Drev lay awake in his bed again. It has been the same for some time now, the tormenting dreams that he knew were not his own and ... the others he didn't have any certainty about. While the ones that felt like someone else's were surely gruesome and disconcerting it were the unclear ones that concerned him. They were... they were...

Shapes; changing, moving, shadows dancing like snakes on red sand...

He didn't know what they were and when asked he wouldn't be able to describe them, but he had a strange feeling every time he saw those pictures in his dreams, those pictures, clearer in his mind than anything he had experienced for years - feelings of recognition...

Movement and noise, everywhere, everywhere... What was moving? What was making the noise?...

...memory? It couldn't be, had he not been in the Temple all his life? Or, at least, as long as he remembered? Then how was it possible that those scenes seemed so... familiar? He had never thought about his past before but now those strange images left him no option. Surely he must have had parents? A family even?

Peculiar scents, unknown smells... but one, one he knew... what was it? It smelled like something burnt... burnt...

Only now did he see he had no idea where he even came from. He always thought of the Temple as his only home and family. Did it even matter, though? Was it not more important to find out what caused these dreams that implanted themselves so deep in his mind that he spent every sleeping and most of his waking moments to think about them and nothing else?

...meat? The fog began to lift itself from his mind. Everything became clear. Terribly clear. Not meat was what stank here but human flesh. The shapes took form and he saw people running and crawling away in an effort to escape...

He had heard about the Sith supposedly seeking redemption and, although suspicious, he was in favor of her staying and he truly hoped that she found the right path again. Was it her presence that was causing these horrifying dreams? He believed so. The dreams started the night her scream had been heard, after all.

Frozen in shock and despair he stood there numbly, scanning the surroundings for a familiar face, but all he saw was the orange of flames and black of smoke. He shouted, but his faint voice drowned in the cacophony of screams and explosions around him. So he stood, alone, helpless...

Was anyone else having these dreams? Drev, humble by nature, didn't think of himself as anything special, so he assumed they would. And that was the problem. She was causing pain to the people and that, in his eyes, was intolerable, however noble her original intent may be. It was clear to him that she had to go. The thought saddened him as he believed the Jedi should never turn away those in need but he saw no other way. Just thinking about the effect she could have on the younglings was enough to spark his determination.

On the brink of giving up he finally saw who he was looking for. A woman came running towards him, crying but visibly happy to have found him she came closer and closer...

It wasn't just the dreams either. There had been some... worrying events since she arrived. He would go see Nahila sometime soon, she probably wouldn't agree but he was sure she would see his point if he told her of his concerns.

Suddenly her head spun in horror and her face got a twisted expression of fear and despair. She looked at him again, still running, and seemed to scream something he couldn't understand. He sees her tears running down her face as a light flares up in the distance and... and... everything goes black

Drev stood up from his bed, certain that he wouldn't be getting any sleep this night anyway and sat down on the floor, where he decided to meditate until sunrise.
It was a strange time he was going through and he thought about the Sith, about what Nahila would say, about everything. Everything but the dream.

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Feeling satisfied with the way his mind had calmed during the meditation Drev opened his eyes. Not that this would make him see things better, though. He had gotten used to seeing things... differently, by means of the force. Drev always told people he only keeps his eyes so the wind doesn't blow into his skull. It failed to get the expected laughs every time.

While dressing and washing himself he began thinking about the Sith again, this time with clearer, more focused thoughts than the night before. He would have to see her too. It would be an interesting experience, an invaluable lesson even, he was sure. Drev had never spoken to a Sith before... no, he corrected himself he had spoken to them, they had been very unpleasant... but he hadn't had an actual conversation with one yet. A peaceful talk with a Sith, he shook his head. These were strange times indeed, he mused.

Xan Lazure regarded the whimpering young man strapped to the cold metal table.
"You understand now? Why this lesson was necessary?"
The young man sobbed. "Yes... I was wrong to doubt... I will not question again... forgive me!"
Xan nodded. "Master Vect's concerns over your loyalty will no doubt be assuaged. I will inform him of your... change of heart."

Xan turned to the medical droid standing to the other side of the room. "Take him to the Bacta tank, so his broken bones may heal, while Master Vect decides what is to be done."

With that Xan turned and left the room, as the young man called out after him,
"Thank you! Thank you for showing me the error of my ways!"

Xan ignored it. It was a familiar refrain. They were always grateful after they were broken. He took some measure of pride in that. It showed him just how necessary it was to their family that he did what he did. Master Vect obviously saw the value of it, for it was always Xan he turned to, to bring the wayward into line.

This pleased him also.

