but when it was, it was a changed beast. Spiralling patterns ran along every corridor and face within the vessel, while veins of black essence roamed over the hull, rendered with phenomenal artistry and careful location to act as a grate against any incursion by wraiths. The ship was far from what it once was, and its halls seemed to run with energy. The core (which Shin had notably taken to calling the heart) seemed to glow warmer, its tendrils reaching throughout the entire metallic behemoth to enclose and embrace its crew.

The Phoenix was ready. The crew was ready. Only one thing was missing. Captain Wren had yet to awaken, lying unmoving save for gentle breaths in the medical centre. And nobody was willing to leap into a further voyage without her. It felt wrong, even to Zahra- she could simply feel the outrage in the air at the very notion. But there was nothing they could do. Captain Wren’s brain activity was completely normal, her biology was stable. She hadn’t needed feeding or watering for the entire month, her body seemingly held in a biological stasis. Her mind was active, roaming in a way that more closely resembled waking thought than sleep.

It was a force sleep. Shin didn’t even need to say it. To suggest that the entire crew was fully aware there was Force nonsense afoot was the understatement of all time. The fact that their Captain and Major weren’t completely straightforward mortals like the rest of them was such an open secret it had lost all meaning, and even among the non Project-Necromancer personnel a near spiritual reverence for the pair of them was growing. Yet the force was also beyond any of them to truly know, so they looked to Shin, and it was Shin who grew ever more desperate. She seemed almost perpetually busy, seeking to be anywhere, doing anything, other than sitting by Sabine’s bedside. But as the work wound down and her (fairly effective, if rudimentary) leadership was less needed, she had less and less excuse. And it was obvious that her inability to help was hurting her.

That was, until 49 days after the incursion. That day, as the night shift left and the day began, they walked into the medical centre to find it empty. Raising the alarm, they hunted across the ship, searching every alcove they could.

It was Orol that found them. Sat on the stone floor, facing each other in the Black Room, a small gemstone of condensed wraith essence between them. Their eyes were open, but completely clouded white.

The crew were well drilled on this. The sorcery of the Jedi was afoot, and they quarantined the area immediately.

Chapter Text

‘The Captain came with shining brand, to take the sea of stars in hand.

Upon the sky a void they’d tread, burned, the crown of iron ‘pon their head.

across gods abode alone they stalked, though winds did howl from beyond,

Sundered veil of time and space, the shining light upon her face.

Though life’s abode her flesh retired, her soul ascends through wind and fire.

A guiding star, a beacon is lit, to carven throne did Father sit.

With Son’s rage, beyond all stay, Daughters hope, beyond sense lost.

The Mother’s eyes and grasping hands, ‘cross the void, did make their plans.

A hound did summon, its voice sent roil, out beyond oblivion, forged mortal toil.

A beast of black, sun scorched its blade, a knight devoid from Order’s aid.

Across lands bereft of Balance past, and barrows heaped with remains lost.

Captain by wolf, by Sun’s eye chased, their pursuit in Mother’s lost embrace.

But wolf is not, that hunts alone, the truth the force has ere be shown.

Where Sun hides from the black beast’s chase, and Moon, clouds part, reveal cold face.

A silver beast takes the field, called by song, of bird in hope and wise, concealed.

Their souls apart, cleaved cruel by strife, once united, harmony breathe new life.

Yet Black Wolf’s sight all ‘pon the goal, and hunger stalks the well of soul.

The abyss surround, the deathless plane, awaits the hand of chosen reign.

Five they were, Bendu’s spawn, across the path inevitable they stride.

Wolf and Wren, the hunters mark, bright beacon shine within the dark.

But two alone a pack is not, for hale flesh and bone can rot.

What engine, vast and living still, destiny seeketh under blackened hill.

By sword of light and skin of steel, Wolf and Wren the hunt did heel,

But fire alone the Force does mark, ignite once more beneath Phoenix spark.

A truth unveiled, a promise born; hidden never again beneath metal scorn.

The eye, the heart, of virtue and sin, the door opens again, and beckons them in.

All sword and steel and cruel device, by the wayside, abandoned thus, before

Their inadequacy made in plain, the Force can never be the same.

By Prime and Darth, Infinite and Crone, the beating heart unveiled alone.

The Phoenix rises, the black beast flees, a pathway clear ‘neath darkened trees.

A path is forged, a World between, away from ghosts of Mortis seen.

Upon Jedi heart, beneath Sister’s sun, the Force’s war has now begun.

• Poem of the Phoenix of Mortis, found etched upon the Grand Obelisk of Peridea in 17ABY. Studies place it as being constructed over seven thousand years ago, while the text is written in three languages. Sith Script, Dathomiri Runic, and Ancient Rakata.

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 “Excerpt from: Voyage to the Unknown: A Scholar’s Tale. Chapter Sixteen: The Spirit Quest. Written in 38ABY and published in 41ABY. Republished in 44ABY

Even as the Phoenix was left stranded deep in wild space, Major Shin Hati was seeking a way to save her wife. Captain Wren was physically present upon the warship, but she was unresponsive. The medical logs of the ships in the Imperial Archives relate that the medical team ruled it as an exhaustion induced coma. However, several details of the inquiry, as well as the testimony of several Jedi interviewed during various investigations conducted by both Imperial Intelligence and the New Republic Security Council in the aftermath of the Force’s War, suggest a much more likely explanation was in fact a force sleep. Given the nature of the subsequent war and the Phoenix’s role in it, all manner of details about the battle against the Hyperspace Wraiths and Captain Wren’s injury take on additional meaning and significance.

While now Captain Wren’s force sensitivity is a matter of open record, at the time the possibility was discounted entirely; after all, in 11ABY she had been in an intense relationship with another force user, reporting directly to a third and close in the confidences of a fourth for many years, and none had ever had reason to believe she had such a connection. It has been theorized, most notably by Empress Amidala, that Sabine’s own talent for engineering, coupled with her Imperial upbringing, were responsible for this, her mind simply closed off to the touch of the Force.

Whatever the reason, what is beyond dispute is that it was Major Hati that pieced it together and took action to try and rectify the situation. The former crew of the Phoenix have been remarkably obtuse when it comes to answering questions about their service, forcing communication only through Captain Zahra, and while she has admitted on the record (albeit only after we were able to get direct assistance from both the Empress and the Supreme Chancellor) that much of the speculation is true, she was seemingly pathologically evasive about the details.

What is definitely confirmed is that Major Hati signed the Captain out of the medical bay in the early hours of a morning and, with the help of at least two Death Troopers, transported her to the obsidite lined cell installed on the Phoenix for the transportation of force sensitive prisoners. The force hive nature of The Sickness was not well understood at the time- indeed, it was the strange behaviour of the subjects of Project Necromancer on the Phoenix that inspired the subsequent investigation on the subject- but upon realising that both Major Hati and the Death Troopers were working together, the general attitude among the rest of the crew appears to have been to simply avoid them. Captain Zahra was very blunt about the fact that they were acutely aware they were mundane and ordinary during events that came more from legends and stories than day to day reality, and apparently the simply resigned themselves to the fact and let those more in tune with the force manage themselves. Major Hati formed a force communion with Captain Wren, and that is where the documented evidence ends and the realm of stories begins.

Mortis is a location that by all rights cannot and should not exist but has been reliably documented for over eighty thousand years by countless civilizations, with no overlap but their universal reverence of the power known to the Jedi as the Force. The Order itself sought as much knowledge of the esoteric realm as could be found and kept it carefully under the Jedi temple. While Emperor Palpatine scorned the Jedi obsession with Mortis, his successors took a great deal of care to restore and revive as much Jedi knowledge as possible; Empress Amidala had the entire surviving Jedi archive secured, copied and restored, while our current Empress has made much of it available in the Imperial Archive.

Regardless of the source, three truths were known about Mortis: it was a world of unstable balance, with day and night bringing dangers and opportunities each as chaotic and savage as the other. It was a world beyond time, utterly inaccessible through normal means of transportation and ruled by beings closer to gods than mortals (although according to Old Republic logs from the Clone Wars these beings were defeated and destroyed by Anakin Skywalker, reverting Mortis to a more natural, but even less stable state). And finally, that the nature of Mortis as a wild conflux between the possible and impossible meant that any long-term stay was dreadfully deleterious to the physical and mental health of visitors. By the time Major Hati started her rescue attempt, Captain Wren had already been trapped in Mortis for over a month standard time, and it would be another week before they would escape; longer than any other stay in recorded history (and when referring to Mortis, the line between recorded history and outright history begins to blur).

The entire event was the subject of sealed testimonies and secret trials in the aftermaths of the Force War. Both Captain Wren and Major Hati were much changed in the aftermath of their visit and possessed understanding and foresight far beyond any recoded prior to their expedition. Given the continuing functionality and pre-eminence of the Phoenix in the Imperial fleet, it is within reason to suggest that their journey through Mortis was also reflected through the bond they both shared with their vessel.

Having gained access to the unsealed transcripts of the meetings (as far as was possible; a number are still, indefinitely sealed, with only the Empress able to open them to observation. This is an action that has, so far, not been taken), what is entirely obvious from the testimony is that while Mortis had debilitating effects on the minds of the Wolf and the Wren, it was also necessary to allow them understanding what awaited upon their return to real space.”

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Byss System, Galactic Navigational Core

Byss wasn’t a pleasant world- its light was just a bit too gloomy, its atmosphere just a bit too humid. It’s surface was on first inspection fairly normal for a continental world, but it was in its subconscious effects on sentient creatures upon its surface that it stood out. Byss was a world of the raw spirt, locked under ferocious tides of the cosmic force from its twin moons, churning up the raw essence of any beings to walk upon its surface. This was not helped by the pall of the dark side that clogged every pore and choked every aspect of the fraught planet. The world itself responded in kind, with thick and malevolent force storms roiling across its surface, the metaphysical becoming terrifyingly real to hurl rain and lightning and malice down upon the surface.

Yet it was an unusual sight even for that benighted world when a gateway of shimmering black appeared from nowhere upon a boggy plain and two bedraggled shapes appeared. They were both clad in armour, and were shrouded in thick, heavy cloaks. The plates of their equipment were charred and burned in savage lines across its surface, the paint on their carapace scorched and chipped by violence and heat. Their cloaks were shredded and tattered, riddled with holes and ripped in numerous places, while the fur mantle around the neck of the taller one, while once clearly white, was now a filthy brown, the ends of its strands bearing the telltale marks of heat damage. They leaned heavily on one another, stumbling over the uneven, boggy ground with heavy footsteps, their armoured soles carving deep furrows into the soft ground. The gateway closed behind them, disappearing into the void from whence it came, leaving not a trace to its passing.

The figures didn’t stop their grinding, slow advance for even a second to see it, though. Instead, they continued on, their helmeted heads giving nothing away. The wings fashioned over the cheeks of the taller figure still glowed, seemingly pristine despite the damage wrought to the rest of her equipment. The weather of Byss itself seemed to be against them, the wind picking up and the rain beginning to fall again, soaking into the tattered cloth over their armour and running down the smooth panels of their plate.

Supporting each other, the pair made their way towards a large black structure on the horizon. Byss hadn’t been truly inhabited for longer than civilization existed in the galaxy, but the Empire had posted a number of outposts across the world. The largest of these, and the only one that possessed a long range transmitter, was nearby, and it was clear the pair had arrived where they did for a reason. They hadn’t even hesitated upon their appearance before moving at speed towards the looming structure, and nothing- not the boggy ground, not the clear injuries of the pair, not the wind and rain and seemingly malevolent intent of the world itself- was going to dissuade them from their path.

For some time, the pair struggled across bogy ground and rough terrain, but after a few miles the ground started to mercifully harden and firm up. The wind still blew, the taller figure’s tattered cloak billowing majestically around the pair, but with the ground underfoot now solid they made good time. The facility was not a hardened fortress in the same way as some Imperial outposts, but there were no military facilities that didn’t have at least some form of defence. The wire outer fences were bypassed easily enough by the pair, using their armour plates to push aside the points and make a passage through. The more manned positions were more formidable, though.

