Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello :)
I’m glad you stumbled upon my story!
It’s still a work in progress, so there’s a good chance I’ll be making some changes or revisions along the way.

I’ve always loved Darth Maul as he’s portrayed in the novel Lockdown and the comics set before The Phantom Menace — the perfectly disciplined, utterly devoted martial artist. That’s the version of him I’m taking inspiration from.
I’m not yet sure how closely I’ll stick to canon — it’s quite possible I’ll deviate here and there, since I’m mainly writing for fun and don’t want to restrict myself too much. :)
That said, I’m always happy to hear your thoughts, feedback, or constructive criticism!

For those who prefer a heads-up: any chapter containing explicit content will be marked with [E].

And with that — enjoy reading!

Chapter Text

Corinn Leycrit held the final vial of softly glowing serum in her hands, awe and pain warring inside her. It almost hurt to pour the essence of her research down the drain—but she had no choice. She couldn’t leave anything behind.

A quick glance at the holo-screen told her the data transfer to the small storage device was nearly complete. Carefully she rinsed the last traces of the shimmering liquid away, then removed the datastick and hung it from a thin chain around her neck. Soon it would carry the only remaining copies of her plans and research results—everything she had learned about the Force.

With grim resolve she launched the little script that would overwrite the computer’s drive and all standard backups several times. Nothing would remain. So much potential—now reduced to evidence that could be used against Dengar or herself.

At last she took up the single remaining artifact: the glove threaded with faintly glowing veins of crystal. Her link to the mysterious power she had spent years trying to decipher.

She waited until the data purge began, then studied the piece of fabric in her hand. Thin filaments of kyber crystal ran through the glove’s weave, and even she—without formal training—could reach out to the Force through it. But that was not the Jedi way. They would never permit anyone outside their long, rigid training and their sacred Code to wield such power. Not under their watch.

Grabbing her cloak and the small bag of essentials, she slipped away. The Council had already turned on Dengar—a fully trained Jedi Knight. They would show no mercy to her, a simple scientist unversed in their dogma.

She reread the short message on her comlink.
“They’re here. You know what to do.”
The sender was now listed as unknown. That meant either Dengar, like her, had erased all traces of his identity—or something had happened to him, and his contact had been eliminated. She hadn’t heard from him since. He would have reached out if he could. He would be here, with her. The thought of what he might be facing tightened her throat. But there was no time for fear. She had to save herself first.

When Dengar had first taken an interest in her research, hardly anyone had cared. For both of them, it had been an opportunity too great to ignore. But now, after the progress they had made, the Order saw them as a threat. It had only been a matter of time. They had crossed lines, defied orders—and yet they were too close to abandon their work. Eventually the Jedi Council had to intervene. They had planned for that day.

Clutching a stack of forged identity papers, Corinn left the lab cautiously. It was entirely possible she was already being watched. But she had to return one last time. With a final, wistful glance, she slipped out through an inconspicuous side door. Her heart pounded as she hurried through the temple’s dim, mostly empty corridors.

Quickly she descended through the levels of the city-planet, alert to every sound and movement. They had prepared a ship for her escape, but she knew her face and the vessel’s registry number would soon appear on every bounty hunter’s puck. She wouldn’t get far—but for now, it would have to be enough.

Tears of despair welled in her eyes. Where could she possibly go? Friends and family would be the first places they looked. She wouldn’t endanger anyone. Gritting her teeth, she boarded the starship.

Corinn decided to try her luck at one of the smaller spaceports. Maybe—just maybe—she could leave Coruscant unnoticed.

Chapter Text

Hidden in the never-ending tangle of Coruscant’s streets, high above on the balcony of an elegant building in one of the city-planet’s better districts, glowing eyes watched the endless stream of speeders and taxis slip past the traffic lanes. The lines of vehicles along the transit routes never ended, but at this hour especially many city-dwellers were on the move. The sunset bathed everything in orange — one of the few sky-spectacles visible on this planet. Soon the advertising boards and screens on the building facades would take over the night, their scattered light masking any starlight. The air was mild and filled with the hum of repulsors and the ever-present din of the city.

Two cloaked figures stood at the railing of the spacious rooftop terrace. Below them the facades seemed to drop for miles, dissolving into a confusing labyrinth of platforms, storeys and add-ons. The last pale light of day faded quickly and the lower levels of the city-planet were already lit by the artificial glow of countless establishments.

Where at ground level all social strata mingled, seeking their fortunes in the dens of vice, few dared to venture into the slums beneath. Those who resided on the planet’s uppermost tiers never strayed into that dark tangle of neighborhoods. The misery down there was too great, the crime too high.

Not that it bothered the two figures. They felt neither fear nor pity for those left to daily survival below. If anything, they reveled in it. Down there the law of the strong reigned — and they belonged to the stronger.

The high wind toyed with their wide cloaks, making the fabric flutter. One man’s silhouette looked slim. He stood motionless, his hands tucked into the sleeves of the other arm, enjoying the mild air. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath.

“My apprentice, I need you. There is a small matter I want you to handle.”

When the other figure’s hood slipped back slightly, the distinctive face of a Zabrak became visible. The fabric caught in the short horns on his shaven skull, emphasizing his nonhuman contours. His red skin seemed to glow in the evening light; dark tattoos marked his features and lent him a threatening presence. He turned his head to his master, signalling that he was listening.

“What is it, Master?”

“Unfortunately some of our new allies in the Scourge syndicate are seeking renegotiation and feel no longer bound by the promises they made to us. I suggested a meeting on neutral ground, but it would serve us better if they truly understood what it means to do business with us this time.”

Regret colored Sidious’s voice, but Maul was not deceived. “I understand, Master. I will ensure our terms are no longer questioned.”

He watched the bustle of the lower levels, where, as daylight waned, more and more signs and video screens flickered to life. “Do you want me to teach the Scourge a lesson?”

“I want you to show them they are the scum of this galaxy. And that our influence reaches far beyond the Republic’s borders. The negotiations have failed; they have tried my patience long enough. It is time for action. Voroll Zaine is obstructing our progress by delaying raw-material shipments to Kuat beyond reason. You will depart for Keuvis and deal with the matter. Make sure your tracks are covered — it is too soon to reveal the power of the Sith. Strike swift and merciless.”

“I will cut them down before they know what hit them!” Maul replied, bowing his head in reverent agreement.

“I know,” Sidious returned, and a cold smile spread across his face in the shadow. “You were given a thorough training and I know I can rely on you in this matter. The mission may not be especially challenging, but I know you will be a good servant to me and the dark side. Practice patience, Lord Maul; every step advances our plans.”

He laid a hand on Maul’s shoulder and turned away from the cityscape. Leisurely, he and his apprentice walked back into the interior of the spacious city apartment.

“Contact me as soon as the job is done.”

“Yes, Master. I will set everything in motion at once. They will soon regret crossing us.”

Maul bowed and then strode quickly toward his speeder.

Sidious had always provided for him and, under a cover identity, had secured a base of operations on Coruscant. Maul spent time there when he was not on missions. As Senator Palpatine, Sidious also owned a luxurious city apartment where he could often be found. Maul was one of the few who knew both sides of the fascinating man who pulled the Republic’s strings from the shadows — until it would unravel like a snagged piece of cloth. Maul longed for that day and especially relished the idea of throwing the Jedi Order into chaos once their plans took effect.

Traffic at this hour was absolute hell on Coruscant. The lanes were thick with vehicles as some left work for well-deserved rest and others began their night shifts. Nevertheless Maul reached his destination quickly. He was used to the constant crush of the city and knew which side streets would save him time. Add to that his near-breathless driving style. He powered around a corner and squeezed into a gap between two vehicles. The driver behind him honked angrily and gestured wildly at the glass. With a sudden burst of speed the Zabrak changed lanes and left the enraged stranger behind.

He pushed through the urban traffic a little longer until he parked his speeder in a crowded lot among the other vehicles. By now he was on a much lower tier than the senators’ luxury apartments. Down here the city was alive. A mélange of every conceivable species jostled through the narrow lanes; it was loud, and a variety of scents drifted through the streets — street food, detergent, and some decidedly less pleasant odors. Maul felt at home here. He knew these levels like the back of his hand and disappeared into the crowd within seconds. Shortly after, he slipped through the door of his apartment.