It had become more necessary of late, since Master Erzabet's absence. More often, Master Vect came to him with the names of those who were straying.
I will let none tear my family asunder.

As he reached Vect's quarters, he paused to straighten his Black and red military-style tunic.
The Master's speech had heartened him somewhat- it was true Master Ezrabet's leave of absence had had a...disquieting effect on Vect. His lucid moments were less frequent, the hallucinations worse. In turn this had meant more of the group seemed... restless and unsettled, judging by the frequency of the need for re-education.

Her return would mean they were whole again. Vect would be whole again.

And he would be whole again.

He pressed the door chime to announce his presence.

What is wrong with me? Nahila ached all over, not with age but with tension. She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached, deliberately relaxed only to find her neck so rigid she could barely turn her head. Now she was getting spasms in her calves because she was clenching her feet. Her feet! Did people even do that? And to make it worse, she'd snapped at Cain tapping his fingernails on the hilt of his lightsaber, a nervous habit of his that today succeeded in making her nervous as well. Then she'd taken to pacing in circles around her office until he had snapped at her. Which she supposed made them even but did nothing to assuage her growing alarm, and though she stopped circling her office, the thought would not stop circling her brain.

Where was Ythros?

Of course he could handle a single Sith - he could handle a roomful of Sith, and had, many times. So why hadn't he come back. He went away for weeks, even months, on his hunts, but this was different. This was one fugitive, no doubt within short distance of the temple, and besides, he never left Erzabet's side now for longer than he could help.

She closed her eyes and reached out, trying to sense him in the Force. No luck. Not that it meant much. One would think such malevolence would be a beacon in the Force, but no. His odd connection with it always made his presence obscure, and if he was within the city, the lives of so many others would mask him. So instead, she reached out into the Force, not in search of Ythros, but in search of something important, something around which the Force swirled and eddied.

Erzabet. Of course.

She stood, took her lightsaber from its stand on the shelf behind her, and clipped it to her belt.

Cain frowned up at her. "What's wrong?"

"Something's happened to Ythros, something terrible."

His frown deepened as he stood to join her. "Like what?"

"I don't know. I got a bad feeling not long after he disappeared and it's just been getting worse. I can't just sit here. I have to do something."

"So where are we going?"

"To find Erzabet."

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

The first thing she thinks as she steps out onto the ledge -

...a successful disassembly test.

The eyes of the disassembled man are not watching her. They are watching their tormentor-creator holding a knife to the throat of the Jedi he hopes will be his savior-destroyer. But this must not be. Already she is leaving without much of what she came for. She will not lose another.

"Put it down, Ythros. That's enough."

But as she failed to recognize the value of Corev, she failed to recognize the skill of Ketan. He seizes Ythros' knife, strikes, and rolls away. Ythros, before she can stop him, seizes Ketan's wound and strikes back, and she loses Ketan to the waters below. The Force is turning against her in this place. She must leave before she loses all.

She turns back to Schaden, draped upon his table, and begins to reassemble him. Ythros unmade him, she will remake him. His mind is quiet, and if they had more time, she could teach him to be still, but they do not have time, so instead, she consoles him.

"You are free now, Schaden," she murmurs to him as she smoothes his scalp into place. " Pain,terror, despair - these will be nothing to you now, for what can your future hold that could possibly compare to this." His jaw slides into place with the click of bone into socket. "A part of you is dying, even now. Let it die. It makes you question yourself, fills you with doubt, self-loathing -" she casts a sideways glance at Ythros who sits curled in a fetal ball, "- stands between you and the Force. The Jedi slip around one side of the obstruction by draining themselves of emotion," the left side of his ribcage rights itself. "The Sith use their passions to struggle through the other," the right side of his ribcage joins it. "But we, my people, we break it and let it die, and so the Force comes to us whole." She places the sternum in the center, heart and lungs in their proper place beneath. "That is why the Sith and the Jedi will fall before us."

The work continues, made easier by the current of Force energy that flows out of Ythros into his creature, but she tires and requires more of him.

"Do you know," she asks him, "that you are a Healer, or would have been? You are a twisted Healer, just as Athrix was." He turns to look at her, wide-eyed and shaking. "If you were not, nothing you do would be possible. Have you never wondered why it is that you sustain wounds that kill your victims and yet you survive. The gash in your leg stopped bleeding almost the minute the knife was withdrawn. Why have your scars never stiffened and left you bound and crippled by your own damaged flesh? And this," she gestures to the man whose intestines are piled in a knotted heap on his now-heaving chest while she attaches his pelvis, "the extension of the vascular system. The aorta is not long enough to set the heart outside the ribcage, and the lungs themselves are useless without the diaphragm to inflate them, and yet the man lives. You would have been a powerful preserver of life, had you stayed among the Jedi. Indeed, in some circumstances, you still are."