Or, they should have been. Instead, they were greeted by nothing but silence. The defences were unmanned and empty, and the gate, while not a formidable obstacle in any case, was open and unguarded. The pair didn’t even slow down. The courtyard was well kept and clear, but was likewise devoid of any life. A handful of Imperial Legion helmets from Palpatine’s reign were stacked up and ordered in the corners of the courtyard, but the whole area hung with deathly silence. A silence that was broken abruptly by the clank of a pewter mug as a figure dashed away in one of the doorways to the main facility.

The two figures paused, slightly nonplussed by the rapid disappearance of the individual, but a few seconds later a noise began to scream out across the facility. It sounded like it was supposed to be an alarm, but it was evidently one that had been unmaintained for some time and was now more of a strangled honk than the blaring squeal it should have been. Looking around, the taller figure gestured towards a displaced rock to one side of the courtyard. The other nodded, and the pair helped each other over towards the mound, sitting down.

Reaching up, the two figures pulled at their helmets. Shin’s hair was short, cropped close to her head and choppy in a way that spoke of a rough and ready job with some form of basic sharp object. It was messy and choppy, but when combined with the scar across her face it lent her and aura of feral handsomeness. This went well with the state of her equipment, the once fine equipment charred and chipped- it made her look lean and dangerous.

Sabine meanwhile looked much weaker. Her hair was long, reaching almost down to her waist, and was tangled and messy. It’s strands were black and lifeless, hanging like dead weight around her head and framing her pale and shimmering face. Her visible skin was drained and wan, beaded with sweat and tensed with pain. Even as she lowered her helmet to the ground, one hand clutched her side, her grey jumpsuit stained darker around it. A large angry burn sat on her neck, red and inflamed against her pale skin. She was leaning heavily on Shin, half due to her weakness and half just seeking the proximity.

They sat there and caught their breaths as the local garrison managed to eventually get their act together and form up. A standard facility of this type would have a garrison of fifty troopers and maybe a hundred technical staff. The group that gathered together in front of the two figures was not that- there were, at most, half a dozen troopers, and maybe twenty other personnel. The troopers Sabine understood- if the place was stationed by non-Necromancer Clones their inbuilt ageing would have caused their numbers to expire long before now, so the remainder must be conscripts. The rest of the staff should have survived though- there wasn’t anyone here, after all.

“Identify yourselves.”

The speaker was one of the troopers. He had the pauldrons of a sergeant, but given they were strapped to him backwards it was unlikely he was originally in charge. Much more likely a recent emergency promotion. Looking at the other assembled personnel, Sabine couldn’t see anyone who would outrank him. It would certainly explain the poor response to their presence- without any officers, the facility would have fallen back to a basic state of survival. Nevertheless, the blasters levelled at them were very real, and if they were the standard issue Imperial weapons it was unlikely they would be non-functional. Sabine rose to her feet, clutching her side and leaning heavily on Shin.

“I am First Captain Sabine Wren of the Galactic Empire, Commander of the Phoenix. This is Shin Hati, Major of the Phoenix Trooper Corps. We are here on a mission on the behalf of Empress Amidala, and we are here to requisition the use of your long range transmitter.”

The weapons trained on them wavered, but to their credit the unit didn’t lose their cool. There was a moment of silent contemplation, but then the trooper sergeant lowered his weapon and removed his helmet.

“Two years ago we were brought under attack by soldiers wearing Imperial armour and claiming Imperial credentials. They said the Empire had fallen. When our officers asked for verification, they launched their attack. Why should we believe you?”

At this point Shin moved to interpose between Sabine and the troopers, allowing the shorter woman to slump back to the rock. Shin’s lightsaber was drawn and ignited before her before the soldiers could even perceive the motion, her eyes hard.

“Because if we wanted you dead I would be carving my way through the lot of you even as we speak. We are the first sanctioned expedition here since the Galactic Civil War. Captain Wren requires medical attention, and to do that we need to call the Phoenix. You have here the only facility capable of contacting it. Once it arrives, our orders are archived onboard for you to verify. We will scour anything of value from your facility, load you aboard, then blast any remaining signs of Imperial activity on this planet to dust.”

The force roiled and snapped around her as she said the words, and the Imperial soldiers almost recoiled at the aura of dark majesty that surrounded her. The sergeant, rising in her estimation, stood firm. His eyes left Shin and looked at Sabine, pale and wan and barely hanging on to consciousness, then back to Shin. After a few moments, he nodded, and gestured for the soldiers to lower their weapons. Whispers began to circulate around the unit, but the feeling in the force was unmistakeably one of hope.

“Come this way Major. We’ll get you sorted with a bed for the Captain, and you can call your ship.”

Chapter Text

Zahra watched the footage again. The entire ship seemed suffused with energy, buzzing with newfound resolved and certainty in their own path ever since they received the message. The profoundly, incredibly, utterly impossible message. The message that informed her in a single paragraph the extent of how out of her depth she was. Her Captain and her Major, both of whom she considered herself fairly close to, had disappeared completely from the ship, and had re-appeared, somehow, nearly seventy light years away, one and a half months later, on a barely charted planet in the middle of the galactic core. The very idea of it boggled the mind, so Zahra, and many of the other ‘normal’ officers on the ship, just didn’t even try.

Magical teleportation in the force was something a normal person was just not equipped to try and puzzle out. Traitors wearing new uniforms though, that was well within her understanding. The black hexagon with the inwardly spined collar that billowed on the assailant’s flags and sat emblazoned on the trooper’s shoulder pads loomed in her mind as she watched the footage of them gunning down loyalist Imperial soldiers. She had never had much affection for the Imperial icon- too much of the Old Republic in it. However, this new symbol was stark and violent in a way that sat badly with her.

Zahra, despite outwards appearances, was quite given to self reflection. She had skeletons in her past, and it had taken others to pull her out of the deeper pits into which she had fallen. Tarkin had been the first, but it was his shadow that had thrown her into the second. Tarkin’s Travesty had tainted all who had served the man, but at the time she had refused to countenance the idea that he had been in any way at fault. Even the Emperor’s denouncement of his actions, and the subsequent hunt for her mentor across the galaxy, hadn’t dissuaded her. As a result, when the rebels had destroyed the Death Star she had languished for some time on rear duties, unable and unwilling to accept the reality of the situation.

It had been Vader who saved her from herself this time. The man was remorseless in a way that few could match and didn’t have an understanding bone in his body, but he had an eye for talent and cared very little about appearances. He had conscripted her into Death Squadron, and she finally had a chance to prove her worth. Zahra was proud to say she was the only Captain to remain in the unit for the entire Galactic Civil War, though it had been a close-run thing. Her continuous lionization of Tarkin had earned her many enemies, some of whom even Vader couldn’t ignore, and eventually he had decided to deal with the issue. She had been required to speak publicly at a memorial for Alderaan and denounce Tarkin. It had broken her to obey, but obey she had, and she had denounced the deeds and excoriated the man who had made her who she was.

Zahra’s salvation had been duty at the time, but then the second Death Star fell. With the end of the Galactic Civil War and the deaths of both the Emperor and Vader, Zahra had obeyed the order to begin Operation Cinder. She had been absent at Dreath, instead too busy bombarding a barely populated feral world at the outer rim of the galaxy. She was caught by rebel (or, by that point, New Republic) ships, and her command was destroyed. She had escaped but was very pointedly persona non grata in Imperial ranks, languishing on half pay as younger, less tainted officers fought and scrapped to build the new Empire. It was probably for the best; Zahra was angry, hateful and wanted to hit back, and that was far from the priority for an Empire in the process of reasserting itself.

Sabine’s arrival had been everything. The young captain had served alongside Zahra in Death Squadron, and while Zahra hadn’t liked the brightly coloured Mandalorian much that status was a badge of competence in its own right. So, when the young, talented woman arrived and requested her as a second in command for expeditions to hit back against Imperial traitors Zahra hadn’t even hesitated to agree. It had certainly been a learning curve. Zahra knew she was very much of the old school, and Captain Wren very much was not, so the culture shock had been dramatic. But age had taught Zahra better than to lash out. The Phoenix was Sabine’s ship, the men and women aboard were Sabine’s crew. So, Zahra found a niche for herself and worked hard to slot in.

It was a strange balancing act that resulted in a very unusual distribution of powers. As first officer, Zahra was in theory first in line to manage any issues that arose, while Sabine looked after the bigger picture. Sabine didn’t work that way. Instead, Sabine would discuss everything about the bigger picture with Zahra, while many of the departments on the ship answered directly to the Captain- the marine contingent and engineering corps most notably. At first, Zahra had been less than enthused about the direction of the new Empire, but as the crew filled up over time the advantages became ever more obvious. The new personnel WANTED to serve the Empire. They were enthusiastic, and took the initiative in a way the old conscript crews never would. While Zahra took her role as the main arbiter of ship discipline very seriously, it was nice to mostly use nudges and convincing rather than the harsher methods available.

When she saw the sharp icon of the new force of Imperial traitors, it was the harsh, brutal realities of the old Empire that went through her mind. They were exactly what she once was. Exactly what the Empire once aspired to be. Even as they exchanged fire with the skilled defence put on by the garrison, they pressed the attack with a suicidal zealotry. They were people to whom violence and domination were the end goal, not a regrettable but necessary path forwards.

The garrison had put up a fearsome defence, especially given how badly their numbers had already been reduced by the planned retirement of the Clones among their number in the years prior, and had exacted a fearsome toll, but the assault didn’t slack until the last of the white armoured stormtroopers launching the assault fell dead. Acting Sergeant Rookward, likely to become full sergeant upon his return to the Empire proper, had been the one to command the last defence after the officers of the unit had been ground up in the initial attacks, and had somehow managed to fend off the assailants. They had been stranded there for years awaiting some form of relief, and once the Phoenix had emerged from hyperspace over their facility with appropriate Imperial documentation there had been a sense of palpable relief.

Sabine had taken one look at her ship and had gasped. Even as the crew slain in the wraith attack were taken out and buried in the soil of Byss, the Captain had been running her hands over the intricate, twisting patterns of wraith-matter that now ran across the vessel, both without and within.

At Zahra’s command the Phoenix had taken a handful of smaller hyperspace jumps to test the waters as it were. Every time, they were swarmed by wraiths. Only, this time they came nowhere near the reactor. Somehow, the thin enamelled layers of wraith matter that had been inlaid on the walls formed a barrier that proved completely impenetrable to the creatures, with their otherwise incorporeal forms proving unwilling to touch it. As an experiment, Zahra had asked one of the Death Troopers to pull a wraith into the material, and the wraith had simply been severed around the edges, cut neatly into pieces as if the enamelled design was a blade.

After that, Zahra had determined to layer the material over the entire infrastructure of the ship. They didn’t have anywhere near sufficient to fully encase the entire massive interior and exterior surface area of the ship, but the solution had been so obvious that Zahra wanted to kick herself after it was suggested. For two weeks, the engineering team had worked tirelessly, with the black material in one hand and access to Sabine’s digital sketchbook in the other, and one by one her designs and ideas had come to life, made out in the stuff of unreality manifest in the real world. It was a strange fervour that overtook the ship as they did, and to everyone involved the process simply felt right.

And now, with the captain reunited with her ship, her eyes were wide and drinking everything in as she was taken (with some urgency) to the medical bay. Both she and Shin were remarkably quiet about their experiences, much to the chagrin of the doctors- Force stuff, Sabine had said in as many words- but their injuries spoke for themselves. Shin got off ‘lightly’; twenty percent of her body was covered in third degree burns, her shoulder was fractured in six locations, one of her ears and a not insignificant chunk of her scalp had been badly burned- in the opinion of the medics, the result of a lightsaber making sustained contact with her helmet- and, much less seriously but much more strangely, her irises were both now an almost glowing blue.

Sabine was… something else. Over half of her body was covered in third degree burns, with much more severe scorching on her throat and forearm. She had massive deep tissue trauma in her belly, bearing the telltale signs of impalement by lightsaber; it was a wound that baffled the medics. They were very upfront with Zahra- the wound on the Captain’s belly should have been fatal. But, they also admitted that it was not even the strangest thing they encountered. Sabine’s left arm was smashed in so many locations it was in essence a sack of muscle holding a soup of fragments, while her right hip and femur were both suffering from a substantial series of fractures. On top of this array of severe injuries, she was also in late stage malnutrition, to the degree the medics were amazed she was still walking, and was riddled with precancerous growths. Fortunately, for the exceptionally well stocked medical bay of the Phoenix, these were easy to remove, but their onset was FAR in excess of anything that occurred naturally. The presiding doctor was blunt in his words; Captain Wren suffered injuries of such magnitude that she should have been killed several times over, let alone being able to arrive at the Phoenix under her own power. Even further, Zahra had to forcibly stand him down from issuing a ship wide quarantine in case any of the strange effect wrought upon her were contagious.