Although Maul was accustomed to an ascetic life, his home offered small comforts he valued while on Coruscant: tools, droid parts and training equipment in all sorts of configurations. He also had access to top-tier medical care. While superior to most of his opponents, dangerous assignments still took their toll. Everything inside him hungered for a true challenge and the chance to test himself against a Jedi, but he knew that his master’s plans envisioned a later revelation of their existence.

Communication feeds provided him with news from a multitude of channels and access to forums spanning every political current. It was in his interest to be well informed about political developments as well as happenings in Coruscant’s underworld. He was well aware of the advantages his gear and training afforded him and intended to prove worthy of them. He learned from the best. He followed discussions and Palpatine’s influence — direct or indirect — in the Senate with keen interest, often admiring the man’s rhetorical skill. Sidious was a master of manipulating parties from the shadows and bending them to his ends. Maul, in turn, was expected to remain informed. He wanted to prove himself to his master; he expected to one day inherit and surpass him, even kill him. Such was the Rule of Two. The idea of confronting Sidious still filled him with fear, but the logic was simple — as long as he served as a useful tool and showed his master respect, he had nothing to fear. Still he kept his eyes open, ready to pass his master’s tests or eliminate rivals early. That, too, had been a lesson learned early.

At home he searched his systems for information on Keuvis. In his inbox he found coordinates for the agreed meeting with Ducoth’s smugglers, sent by his master. He had also received further details about the negotiations. The Scourge was a criminal syndicate in the Outer Rim, extending its reach more and more. Maul knew they traded kyber crystals but were also involved in slave trading, raw-material smuggling and narcotics. Like most such organizations, the clan seized every opportunity, however immoral the trade.

He paused his research only long enough to prepare a simple dinner. The apartment was open-plan: kitchen, dining area and workspace shared a large room, separated only by a half-height divider with a few plants and a low table. Most of the apartment, however, was taken up by his training area, partitioned by a milky glass wall. The room still glowed with the flicker of display screens penetrating through the half-open blinds; the soft interior lights were gradually brightening. Maul stretched. The prospect of his new assignment filled him with zeal. With a plate of cut vegetables he returned to his workstation and typed a few commands into his computer so his companions — a small army of droids — could begin preparations for the journey.

He looked into the man Sidious had negotiated with: Voroll Zaine. Zaine was a fine-boned Gossam, a reptilian species known among smugglers and pirates. Maul studied the holo-portrait that hovered before him. Zaine liked to flaunt his success within the syndicate, apparently; he wore an elaborate headpiece and a many-segmented neck ornament. His small eyes were cool and calculating. It did not take Maul long to find a way to get to Zaine. He cleared up the remaining details, careful not to give his counterpart too much information. He was used to concealing his activities and operating under cover names. Deep fakes, communication manipulation and disinformation were among his standard tools.

Chapter Text

Keuvis was a world scarred by industry. The planet was rich in raw materials and mineral resources — a wealth that had brought its people no happiness. Most of the population toiled in the mines for a pittance, surviving on the planet’s exploitation. Yet in the shadows of the roaring foundries, another trade thrived — entirely unofficial, but no less profitable.

At first glance, Keuvis was a miserable and unappealing place. It lay far beyond the Republic’s borders, its infrastructure woefully insufficient. Perhaps that was precisely why it attracted the kind of shady figures who, like moths to a flame, were drawn to such places. The syndicates of the Outer Rim had long recognized its potential — and seized it. The Scourge clan now dominated the unremarkable world, ever since Zaine had established his headquarters there.

The building caught Maul’s eye even during the approach. It was gaudy and ostentatious, a sharp contrast to the bleak surroundings. That the clan’s wealth stemmed from illicit dealings seemed to bother the Keuvis authorities not at all — a sure sign they were profiting handsomely themselves.

Like any growth, the Scourge’s expansion had created winners and losers. A few profited greatly from the changes, while many were left behind — a perfect breeding ground for Maul’s work. Voroll Zaine had proven himself a poor negotiating partner, unwilling to meet the Sith’s terms or honor his word. Sidious’s envoys had held lengthy talks, repeatedly securing deals on prices and deliveries — only for Zaine to break them again and again. Their agreement with the Scourge concerned the supply of focusing crystals, a rare and valuable resource — the true source of Zaine’s greed. The man knew his position in the market was nearly unassailable; no one else could offer anything comparable.

To Maul’s satisfaction, however, there were factions within the Scourge displeased with Zaine’s avarice — factions more open to Sith cooperation, with the right incentive.

The clan was no stranger to coups and power shifts. Voroll Zaine had seized his throne through intrigue, toppling his predecessors. He had expanded the clan’s wealth and reputation in the Outer Rim underworld — but his vanity had earned him plenty of enemies. Maul used this to his advantage and quickly secured an agreement for the crystal shipments. It had only cost him a little help acquiring Zaine’s head.

Beneath a thick blanket of storm clouds, Maul brought the Scimitar down near a small, inconspicuous settlement. Rain lashed against the hull, and gusts buffeted the ship, making the landing difficult. Through the haze, he spotted rows of housing blocks and a few buildings whose lights spilled across the slick streets. Near the port stood one with a bright neon sign above the door — World’s End.

He pulled on his cloak, drew the hood low over his face, and stepped out into the storm. The wind tugged at his cloak and whipped it open as he crossed the flat terrain toward the settlement. Once he entered the narrow streets, however, the gusts lessened. Purposefully, the Zabrak made his way through the deserted alleys toward the glowing sign. It marked what seemed to be a cantina — a low, one-story building whose entrance door of dark metal was etched with symbols, graffiti, and pasted-on drink labels from long-forgotten eras.

A wave of noise washed over him as he pushed it open. The door was so heavy it turned slowly on its hinges. Inside, the air was warm and thick with the scents of sweat, alcohol, and greasy food. In contrast to the chill outside, it was stiflingly hot within. Illuminated floor panels cast a dim blue light that lit the patrons’ faces from below, giving them a ghostly, distorted appearance.

The clientele was a jumble of species and backgrounds — miners, smugglers, mercenaries. Many of the burly figures were rough, filthy laborers. Others belonged to stranger races, their languages murmuring in a dozen dialects. Most were armed; some wore such a mismatched array of gear that Maul guessed they were bounty hunters or freelancers — Scourge members, no doubt. A group of them crowded at the bar, watching a podrace broadcast flickering across screens mounted to the ceiling.

Then Maul saw her — a Twi’lek behind the counter, laughing and chatting as she worked. Her hands moved deftly among the glowing bottles, pouring drinks and mixing concoctions without pause. Even while talking, she filled shot glasses with a fluorescent liquid, locked a shaker into a device behind her, and added ice to a large glass in front of her. When she noticed Maul’s unbroken stare, her expression sharpened — expectant.

One by one, heads turned toward him. The Zabrak stood motionless in the center of the room, his cloak dripping, his face shadowed by his hood. At last he pulled it back and strode toward the bar. Though he was neither tall nor muscular compared to the miners, the crowd instinctively parted for him. Ignoring the curious glances, he leaned against the counter.

The Twi’lek approached, raising a brow with a teasing smirk.
“Got caught in the rain, stranger?” she asked. When her gaze met his, she suppressed a shiver — but her smile held. “Anyone who goes out in this weather must have a good reason. What can I get you?”

“I’m looking for someone. A man named Ithan Varga. Do you know him?”

She laughed, pouring the contents of her shaker into a glass.
“And here I thought you came for a well-mixed Glowing Gungan.” She handed the drink to a customer, then leaned closer to Maul, her voice lowering. “Of course I know Ithan. What do you want with him?”

“Take me to him.”

Her amusement deepened. “Ithan’s a busy man. What makes you think he has time for you?”

Her defiance irritated him. “Don’t stand in my way, Twi’lek.”
He could feel the other patrons watching him, tension thickening the air. Any wrong move, and the situation would ignite. He drew a slow breath, adopting a relaxed posture. “He’s expecting me. I have his address. My name is Maul.”