He does not even blink. His eyes are the eyes of the man on the table. Parts of him are dying. He is becoming stronger. This is good. She lacks the strength to continue her task, but she can take his, and that will be enough.

What?

It is simple. That is a lie. Ythros knows that it must be so. Hence, it is.

What!?

He heals fast because he never goes as far as to seal his fate, that is simple. His will is stronger, his body is stronger, he is used to injury. It is simple. That is a lie. Ythros knows it must be so. Hence, it is.

A healer? Him?

He was a weapon, he had made peace with the dark fact. He had spent so much time living with his curse that he no longer felt the weight on his conscience. Why would she lie? Because it must be a lie. It is simple. Then why does she tell him things of the broken man? He is kept alive through skill and precision.

He was nothing like his creator. That was an insult. He was different because he had a reason for his atrocities.

Athrix had needed no reason. There could be no similarity, they were polar in that respect, and by inference all others. Why then did he drop the knife? Disgusted by it and scrabble away? Why then did he stare blankly at the broken man of his creation and caress his own scar that once freed his own caged self? He was what he was made of, after all.

Who had made him? It was. a. lie.

But he felt it. She took from him the power to heal and it flowed through her to he thing on the table. He faltered as his power was drained and applied. Another use for the weapon, the tool for pain and purity. How fitting.

He said nothing. All of him bent on avoiding a revelation he had already had. One he had just been presented and could not turn away from.

He was more than he had allowed himself to be. And it hurt, now, that for every suffering second he had possessed the power to break free. Compounded torment upon existing hurts. Old scars laid open in the face of a knew knife dancing through the memories of torments he did not need to endure.

Heal? He saw his power working before him now, limbs still splayed and broken, but still he was returning to his living form.

He might have been a Jedi, a healer of the light.

He might have still become one, redemption lied within him.

Great was his suffering, now, that he learned of it moments after it became too late for him to embrace it.

Erzabet was not in her cell, which in itself was not cause for concern. They went to Ketan's quarters and he too was out. This should have been a reassurance, a sign that they were off studying or meditating together, but Nahila could not feel either of them in the Force and this filled her with fears. What if the assassin had come back? What if he had taken Ketan unawares and then killed Erzabet? But that would mean that Ythros had failed in his hunt, Ythros who had never failed in any hunt, and this is what filled Nahila with alarm.

Cain was scowling with worry for Erzabet and growing irritation at Nahila's anxiety. Doubtless he thought her concerns misplaced at best when Ketan and Erzabet were missing, but the Force was howling like a storm in her head, and the voice of the howl was Ythros' voice.

She stopped, took a deep breath, and centered herself. She needed to find Erzabet and she needed to find Ythros. There was information all around her, information in the minds of people. Some of the people were important to her search, others were not. The Force would show her which ones were important if she would just calm down and let it. She closed her eyes, reached out, and opened them.

The search went quickly. Inside the temple grounds, Erzabet was well known and always noticed. Outside the temple grounds, her appearance, both as a woman and as a Jedi, drew eyes to her. Some recalled she was with a male companion, others did not notice him at all, but Nahila was sure than Ketan was with her. Each person pointed in the direction that Erzabet had gone, each person had pointed to the next, until at last she came to a man who should have known but didn't.

He stood in his droid repair shop, up to his elbows in a sewer maintenance unit. "No, I've been in the shop all day, working on this crap-shoveling heap of crap. Don't know what the hell happened to it. The optical array is completely smashed, and the left motivator."

"Are you sure you didn't see anyone?" Why would the Force tell her this man knew what she needed to know when he didn't? Hearing the intensity in her tone, he looked up from his work. "You might ask C-2 over there," he pointed to a protocol droid that stood at the customer counter. "He answers customer questions. He's programmed to be patient with stupid questions, I'm not."

"Yes," said the droid when asked, "a male and female Jedi inquired as to the location of the nearest sewer system entry point."

"And where is this entry point?" The droid quickly sketched a precise map of the route from the shop to the sewer. "Thank you," she said to the droid.

"You're very welcome-" it's polite response was cut short by the shop-owner.

"If you are going into that sewer, watch yourself. There's something down there, something that messed up this droid. This damage isn't accidental, so if you figure out what did it, I'd appreciate if you'd tell me."

"Thank you," said Nahila, "I will."