Shin barely left Sabine’s side, the two Countesses laying on a cot in medical side by side, in simple Imperial fatigues. Most of the ‘soft’ components of their armour had to be disposed of, the damage to it too extensive to save. The electronics and inbuilt weaponry of their suits were ruined, and would need a ground up rebuild. The beskar plates had survived well, but especially in Sabine’s case the forged alloy lines in the bare plates had started to warp and change, esoteric patterns appearing in the shine of the now paintless armour. The medical team had ordered them both on light duties for at the very least the next month- with the gentle understanding that for their Captain she would not be taking any tactical command for at least half a year for her extensive injuries to abate.

In the meantime, Zahra found herself regularly visiting the Countesses to plan their path forwards. They had emptied the outposts of anything of value, strip-purging their databanks and scouring every scrap of analog information, every spare part and every useful fragment of material. Their primary mission was completed. There was, however, a problem. Thanks to the disrupted route of their travels and the nature of the galactic core, they had no idea of their positioning and no clear path away. The network of relays that allowed the garrison there in the first place was in ruins, and as a result of their clash with the Wraiths they no longer had the resources to repair them safely. Nobody wanted to play games with hyperspace jumps after the effort it took to get to Byss in the first place.

Sabine was dropping in and out of lucidity, but Shin was fully aware and sharp, and her answer confused everyone. Summoning a planetary map of Byss, she rotated it and gestured to a wasteland to the far planetary south.

“Here. This is where we need to go.”

Zahra peered at the projection. The entire region around where Shin gestured was stained black. Summoning a map on her datapad, she examined the area. The whole thing was listed as uninhabitable, citing an array of lethal geological and climactic conditions rendering it inhospitable to life. If Zahra had been a less well travelled woman, she was certain she would have fought back. But she wasn’t. She knew Shin. Even if it was endlessly frustrating Force nonsense, Shin wouldn’t lead them somewhere without a reason, and Zahra had seen enough Imperial maps to know when an area was being cordoned off by Imperial intelligence.

And so, here she was. Scouring over data feeds at the rear of the bridge while Shin stood in Sabine’s usual spot, clad in a set of clean Imperial fatigues, her healing wounds exposed to sight. She was sat cross legged on the ground, her eyes closed, her mouth moving. Mostly, she was silent, save for occasional clipped instructions to the crew, who navigated the massive vessel towards their destination. They had elected to travel in low orbit, giving the massive main engines of the Phoenix a chance to power down and the engineering crew an opportunity to run diagnostics and fixes of any areas where faults were beginning to appear from the strain the ship had been under over their travels.

The southern lands were rich and beautiful, with enormous, white sand beaches and turquoise water that would, no doubt have shone beautifully under clear sunlight. However, clear sunlight was not what they received. Instead, as they travelled ever closer towards their destination, they were instead greeted by every thicker banks of storm clouds and a baleful purple half-light that cast the landscape in an arcane shadow. The very air was suffused with malevolence, and as the Phoenix cut through the walls of cloud it seemed to be resisting the mighty vessel’s motion.

Their target was visible- it had been for some time. It was a tall, ancient stone tower, looking weathered with age but still standing firm and strong. While it was utterly dwarfed by the immense size of the Star Destroyer, it towered over its surroundings, and the ship was on a direct course for it. When they were only a few miles out, Shin rose from her seat on the ground. Turning, she faced Zahra.

“We must dock with the summit. I need a detail of troopers to accompany myself and Sabine into the tower.”

With that said, she made to stride out of the room. Instead of the rapid exit she envisioned, however, she was met with the unyielding, hard earned muscle of Zahra’s arm blocking her path. The both knew it was not something that would really prove an obstacle to the young Jedi, Zahra had a lot of weight and muscle on Shin, and the arm proved more than sufficient to arrest the younger woman’s movement.

“While I am entirely certain that there is nothing I can do to stop you from getting yourself into danger, Major, I will not permit Sabine to go on this trip.”

Shin froze. While Zahra had often made it her mission to remind her of their relative zones of authority aboard a ship, she had never made it a direct point of conflict. Zahra didn’t stop, though.

“Your last excursion has placed the Captain in critical condition. While I would never think to try to overrule either of your authorities, in this matter the Chief Medical Officer outranks us both. He has put you both on light duties. Now, while I am very much aware that nobody on this ship can stop you from going where you want, Sabine needs to rest and recover a lot longer before she gets into any more scrapes. I will prepare a detail, and I will accompany you if you feel you need support, but the Captain stays here.”

Zahra spoke with absolute finality, and for one of the few times in her life gave a prayer of gratitude for the Old Republic. It was very much the standard in galactic history for a ship’s Chief Medical Officer to have absolute authority over all matters within their area of expertise, but the Empire had done away with that regulation, driven by a need for results over particular concern over crew welfare. While the more forwards thinking captains had backed up their officers, maintaining the spirit if not the law, it had lost the absolute systemic backing it traditionally held. With the collapse at Endor, crews had become far more valuable and the Empress had reinstated the policy immediately, and in some cases, like when staring down a powerful force wielder, Zahra definitely felt it had advantages.

Shin paused for a moment, and then nodded.

“Very well. You come. We will need you.”

With Shin’s dropping of the matter, Zahra moved her arm out of the way.

“Very well, Major. I will prepare a contingent of Troopers, and I will meet you in the shuttle bay in twenty minutes.”

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The black wraith matter inlaid upon the walls, intermingled with Sabine’s offerings that traditionally ornamented the hangar, lent the whole area a more malign and twisted aura than the bright work of the Captain usually gave. The whole world felt cold and hostile, the tension of the dark side heavy in the air. It was familiar to Shin- for all Baylan spoke of being beyond light and dark, he had fallen much deeper into darkness than she had realised. It was only as he drove his saber into Sabine’s gut on Mortis that she realised that the odious pall that usually surrounded him was absent, replaced with a calm but utterly twisted serenity. Whatever- whoever- he followed now, he was beyond the darkness. Something else had displaced it in his soul.

This planet though was suffused with it. Echoes of malignancy below the idyllic surface, a paradise world corrupted to its heart. The spire that now reached up to rest at the belly of the Star Destroyer was the only untainted part of the world, and incandescent beacon of light amidst the desolate half dark. Whatever it was, Shin could feel that it was the way forwards. The force’s hand was on her shoulder, pushing on her path to this.

Zahra had prepared a unit of nearly thirty troopers, their helmets as impassive as ever, the permanent black scowl against blue and white armour just as effective a battle mask as it had been when she first encountered them on Mygeeto. Having seen the 212^th’s Kaleesh hybrid helmets, she knew others were more intimidating still, but the enormous mass of trooper behind the mask was the thing to really fear.

The Lieutenant herself had exchanged her seemingly omnipresent grey-green uniform for combat uniform, the standard grey uniform clashing hard with the inky black armour plates marking her as a veteran of Death Squadron. She wore the standard issue Imperial helmet, but her eyes were obscured with a tactical visor and a rebreather covered her jaw and lower face. A vibroblade hung from her right hip, and a blaster pistol was holstered on the other. Shin had seen the woman in combat at the tail end of the wraith assault, and her every movement and stance spoke of hard won experience and skill.

Shin felt naked without her armour. She had grown used to it, feeling like it was a second skin around her, and to be in only basic fatigues now felt wrong on a deeply fundamental level. There was no way around it- the armour was largely chunks of metal now until she could effect repairs (or, more likely, allow Sabine to rebuild it for her). She touched her saber sitting at her hip. At least that was something she could give back to her Countess. Shin’s vision had proved prophetic, but the blade she had gifted to her Wren had proved enough to turn aside a lethal strike and allow Sabine to be only critically injured rather than dead. A replacement was certainly in order though.

Exhaling, she nodded to the unit, and with a gesture they marched off the hangar and onto the summit of the spire.

Chapter Text

TC-831 found the spire unnerving. The past few months had been a harrowing time for the Death Trooper contingent. She had never felt greater admiration of Lieutenant Zahra; the hardened Imperial veteran had no true connection to the Phoenix or the Force beyond the typical attachment of an officer to their command, but she had managed to single handedly stave off the near abject despair they had all felt when the soul of the vessel had disappeared. To be a Death Trooper was to live a cold, lonely, isolated and passionless life, severed from desire and even from humanity. The Phoenix staved off the horror of their existences, filled them with fire and purpose and connection. And that had disappeared. Not for long, to be sure, but TC-831 was absolutely certain that had the lieutenant not been a woman of such singular will and dedication many of the trooper contingent would have simply laid down and surrendered to the nightmarish emptiness that suffused them.

How the rest of the Imperial legions survived in such a state was inconceivable. Certainly, they likely didn’t know any better, but the entire crew of the Phoenix had reflected on Thrawn’s Captain Enoch in a radically different light in the wake of the experience. He had felt the fire of the Phoenix, and accepted it, but his loyalty to his warlord had been enough to convince him to surrender the peace it brought. The man’s will and loyalty had taken on entire new dimensions of admiration among the crew now that they knew the agony he endured for his Empire.

The return of the Countesses had been an almost transcendent experience. The ennui that had set in was burned away in a second, the Phoenix seeming to burst into life once more. The Lieutenants skill, loyalty and force of personality, while enough to sustain them, was woefully insufficient compared to the towering majesty and magnificence of the true masters of the vessel. The admiration of the crew remained with her, especially as she seemed as relieved to greet the Countesses back as the rest of them, but she was their mistress only by exception, and both she and the rest of the crew knew it.

The Captain was safely ensconced on the ship, and the wolf was leading them now. It was strange to see the woman as she was after her travails. Her short cropped, damaged hair managed to blend nicely into the stark milky pale of her extensive burn scarring. Her non-dominant arm was bound up tight in a sling, and the light fatigues hung loosely off her scrawny frame. Her travels had not been kind to her, and while she was not the nearly emaciated figure that had first returned to them, much of the strength she had acquired as a result of her much healthier lifestyle on board the Phoenix had been lost. Without her armour, she looked like what she was- a young woman who had lived a life that prevented her from growing as much as she should have. It was a much less fearsome appearance than that of the Mandalorian Countess she normally presented as, but hardly an unwelcome one.

The Wolf and the Lieutenant led them through the winding corridors of the spire. They were strange and confusing to navigate, structured in a bizarre way that caused a strange sense of unease and discomfort. The whole place was alive, but it was not the vital life of the Phoenix- it was something far older and more primal. They were intruders, and the Death Troopers in particular were not welcome here. TC-831 could feel the broken and trammelled remains of The Sickness within her screaming at the surroundings. To take her mind off the struggle within her engineered frame, she sought to unpick the mystery of the corridors.

The walls were inscribed with text and pictograms, scrawling prose recognisable only for its length and structure, fashioned in an alien hand in elegant looping script. The images were stylized and esoteric, but were recognisable as people, animals and structures, though represented in a strange and confused way. It was when she was looking at the pictograms that the cause of TC-831’s unease became apparent- there was not a single straight line in sight. Everything was curved and flowing, twisting between through concave and convex forms and roiling in alien distortion. Individually, when focussed in on a single detail, it was manageable- beautiful, even. When taken as a whole, the effect was unsettling and disturbing.

The party proceeded down through the structure. While it was empty, clearly abandoned for some time, there was not a single iota of dust in any of the corridors. The text and script on the walls continued unabated, roiling ever on as they delved deeper into the bowels of the spire. The silence and stillness was oppressive, broken up only by the heavy footfalls of the armoured troopers, and the air grew ever colder as they moved lower and lower down. The Death Trooper’s weapons were readied, but the absence of any obvious threat was throwing them off, especially when contrasted with their endless sense of threat.