Her expression softened; her lekku dipped slightly. She seemed satisfied. Grudgingly, Maul removed his wet gloves and set them on the counter. The Twi’lek slipped away, weaving through the crowded cantina with a tray under her arm. Her revealing outfit no doubt helped her tips — her blue skin shimmered in the dim light until she vanished among the guests.

Maul didn’t have to wait long. Just as a furious miner hurled his glass against the wall, shattering it like the podracer wreck on the broadcast, she returned with an empty tray.

“Follow me. I’ll take you to Ithan.”
Without waiting for a reply, she led him through the smoky interior. Along one wall, Maul noticed a row of alcoves — each with an oval table and a few stools, curtained off for privacy. She headed straight for the last one, where a mixed group sat murmuring. Their eyes followed him warily as he approached with the Twi’lek. Weapons of every kind glinted at their belts — blasters, curved blades, even a hunter’s dart belt.

At the head of the table sat a tall human in a patchwork suit of armor — mismatched pieces, but worn enough to show they served him well.

“This is Maul,” the Twi’lek announced. “He’s been asking for you. You boys need another round?”

The man broke off his conversation and looked up. When he rose, his size became apparent — he towered nearly two heads above Maul. But the Zabrak didn’t flinch.

“Ah. Our guest.” He extended a massive hand. “Glad you made it. I told Iella to be careful who she brings to me — can’t have one of Zaine’s spies at my table.”

Maul took his hand.
“Sek’nos, give us some room. We have things to discuss.”
Grumbling, a lanky Arcona slid aside to make space.

“Iella, bring me another of these,” Ithan said, waving the empty bottle she’d just handed him.
“Sure thing. And you, stranger?” she asked, placing a hand lightly on Maul’s neck as she leaned close. He stiffened but said nothing.
“No need to be nervous,” she laughed, prompting a round of chuckles from the smugglers.
“Tea,” he said simply.

Her surprise was genuine. “You do know what that is, right?” he asked calmly, after she stared at him as if unsure whether he was joking.

When she left for the bar, Maul turned to Ithan. “I trust everything is ready?”

The man nodded conspiratorially. “We’re set. We’ve been waiting only for you. We’ll move as soon as you take care of Zaine. My people received the equipment and have it staged in position. Once it’s done, we’ll send the first shipment to Kuat, just like promised.”

“Excellent.”

The Twi’lek returned, balancing a tray of drinks. Ithan took his bottle, and she set a steaming cup before Maul. His choice still drew smirks, but he ignored them, calmly dunking the teabag into the water.

“Sek’nos, the comlink,” Ithan called. The Arcona handed over a small device, which Maul accepted and slipped into his cloak.
“Use this to reach us. The channel’s encrypted, direct to my crew. Once you give the signal, we’ll jam the Scourge’s communications across Keuvis. Let me know if you need backup — plenty of my men would love to see that peacock finally bite the dust. But be warned: Zaine’s got a few loyal dogs. He knows exactly who he can trust. I can’t get any of my men inside his compound with you.”

“I work better alone,” Maul replied, weighing the comlink in his palm before pocketing it. “But you’ll hear from me — once Zaine is dead.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Maul had sent one of his drones to survey the ostentatious structure that served as the headquarters. The heavy rain from the night before had faded into a hazy mist, curling around the sharp spires that crowned the building. Here and there, workers were still busy — he could hear their shouts echoing through the air and watched as they set colorful glass panes into gold-lacquered frames. A display of Zaine’s lack of taste, but of little real value.
Maul recalled his droids and prepared himself.

He had announced his arrival in advance. Officially, he was here to negotiate with Zaine — to salvage what was left of their business relationship. His presence, therefore, would not raise any suspicions. Yet Zaine was not to know that Maul had already arrived on Keuvis the night before. To maintain that illusion, he only landed his starship shortly before the scheduled meeting, descending into the main hangar of the headquarters. As expected, the tower granted him clearance and directed him to a landing pad.

A thrill ran through the Zabrak as the Scimitar touched down — that familiar blend of anticipation and excitement that always came before the storm. He activated Ithan’s comlink, instructing him and his men to stand by, then descended the ramp and approached the gates.

A guard in scuffed armor received him and led him inside. The interior was every bit as gaudy as the exterior suggested. The floors were muffled by thick red carpet that swallowed the sound of their steps; high ceilings and tall windows flooded the corridors with light, making the golden filigree along walls and doorframes gleam. What had once been a paramilitary base was now little more than a palace.

The corridor opened into a wide antechamber, where three unpleasant-looking guards lingered in lazy conversation. Their posture shifted at once when they saw Maul and his escort approach. He was informed that Zaine awaited him in the audience hall — but before he was allowed entry, the guards insisted that he surrender his weapons.

Of course.

Anticipating this, he had left his double-bladed lightsaber aboard the ship and carried only a blaster. The weapon of a Sith would draw far too much attention, as much as it pained him to part with it. Success depended on proximity; he needed to reach Zaine quickly. The Gossam had no idea what kind of demon he was inviting into his den — and for now, it was best that way. Risky as it was to enter unarmed, Maul had no doubt he could eliminate these guards bare-handed if necessary. The Force was his ally. With it, he feared no enemy.

He handed over the blaster without hesitation and removed his cloak when ordered to do so.
“No liability for the cloak,” the burly human grunted as he took the bundle of fabric, flashing Maul a greasy grin while patting him down for hidden weapons. Boredom clearly made these men foolish.
Maul met his gaze, expression cold. “And I can’t guarantee your safety if anything goes missing.”

The hostility in the room thickened.

The search turned up only Ithan’s comlink, which the Zabrak had prudently deactivated. A comlink was hardly unusual; it drew no suspicion, and Maul slipped it back into his pocket as soon as the guard waved him through. One of them pushed open a massive door to the audience chamber, and Maul stepped inside.

The hall beyond was even brighter than the corridors before. Sunlight streamed through tall, pointed windows, its glow joined by the warm shimmer of ornate lamps hanging from the ceiling. A long table stretched along the left wall, lavishly laid out with an array of fruit, steaming meat, and delicate pastries. A few guests sat around it or reclined on upholstered seats, golden-rimmed plates before them.

A thick red carpet led to a hexagonal dais at the far end, where a massive desk and a regal chair stood — though the seat was empty. Instead, a Gossam glided through the air atop a circular platform that hovered half a meter above the floor. That had to be his host.

Just as in the images Maul had studied, Voroll Zaine was a slender figure wrapped in expensive robes. His entire appearance — polished, gleaming, ostentatious — fit perfectly with the headquarters that surrounded him. He wanted everyone to see his wealth, his power, his success.

“Ah! My guest has arrived!”
The platform shifted, drifting toward Maul before beginning to circle him slowly, like a curious predator.

“You are quite the specimen,” Zaine said, his alien voice translated into flawless Basic by the shiny protocol droid floating at his side. “I can see why they sent you as their representative. The trouble with Neimoidians is that they assume every negotiator is as spineless and slimy as they are.” He leaned slightly closer, his wide mouth curling into something that might have been a smirk. “But I assure you, I am not fooled by tattoos and muscles. Business is all that matters to me!”

Maul let his gaze wander through the chamber, assessing positions. Several of the guests were guards in disguise. If it came to a fight, it would be over quickly. With the entrance sealed, he could keep the others out — for a while, at least.

Zaine interrupted his thoughts. “You’re here to renegotiate the conditions for the focusing crystals, are you not? I understand that such short-term adjustments must be… inconvenient for your employers. And the small delay in the last delivery, I hope, has helped them appreciate how difficult these resources are to obtain.” The Gossam smiled a merchant’s smile — false, practiced, shallow.

The Zabrak took a slow step closer. “No. I’m not here to renegotiate anything. My employers have spent long enough talking.”

Zaine’s smile froze, though his tone remained smooth. “Let me remind you that these are extremely valuable commodities — and our arrangement carries great risk on our side. Focusing crystals are subject to strict supervision and registration. The mere fact that we are willing to supply them to the Trade Federation is a miracle in itself. If your Viceroy Gunray is dissatisfied with the Scourge’s terms, I am prepared to dissolve our partnership entirely. But mark my words—” his voice rose to a hiss, “—there is no one in the galaxy who can deliver crystals of this quality but me!”