Hell.
He'd thought he'd experienced it, thought he'd put others through it.
But no; he'd learned the true meaning of hell. This man, this...thing had shown him the truth, taught him the true meaning of Hell.

Until she came to save him. She came, she protected him. Like a mother...no. Not like his mother. His mother could not, would not protect him.

And yet this woman, who he had met so recently, had saved him from this monster. She had saved him. There was no way she could have known what Ythros would do to him...no, no way...

In the mind of the motley assembly of exposed organs that was Schaden, only one thought existed.

Thank you. Thank you. Thankyouthankouthankyouthankyouthankyou...
Erzabet had done well in putting her puppet together.

--

Buried deep within his broken consciousness, the voice of doubt screamed, desperate to be heard as its words were pushed back into its throat by the wave of mindless gratitude and the Force's power, robbing it of sound.

They left their robes at the sewer entrance and picked their way carefully through the tunnels, which clearly needed the attentions of the droid that sat damaged back at the repair shop, periodically stopping so that Nahila could determine their path through the maze of ducts and pipes. After perhaps fifteen minutes, they came to a stop in a tunnel that had only a bare trickle running through it. Most of the water was below them now, collected into a canal several meters down. The sound of the rushing torrent reverberated through the pipes around them, and Cain had to shout to be heard.

"What's wrong?"

Nahila stopped in front of him, wide-eyed and shaking. Her voice broke when she answered him, "I don't know. Everything. Everything is wrong."

He was unnerved and impatient and angry and it showed. "Well, it's not going to get less wrong while we stand here. Shouldn't we get going?"

"Yes, yes, we should." She swallowed against her rising dread and stepped out of the tunnel into the open space beyond.

At first, she could make no sense of the scene. It was as though time had had sheared or shifted, and the war she thought was long in her past had forced its way up into the here and now.

Oh no, how could...? Athrix, he...no, he can't...Who...?

There was a man, or parts of a man, no, a man, a living man, scattered over a rough table like a droid in a repair shop, and over him, as though she were the technician, stood Erzabet, carefully winding his intestines back into his gaping belly.

Nahila took two uncertain steps forward, then ran to Erzabet's side. Erzabet continued her work without stopping to look at the other woman. "I can't believe he's alive. How--?"

The wreckage on the table turned its head, the skin of its face buckling in a tortured attempt to smile. The air rattled in its lungs as it tried to speak. "The lady...she saved me...she...the Voice, it wouldn't let me die...she didn't let me die either...she is kind, oh she is kind...thank you," it turned back to Erzabet, "thank you thank you..."

Action was the only antidote to the consuming horror of the scene. "What can I do? How can I help?"

"See to his limbs." Erzabet's voice was what it always was, calm, controlled, controlling.
His limbs. Every joint from the clavicle down to the fingers had been dislocated. The skin of the lower arm had been meticulously pulled down from the elbow until it hung from the fingertips like a stripped-off glove, while the skin of the upper arm had been rolled up to the shoulder like a sleeve. Nahila stared at it, unsure where to start. The skin, she would restore the skin, otherwise she would have to grab the arm by the bare muscle to relocate the joints, something that she could not bear to think of, much less do. Everything was filthy with old blood or slick with new. Her hands were dirty from the tunnel walls.

"He'll go into septic shock." Nahila turned back to Cain. "Run and get medical supplies! And a doctor and a medical droid - we need to get this man back to a-"

"No!" There was no mistaking the whiplash command in Erzabet's voice. "This-" she nodded to the butchered man, "-must not be known." Nahila blinked in confusion for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Cain looked from one to the other and opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Erzabet silenced him.

"What about infection? Look at him. Septicemia has got to be setting in already, and if he starts to abscess--"

"Then it will be dealt with." Erzabet's voice took on an almost imperceptible edge. "He has already survived the worst," she continued in more measured tones. "I can keep him from infection and fever."

Nahila carefully worked the skin up over the man's fingers and hand, infusing it with the healing Force, reuniting it with the tissue beneath. "How did you manage all this?" she asked. Through the Force she could feel how the body had been twisted and altered, and then restored. To do undo such damage would take tremendous power. Power Erzabet did not have.

"Ythros assisted me," she replied.

"Ythros? Ythros helped you heal this man?" Nahila and Cain both stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Yes. He has the healer's gift, though he did not know it. Without him," Erzabet nodded at the figure who sat rocking in a fetal curl in one corner, "none of this would be possible."

Cain and Nahila looked at one another and then at Ythros who seemed unaware of any of them. Nahila had only seen him do that once before, the day she walked into her office and found one of the Jedi standing guard over a barely human mass of scars and horror who begged for sanctuary within the temple.