It was when they arrived at the door that the whisper became a scream. The corridor expanded out, becoming a huge hallway that terminated at an enormous carved door. A massive stylized image of a elderly man, clad in robes, loomed over the hallway, his hands raised to either side of him. Unlike the rest of the spire so far, every detail of him was made out in sharp straight lines, the rigidity of his form a stark, severe contrast to the imagery around. But it was the images to either side of him that drew the eye most. Once, they had clearly been another two figures, made out in the same style as the man- on one side, a pale skinned figure clad in black, red eyes gleaming. On the other, a woman, with long hair and a pale face, swathed in a benign dress. Some remains of the original artistry remained, on the elements closest to the door, but it was as if the very imagery itself was diseased, the straight lines giving way to the coils and looping curves of the rest of the script within the spire, reshaping and contorting into unsettling patterns. While the figures were still recognisable, it gave the clear impression that the people in question were in the process of being devoured by some form of corruption.

The party halted to look at the images- the whole room was suffused with a sense of dread and foreboding. This lasted for only a second, before a rush of fire ran through their veins and drove away the fear. The Wolf moved first, reaching her hand up towards the doorway, the air seeming to tense and thicken. Upon the doorway, four small circles began to glow; two formed a vertical line, bisecting the stone, made out in calming green, while one was slightly held off to the bottom left of the dividing line, shimmering in malevolent red. The other, however, glowed with a sickening yellowish tinge far off to the top of the structure, far above and to the right of any other point of light. The dust across the structure seemed to burn away as the four points started to move, beginning to circle about a central point, drawing in until they formed an equidistant square around the centre of the frame, then spiralling out, retaining their formation but scattering further apart from the nexus.

The entire contingent was fixated on the lights, as they spiralled ever faster, only to, just as rapidly as they accelerated, they slowed. Coming to a rest, they formed a perfect square around the centre of the doorway, and they faded. First, the two green points gave way, dissipating into nothing. Then the yellowish blight darkened to pale stone, and finally even the glowing redness dissipated, though it held on long after it seemed destined to fade. As it finally vanished to nothing, the entire room began to move. The figure above the door lowered its hands, the image seeming to move across the stone and stare down at the assembled troopers below. The figures to the side froze for a moment, before fracturing, their vaguely defined shapes and remnants splitting into thousands of pieces, the swirling contours and knotted whorls redefined in clarity to straight edges and sharp corners as the imagery seemed to shatter like glass.

An unearthly howl roared across the spire, and the troopers all raised their weapons as one, aiming around in a search for the source of the noise, but instead of any answers the surroundings seemed to offer only more questions. All along the walls, the distorted, flowing circles and curves seemed to contort, before with a sharp crack the stone was riven with a great rent, carved asunder and torn open to the world, the elegant but inhuman shapes replaced in a heartbeat by the stark and familiar forms of destruction. With a heavy sense of finality, the figure over the doorway faded to nothing, and with him went the door itself, leaving only a great, dark void where once stone faced the party.

The Wolf was the first to move, walking tentatively forwards into the darkness. The Lieutenant followed swiftly after, and TC-831 suppressed the screaming fire in her veins to follow. The Sickness was screaming and roiling within her, but as she stepped across the threshold it stopped. Completely and entirely. While it was rarely truly agitated, the force-spawned nightmare that gave rise to the Death Troopers was never silent, but the moment she entered the darkness, it was. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she had to forcibly suppress her euphoria at the feeling to focus on the task at hand. Raising her disruptor, she activated the light at the front and scanned their new environs. The darkness was inky and black, and seemed to actively steal the light away, but unlike the tainted corruption of the spire so far it felt calm and peaceful, rather than the relentless foreboding that hung over them before.

The small antechamber they were in was empty, and there was only a single exit before them, but as TC-831 shone her light through the breach the entire party froze on the spot. The room ahead was large and spacious, with a rising staircase in the centre leading to a massive triangular section of unadorned wall. However, at the foot of the staircase was positioned a old, ruined throne, carved from the rock of the spire itself, and upon the throne sat two desiccated corpses. They were clearly ancient, but they were without the damage that would be inflicted by insect or parasite, instead being well preserved even in the open air of the room. And, before the throne, knelt on the ground, was a transparent blue figure, their head bowed towards the seat.

Every blaster was trained on the figure in a heartbeat, but the trigger fingers of the group were halted by The Wolf’s raised fist.

“I am Shin Hati, Countess of Krownest, Jedi Knight of the Force and Major of the Imperial Army. Identify yourself.”

The Wolf’s voice echoed around the chamber, before stilling and fading to silence. Slowly, the figure rose, lowering their hood as they turned to face the assembled troopers. Before them stood a woman, or at least the afterimage of one. Her incorporeal nature and blueish glow made picking out details challenging, but her jedi robes were clear enough. Of all the party, it was Zahra who exhaled first.

“I recognise you. You’re the exile. Meetra Surik.”

The woman cast a surprised look at the uniformed Lieutenant, the black armour not sufficiently covering to fully hide the lime fatigues beneath. For possibly the first time since they had begun this trek into the heart of the galaxy, Shin was the one who looked completely lost. TC-831 suspected it was inevitable, but it was somewhat surprising that Shin hadn’t picked up anything about the Exile.

The Empire had been quite effective in its destruction of the Jedi legacy, but it was forced to reckon with the fact that a number still served it even in the aftermath of the Jedi Rebellion. Their solution had been almost malign in its effectiveness; the Jedi Order was declared a threat in rebellion, with a philosophy that ran diametrically against the New Order of order and stability. Thus, those Jedi who broke with the order, and did what was necessary to secure the rise of the Empire were not Jedi in truth, but instead were pioneers and warriors serving a righteous cause. And for the Empire, the existence of the First Fallen was a blessing beyond imagining. Revan and Surik were perfect heroes to rally behind, showing that the perfidy and weakness of the Jedi was nothing new, that even in ages past there were those who did what needed to be done. Every Imperial soldier knew their names, but while Revan was hailed as a visionary who laid the first foundations of what would eventually grow into the Empire, Surik was a soldier.

She was the hero who broke the Mandalorian crusaders. Even as Revan duelled their lord, it was Surik who destroyed their people’s strength. That she did so willingly, even at the cost of her own power was something that the Empire admired; to the authorities above she represented the ideals of self sacrifice and absolute commitment that every Imperial soldier should aspire towards.

“That my name is known to a soldier of Empire brings grief to me. Yet it is I who welcome you here, Knight Hati, and your companions. I greet you as guide and ally.”

The Wolf frowned at Knight Surik’s words, but didn’t hesitate for long.

“What is this place? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The Jedi spirit gave a small smile, before bowing her head gently.

“This is the Tomb of the Force. We exist here, trapped in a limbo, our souls held to this plane and denied unity with the Threads. We who are trapped here are those who wrought a crime so utter and awful in life that the Force itself bars our passing. We are the guardians of the past and the seekers of the future. We have come here now, from across space and time, across the bounds of life and death, because the universe is changing, and it hurtles towards a precipice of ruin. Chaos and Ambition chafe against the bounds of Order, and those who were once one are gone now, their purpose fulfilled. And you are here, Knight Hati, to set the stage for an act fashioned over the entire existence of civilization in this galaxy.”

At that, Knight Surik stopped to gaze at the Lieutenant, then at the troopers behind them.

“Your corpse-puppets and warriors will avail you for nothing. I once sought the embrace- the certainty- of order and security, and in doing so I committed a crime so terrible that my soul itself was ruptured with a wound that will never heal. The excesses of your Empire, the travesty wrought by your fallen knight, has broken the final seal of a lock forged over a thousand centuries past. The Eyes of Blight gaze across the galaxy now, and the primordial chaos is testing its bonds.”

The ghostly figure stopped. The Wolf was silent, a confused look upon her face, but her eyes sparked with recognition. While the Wolf was not educated nor particularly quick witted, she was no fool, and something was clearly dawning upon her.

“When I was on Mortis, Baylan said that the Eyes of Blight were opening. What does he mean? What are the Eyes of Blight?”

At the Wolf’s question, Surik smiled.

“The black beast has found a new master. The force is a composite of all life, but unlike the random nature of flesh the Force is a power of intent. A good action taken with good intent produces a lesser wave than a similar action taken with malice in mind. Every atrocity leaves a scar in the force, but not all actions are equal. True wielders of the Dark Side never could understand- never can grasp- that the Force’s wisdom is a greater strength than any power it can provide. An Eye of Blight is formed when a true servant of the force acts to unleash true horror- when a child of the Light willingly casts themselves deep into darkness and embraces their worst natures. Each is more than just a scar in the force- more even than a normal wound. An Eye of Blight is an injury dealt to the very essence of the Force itself- a rupture through which nightmares and chaos can slip to infect the waking galaxy.”

Knight Suirk paused, to allow the information to sink in. When a voice could be heard again, it was the Lieutenant  that spoke.

“Is that why you’re here? The Force judged you unworthy? You’re a hero. You saved the Republic. You ended the crusade! How can you be unworthy?”

Knight Surik gave a sad smile.

“Worth has nothing to do with it. I do not regret my actions- I did what I felt necessary. But the force is not a citizen of the Republic. It is not a servant of the Jedi. The Force is a servant of life itself, and as a Jedi it was my duty to serve this cause. And, over Malachor, I knowingly and willingly committed an entire civilization to ruination and destruction, in violation of my oath and my vow. The torment I wrought upon the force itself by my actions was so dire that the Cosmic Force itself recoiled from my touch, severing me from itself so I could hurt it no longer. I was not the first, nor was I the last, but a wound is not the lesser for not being the first inflicted.”

Silence fell over the assembled crowd. The Lieutenant appeared to be struggling to process what the ghostly Jedi Knight had said. The troopers were also feeling strange in the presence of the ephemeral figure. The Sickness within their veins protested and fought against her presence, even the abomination of the dark side recoiling from the force severed creature before them. This time, it was the Wolf that broke the silence.

“Why do you say We?”

At that, Surik smiled, faint and thin.

“My actions birthed the third of the Eyes of Blight. The creator of the fourth still lives, and in death will be denied even this tomb. However, there are far older and wiser beings than I that await you within. You must understand the nature of the threat you face, or the Force itself will be upturned. They await you beyond.”

TC-831 tried to peer past the ghost to see up the stairway, but the faint glow of the spectre before them and the beams of their torches could make no headway on the gloom. Surik smirked, and stood aside, gesturing for the group to make their way forwards. The Wolf didn’t hesitate, marching straight past the throne and beginning the ascent up the stone steps. The Lieutenant appeared more reluctant, halting and still clearly wishing to talk more with the spectral Knight, but eventually duty won out over admiration, and she followed the rest of the party up the stairs.

----------------------------------------

Knight Surik’s words weighed heavily on Zahra, even as the fireteam moved up the steps in Shin’s wake. The ghostly figure allowed them to pass, but then raised her hood again and followed them, lingering just behind the rear of the party. The troopers and Shin showed her no heed, but Zahra couldn’t let go of her words. Zahra was a die-hard loyalist to the Empire, and was proud to serve the cause of order and peace across the galaxy. Meetra Surik was a legend, a living embodiment of the values the Empire expected of its troops. Surik’s supreme sacrifice allowed the Republic to survive the Mandalorian Crusades. The reforms in her wake let it endure Revan’s assault. She overthrew the Dark Triumvirate and saved the galaxy from the rule of a fallen Jedi like Lady Traya.

Yet, here she was, denouncing her own actions. The actions of a soldier. Actions that Zahra could only hope she would have the strength of character to carry through under similar circumstances.

“Your thoughts betray you, Lieutenant Zahra. Centre yourself.”

A wave of memories crashed upon Zahra in a second; she had heard those words before, but from a different mouth, and in a different voice. The precise, Core accent of Tarkin resounded around her, back when she was just a junior officer in his service. And now, separated by thirty years and thousands of battles, here they were again, repeated by a ghost in a temple of a planet that was hidden in the centre of the galaxy.

“How do you know that? How can you know that. Tarkin is dead, his secrets are dead with him.”

Turning, she looked at the hooded knight directly.