He spat the last words like venom.

“Stop boring me,” Maul said at last, turning fully toward him. “Finding a new supplier wasn’t as difficult as you think, Zaine. As always, the solution was closer than expected. Ambitious men rise quickly in the Scourge.”
He took another step forward.
“So what I meant was this: I’m not here to negotiate. I’m here to make sure you’re no longer in the way.”

With a flick of his wrist, the heavy doors slammed shut behind him, echoing like thunder.

The massive table groaned as it began to move, crashing against the door with a heavy thud. The guests who had been seated leapt to their feet in panic. Shouts and alarmed cries erupted. Guards scrambled for their weapons, but Maul was already moving.

He needed a weapon quickly before the gang members could coordinate. Reaching for the first guard who aimed a blaster at him, he sent him flying with a precise Force push against the wall. Motionless, the man slid down; the weapon landed in Maul’s outstretched hand moments later.

A woman charged at him, wielding an electric spear, screaming. She aimed for his legs, then thrust toward his torso. Maul dodged nimbly, sending her crashing to the floor with a well-placed kick. Before she could rise, he delivered a headshot from close range. Chaos reigned.

Zaine shouted orders, but the platform he had been gliding on now lay tipped over, motionless. Blaster fire echoed, and the walls rattled from outside impacts.

Maul sprinted forward, aiming for the tiny Gossam, but another bodyguard intercepted him. Reflexively, he dropped to the floor, sweeping the guard’s legs from under him. The man fell forward; Maul fired and struck him down.

He grabbed Voroll Zaine by his robes, but the Gossam’s short vibroblade slashed at him from the folds of his clothing. Maul recoiled as the cut opened on his forearm, pain flaring sharply.

Growling, he threw Zaine aside. The Gossam rolled across the floor, motionless for a heartbeat before trying to rise. Maul dove behind the podium for cover as blaster fire peppered the space around him. Timing was everything.

The fallen guard fumbled with his comm device, trying to call for backup. Only static and interference answered. Ithans plan was working.

Maul forced the man to his knees, coldly crushing his neck with a fist. Silence filled the room — temporarily. He had little time left. Zaine groaned, attempting to stand. Determined to finish the task, Maul stepped onto him, turning him onto his back.

The Gossam tried to speak, trembling, but the sound of a blaster cut him off. Maul’s focus shifted immediately to the doors. Nothing moved. The other gang members had found alternate ways into the hall. Maul reached into his cloak, pulling out Ithans commlink and activating it.

The table creaked as he pushed it slightly, slipping out. The door wasn’t fully closed yet when the grand glass windows shattered behind him. Only one guard remained at the portal — easily subdued. Maul retrieved his cloak, donned it again, and vanished into the corridors.

“Done,” he announced over the channel. Moments later, the commlink crackled to life as chaos erupted throughout the Scourge headquarters.

Chapter Text

Almost a year had passed since Rhynna had come to Keuvis. Walking into the lion’s den had been her only choice. Not only the Jedi had been hunting her — the Scourge clan had too. Yet through endless caution and exhausting effort, she had managed to vanish into the filth of this world.

She’d found work close enough to keep an eye on Voroll Zaine, yet far enough to feel somewhat safe. A new chapter, a new name, new papers, a new life. She’d learned patience, endured setbacks, but never lost sight of her goal. If all went well, today she would finally hold the fruits of her research in her hands again.

Just one last step.

Keuvis had never felt like home — not that she was alone in that sentiment. With its toxic skies and rampant crime, the planet made comfort impossible. That was why, this morning, she had packed her belongings without the slightest trace of regret.

One of her greatest challenges had been finding a way into Voroll Zaine’s headquarters. It was heavily guarded, and every appearance she made near it meant risk. She had to assume that every bounty hunter in the Scourge carried her portrait on their datapads. She wasn’t quite the high-value target she’d been four years ago, when she’d fled Coruscant — but still, the bounty was more than enough to make her worth the trouble.

Step by cautious step, she had inched closer to her goal. Her patience had paid off. Renovations on the building complex were nearing completion, and Zaine planned to celebrate the occasion. Apart from Colossus Docks Mining, the Scourge had become one of the largest employers on Keuvis. Caterers, performers, and musicians from all over had been hired. Exotic foods and rare drinks were being imported from across the galaxy.

It was a perfect opportunity — her ticket to a new life.

She had presented herself as a renowned florist and practically forced her way onto the event committee. Today she was due for an inspection of the hall that was to be decorated. She didn’t intend to see more of the headquarters than absolutely necessary — but the disguise would let her pass through the massive gate now looming before her.

Though she had prepared for this moment since her arrival, excitement tightened her throat. She mentally went over every step of her plan again. Her disguise was flawless. She had covered her natural white skin with a pinkish cream that hid the patterning of her lekku — a procedure that had taken nearly the whole morning. A lavish floral headpiece framed her face, concealing her features further. In the high shaft of her boot rested a small blaster pistol; a folding knife hid in her bag. She hoped not to need either. She could defend herself if she must, but she was no warrior.

Her greatest weapon was still the single surviving glove — the heart of her research — with which she could steady her connection to the Force. It would help her move unseen, without bloodshed. She had trained with it at every chance she got. Proc, her greasy, lecherous employer at the bistro where she scraped by, had been her favorite test subject. It had made work so much easier! The days of him grabbing her backside had grown rarer; his shouting fits, shorter. As a Twi’lek, she had to look out for herself — and really, she thought wryly, she’d done him a favor by correcting his behavior.

Now her getaway ship was ready, and a stack of forged documents would allow her to disappear quickly into the Outer Rim. Finally, she could turn her back on this cesspit and start anew, far from the Republic.

Rhynna straightened her posture, grabbed the basket of exotic blooms beside her, and stepped up to the gate. She struck the knocker, and a robotic eye slid from its housing to scan her. A mechanical voice barked at her — but quieted when she raised the basket.

“Hello? I’m here to discuss the floral arrangements for the celebration.”

The artificial pupil focused on the colorful blossoms. A moment later, the gate cracked open. Heart pounding, Rhynna slipped through.

A stone-lined path led through a small garden toward the entrance of a wide hall. It turned out to serve as a receiving area for all kinds of goods. A terminal stood nearby where droids registered deliveries and handled requests. Crates and containers were stacked everywhere. Everything here ran like an official trade hub — documented, efficient. The Scourge had built a criminal ecosystem that functioned with the precision of a well-oiled machine.

A gleaming protocol droid approached her.
“Greetings, mistress! I am B1-PO. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Committee chair Sumie will receive you shortly. I must ask your patience a moment longer. Please follow me — I’ll show you where you may wait.”

It clanked forward stiffly, and Rhynna obediently followed. Across the hall, a gilded archway opened into a cozy waiting room.

“Please, have a seat,” the droid said, gesturing politely.

“Thank you.” She smiled faintly, watching it as she chose a chair. She had no intention of waiting for Sumie to fetch her. Unfortunately, the droid didn’t seem inclined to leave. Fine, then — she’d have to improvise a distraction.

“Would it be possible to get a cup of caf while I wait?”

The droid gasped theatrically. “Oh dear! How impolite of me. Of course — at once!” It turned and minced toward a large, hissing beverage unit in the corner.

She gave it a few seconds’ head start before silently rising and slipping out of the room.

Keeping to the shadows, she skirted the wall behind a stack of crates. At the far end of the hall stood another set of doors — luckily open. Beyond them, one corridor ran along the side of the hall, while another, carpeted in deep red, led straight ahead. The rich fabric looked expensive.

That had to be the way.

She didn’t know exactly where Zaine’s private quarters were, but she was certain they’d be in the most opulent part of the complex. And that carpet would lead her straight there.

The problem: the corridor offered no cover. She would have to move carefully, drawing on the living Force to mask her presence. She was just about to step out when she heard footsteps — a group of clan members approaching. Quickly she crouched behind a rough wooden crate, ready to blur their awareness if she had to.

They stopped not far away. Muffled words reached her — a deep voice, an Iktotchi speaking in a language she didn’t know, then another replying in Basic.