Athrix had done such things, she knew. She had seen them. Had he done them to Ythros as well? It seemed likely, given his terror-stricken behavior. But Athrix was dead. Who had done this? An apprentice, perhaps?

"Did the assassin do this?" she asked him.

His head snapped up. He stared at her helplessly but said nothing.

Erzabet laid her hands over the now-closed flaps of the man's stomach. "This is the assassin," she said

It was Nahila's turn to stare helplessly at Ythros. He held her gaze for a moment and then looked away.

"Did you do this?"

Her only answer was the snap of Ythros methodically breaking the fingers of his left hand with his right.

"Ythros! Stop!" The sick pop of his wrist being twisted out of place. "Ythros! Look at me! Stop this!"

His left hand mangled beyond use, he put the first finger of his right hand in his mouth, clearly intent on biting it off. Nahila ran to him and seized his hands before he could do himself any more harm.

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry. Sorry." It took her a moment to recognize the heaving of his ribs and the strange rasping breaths as sobs.

She held his broken hand lightly in one hand, his face in the other, and let the healing Force flow into him. Her voice was as gentle as her touch when she asked, "Oh, Ythros, what happened to you?"

"He turned into the rabid animal he's always been!" Cain stood behind her, rigid with fury. His lightsaber hissed to life in his hand.

"No!" Erzabet's voice snapped out again with the command that held Cain where he stood. "This is my fault. If I had kept Ythros with me and let the Jedi find and capture the assassin, none of this would have happened. He never would have done such a thing if I had been there to stop him." Her voice affected Ythros as well. It released him from his shivering coil and instead he sat slumped on the ground, nodding like a drunk, regarding Erzabet out of the corner of his eye.

"Is this true?" Nahila asked him.

His bitter chuckle was almost reassuringly familiar after his unnerving behavior moments before. "Oh yes, it's true. That's part of her secret, you know. She never actually lies."

Nahila watched this sudden change and stared at Erzabet, uncomprehending. "What are you? What do you do to him?"

"She puts the animal on a leash!" Ythros snarled, canines gleaming as his lips pulled back in a display of teeth. "A short one, with a choke chain."

Erzabet ignored him. "I can teach him how to be at peace with what he is, what he was and what he became. I can keep him from hurting himself, and with time, I can stop him hating himself."

"Can you? Can you really help him?" Nahila's eyes glimmered with rising tears. "Great Force," she said quietly as she straightened the last of Ythros' fingers, "a healer, I never imagined..."

He shoved her roughly away. "I am not a healer!" His words faltered. "Don't let her fool you. You have it right, boy," he said to Cain, "I am a monster created by a monster, in pain, by pain, for pain. I am a killer, nothing more. I haven't been cured, I've been domesticated." He turned back to Nahila and his voice regained all its sarcastic venom. "Not that all this attention hasn't done wonders for my self-esteem, but have you forgotten about the man I nearly tortured to death, languishing behind you while you waste your time and energy on me?"

When Nahila scrambled to her feet and back to the table, he turned his gaze to Cain, who remained rooted in the spot where Erzabet stopped him, staring at Ythros in flat, animal aggression.

"What are you staring at, little hound?"

"An abomination that should have been cut down a long time ago."

"Well, no time like the present, as they say," Ythros replied amiably, "Never put off until tomorrow what you can kill today, that's my motto."

"Don't. Tempt. Me." The air around Cain thickened and the Force flowed around him in nearly visible waves.

"I can resist anything but temptation..."

Simultaneously, twin commands rang out like shots, Erzabet's in their ears, Nahila's directly into their minds.

"Stop!"
Stop!

"Cain!" Nahila snapped, "Go sit down!"

Ythros' taunts followed Cain back to his seat against the wall. "That's right! Good boy! Sit! Stay! Nice to see I'm not the only one that's on a short leash here." Cain nearly lept at him, but stayed against the wall, entire body clenched with the effort of restraining himself.

Through the entire confrontation, Erzabet had never paused in her quick, efficient restoration of the assassin and with Nahila's help he finally looked human. Nahila looked at Erzabet. "We should tell Ketan where you are. He'll be worried sick."

Behind her, Ythros' body spasmed with grief. He staggered, whining like a dog, then choked it off, biting down on his tongue hard enough to paint his bottom lip red. His face was twisted in a rictus of pain which managed to conceal behind a clownish mask of apprehension. "Uh-oh," he said in a sing-song voice, "I'm in trouble now..."