“There are no secrets from the force, Lieutenant. No way of hiding one’s true self. I was severed from the cosmic power of the force, but I remain a part of its life and spirit, nonetheless. Each of us here lost a part of ourselves when we birthed the Eyes- I escaped the most lightly, for to be a Jedi is not to be powerful, but to be one with the Force itself. This was what Revan never understood. You feel conflict because you cannot understand how a soldier can regret their actions in ending a war. I say that I do as I was not a soldier. Certainly, the Republic gave me a rank and a title, and I even acted as one, but I was a Jedi Knight. I was a Jedi, and to end the war and be a soldier I betrayed the Force. Each of us here did what we felt was necessary, backed into a corner with no hope of rescue or escape, and through our actions we sought to build a brighter future. But actions have consequences, and the repercussions of injuring something as vast as the Force are immense beyond reckoning.”

Zahra shook her head.

“Trying to build a better future shouldn’t need to break the Force. Why you did what you did should matter. If the Force is as benevolent as you are saying, how could it have let the Crusaders get as far as they did?”

Surik laughed at her words- not mockingly, but patiently and with understanding.

“The way you think of the force is not quite correct. The Witches of Brendok had a different view of the force, seeing it as a thread connecting them with one another and their world. They were small minded and arrogant to believe themselves of such great significance, but the idea does bear some truth; the force is the mesh that binds life with life and spirit with destiny across the length and breadth of the galaxy. It judges us only as we judge ourselves. The Crusaders believed themselves righteous and just, and the force could pass no judgement upon their atrocities, even as the galaxy wept in their wake. But I was a servant of life, sworn to the will of the force. I faced the decision, and chose to go through with an action that directly contravened my vows and oath. I am not ashamed of my choice, but nor am I proud of it. The divided loyalties of the Jedi Order placed me in a position where I had to betray either the Republic or the Force, and I chose the latter.”

Zahra murmured under her breath, but then a contemplative look crossed her face.

“Can you tell me more about the Force? Hati is very poor at explaining herself. You spoke about the cosmic Force- what is that?”

Surik smiled at the inquiry. Zahra suspected the ghost was just pleased to have someone to talk to who was genuinely interested.

“In the Jedi’s teaching, there are three strands of the force: the Unifying Force, the Living Force, and the Cosmic Force. The Unifying Force is the Thread of which I spoke. It is the mettle that binds things together, fashioning wondrous, luminous beings out of the crude matter of creation. The Living Force is the creative essence of the galaxy, giving life and light to all that exist. It is the verdant heart of all living beings. The Cosmic Force is the power of the force, through which the Force shapes the galaxy.

Each is wondrous and essential in its own way. For my sin, I was severed from the Cosmic Force in entirety, cut off from the power of the Jedi. While at the time I was distraught, I learned over time that this was a gift. I had been found wanting, but not worthless; I was still connected, still a part of the Force’s tapestry. I didn’t see this for some time, but it was Revan who made me understand. It is a hard life to be cleaved fully from the power bequeathed by the Force, but it is something else entirely to be severed from the connections it brings.”

Zahra processed the words only for a moment before asking her next question, one that had been waiting on the tip of her tongue. It was a question that had driven her curiosity ever since Inquisitor Tano had first travelled aboard the Phoenix, and she had done her due diligence and dug into the fallen one’s legendary past.

“What about the Dark Side of the Force?”

Surik looked her dead in the eyes as she answered.

“The Dark Side is not the Force as I have described it, not truly. To wield the Dark Side is to take the force and twist it to your will through single minded obsession. Each aspect of the force has its dark side, and each and every single person who chooses to wield such power knowingly embraces self destruction. The Force is not a tool to be shaped, and doing so twists both the force and its wielder into shapes and alignments that no creature should even know.”

Before the line of questioning could continue however, the party stopped its movements. Looking past the bulky Troopers, Zahra could see another ghostly figure, sat upon the ground and clad in simple Jedi robes. His hands were splayed on his crossed legs and he seemed aware of the party’s presence, but supremely unconcerned. Surik made her way past the troopers to stand behind Shin, and Zahra, not wanting to be left behind, moved up to take position on Shin’s other flank.

“Why are you here, Wolf Child?”

The man’s voice was thin and level, but his words were heavy, as if more was being asked than appeared on its surface. Shin didn’t even hesitate before replying.

“I was summoned here to learn of the Eyes of Blight.”

A half smile- more of a smirk, at a glance- crept over the man’s face, just visible below the shadow of his hood.

“Then you have come to the right place, Countess of the Krow. Ask what you will of me, and I will aid you however I am able.”

“Who are you?”

At Shin’s question, posed so fast he had barely completed his sentence before it was delivered, the man stopped in his place, before rising to his feet. Lowering his hood, the assembled party all took an involuntary step back. Against the ghostly blue of his spectral form his eyes glowed with a hideous and malignant orange, the very act of meeting his gaze filling the onlookers with dread.

“My name is gone. It was lost long ago. But I am known to your histories as the Prime Je’daii.”

The room may as well have been empty in the wake of that statement. The Jedi had been almost eternal in the minds of the citizens of the Republic. Even in the Empire, while their end was well publicized, their beginning was shrouded by so many eons it was effectively a myth. Most simply assumed the Jedi were an eternal presence, depending on one’s allegiance a cold hand strangling the Republic with their weakness or a guiding light of morality and hope in the otherwise uncaring galaxy.

The concept of meeting the originator of such an order was… well, it was far beyond the scope of what most mortals would expect. Even Zahra was in quiet awe of the being before them.

“What happened to your eyes?”

Unexpectedly, it was one of the Death Troopers that spoke up. Their modulated voice caused an eerie echo around the room, but Zahra suspected that both she and Shin were secretly pleased not to have to ask such a question.

“I was born in a time of catastrophe. The Infinite Empire was collapsing across the galaxy, and in their weakness they acted according to their most base natures. The Rakata were all spiteful, selfish creatures, and as their society fell into ruins they lashed out with all of the hate they could muster. Civil War. Genocide. Entire nascent civilizations, desperately trying to build themselves anew under the crushing weight of the Infinite Empire were extinguished. Billions of Rakata slaughtered each other in a savage bid for dominance. My Order survived by cloistering ourselves upon Tython, far from the Empire’s reach, but fall was beginning to affect us too. So I acted.”

The man paused, his eyes flaring, before he took a deep breath and steadied himself.

“I travelled to their homeworld, and about their home sun, the centre of their worship as their devouring god, I activated their Star Forge. It consumed their star, but it did so much more than that. Some I intended. Some I did not. Their world was cast into night, the sudden cold ending all life upon its surface in a heartbeat. But the Forge was hungry still. Instead of being satisfied with just the beating heart of the Empire, it wanted more. And I fed it, on and on. I tapped into the force at the very heart of the Forge, and in a second of desperation I gave it everything it wanted. Every Rakata across the entire Empire with even the faintest trace of darkness in their soul had their lives snuffed out and their essence fed to the Forge. It devoured them. It devoured me. And, overwhelmed with the hatred and loathing of an entire race at the moment of its extinction, it devoured itself.”

The entire room held its breath. The Rakatan Infinite Empire was well known as the progenitor civilization of every stellar nation encountered in the history of the Republic. They had been a central point in the education of every citizen of both the Republic and the Empire. The Republic had been born in the wake of the Infinite Empire, and it was from the technology the Rakata left behind that the first hyperdrives were developed on Coruscant. Similarly, the Infinite Empire was the last galactic state to hold the Core Worlds under alien control, and thus was a helpful boogeyman to justify the human-centric Empire.

Yet, a great mystery had always clouded their histories; how does an ancient, galaxy spanning empire collapse in less than a generation. They predated hyperdrives, and even the act of travelling from one end of the galaxy to the other would have required years, let alone exterminating such a powerful and widespread race as the Rakata. Yet, the immense strength of the Rakata had disappeared almost overnight, in historical terms, leaving an immense power vacuum into which the Republic had, over thousands of years of excruciating effort, poured itself, binding the galaxy together once again.

“What did it do? This, Star Forge?”

The spectre inclined his head slightly, before throwing his hand behind him, and the entire room dissolved into the inky blackness of space. A sickly, yellow star burned before them, and above it, leeching power from the star in an umbilical corona, rested an immense black structure, of four wings rising vertically, spaced evenly around a spherical core. While dwarfed by the vastness of its victim star, it was a vessel of a scale matched by few others. It was not a vessel in good health, however. Much like the ruined, damaged star below it, the ship was tainted by hideous purple cracks, propagating across it black hull like scars or wounds.

“The Forge was an instrument of creation, but, fashioned by the hands of the Infinite Empire, to build it had to first destroy. It fashioned their weapons and their warships. It fuelled their domination and conquest of the galaxy. And, one by one, it snuffed out stars and worlds and moons and lives. The Force was another tool to the Rakata, and their natures made them easy converts to the dark side. But even it couldn’t contain the malice of the collapsing Empire, and in it’s death throes, it gave way.”

The Forge in their vision gave way to the cracks, and exploded outwards, but what was left behind was not merely a void in space- it was a shard of red, glowing with such malevolence and virulent, abiding malice that it was painful to even observe.

“The star, the station, and all memory of the Rakatan capital planet were swept away, annihilated in their own hatred. My flesh was annihilated, but my crime was so dee, so abiding, that I could not pass on. The Living Force itself abandoned me, and my soul became bound to this, fragment of oblivion that my actions left in my wake. I cannot pass on while it remains, and in the wake of the oblivion I created the Forge played its final, cruel trick.”

Around the red shard, debris and dust, from the star, the planets, and the Forge, began to gather and coalesce. At first it was a twisted, ruined patchwork, but as it grew ever larger, it became clear what its was. A new world was forming, drenched in the malevolence of the extinction.

“A new world was born from this destruction, and gaping hole in the force itself. The Second Eye of Blight. For an eternity it sat, unknown and unnoticed, until rogue agents of my order found it. With the coming of the Sith, this monument to my sins was finally given a name.”

“They named it Ixigul, Infinity’s End.”

Shin mouthed the word for a moment, before recognition shot across her eyes.

“Exegol.”

Chapter Text

Empress Leia Amidala was a knowledgeable, well educated, and well read woman. She had been taught, by everyone she had ever known, that knowledge was to power as power was to wealth; something abiding and permanent against the fleeting and ephemeral. Her mother had been the greatest broker of knowledge in the Empire, seeing so much that even Senators, Moffs and Admirals feared to draw her eye, ever aware that their secrets would be laid bare and exposed. Her father, while possessing power beyond that of nearly any other man in the galaxy, deeply understood that all of his power would have been worthless without the knowledge that was granted to him by his various masters, be they Jedi or Sith.  

And Palpatine had sought knowledge with a fervour that outstripped even they; no secret was beyond his thoughts, no dark art hidden from his sight. His agents, of which Leia had been one of the most prominent, had scoured the length and breadth of the galaxy, Imperial or no, seeking any scrap of information or power hidden by time or distance. And, once they were found and delivered, the later Emperor spirited away every secret and fragment to hide it away... somewhere. Vader knew where they were hidden, but the bond between Sith master and apprentice was strong, and while her father shared much with her, this secret he had taken to his grave. Ahsoka likewise knew little, but she at least had a path to the information. An Sith relic known as a Wayfinder had been emplaced upon Vader’s ship during a recent round of upgrades, and another was present in the Emperor’s personal shuttle. Unfortunately, both of the ships in question had been aboard the second Death Star, and had been destroyed when the immense battle station had been destroyed.   

With the Battle of Endor, Leia’s quest for Palpatine’s secrets had needed to be put on pause. Every single resource was needed for the cataclysm now engulfing her nation. The spiralling conflict had absorbed every credit and favour she had to call upon; while self interest had motivated many, particularly the banks and the Kuat Drive Yards, who knew full well they would never be allowed to continue operating under the New Republic, everyone wanted to back a winner, and in those days the Empire’s victory was everything but certain, especially in the aftermath of Operation Cinder and the destruction of the warlords at Jakku.      

Even after Dreath and the Reconquest, the Empire’s resources were stretched. It was only with the Concordant and peace that she could resume her search. Ahsoka was dispatched to Kef Bir to scour the wreckage of the Death Star. Sabine was deployed to the Outer Rim to extract Old Empire databanks (while also bringing low various annoyances to her rule- why only deal with one issue when several could be laid low in a single blow). Morgan Elsbeth had retrieved Thrawn, giving her military a head to control its still substantial muscle. And Gideon had finally shown his hand, exposing the remaining traitors in the Mandalore sector and allowing her to bring them down in fire and ruin, while also leaving the New Republic historically exposed with the annihilation of one of its entire response fleets.   