“This must be the place. Zaine’s ‘guest’ is already here. That means we move any second.” The man gave “guest” a meaning that made Rhynna’s skin crawl.

“If he doesn’t screw it up.”

“You seen that guy? I don’t know what Ithan was thinking hiring him. Gives me chills. Never seen anyone like that before.”

Rhynna couldn’t quite follow what they meant, but it didn’t sound good. Something was about to happen.

“Triko, keep watch!”

They began prying open one of the crates. First came packets of something unidentifiable, then a hollow thud — a false bottom. Rhynna risked a glance. Her lekku coiled nervously. The human and the Iktotchi lifted out a board, revealing a hidden compartment. Metallic clinks followed — weapons being assembled.

Then she heard the clicking of metal feet behind her — B1-PO returning.

Kriff. Of all days… could she ever catch a break?

“Madame Flor? I must insist you remain in the waiting area. Your caf is rea— oh! Oh my goodness! Armed units?”

“What’s he sayin’?”

The Iktotchi barked something — and a blaster screamed.

A thin wisp of smoke rose from the hole burned in the protocol droid’s forehead. Well, one of her problems had just solved itself.

Rhynna didn’t dare move. Heavy footsteps approached. The Iktotchi muttered again. Her hand closed around the grip of her blaster, breath held, every muscle taut.

“Corkos, come on. We’ve got no time!”

Grumbling, the bull-headed alien turned away. Their steps faded, and moments later the group exited through the far door.

Rhynna exhaled silently. That had been close. She had no idea what she’d just stumbled into, but she wasn’t about to linger. If this was her last chance to recover her glove, she wasn’t wasting it. Whatever was happening here might even work in her favor.

Staying low, she slipped deeper into the building, using every scrap of cover she could find.

She followed the corridor lined with a deep red carpet. From time to time, faint voices echoed through the halls. Whenever she heard them, she pressed herself into the doorways of side chambers or slipped inside after listening at the door for a few seconds, reaching out with the Force to sense what lay beyond.
Luckily, her encounter with the mercenaries in the entrance hall had been the only one so far.

But suddenly, the building that had seemed so quiet until now came alive. Voices rang from adjoining corridors and rooms, and then—blaster fire.
At an intersection ahead, Rhynna spotted a group of guards caught in a firefight. It happened so abruptly that she had no time to react; within moments, the guards fell.
A squad of mercenaries turned down the corridor toward her, but she managed to duck into a narrow side passage just before they noticed her.

She seemed to be nearing the heart of the compound now, for the decorations on the doors and windows grew more elaborate, more ostentatious.
She could only imagine how much wealth Zaine had amassed through his dirty dealings to afford all of this.

Then, without warning, a group of armed men rounded the corner ahead. The carpet had muffled her steps.
Heart hammering, she threw herself into the nearest room and shut the door behind her. She could only hope she’d been fast enough—that no one had seen her slip inside.

The room was completely dark. She didn’t dare turn on the light.
After a while, her eyes adjusted to the gloom; she made out the faint outlines of shelves along the walls — a small, windowless storage room, by the look of it.

She reached out through the Force, trying to sense whether the figures outside had noticed anything. Her pulse pounded so loudly she was certain it could be heard in the hall.
She stopped for a heartbeat, drew a deep breath, and reached again — sinking into the current of the Force, letting it blur the edges of her presence until she was nothing but a shadow.
She’d come too far. Her goal couldn’t be much farther now.

It felt like an eternity that she waited there in the dark.
She could sense people passing by outside, but she didn’t trust her own perception — was her disguise strong enough? Or were her senses betraying her?

She pressed her gloved hand to the door to steady her focus. A chill stirred in her gut — the creeping certainty of danger drawing near.
She couldn’t stay here any longer. The sooner she got out of Zaine’s headquarters, the better.
It took all her willpower to finally reach for the handle.

Without warning, the door cracked open from the other side — and someone slipped inside.
Rhynna barely stumbled back in time to keep the door from hitting her face.
The newcomer’s attention was still on the corridor, unaware of her presence. Rhynna froze. A collision was inevitable — there was no time to hide.

Frantically, she reached for the small blaster tucked in her boot.
At that very moment, the stranger backed straight into her.

In the faint strip of light from the hall, she caught a glimpse of a horned silhouette — the skull of a Zabrak. He was dressed in dark tones, and she couldn’t immediately place him.
One of the Scourge’s enforcers, maybe?
He seemed just as startled as she was. Rhynna didn’t hesitate — before he could recover, she jammed the barrel of her weapon into his back.

“Make a sound, and you’re dead!”

He froze mid-motion.

Good. At least she’d sounded confident enough. Now she only had to keep it up.

“Where can I find Voroll Zaine?”
No answer. Adrenaline surged through her veins. Why wasn’t he answering?
“Speak up!” She shoved the blaster harder against his spine.

“All right,” he said evenly. His voice was deep and unshaken — far too calm. Rhynna’s confidence began to crack.
He slowly raised his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender. “Stay calm.”

Faster than she could react, he twisted, knocking her hand upward and spinning under her arm with stunning agility.
Rhynna staggered forward and lost her balance; in an instant, she hit the floor. Her blaster clattered away, and something heavy pressed down on her back, pinning her in place.
A gloved hand clamped over her mouth before she could cry out in shock.
Pain flared in her shoulders as her arms were forced behind her, held tight.

“Hesitation can cost you everything,” he growled close to her ear.

Furious, she tried to bite his hand, but her teeth met the tough leather of his glove. It didn’t even make him flinch.

He stayed there, motionless above her. From outside came distant shouting — blaster shots, footsteps, chaos. The small storage room, however, remained unnoticed.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth,” he said at last, low and deliberate. “Because I need information. But first—understand this: if you try to lie to me, I won’t hesitate.”

He let the words hang between them. When she gave a tense nod, he eased his grip.
She stayed still; only then did he release her arms and lift his weight off her back.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

Grinding her teeth, she obeyed and rolled onto her back.

The Zabrak stood over her, feet apart, studying her with sharp, unflinching eyes. They glowed like live embers, burning straight into her.

Rhynna glared back. In the dimness she still couldn’t make out every feature, but his skin was dark, his face marked all over with black tattoos.
A long coat draped over him, concealing any weapons — though she reminded herself the same was true for her.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.

He’d given her a moment to recover — a mistake she intended to make him regret.

Dengar’s lessons flashed through her mind. To find the Force within, you must be still. Feel it in everything that surrounds you.

It felt impossible to focus now, but she had no choice. Her life could depend on it.
Drawing a deep breath, she met the Zabrak’s gaze and poured her will into it. Slowly, she moved her hand through the air, never breaking eye contact.

“I am not the Twi’lek you’re looking for,” she said firmly.

But his expression didn’t fade as she’d hoped. Instead, something like interest flickered in his eyes.

He rubbed his gloved fingers together thoughtfully, the faint smear of pink cream catching the light. He glanced at it, then looked back at her.

“No,” he said. “I’m not looking for a Twi’lek. But I do know you.”

He crouched again to see her face more clearly in the dim light and pulled the askew headpiece from her lekku.
His gloved hand gripped her chin, turning her face toward the corridor’s glow.

“Corinn Leycrit,” he said softly. “Well. Who would have thought?”

Chapter Text

The hallway had fallen silent, though the rest of the building still echoed with the sounds of battle, where the insurgents clashed with Voroll Zaine’s loyalists. Maul peered cautiously into the corridor before shoving the Twi’lek out of the chamber. He gestured toward the direction she was to take — and, to his surprise, she obeyed. For now, at least.

She was defiant, and he didn’t believe for a moment that she was broken. She was merely waiting for her opportunity. Though he drove her forward relentlessly, her pace was sluggish, dazed, and that frayed his patience. Every so often, he gave her a shove to quicken her steps, but she always returned to her original pace soon after. She was provoking him.

“Move! I want to be off this pathetic little planet before nightfall!”

They crossed the carpeted corridor and soon reached the hangar through the same gate he had entered. The air grew cooler in the spacious hall, filled with the tang of fuel and ozone.