That was all it took. Cain was across the room with Force assisted speed, saber in hand. Ythros snatched up his knives, deflected Cain's first strike and rolled away from the second. They circled each other. Cain summoned the energy for a telekinetic blast but hesitated. Attacking Ythros was always a risky tactic. If he didn't hit him hard enough, he'd end up on the receiving end of his own assault, but a blast strong enough to knock him unconscious would hit the others as well, and probably kill the man.

"It was an accident!" Erzabet ran and stood between them, just as she had before, in the med lab. "It was an accident. They were fighting. Ketan was injured in the leg, and fell over the edge into the water below. Cain, it was an accident."

She stood before him and did not move until he stepped back. Cain lowered his lightsaber but did not extinguish it, and Erzabet returned to her patient who started to babble a stream of incoherent gratitude.

"You don't actually believe that bullshit do you?" Ythros inched forward in his fighting crouch and Cain lifted his weapon again. "You heard her," he hissed, "we were fighting. What do you think that means? A friendly sparring match? I don't think so. I was going to slit his throat when she showed up. The wound in his leg that sent him over the edge - of course I put it there, don't be a fool. I killed him. All the Sith I killed, you knew it was just a matter of time before I turned on the Jedi and you were right. I tried to kill Ketan before, you said I'd try again, and you were right. You're absolutely right! So what's stopping you? What's with the hesitation, hm? Are you afraid of these?" He held up his knives. "Here you go, little hound! Fetch! Fetch!"

Ythros threw them over the ledge, into the water. "What? Still nothing? Oh, I know, it's that trick of mine - I'm rubber, you're glue, whatever hurt you give bounces off of me and sticks to you. Well, I'll tell you a secret, little hound," Ythros dropped to his knees and lifted his chin, exposing his neck. "Take my head off in one go and I'll never have a chance to return the favor."

Erzabet waved off Nahila, who moved to intervene, and turned her dark eyes on both men. "He will do no such thing." It was not an order, it was a statement of fact.

Ythros looked at Cain, whose face had gone dead white. "Is that true? Are you going to be a good Jedi and sit on your arse at some desk and let a murderous fiend just walk away?" His voice took on a strange pleading note and in his eyes a wild sort of desperation shone. "You are right! You were right about the Mandalorians, you put an end to their mindless killing. You're right about me, so why don't you put an end to mine?" The Jedi was panting and white knuckled with effort, but he did not move. Ythros saw Erzabet watching them and shifted to a condescending leer. "I remember when and how I lost my balls, boy. Do you?"

The Force surged and raged around him, and Cain began to tremble uncontrollably. There was murder in his eyes but his hands shook until the lightsaber fell from them and he slumped to his knees with clenched scream of frustration. The Force wave collapsed in a wind-whipped burst.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, boy," Ythros said wearily, "if I had any left, she'd have mine, too." He turned his eyes to Erzabet. "Ah, what would I do without you, eh? You save me, you save the scrapheap over there, you're just full of salvation, aren't you? Didn't save Ketan, though. A pity, that. He was already yours, and a man worth keeping, too. Unlike yours truly."

"I will not allow you to come to harm, Ythros," said Erzabet, "not by your own hand or by anyone else's."

Nahila was standing over the "scrapheap," who was trying unsuccessfully to sit up. She looked up at Erzabet. "Do you mean that?"

Erzabet looked at her questioningly, but said nothing.

"Do you mean that? Did you mean what you said before, that you can help him make peace with himself?" Cain and Ythros stared at her, surprised at the intensity in her voice.

"Yes," Erzabet answered, "I can. I've have helped another make peace with himself, helped him drive off the madness that threatened to consume him."

"And he is whole now?"

"He is not what he was. That would be impossible. But he accepts what he is and no longer fights within himself."

"And he is not alone?" Nahila asked, mingled hope and fear in her voice. "He is accepted by the others?"

Erzabet raised her eyebrows slightly and answered quietly, "He is loved."

"Loved?" It was almost a gasp, and then a sigh, "Loved." She pressed on, the urgency in her voice growing with every question. "And Ythros' Force connection, this healing abilities, you will help him develop those?"

"I will help him develop any and every ability he can." Erzabet glanced over at Ythros as she said it. He was staring at Nahila, his expression unreadable.

"Do you promise?" Nahila demanded.

"Promise--?"

"Promise that you will help him develop his connection to the Force, and give him a place that he will be accepted, and help him to make peace with himself, do you promise?"

"I--" Even Erzabet seemed surprised, and Ythros sat bent over, his face in his hands, making an odd wheezing noise. It was impossible to tell if it was weeping or laughter.