But, as the proverbs said, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. The vision she had seen in Ahsoka’s mind, experienced in the living waters of Mandalore, spoke of a crisis brewing that required more than just weapons to fight. With Thrawn’s war plans building towards its crescendo, it had been a difficult choice to cleave the Phoenix from her armada, but Byss had been one of Palpatine’s fortresses. Exegol was a name spoken of in few circles indeed, and every single one that she could imagine possessed some tie to the later Emperor. And so, the Phoenix and its unique command were dispatched on a fools errand amidst preparations for a galaxy spanning war.   

Palpatine had not been a good teacher to her, any more than he had been a good master for her father. The man was cruel, vicious and petty, devoted to his own power and satisfaction. Everything around him was but tool to facilitate his desires, and his complete lack of regard for the state he had constructed from the ruins of the Republic was apparent in his callous imposition of Operation Cinder. Yet while he had only done so to make her a more effective tool in her role as his Hand, he had made a true effort to educate and instruct her in wielding the power to which she was heir. He had told her stories of Exegol, the fortress world of the Sith Order. While it was a less famous world than Korriban, Palpatine had always told that such relative obscurity was an advantage.  

By Palpatine’s telling, Exegol was a world of ruin, drenched so utterly in the dark side of the force that it cast a shadow that overshadowed darkness itself. It was a world that would be irretrievably corrosive to the physical, mental and spiritual wellbeing of any who walked upon it who were not themselves equally committed to the dark side. It was a world that would be, in every way, a perfect place to hide. The later Emperor had funnelled millions of personnel and trillions of credits to various special projects across the galaxy, and had obscured the channels used thoroughly. While Leia had identified many of them, others were still unaccounted for, and Gallius Rax had shown that Palpatine had endless contingencies. If there was yet another knife pointed at the heart of the Empire, Leia would see it destroyed before it could do any more harm.  

-----------------------------------  

Shin didn’t know how to process what the Jedi in front of her had just said. Baylan had spoken of the legends of the Jedi and Sith across the galaxy, and Exegol was a name that had been spoke of as the next thing to hell. Even Korriban had been just a name- another world that had been tainted and blighted by the Sith and their cruelty- but whenever Exegol was spoken of the world seemed to become momentarily darker, as if the word itself possessed power.   

The lava eyed ghost before her seemed to half smile, before rising to his feet. He was tall and wiry thin, his form seeming to flake from the sides as if he was ever on the verge of fading from existence.   

“You recognise the name, Wolf Child, but you do not know the truth of it. Exegol is more than a mere wound in the force- it is a nadir in reality itself; a single, tiny pinprick to an endless abyss of malice. Infinity’s End reshaped the force itself, and that which was once possible is no longer because of the consequences of my decision. And yet, while it was the end of an era, it was not the first. The first of the Eyes of Blight was formed so impossibly long ago it was ancient even to one such as I. The era born from my actions is but a stone in the ocean compared to the vast expanse of time preceding. And it is this Eye that is even now opening. She awaits you above. And you must listen.”  

Shin looked beyond the man, scanning the room in the half dark. A short staircase led up a ramp to the back of the room, where stood a platform and, upon it, a simple stone altar. In her travels with Baylan, Shin had seen more than enough religious houses to last her a lifetime, and she could recognise another easily. But she had another question before she could continue, spurred on by the words of Surik.  

“What did it cost you?”  

The figure’s smile became more full, as if pleased with her question.   

“It cost me everything, Wolf Child. A cruel, sick torment inflicted for my crime, justified, to be certain, but petty and malicious still. The Star Forge ripped me from the fabric of the Force, severing my connection with its unifying essence. I stand apart from all other things now, and I will be alone until the end of time for my sins. And with the destruction of my flesh the life and strength granted me by the Force have become a prison, caging me to existence far beyond any desire.”  

As he spoke, a pall of desperate, hopeless sadness washed over the room. It was agonising, and his description suddenly made sense- to inflict such a feeling on anything was cruelty itself. Shin felt her breath catch in her throat, but forced herself to focus. Nodding at the spectre, she started walking towards the stairs. After a heartbeat, the troopers started to follow in her wake. The spectre stepped to the side, raising his arm to invite them past and up the stairs.  

At the apex of the stairs the third spirit became clear. A hooded, shrouded figure stood behind the altar, every feature obscured by the shadows of a thick robe that disguised every identifying feature of the figure. While Surik had been glowing a gentle blue and the Jedi a pure white, the figure here was shining an understated red. It was quite an impressive thing- despite the normal feelings such a colour evoked, the figure before them was anything but. In fact, there was just an absence of feeling entirely.   

“I greet thee, Redeemed Wolfess, and meet thou well, thine sr’vants soulless. Thine beast above and Countess fair, of all that lives are we aware.”  

The voice that came from the figure was high pitched and childish, a girlish sing song that was somehow both reassuring and disturbing. Shin cleared her throat before speaking.  

“Greetings, Force spirit. Identify yourself. We seek to know the story of the Eyes of Blight, and your companions tell that you were the first to create one.”  

The figure laughed, but to their surprise, they didn’t lower their hood, as the others had. Instead, they just spoke again, continuing in their sing-song voice in a way that felt mocking.  

“A name I fear is beyond my power, long lost to time by age and hour. Instead of name, mine rank I give, for Daughter of Day did once I live. From Eyes of Blight the poison spreads, a curse ‘pon all both live and dead. My treason great and crime most vile, for Mother’s heart I did defile.”  

Shin sighed. Her mind didn’t work well for unpicking puzzles in real time, and her interlocutor seemed determined to make a game of everything she said. She was already feeling overwhelmed by the deluge of new information that had been dumped upon her in the recent minutes, and trying to play word games was more than was willing to tolerate.  

“Speak clearly, ‘Daughter of the Day’. What is so important about the first of the Eyes?”  

The giggling that came in response to her question felt like it bored into her skull, but at the same time there was an undertone of something more urgent. As if the spectre was trying to hide her fear behind a facade of confidence. It was an act Shin was familiar with, and the presence of such her sharpened her mind with a low, throbbing sense of danger.  

“From life itself I am bereft, of all my sisters alone am left. To mother of all my service sworn, now by betrayal from all are torn. The eyes they see beyond furthest reach, for upon all hope does mother leech. Mother hears my words today, and by her mark you all will slay.”  

It wasn’t Shin that spoke now. Instead, it was TC-831 whose rasping, vocoder distorted voice rang out.  

 “Who is this mother? When you speak, I feel like I know, but it eludes me.”  

The figure seemed to pause to think, it’s cloaked head seeming to tilt sideways as if in contemplation as it regarded the large trooper.  

“Last of the four force gods above, drawn to power yet bound by love. On Mortis the veil ‘tween forces breach, yet beyond mortality, she could not reach. As age and time with her did strife, she sought afar the springs of life. The threefold force she did devour, and drew unto herself the well of power. Now all that lives and hopes she feels, and into her embrace she reels. From life itself I did divide, severed her upon Peridean tide. Yet now the Sion’s Eye did see, travel beyond the gates of eternity. The Eyes have opened, the mother calls, and you must travel through far grander halls. The Forces Tomb tapped has been, our wisdom and our knowledge seen.  

Now go and part the door of time, fashioned in hate by Je’daii Prime. But fear all who lives and breathes, for she in hope her malice sheathes. For should a Phoenix prove too late, all may fall to Traitor’s hate. Our time has run and the wolf is near, yet even now Mother is here.”  

The last sentence was choked out, as the spectral figure seemed to writhe and contort before the onlookers, the entire party taking a step back and the troopers raising their weapons. Shin’s sabre was in her hand with barely a conscious thought, its pure white blade igniting and casting light around the walls of the rooms, now contorting and writhing as if they were alive. The other two spectres were nowhere to be seen, and as Zahra raised her black stony blade the reddish hue of the spectre faded to a dull, muted grey, and the hooded and cloaked form seemed to slough away to reveal an amorphous mass of dull light.  

“My greetings to you, Shin of Wren, Daughter of the Phoenix.”  

“Greetings Ellian of Zahra, Servant of the Empire.”  

“I welcome you, Children of the Sickness”  

The voice seemed to come from everywhere at the same time, invading their ears and minds, the voice constantly changing and distorting as if it was a patchwork of sounds drawn from disparate sources. The contortions gave the words an eerie undertone, undercutting the attempted warmth of the greeting. This time, there was nobody else even attempting to cut in to save Shin from having to talk; everyone was unnerved, as the solid, ancient stone of the room around them seemed to undulate and contort in a way that was all too organic to be comfortable.  

“What are you?”  

It took a moment for Shin to realise that the words were hers, choked out from a throat that she would have sworn was unable to form words even a moment ago. The response from the entity was ringing, reverberating laughter.  

“My daughter gave her life to speak to you, yet you ignore her sacrifice.”  

“You know me, Ellian, for in your hope you have spoken to me many times”  

“You feel the truth in your flesh, Soldier of the Phoenix.”  

Shin shook her head. She could hear the creature’s response, but she could hear the echoes of other responses through the force from the others around her. The creature was speaking the truth, and only the truth. It was a stark but undeniable fact through the force, but its responses to Shin’s question seemed to warp to their recipient, becoming personal to the listener while retaining its core of truth.  

“You are the Mother.  A mother who kills their own daughter. A creature who has abandoned its family for power.”  

The mass seemed to warp and deform, and a staggering wave of fury echoed around the room in response.  

“The Daughters of the Day betrayed me, to become Sisters of the Night.”  

“I abandoned no-one. I desired nothing more than to be with them for all of time.”  

“Torn apart by hope, and buried by despair. Trapped and imprisoned in flesh not my own”  

Shin could feel Zahra and the Death Troopers suffering before the barrage of mental communications, unused to receiving messages in such a way. What happened next wasn’t even conscious- Shin had no intention of doing what she did, but she felt her warriors struggling and wrestling with an attacker, and she just acted.  

“ ENOUGH ”  

At once, the voices went silent. The walls stilled, and the gelatinous mass seemed to freeze in place. The Death Troopers stilled, sinking back into relaxed but prepared stances, while Zahra looked Shin straight in the eyes.  

“We need to leave.”  

--------------------------------------------------------------  

The robed and hooded figure of Baylan Skoll watched in a combination of awe and amusement as a massive, pitch black void appeared from the heart of the spire, consuming the impossibly ancient tomb and the most venerable legacies of the various orders of the Force. The Phoenix hung low over the planet, its daggerlike prow aimed towards the gateway to oblivion.  

The feeling of ionizing electricity behind him caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up on end, and he sighed.  

“You were unsuccessful, then?”  

The spectral figure that had emerged behind him moved up to stand at his side. It had the form of an alabaster white woman, with a loose gown hanging off her form and a stunningly beautiful face deeply undercut by pitch black eyes and a wide, inhuman grin festooned with nightmarish fangs.  

“The Child, the Annihilator and the Warlord had warned them. They were never going to accept me. Never going to accept us.”  

Baylan sighed. He knew that his new mistress held little love for Shin or Captain Wren. Knew that she had only attempted to reach out to his former apprentice at his request. He hadn’t expected much else from her, but after nearly killing Shin’s beloved Captain on Mortis he knew that Shin would be less than receptive to him reaching out directly.  

“I told you that Mortis was a mistake. Both Shin and Sabine would have at least listened to me. We didn’t need them dead.”  

The woman hummed gently, her melodic voice somehow shaping the words around her nightmarish maw.  

“Perhaps. The abomination has fractured the Flow. They are dangerous, Baylan, and especially now they know of the Eyes, they are a threat. One hundred millennia of fear cannot be undone by sentiment.”  

Baylan nodded. A mistress who was honest and understood their own limits and failings was a refreshing breath of fresh air. The large fallen Jedi and the willowy spectre stood quietly side by side and watched as the massive warship disappeared into the roiling black portal. The circular window through reality closed up once the ship had fully entered it, and silence fell over Byss once again.  