Maul scanned the space — something was wrong. The massive ceiling hatch that served as the exit for the ships was sealed shut.

Frowning, he pulled out his comlink and hailed Ithan.
“Ithan, the hangar is locked down. What’s going on?”

For a moment, there was only static. Then Ithan’s voice came through, crackling with interference. “Some of Zaine’s men have barricaded themselves in the tower.” Blasterfire thundered in the background. “They’re blocking our reinforcements and trying to shoot our ships out of the sky. We’re working on it — they won’t last much longer.” His voice was strained, almost drowned by the din of combat.

From across the hall, muffled blaster bolts and shouts rang out. Above the secondary deck, whose staircase led down into the hangar, a wide transparisteel window flickered with the brief glow of weapons fire.

Maul exhaled in frustration. This was taking far too long. He hoped Ithan would get things under control soon — otherwise, he would have to intervene himself. Though that would be… difficult, with the Twi’lek in tow—

A sudden instinct made him whirl around and yank her violently aside — just as the steel claw of a grappling hook whipped past where she’d been standing. Maul’s eyes darted toward the doorway.

A figure emerged from the headquarters — a man clad in plastoid and gorra-snail leather armor, his face hidden behind a dark visor.

“Stop right there!” The voice came through the helmet’s vocoder, distorted and metallic. “The Twi’lek is mine!”

Maul hadn’t thought Corinn’s panic could grow worse — yet it did. He felt her fear surge like a living thing.

“An acquaintance of yours?” he asked, voice low.

“No idea. Hardly.”

“If this turns ugly, you’ll run to my ship — the star courier with the folded wings.” As stubborn as ever, she gave no reply.

“You’re too late!” Maul shoved her behind him protectively and faced the newcomer. “Back off. I’ve already claimed the bounty.”

“How much are they paying you for her?” the bounty hunter countered. “Give her to me, and I’ll make it worth your while. But I’m not leaving without her.”

“I’m not interested in negotiating. She’s my prisoner — and she’s coming with me.”

The barrel of a blaster leveled at him. The hunter advanced with deliberate steps. “That’s not acceptable.”

Maul raised his hands slightly. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“Hand over the Twi’lek voluntarily — or I’ll take her off your corpse.”

The Zabrak’s grin widened, predatory. “If that’s how you want it… I can’t wait.”

Before either could strike, another voice cut through the tension.

“Now, now, Kox! That’s no way to treat our guests. If you want trouble, go hunt down some of Zaine’s men — but stay out of my business.”

Ithan stepped through the door beside the transparisteel window, ducking slightly to fit his massive frame through the opening. His armor bore fresh dents and blaster marks, and he carried a heavy rifle. Behind him, only a few sporadic shots still echoed — the fight was nearly over.

Unimpressed, Kox kept his blaster trained on Maul.

“Ithan. As punctual as ever,” Maul muttered.

Kox ignored him. “Timpo Sundown wants the Twi’lek. And the artifact she carries. We can’t let them leave — she must be taken to Ducoth!”

“I don’t care what that old witch wants,” Ithan growled. “But I do see you’re ruining my business, and that I won’t tolerate. Get lost, Kox.”

The bounty hunter glared at him, disbelieving — then, realizing Ithan was dead serious, lowered his weapon with a furious hiss.

“This isn’t over, Ithan. Timpo will hear of this — and she won’t be pleased.” He pointed sharply at Maul. “We’ll meet again, you have my word.” Then he stormed off.

“Timpo can rot for all I care!” Ithan called after him, then turned to Maul. “Sorry about that. Kox is a greedy fool. One might think that witch from Ducoth trained him like a pet hound.”

As he spoke, the ceiling panels of the hangar retracted with a hum, revealing the honeycomb-patterned opening to the sky. “Safe travels. The way is clear.”

Maul gave a curt nod, touching two fingers to his temple in brief salute, then seized the Twi’lek’s arm and dragged her toward the Scimitar.

His cabin was the only room on board that could be locked, so he decided to keep her there. Under her scowling gaze, he removed anything that could serve as a weapon — tools, a datapad, and one hidden blade near the cot. She leaned silently against the wall, arms crossed, her expression dark but restrained.

He sealed the door behind him and launched the ship. Once they had broken atmosphere and were safely on course, he switched on the autopilot and opened a hololink to his Master.

“There’s one more thing,” he began, after summarizing the events on Keuvis. “Something… unexpected. I’ve encountered an old acquaintance — Corinn Leycrit. I’ve taken her with me. I intend to bring her to Coruscant. She worked closely with the Jedi — she may know their weaknesses. And I believe her research could be of great value. She’s created an artifact that might serve us well.”

The hooded figure of Darth Sidious said nothing for a long moment. His face, hidden deep in shadow, betrayed no emotion. The silence stretched — unsettling even Maul.

At last, Sidious’s mouth curled into a faint, sinister smile.
“This is… an unforeseen development. Yet a fortunate one. Use the Twi’lek well, my apprentice. She may become a valuable instrument — if you can bend her to your will. Learn all you can of her research. Report your progress.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The blue holo-light faded, plunging the Scimitar’s interior back into its dim crimson glow.

Sidious had given Maul the ship for his first mission. To the untrained eye, it appeared as an ordinary star courier — but it carried hidden weapons and stealth systems. Inside, the walls were painted in shadow and blood-red light. The cockpit sat above, with living and cargo quarters connected by a lift below.

After ending the transmission, Maul descended to the lower deck. It was time to deal with the Twi’lek. He needed to plan carefully how their cooperation would work. She wasn’t a fool — and her past with the Jedi meant she might know old legends of the Sith.

She would continue her research into the Force — for him. But no one could know of her existence. She had to be secure, unable to escape or to contact anyone. For now, Coruscant would do. But in the long term, keeping her there would be dangerous.

He cleared the ship’s common areas of all weapons, stacking them in the cockpit. Her blaster he added to the pile — but the glove, he kept. It was the key to her obedience, at least for now.

When he entered her cabin again, she lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling, expression distant. As he stepped inside, she turned pointedly toward the wall.

She looked delicate — her shoulders and hips soft curves against the hard surface. Her chest rose and fell slowly. Her lekku lay limp beside her. She was beautiful, like most Twi’leks, though no longer as young as the holos once showed. The years of hiding had left their mark — the line between her brows, the shadows under her eyes. She had tried to disguise her skin with pigment cream, but it had begun to flake, revealing milky white beneath. A rare color for a Twi’lek. Her pale pink eyes matched it — giving her an almost fragile appearance. Weaker, he thought with contempt.

“Welcome aboard the Scimitar, Corinn. I’m Maul.”

She didn’t turn, but at the sound of her name, she flinched. “Rhynna,” she corrected sharply.

“A pleasure,” he said dryly.

“Rhynna, then.” He rolled his eyes where she couldn’t see. This is going to be delightful, he thought darkly. Both of us, in one ship. He could think of a dozen other names for her — Jedi pet, perhaps. Few stood lower in his regard than the Jedi, but those who served them willingly were among the worst. Still, she’d been betrayed by them. Perhaps she’d finally seen their true nature.

“You’ll be pleased to hear,” he said, “that our course is set for your old home — Coruscant.”

She spun toward him, eyes wide. “You’re taking me to the Jedi?”

“No. Coruscant’s a big city. The Jedi aren’t the only ones there. You’re going to work for me.”

“Oh, much better,” she said, dripping sarcasm.

“If you test my patience, I might reconsider.” He smirked and turned to leave. “Get up. I’ll show you the ship.”

Chapter Text

“Drink this.”
He set a steaming cup down in front of her.
Suspiciously, she drew it closer and took a cautious sniff.
“Tea,” she said, surprised.
“Chasuka tea. It’s calming.”

She gripped the cup tightly, but made no move to drink. Did she really think he’d poison her? What purpose would that serve?
He suppressed an eye-roll and took a sip from his own. The tea was rich and aromatic, warmth spreading pleasantly through his body.