"Do you promise?"

"Yes," said Erzabet, "I promise."

"Then you must help him escape."

"What?!" Cain's outrage echoed in the chamber. "Help him escape? Are you mad?"

"Be quiet, Cain! Your don't understand!"

"I understand that he is an beast, a monster, a walking disease that destroys everything it touches. I understand it is his fault Ketan is dead. What I don't understand is why you are letting hi--"

"It is not his fault!" Nahila screamed over him. "It's my fault! It's my fault that I wrote him off! I never believed he could be more than what he was, so I never tried! He could have been a healer and I never did anything but give him the freedom to kill as he pleased! If he is a beast and a monster, it's because I failed to teach him to be anything else!"

"But you cou--!"

"Shut up! Shut your damn mouth and listen to me for once in your life!"

Cain had never seen Nahila like this. No one had.

"Do you know what they will do to him when they find out about this?" she continued, her voice thickening with tears. "They will cut off his connection to the Force! Do you understand what that means?"

"But Ketan--"

"Ketan would not have wanted Ythros to be cut off from the Force just at the point where he might finally heal his connection with it!" She stared Cain down and he swallowed whatever protest had had been about to make. Turning back to Erzabet, she asked, "What do we need for you to get out of here?"

Erzabet considered the other woman for a moment. "The assassin came in a ship. I believe we can take that and leave the planet. I'm sure I can get him to tell us where it is."

"How will you get there?"

"We will stay in the pipes and tunnels under the city until we are close enough, and make our way as best we can from there."

"And you will take him with you?" Nahila nodded to the assassin on the table.

"Ythros can carry him. Even if he died, we would have to move the body to destroy or conceal it."

"Right, right." She looked at Cain, who was slowly getting to his feet. "Come on, we have to get out of here. There's a lot of work to be done."

"You were right about me, Jedi," Ythros said to Cain quietly. "Let that to be a comfort to you in the night when you think back on this scene - you were right."

Nahila was stepping from the ledge back into the tunnel from which she came, when Ythros called after her, "A final request, if I may?"

"Of course."

"Burn my things. All of them."

She nodded and just before she disappeared into the shadows of the tunnel, Ythros heard in his mind her final request of him.

Forgive me.

(taken down, many apologies)

"Knowing you is certainly an education" Ythros said amiably, as he walked beside Erzabet. Every muscle thrummed with restraint, a silent symphony of the moments in which he did not snap, rage, and scream at anything and everything around him. His eyes fixed straight ahead, as if wary that any undue movement might snap the frail bond between himself and sanity. He blocked out the erratic pad of Schaden behind him, the man tottered in a half stupor, kept upright by a healing ability he had never known of... damned himself because he never thought he had. He strained in waiting for Erzabet's response, blocking out the treacherous thoughts that would undo him.

"I have learned much from you as well," Erzabet said, after a brief silence "You are...unexpected." Her walk was his mirror, eyes ahead, no undue movement but what was needed to propel her forward. But where he held back a storm, she had no internal force to invite such irrelevant actions. She was incapable of succumbing to inner turmoil, whereas he was incapable of escaping it. It held them both in perfect lockstep.

"You're not supposed to say that," rasped Ythros "Your supposed to say 'How so', so I can counter with my pre-prepared response." His patronizing correction only cut short by the sight of their destination in the distance.

Like some aquatic creature, the ship wallowed on the launchpad. Sleek and predatory, the hybridization of a raptor of the skies and a hunter of the depths. With a flick of a remote Erzabet lowered the boarding ramp as they approached. They waited for the still silent form of Schaden to board, the sound of his bare feet disappearing into the shadows inside before Erzabet attempted any response.

"And what would you have sai-" she began, before Ythros grasped the collar of her garb, lifting and pressing her against the railing of the ramp. He twitched with the compulsion to harm her, but he settled for a slow, seething interruption.

"An education, a damned education! In just how much you can push a man to torture himself," he hissed, wild eyes widening with every syllable and flecks of spittle gathering on his lips. "I had to stand there, stand there on knees that wanted to collapse. And pretend to laugh at the only people I had ever considered something other than a foe!". He wanted to gut her unmoving face, for even now she had not a twitching out of place, impassive as some accursed modeling sculpt in a window. Just look away, he thought, eyes flickering madly over her features... just. do. something! He was on the verge of collapsing, he wanted to be sick. He wanted to bite her face off, even if it meant going mad.

But instead he restrained, leaning slowly closer, until his mouth was next to her ear. The whisper was oddly soft, at odds with his usually harsh and broken voice. "It makes what I did before I left all the sweeter." He searched her face for reaction, anything to make him believe that what had just happened was a filthy, sick nightmare. Just look away, even for a split-second.