“So. What now?”  

There was a moment of silence as his interlocutor thought, her jaw moving silently as she weighed up her response.  

“For now, you shall do nothing. With the Phoenix is the World Between, it is beyond our reach, for now at least. No, it is time for our other agents to prove their worth. We must ensure that Captain Wren has a warm greeting when she returns.”  

Chapter Text

Sabine watched in awe as, before the daggerlike prow of the Phoenix, space itself seemed to distort and tear wide open. Her Wolf was knelt on the floor at the front of the bridge, hands outstretched before her, eyes closed as she pulled hard on the force to rip open the path that now grew before all of their eyes. The Captan was still technically on light duties, barred from direct command, and the Chief Medical Officer had given her a fearsome death glare when she refused to stay inside the medical centre and instead slipped on her uniform and went to the bridge, but she was never going to be absent when her Shin asked for her, and the moment the away team’s transport returned she had felt the call of her other half through the force. So, she had answered, and she was glad she did, as she watched Shin defy physics and comprehension to transform a spire of dark stone into a deep void of abyssal night. The black void was impressive to behold, perfectly circular in shape and surrounded by a corona of pure white light.   

The portal grew, larger and larger, until eventually stopping, so massive now that its aperture was sufficient to allow the ingress of the Phoenix in entirety. And with a nod, that was exactly what Sabine commanded. She could feel Shin’s tension through the force, could feel the strain her Countess was under, and she knew that time was of the essence. With barely a pause the immensely powerful engines roared to life, and the goliath vessel moved forwards with preternatural grace and moved cleanly into the gateway. As the darkness fell over the ship, Sabine allowed her eyes to adjust. Her first thought was what it always was. Shin.  

The white haired Jedi slumped to the ground as the gateway closed behind them, exhaustion writ upon her features. The absence of her usual armor making nary a whisper as she slumped down, her fur mantle shielding the back of her neck and disguising the tilt of her head. Sabine had been given a number of Loth Wolf pelts for her efforts during the pacification of Lothal, and she had never had anything much to do with them. Many had gone down with her command over Hoth, but she had kept a number in storage in her ‘official residence’ on Kuat. The thought almost made her smile; for as long as she had been an Imperial officer, Sabine’s home was the ship she lived on, but when she had been given responsibility for the TIE Defender she had needed to give an official permanent residence. Conveniently, the position had come with Officer’s quarters at the Imperial barracks on Kuat, and thus had one of the largest and best furnished rooms available to a soldier on one of the most expensive planets in the galaxy become a storage space for a compulsive collector and hoarder of the strange. All manner of strange memorabilia had collected there over the years, and it had been a devil of a job making space to live when she arrived there after Hoth.   

It had all been worth it though. Shin adored her armor, but they both knew it was because of what it represented rather than the thing itself. Even Luke had commented on it when he spoke to them of his visions of the darkness encroaching around the galaxy. Shin was as true to the Jedi way as anyone in that regard, placing emotional and spiritual significance far above any monetary value (in all things except food, it had to be said). But Shin insisted that she had to do something reciprocal, and the idea had come to her while she was watching Sabine go over some reports from Krownest (Shin enjoyed watching Sabine work. Painting, reading or just thinking, her presence brought a sense of calm and collection to whatever room she was in, apparently). Shin realized that Sabine was a Countess, which as far as Shin was concerned required a coronation. Leaping into action, Shin had attempted to secretly collaborate with some of the quartermasters aboard to create an appropriate gift for Sabine, settling on a heavy, ceremonial armourweave cape styled in the device of Clan Wren. Of course, their efforts had not gone unnoticed by Sabine, who took the opportunity to conduct a scheme of her own.  

And the end result was that they both now had capes. Hers was intricately detailed and made out in the design of Clan Wren, and was kept safe in Krownest as the mantle of the reigning Countess. Shin’s was much simpler and lighter in design, still created from high quality armorweave, but mantled with white Loth Wolf pelt and copied multiple times to allow it to remain a part of Shin’s ensemble despite inevitable damage. Shin insisted on wearing it at all times, despite the inconvenience in combat, but Sabine suspected that minor matters such as obstructed vision were of little concern to a Jedi.  

Sabine could hear Shin’s breathing from across the room, heavy and panting, as if she was trying to draw air into her lungs. Nevertheless, Sabine didn’t feel fear or panic, or even exhaustion from her Countess. Instead she felt victory. Shin was deeply, immensely proud of her achievement, and Sabine suspected she was in good company on the bridge. Sabine herself didn’t feel proud particularly- she had felt absolute faith in Shin before, and that hadn’t wavered for even a second, but she did allow herself a smile at Shin’s happiness. The Captain wasn’t attuned to the Force in the same way that her other half was, but she had become deeply attuned to Shin, and nothing made her happy like her wolf being happy.   

Satisfied that Shin was fine, Sabine looked around this strange new world they had entered. Instead of the dull, shrouded light of Byss, all that remained was an endless expanse of inky blackness. The Phoenix’s searchlights illuminated the hull, the spiraling designs applied using collected wraithmatter during her absence on Mortis clear against the grey durasteel armor, blending in with the darkness that surrounded them. But, all around, was a colossal network glowing pale pathways to white-rimmed gateways, similar in appearance to their entry gateway, albeit vastly smaller in size. It was simultaneously beautify and disturbing- the endless, all encompassing blackness giving an unnerving sense of scale and loneliness even as the twinkling spiders web of paths was elegant and beautiful to behold.  

The Phoenix drifted forwards, its experienced helmsmen navigating carefully around the paths, even as its sensory suites scanned the surroundings, attempting to make sense of their impossible location. The paths registered as being mere tricks of light, apparitions without form, but somehow nobody aboard doubted that a collision would be detrimental to the warship. For what seemed like an age, nobody aboard was willing to even breathe, let alone speak, but after a few minutes Shin rose to her feet, turning to look at Sabine. A huge grin was plastered across her face, and she made her way over to her ashi ge’sol , pulling the Captain into a whole hearted embrace, taking care to avoid putting any pressure on Sabine’s recovering arm or hip. Sabine leaned into her other half, resting her head on Shin’s shoulder, the fur mantle making the experience soft and warm.  

“It feels strange doing this without my plate.”  

The white haired woman whispered quietly into the nape of Sabine’s neck, tiredness evident in her stance and posture. Sabine smiled- understanding was a powerful thing, and after being ensconced in her own plate for their months on Mortis understanding she possessed. Yet, she thought as she fisted the cloth at Shin’s back, there were definitely advantages.  

“Where are we, my kar’ta? Where have you taken us?”  

Releasing Sabine, but keeping her arm placed around the captain’s waist, Shin turned to face towards the bridge viewport, raising her freed hand to gesture ahead even as her glowing eyes seemed to pierce into the darkness.  

“This is the World between Worlds. Master Skywalker told me to look for the signs- ‘all that is dark does not defile, and into shadow can be escape’. Surik told me to ask for passage, and the Force answered me.”  

Sabine raised her eyebrows. The mysterious ghost of Meetra Surik. It was a story that sounded almost impossibly convenient, but given the outrageous series of events that had led the Phoenix and its crew to where they were now the concept of force spirits from the mists of time didn’t seem that extraordinary any more.  

“It was quite the thing to see. But... where are we? What are we doing here?”  

Shin looked Sabine dead in the eyes and smiled. It was a smile that Sabine recognized, that made her roll her eyes. Sabine was quite well versed in ‘force nonsense’ by this point in time, but Shin always gave her the same look when she was doing force things that she didn’t expect Sabine to understand. Shin was usually right; Sabine never did understand them. But Sabine did trust Shin, and after what they had seen she was quite willing to take a leap of faith. Never breaking their eye contact, Shin raised her hand, and after an obvious mental countdown she gestured to one of the bridge stations, just as a subdued beep sounded from the console.  

“Captain, we’ve detected life signs. Two human life signatures, three kilometers out.”  

Sabine snorted at the timing, but, breaking eye contact with her Countess, looked over at Zahra and nodded.  

“Get an away team together and take the landing craft. Identify the before landing- it's not like they have anywhere to hide. If they are hostile, use the flak cannons and saturate them.”  

Zahra nodded, and, turning smartly on the spot, she walked at speed out of the room.  

-----------------------------------------------------  

Anakin Kryze was at the end of his tether. Adoni, his kind, caring and good-doing brother was dead, his head separated from his shoulders and his body rotting on a derelict planet an eternity from home. Jaecen was alive, which was something of an achievement after nearly a year abandoned on said derelict planet, hunted by bandits, but to say he was doing well would be a lie. Jaecen had always been the one of the brothers most closely bound to the force, the one most willing to forsake their Mandalorian heritage for their father’s Jedi upbringing, but his two painful defeats and painful collision with the ground after being thrown from Thrawn’s Star Destroyer had shattered him both mentally and physically. He was a broken man, existing through the motions, and a far cry from the vital, energetic and hopeful person he had once been.  

Which left Anakin. While he had embraced his father’s training at arms, it was his aunt’s Mandalorian teachings that he found most comfortable. They had always known their destinies in their capacities as heirs to Mandalore- Adoni was destined to be the next Duke (no matter what their sister Aayla said), Anakin would be his strong right hand, while Jaecen would join Master Skywalker’s new Jedi order. Yet, that future was now gone. Adoni was dead, and would never inherit their mother’s crown. They had all felt their father die, same galaxy or no, and by now the mantle of the Mand’alor would have passed on- most likely to their aunt Bo.  

And here they were, trapped in the World Beyond. Jaecen could move under his own power, albeit barely, but he was clearly reaching the end of his endurance. The fall from the Chimaera had hurt him badly- Anakin could tell that his hip was shattered beyond all hope of healing, and there was an air of sickness about him that suggested some level of infection or decay. Unless they could find a way out of their predicament, Anakin held out little hope for his brother. And that knowledge was eating him from the inside. It had been Adoni’s vision that sent them to Seatos. It had been Jaecen’s plan that saw them ride the pod of astral whales beyond the outer reaches of their galaxy. They were the ones with vision, who knew what to do and how to do it. He was just the strong right arm, the muscle to make his brother’s dreams into reality. Yet here he was now, the only one able to make any decisions.  

His thinking was interrupted by an echoing noise that sounded across the black void. It was something that couldn’t exist, yet it did, and suddenly there was light. Emanating from a huge portal some distance from him, it burned as if it was a new sun, blinding the middle scion of Kryze as his eyes struggled to adjust.  He needn’t have worried- mere moments later the light was dimmed as a massive shape obscured the portal. When his vision cleared, his heart froze in his chest as he saw what object could be coming through that was so massive to steal the light from an aperture of that size.  

The Star Destroyer moved with a grace that defied its colossal size; Anakin couldn’t say he’d been around too many Star Destroyers in his life, with both his mother and aunt determined to keep him away from Imperial influence as long as possible, but the behemoth above him seemed imposing and weighty in a way that he found very hard to describe. What was more, it seemed to weigh on him through the force as well as with its sheer presence, stealing the oxygen from around him and forcing all around it to pay it heed. Dark webs of black twisted and knotted across its bulk, forming into intricate patterns that seemed to blend into the expanse of night around it. But it was the enormous orange firebird made out across the hull that made him immediately, painfully aware of the ship’s provenance.  

The Phoenix.  

Which meant Countess Wren.  

Her elevation to Countess had been fresh news when they departed. He had paid it little attention, but Adoni had sat him down and patiently explained the situation to him, so that when he was grilled by their parents about it later he would be able to hold his own. His heart ached at the thought of his good, kind older brother. They had always covered for each other’s weaknesses, and his absence now felt like a raw wound. Casting his mind back, he recalled their conversation:  

“Sabine Wren was exiled from her Clan while she was still in the Academy, back in 6BBY, for raiding the Imperial offices on world. The Empire was just reasserting itself across the outer rim in the aftermath of the Harrowing, and her mother, the Countess Ursa Wren, sought to forestall retribution against the whole clan by casting her out”  

He had once been a dreamer, and would have pushed hard against the idea of such an action ever being justified, but he had witnessed the carnage the Empire could unleash during the Concordian Pacification, and even he could admit that it scared him. His aunt had often told him stories when he was younger about the heroic past of Mandalore- the only time any force threatened the Jedi and the Republic outside of the etrnal hatred of the Sith. He had always loved those stories. It was only when he expressed those same sentiments to his father that Obi Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator and the Mand’alor, had sat him down and told him, kindly but firmly, the truth, as far as he saw it. That the only reason Mandalore had survived the Republic’s vengeance was because wiser men who lived in ages past understood that submission and surrender was preferable to honor and annihilation. And that, most crucially, for all that the Mandalorians prided themselves on their rivalry with the Jedi, the feeling was not returned. The Mandalorians were an annoyance to the Jedi, dangerous to be sure and worthy foes, but compared to their dark counterparts the super commandos paled into utter insignificance.   