Social interaction was a necessity—but never one of his strengths, or interests. Especially not with someone as perceptive as the Twi’lek. He could sit across from the worst gangsters in the galaxy without issue. Those men were scum—without honor, without higher purpose. Their motivations were simple, and that made them easy. He didn’t need to reveal himself to them, didn’t need to give away his goals. All they required was the illusion of choice. Offer them something they wanted—especially if it concerned their survival—and they were predictable.

This, however, was different. Complicated, he realized with irritation. Rhynna would be accompanying him for a while. She’d come to know more about him than anyone ever had. The very thought made him grimace. Of all beings—her.

“Will you finally answer some of my questions?” Her pale eyes fixed on him, sharp as if she’d heard his thoughts. Her knuckles stood out white against the cup she gripped so tightly.

“Let’s get it over with.” His tone left no doubt about his enthusiasm for the conversation.

“Who are you? And why are you trained in the ways of the Force?”

He sighed. “That’s… a complicated question.”
Maul shifted uncomfortably. How much should he tell her? She was meant to study for him, yes. For that, he could share fragments of his knowledge. A little, perhaps. He could even grant her access to certain Sith texts—but Rhynna was not a fool. She would put the pieces together. And if she tried to flee, he’d kill her long before she could share any of it.

Still, it was a risk. And he didn’t know if his Master would approve—or if this was precisely what was expected of him.

“You’re Dathomirian,” she said before he could answer. “During my time at the Jedi Temple, I studied records of the Zabraks. Red or yellow skin is typical, and they receive their traditional tattoos as children. Many are Force-sensitive. At first I thought you were part of the Nightbrother order.”

He looked up at her in mild surprise. “And? Not a bad guess.” He danced around the truth—and hated himself for it. “But it sounds like you’re not convinced.”

“Too many inconsistencies. Why would a Nightbrother be traveling alone? And what interest would he have in me? Dathomir is far from Coruscant. Far from Keuvis.” She shook her head slowly. “Unlikely.”

She paused, clearly waiting for a response. “Well?” she pressed when none came.

“You’re right.” He studied the bottom of his cup. “I was born a Nightbrother, but I’m not one of them.”
Should he truly reveal the existence of the Sith?

Her gaze was relentless. She sensed the tension in him, the weight of what he was about to say.
“The Force is used differently on Dathomir than it is taught by the Jedi… or as I was taught. I’m sure the Jedi Archives have some mention of my kind.”

He drew a slow breath and set his cup down. When he finally met her eyes, a shiver ran through her.

Rhynna’s eyes widened suddenly, her face betraying pure shock. “By the gods—of course! How could I have missed it?”
Her fingers tightened around the cup as though it might anchor her. Horror crossed her face as she stared at him.
“You’re a Sith.”
Disbelief colored her voice. “But that’s impossible! The Sith are a myth. They might have existed in ancient times, but the last of them were wiped out ages ago.”

Maul didn’t answer.

A storm of emotion surged through her—realization, rejection, fear. She stood abruptly, overwhelmed by what she’d just learned. The meaning of it all dawned on her only gradually, as if her mind refused to accept it.

“Bantha shit…” she muttered, voice thin. “I should never have followed you.”
Her knees gave way, and she sank back into her chair.

“The Force led your steps to this point,” he said calmly. “You needn’t trouble yourself over it.”

She only stared at him, stunned. “What do you want from me?”

“What do you think?” His tone was almost amused. “As I’ve said—your research interests me. I want you to continue your work. Besides, you know the Jedi well. You’ve worked closely with them, you understand their thinking… their secrets.” A faint smile touched his lips. “You’ll prove useful.”

Even as he spoke, he could feel the defiance rising in her. The enormity of what he’d revealed was too much to bear.

“What makes you think I’d work for someone like you? You expect me to betray the people who once trusted me?”

Her sharp reply caught him off guard. Anger flared in him, darkening the air for an instant. Loyal to the Jedi? Still? It made no sense. Could she not see how they’d always looked down on her? How they’d denied her the full breadth of the Force?

He was ready to lash out—but stopped himself. Letting emotion rule him would not serve his purpose. He could show her far more than any Jedi ever could.

He steadied himself, and the tension in the room eased.

“What exactly do you mean, ‘someone like me’?” he asked at last. “You know only the picture the Jedi paint of the Sith. Do you take that as truth?”
He gave a dry laugh.

Her expression didn’t change. Of course she had no answer—she’d never met a Sith before.

He reached out through the Force, reading the waves of emotion within her. “You should be more careful with your loyalties. You owe the Jedi nothing. They cast you out. Had you stayed, they’d have done far worse to you. All these years, not one of them came to help you. Not even your former partner.”

At the mention of her partner, the Twi’lek visibly wilted. Painful memories—exactly what he needed. Maul hid a predatory grin. This, he could work with.

Slowly, he rose and circled the table until he stood behind her. Her lekku twitched; the fine hairs at her neck stood on end as he rested his hands on her shoulders.

“You belong with the Sith more than you ever did with the Jedi,” he murmured.
“You’ll see.”

Chapter Text

Rhynna sat motionless in the ship’s mess hall.
The tea in her hands had long gone cold — she’d forgotten it entirely, lost in her thoughts. The Zabrak had left her alone, but she could still feel the weight of his hands on her shoulders. What he’d said wouldn’t leave her. Could it be true? Where had the Sith hidden all this time?

He’d mentioned a base on Coruscant — right under the nose of the Jedi Temple. How could none of the Masters have sensed it?
She didn’t know how to make sense of the information, let alone what to do with it. She distrusted him, and yet she didn’t doubt his words. His Force presence — faint and indistinct to her limited perception — confirmed what she already knew. The darkness she’d glimpsed when he had brushed her mind for a moment… it was more than obvious: he wielded the Dark Side.

With a frustrated sigh, she exhaled. The conversation had left her only with more questions — and the thought of working for Maul was utterly distasteful. The Zabrak was by far the most unpleasant being she had ever met. But he wouldn’t give her a choice. Not now that she knew his secret.

She wondered how far his promise to let her continue her research truly went. The thought was tempting — dangerously so. She could study her subject from an angle that had once been absolutely forbidden. Perhaps she could finally lift the veil from some of the mysteries that still surrounded the Force.
The only question was: at what price?

Something bumped against her foot.
Startled, she looked down — one of the ship’s cleaning droids had rolled up and was polishing her boot with a rotating brush.
“Who short-circuited you? Get lost, will you?”
Annoyed, she kicked the overzealous machine away and watched as it squealed off down the corridor.

Maybe it was time to take a closer look around the ship. Perhaps it held some clues about her mysterious host.
She eyed the cup in her hand skeptically — then, with a resigned shrug, drained it in one go. She waited a moment, listening inwardly. No, she didn’t feel any calmer. Just as expected.

She rose and crossed into the small galley adjoining the mess. Maul had warned her not to enter the cockpit, but the rest of the ship was apparently open to her.
The interior was dark, sleek — minimalist and high-quality, with matte anthracite surfaces and soft, indirect lighting that lent everything a subdued elegance. From the outside, the vessel had looked like a standard star courier, but the modifications were obvious upon closer inspection. Rhynna could only guess what kind of resources had been poured into it.

The cupboards and counters were smooth and unadorned. She set her cup in the sink, then opened a few compartments with quick taps. Plates, bowls, cups. Nothing remarkable. One entire shelf, however, was packed with teas — dozens of them. She picked up a dark-blue tin showing broad leaves on velvet-like packaging. The language was unfamiliar, but the scent was rich and spicy.
Chasuka tea — the label written in Aurebesh — stood half-empty at the front. Clearly, an obsession.

She had hoped for more enlightening discoveries, but the galley was not the place for them.

Besides the misguided little cleaning droid, other helpers were stationed on board — household units, maintenance bots, some dormant with dim red status lights pulsing faintly. She could only guess at their functions.

Maul had confiscated her weapons and communication gear when he’d locked her in his cabin earlier. No doubt he’d also disabled anything dangerous before summoning her. The ship held no weapons, no datapads, no personal effects at all. No photos, no music, no keepsakes.
Everything was practical — and impersonal.