“But then, instead of punishing her, Lord Vader personally agreed to a pardon. The Heiress to Clan Wren became an officer in the Imperial Navy, and the Empire showed more loyalty to her than even her own clan. Her brother is a brave young man and a skilled commando, but he has no grasp of subtlety or diplomacy and immediately started raising trouble. Eventually, he pushed the clan into such a state where Countess Ursa had to request Sabine’s intercession to end the strife without bloodshed. Sabine issued a challenge, but everyone knew well in advance how it was going to end.”  

Anakin remembers being unreasonably confused by that. His time on Peridea had knocked a good degree of selfish pragmatism into him, but he had grown up determined to live by the Creed.  

“She threw the fight? Would that not render it illegitimate?”  

Adoni gave him a look that across all languages and in all cultures screamed ‘idiot’ and continued.  

“Who is going to challenge it? It was the perfect solution to every problem, and it would have easy Imperial backing. Sabine is a warship captain, and gained a contingent of her house guard to support her. Ursa defused the situation within the clan and, while she lost the rank of Countess, as the Castellan she effectively fulfils the same role. Trystan punishes his mother while also having his sister brought back into the fold. And father had one of our most powerful and least subordinate clans brought back into line without a single casualty.”  

The idea had weighed on him back then, but now he was much more hopeful. He had absolutely no idea how a ship like Captain Wren’s had been able to access the World Beyond, but he was willing to forego all such concerns in favor of getting Jaecen medical treatment.  

As if summoned by his thoughts, a dropship detached from the bay at the bottom of the ship, its powerful searchlights fixed upon them as it flew across the darkness towards the pair. Jaecen’s strength was giving out and he leaned heavily on Anakin, jaundiced eyes watching the approach of the small ships.  

As the huge, heavily armoured troopers piled out to surround them, Anakin felt like he was in something of a fugue, the world around him feeling surreal. All he could remember was saying the same line over and over again.  

“Please. Save him.”  

-------------------------------------------------------------------  

A presence loomed outside the dark interrogation room. Its time here was finite, the burning beast within the vessel seeking to purge it like a disease, yet remain it did for now. It was a decision that was going to cost it dearly, requiring far more of an investment of power than it would have liked, but the mortals had been clever. The Permanence that had been used across the exterior of the vessel prevented it from using a wraith as a host, and the seals it’s cruel, conniving, betraying family.... no. It refused. She refused. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to fear. And Fear leads to darkness. She made that mistake long ago, succumbing to fear and acting rashly. It had been a long, painful process, but She was willing to forgive. She had forgiven them, her eternal, immortal family, whom she loved. Who were now gone, dead and destroyed by their Chosen One, slaves to the will of the Great Current.  

She had forgiven her beloved daughters, those who once basked in her light. Even after they trapped and dismembered her, their fear pushing them from Daughters of Her Day to Sisters of the Night. They had been afraid, as She had been afraid, and it had cost them all, and She would not let Herself fear any longer. No, the time for recriminations and hatred was long past. It was not a time to take what She wanted, or to destroy those who opposed Her. It was time for Her to convince them that what She wanted was right. Already many had come to her, bearing her Mark upon their souls. Yet it still stung when they rejected Her. The young Jedi on Peridea had been so close to accepting Her, to allowing Her to take his pain away, but then his brother had allowed them to flee beyond Her reach, and galvanized him to spurn Her at the eleventh hour.     

Nevertheless, the spore had been useful. The Wren’s beast of steel was a wise and powerful creature, and had been more than capable of holding off Her entreaties until now. Unlike the mortals, it had no mind or soul to appeal to, while it guarded its’ wards with fury and devotion. Even now She could feel it pushing against Her, attempting to burn, push, carve and blast her from within its hull. Even with Her power surging, She would not be able to maintain Her presence here for too long, which was why it was infuriating that the subjects of Her attention had chosen to have their conversation in a room that She could not enter. No expenditure of power would allow Her to navigate past the force imbued black stone that lined the cell- its very existence was anathema to all She was. So, She was forced to wait, feeding off surface memories as agents came and went.  

It galled Her, but the White Wolf and her Wren were too important to be ignored and allowed to run wild. She had despaired of them ever accepting Her words, and so She had loosed Her own wolf to hunt them down across Mortis, but Baylan had been insufficient for the task. Not only that, but She had felt another hand at work upon Her old home, and She had felt fear. She was one with the Force. She was its’ Mother, the unifier of its aspects. She was the tie that bound the disparate parts of it together, and without Her family She was its embodiment. So why couldn’t She locate the cause of this, disruption?  

Just as She began to fear that her time would be too short to discover the conversation, the door at last opened, and they came out. The Firebird protected its wards’ thoughts- not enough to be completely inaccessible to a being like Her, but enough to make accurate information challenging to extract. The Guardian, though, was an open book. He had some discipline, but wholly insufficient to protect him from Her.  

“Anakin Kryze. Heir to the Throne of Mandalore. Last sighted on Far Peridea. How are you here?”  

The woman across the table from the young Mandalorian was a severe looking, short haired Imperial officer, her uniform impeccably pressed and buttoned. The command bars on her lapel said that she was a naval First Lieutenant, and while nothing about her suggested any degree of relaxation (ever), she was clearly comfortable in the environment.  

“Where is my brother?”  

The black walls of the room were getting to Anakin, who honestly felt drawn out and broken. Jaecen had been taken away and rushed straight off to the medical suite, but he had been barred from following and instead redirected towards his current cell. The troopers hadn’t been rough with him, but nor had they made any attempt to be gentle, and he was feeling quite on edge, especially since this ship was in theory under the command of one of his future vassals.  

The Imperial seemed to take a tense breath but then exhaled.  

“Your brother has been taken to the Phoenix’s medical suite. He is under treatment for his injuries, but the medic on site said that his prognosis will likely be positive unless they find anything extraordinary. The team had plenty of experience with... strange cases, and even quite a bit with the force nonsense that follows you Jedi around.”  

The wording amused Her. The Great Current had many names in many tongues, each of which always was reflective of a society’s comprehension of it. The Jedi had always preferred the Force, while Her daughters had referred to the Sea. Less informed societies called it the Thread, or the Web, or the Gaze. Each was limited in some way, but containing enough truth to be a valiant attempt at defining the undefinable. The Jedi in particular understood it as well as any mortals she had ever encountered, with their grasp of the Force constructed from ideas and philosophies from across the galaxy, gathered and refined from generations of contemplation and meditation.  

At the officer’s words, Anakin allowed himself to relax. Her wording was strange, but admittedly amusing. He himself had called some of Jaecen’s old ramblings ‘Force Nonsense’ in their youth. Well, he considered, a truth for a truth seems a fair trade.  

“We were trying to escape from bandits on Peridea. It is a violent and barren rock, and with Jaecen deteriorating we needed to get free. My father once told me the legend of the World Beyond, so I was able to find the gateway to get here.”  

The officer nodded, relaxing.  

“How did you get in here? The World Beyond is a construct of the Force. How was an Imperial ship able to gain access?”  

At his question, the Lieutenant was clearly searching his eyes for a moment, before exhaling and standing up. Moving over to the door, she knocked several times. The door opened, and the WOLF walked in. Recognition flared through Anakin as he shot to his feet, mirrored in the white haired woman’s newly glowing blue eyes.  

“May I introduce Shin Hati, Countess of Mandalore, Major of the 501 st Imperial Legion, and Jedi Knight.”  

For a moment after the Lieutenant’s intoduction, there was silence, as both of standing figure sized each other up.  

“You survived.”  

Anger raced through Anakin at the woman’s- Shin’s- words. Adoni’s headless corpse slumping to the ground. Jaecen’s armored form spiraling down, down, down towards the ground as it fell from the Star Destroyer’s hangar. Then, his eyes fixed on her scar. While her neck was well hidden by a white fur mantle, her face was split by a pale white scar that stretched past her jaw and narrowly missed her ethereal blue eyes. Closing his eyes, he released his anger into the force, the black stone all around them eating up the negative feeling.  

“So did you.”  

A half smirk broke over Hati’s face, followed by a snort. The Lieutenant pressed her fingers to her forehead and shook her head.  

“Right, whatever Jedi nonsense you want to do can wait. Mr Kryze, I need to know what you were doing on Peridea, and what your goals are now that your father is dead...”  

“How did he die?”  

Anakin’s question cut through the officer’s questions.  

“He was killed in a personal duel with Inquisitor Tano. The duel was unsanctioned by the Empire and was instigated by General Kenobi.”  

Anakin wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but that answer somehow made the most sense. His father had died as he had lived, mending wounds and rebuilding by the edge of a blade.  

“My brother Adoni received a vision. The Empire’s attempts to recover their lost Grand Admiral would wake something ancient and evil in a galaxy far, far away. We couldn’t let that happen, so... we went. We tried everything to stop the mission, but we just couldn’t do enough.”  

The Lieutenant looked at Shin, who nodded.  

“What if I were to tell you, young Jedi, that we are on the same mission. The Empress sent us to find hidden truths, and every single one we have found has pointed us in the same direction. Towards this evil of which you speak.”  

Anakin raised his eyebrows, unsure of how to respond to this statement.  

Then, the mind was gone. She hissed in frustration as the guardian beast finally caught Her and purged Her from its halls, the remainder of the conversation lost to Her sight.  

No matter.  

She had been pulling on the strings of fate for so long that every path along the web would lead only to a single solution. She would have her family back. All would be one, free of all their pain and guilt and sadness and sorrow. All would be as it should always have been, united under the all encompassing grasp of their ever-loving Mother. One hundred millennia of tortuous, lonely waiting, and it was finally about to begin.  

With that avenue now closed to Her, She considered Her options. The Wolf and the Wren mattered, that much was certain. For now they were Her foes, and likely the greatest threat to Her activities, but they were both scarred deep and would be worthy of Her relief. Let them make their way back to their galaxy- the World between Worlds was beyond her grasp now, so there was nothing she could do to forestall their arrival in the first place. No, it was time to act. Much as She despised the necessity of such activities, any great work required sacrifice, and there were many in the galaxy who would never allow Her ambition to come to fruition. Thus, they needed to be removed. And She had exactly the ally to make that happen. Casting Her mind adrift in the Current, She searched for his thoughts and latched on, using his mind as a beacon to pull Her self into reality. After so long an abstract being, Her self was an amorphous, shapeless thing, and couldn’t remain long incarnated, but it would fulfil its purpose.  

“Xizor, Falleen Prince. My greetings to thee. How fares thine preparations?”  

She knew the answer before She asked, but the question wasn’t for her. Her allies were Her children, new and desperate for Her pride, and of all of Her new kin the Prince had pulled himself the furthest to rise to the heights he now occupied.  

“All fares well, Eternal Mother. My operatives are in place, and I have forces in position to support our initial successes. All we await is confirmation that our time is now.”  

She did not reply for a moment, allowing the weight of the moment to settle upon Her. Then, She spoke once more:  

“Mine word is given. Thy time hath come to rise. Thou hath achieved much, upon thy climb, but now thou stand at the summit, and tis only by faith that one canst grow wings to soar.”  

The Falleen Prince nodded once, clearly himself feeling the weight of the moment, before he moved off to set the wheels in motion.  

The Mother hummed, then, as an indulgence of fancy, spoke again, forming a childish rhyme- an activity She had not indulged in since Her scant years as a mortal, back when She was merely Abeloth.  

“The time is come, the deed is done,  

Though sands may slip and time may run.  

As with Current to fate will come,  

The Force’s War has now begun.”