Back in the mess, she noticed tools and small components scattered over a workbench, surrounding something that looked like a mechanical insect. She picked it up carefully. It resembled a large fly — delicate, intricate, the work of someone highly skilled. Six metallic legs dangled limply, two pairs of transparent wings quivered faintly as she turned it. Instead of faceted eyes, a single lens stared back at her. Cables trailed from its open chassis. She had to admit: it was impressive craftsmanship. Gently, she set it back down.

A moment later, a mist of steam betrayed where Maul had been hiding.
He stepped into the room, a towel around his neck, his skin still damp. Loose trousers hung low on his hips. The black tattoos extended across his entire body — his neck and back nearly solid black, while finer spirals and diamonds traced his chest and abdomen. It must have taken ages to complete, and the pain… unimaginable.
When she realized she was staring, she quickly averted her eyes. If he noticed, he gave no sign.

“Hungry?” he asked.

She hadn’t thought about food at all — the day had been too exhausting — but now that he mentioned it, her stomach answered for her. She nodded.

Together they prepared two ration packs in the galley, then ate in silence at the table. Rhynna wondered how long it would take her to grow used to this place — or if she ever could. She still didn’t know how to behave around the intimidating Zabrak.

When he finished, Maul picked up his datapad and started watching a recording of a Senate debate. She glanced at the screen half-heartedly. One faction decried corruption; another defended lobbying as necessary for the Republic’s machinery. She recognized a few faces — senators she’d once studied during her years closer to Coruscant’s political core — but the endless arguments were the same as ever. Finis Valorum, the Supreme Chancellor, struggled to hold the cacophony together, accused by some of weakness, by others of bias.

Her attention drifted. The day had been long, and she could never have guessed where it would end. Slowly, she let her head sink onto her arms.

“If you’re tired, you can sleep in my cabin.”

Her head jerked up. Had he really just spoken to her?
He seemed absorbed in the holoscreen. But when she lowered her head again, she felt a light touch against one of her lekku.

“You should wash that off first.”
His voice was even. He ran a finger over the tip of her lek, where the pigment cream she’d used for her disguise had begun to crack and flake.

The hot shower did what the tea couldn’t. Steam wrapped around her; the water loosened the dried paint clinging to her skin. She found a dispenser of clear gel — its scent of asyr and namana wood was faint but familiar. Maul’s scent.
She frowned. Not exactly the association she wanted — but she had little choice.

Rubbing away the last traces of the disguise, she felt the tension fade from her skin. Beneath the pale patterns, faint bruises had begun to form — reminders of the earlier fight. White skin always betrayed every mark. With a sigh, she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and let the warmth flow over her.

A throat cleared.
Her eyes snapped open. Could she not have a moment of privacy?

“Fresh towels,” Maul’s voice said evenly. “And clothes, if you’d prefer a change. Probably not your size, but better than nothing.”

Rhynna blinked, surprised. That… was unexpectedly considerate. Not something she’d thought him capable of.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Through the translucent screen she saw only the door hissing shut behind him. A small stack of fabric lay neatly folded nearby. The moment he was gone, she rushed out, rummaged through her own things, and exhaled in relief — the data pendant she always wore around her neck was still there.

She dried off and examined the clothes he’d left. The shirt’s sleeves were long, the fabric soft and flexible; it fit surprisingly well. The pants could be adjusted with a drawstring. Both were black, of course. Some habits died hard.

She hung the towel neatly and stepped into his cabin. It was colder here than in the steamy bath, and the chill made her shiver. Exhaustion crept over her. She slipped into the narrow bunk and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Sleep took its time. The foreignness of the place, the turmoil in her head — everything kept her restless long after the lights dimmed.

Board life was usually dull, and Rhynna counted the hours until the end of the journey. There was nothing to occupy her, and the Zabrak gave her no more attention than strictly necessary. He was not talkative, and whenever she tried to ask about his past or her own future, he evaded or postponed answers indefinitely. He was reserved — increasingly arrogant, in her eyes.

Bored, she stretched. Waiting gnawed at her. She had energy to burn and no target to aim it at, which led her to foolish impulses. She perched on a bench in the mess, peeling an ioaa she had found in the galley. Training sessions were the only real diversion on board, so she often watched him. That she positioned herself squarely in his path brought a small, satisfying sense of defiance — and a few irritated glances that briefly appeased the frustration coiling in her chest.

She couldn’t deny the fascination she felt watching his movements. They were fluid, precise, almost ritualistic — a dance of lethal elegance. But no amount of grace could disguise the Tusken essence beneath it all.

On a whim, she tossed a few pieces of peel toward him. They split in midair, scattering harmlessly. The largest fragment, however, stayed on course. Just before it hit, it froze in the air. Reflexes. Maul halted, raising a foot to give way to the cleaning droid charging blindly toward the scattered peel. He stared at her, incredulous.

“I was just testing your guard,” she said, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth.

Maul plucked the hovering fragment from the air. “Do it again,” he commanded, and threw it back. She ducked, but it struck her shoulder anyway before dropping to the floor.

A flicker of touch flashed in her mind — no comparison to the invasive brush in Zaine’s headquarters, yet unwelcome, intrusive. She flinched, instinctively trying to repel the intrusion. Cursed bastard.

A thin smile flickered across his lips.

She dredged up fragments of the techniques Dengar had taught her for mental defense. “Stop it!” she snapped, and, to her surprise, he actually pulled back.

“You are Force-sensitive, but you never received proper training,” he remarked.

“I was tested as a child — found too weak,” she said.

“Did it hurt, being rejected by the Knights in white armor?” His voice was calm, but the question was precise, targeting a raw nerve.

“I’ll tell you that once you tell me what you intend for me,” she shot back. She did not expect to have to reveal anything personal, nor did she believe he cared about her feelings.

“I could just take a quick look…”

Her glare pinned him. “What do you want?”

“Leave me to train.” He paused, then handed her the datapad. “You may read the Holo-News, if that keeps you occupied. My personal notes, contacts, and messages are off-limits.”

She took the flat device and cleared her space.

Though once deeply interested in politics, her years on Keuvis had kept her far from the affairs of the Coruscant Senate. Now she felt compelled to catch up. Her gaze skimmed over the text with unusual focus, absorbing it with almost physical hunger. For the first time since boarding, she could forget, even briefly, the situation surrounding her.

Maul slipped in and out of view while she devoured the reports, barely noticing him. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed this engagement with the world.

She only startled when a notification blinked on the screen. A small box indicated that a download had completed. Below it, in fine print, was a directory of files — and her name. She looked up briefly. The Zabrak was nowhere in sight. The sound of hot water pouring in the kitchen suggested he was making tea, giving her a few moments of solitude. Strictly speaking, he had not forbidden her to explore the files. Curiosity, after all, was her duty.

She tapped the notification, opening a large directory filled with data. Maps, by the looks of the extensions. One name stood out: Malachor.

The word struck a chord, oddly familiar. But before she could place it, the Sith stormed into the room. His anger was palpable.

“Trying to challenge me?”

Her hair stood on end, and she stepped back. His movements had always been animalistic, but now he was a predator. His voice was a growl, every muscle taut and ready.

With a sudden surge, he collided with her. She felt the cold metal of the ship’s bulkhead press into her back. She glimpsed only a silver blur as his lightsaber sprang to life with a hiss, the searing blade hovering mere centimeters from her throat. He left her no freedom of movement.

“Are you suicidal? Damn it, that wasn’t the deal. Either you respect our agreements, or I swear I will make you regret it. Learn this lesson now!”

Her only response was a gasp as she tried to create distance, struggling to free herself. His grip was unyielding, her heart hammering at the sudden aggression. She shoved at him, but he didn’t budge.

“Come on, make it quick before I bore myself to death!” she said defiantly.

His eyes locked on hers, darkness blazing behind them. A shiver ran through her. Fear, yes — but something else, fleeting and intangible. Maul noticed it too. Almost imperceptibly, he stepped back, then released her. She sank slowly to the deck, still pinned by apprehension. His gaze now measured her with cool, analytical interest. The lightsaber’s hum continued steadily, but less threateningly.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“A hint of guilt,” he replied. Controlled, calm — but Rhynna did not trust the peace.

She would have to test the limits of him, gradually learning how to assert her will without provoking total wrath. This encounter had gone too far. Next time, she would be more cautious.