But Erzabet was silent and unmoving until he let her down, until she had straightened her clothing she fixed him with her usual blank glance. "You will have many such, very soon. You are going to join those who will welcome you. They will recognize your value where the others did not," she imparted before setting off into the ship.

Then it was true, he had indentured himself out of fear to the one thing he had feared. The one person he had no effect on, one he could not harm without going insane, and who would torture him with cruel benevolence... until he wanted to go mad. Not that she would let him.

She would never harm him. And it drove him to despair.

Ythros spat a word that four different languages recognized as taboo, and punched the floor so hard the bones fractured. There was no getting a rise out of her, no bait a response or threat a reprieve. She'd probably not raise an eyebrow if he fed her her own forsaken entrails. This was infuriating! Kidnapped, kidnapped in such a degrading manner that he walked freely and unquestioningly out of his last salvation... in the hope of salvation.

Walked out of what was his last salvation, he corrected. On the eve of his discovery that he might be salvageable, he had doomed himself to exile. What poetic punishment! He bashed the wall again in frustration, before slumping short of the now-closing boarding ramp. The pain in his mind was excruciating, the convolution of his situation all the more shocking that he could walk ten meters up the ship and throttle dead the cause of it. Nahila might have shook her head over his paralyzed state, were she not foolishly fretting over his fate, as if she was the one who had failed him.

The thought of Nahila sent him further into his brooding. So she had given up, she admitted it herself. And now she leapt again at the thought of his redemption... so much as to send him off with the Sith that had ensnared him, he could have wept at her misjudgment, were he not so furious. He relished the idea of that temple crumbling only days ago, only to find out too late that it had been his refuge. Forgive me. Those words were a note of agony, for Nahila for meant them as a salve for his soul, but what she did not know made him burn inside. Once again.. too late.

Too late. That was his recurring, searing litany. Saved too late, redeemed to late, realized too late.

He sunk again into the sea of contemplation. The agonizing spiral downward in the realization of his self-made torment almost consuming him once again. But he had freedom, now, of a sort. His head raised out of the scarred cradle of his hands at the realisation.

Before, he had wallowed in his descent, confused and enraged at the ironies and tragedies as he fought the corruption. But now he was at the bottom. So low he had to look up to see darkness, and he had firm ground to stand on, damned as it might be. And he once again, as with his first attack on the late Ketan, found solace in a direction for his ire. The one he all along should never have stopped despising.

In his sea of burning self-hate, he offered himself a compromise. As the engines of the ship powered up, and the hulk hurtled skyward towards new places to revel in his hell... he allowed himself a breath of contentment. Now, destroyed, he was returned to as he had always been. Gone was uncertainty, his red-rimmed eyes could focus through the suffering.

The craft tore through hyperspace, carrying the only the one the now-tattered web had managed to capture. And the only one who had fought it. Ythros moved to a bunk and settled into his new reality, a thousand painful ironies the only thing he could hear.

After he resigned himself to a fate he had need never suffer, like Schaden grasping at the switch on the torture-table, he knew two things only: his depression was only matched by his fury, and he had not left the temple without one final, free act of rebellion.

The ship raced into the darkness, behind him was a place he had hated and reviled. And before him could only be a place he would dislike more... the place he had chosen as where he would escape the safety and opportunity of that which was behind him. Too late, was this apparent... too late. He might now be wrapped completely in the spider's web. But not before he had, in spite and pride, passed on the flame of his struggle.

His passing act, the last thrash of a free man shone through his memory for a second, and the thought passed like a dove through the raven's murder of his mind.

Burn my things. All of them.

Corev was frustrated. The smile has slipped from his face a long time ago and now he gripped the Lightsaber in something close to anger. The splitting headache wasn't making things any easier. He still had no idea where Erzabet could have gone and his feeling that something was wrong had only gotten stronger. Not to mention Nahila had wandered off somewhere as well. He'd started off his investigation with whoever was close to her cell and then as his suspicions grew he began to question just about anyone he could find regarding their feelings about Erzabet.

One thing that came up in every conversation about Erzabet was how much everyone admired her. After her cell and its immediate surroundings, the first place he had branched out to had been the docks where all of the temple supplies were unloaded and received. Corev knew that Erzabet had been taken on a tour of the temple and this is one of the places they would have gone. It was the perfect test for his theory, as she would not have been down there at all after her initial visit.

The best place to start his questioning would be with the supervisor of the docks. He knocked and then entered the man's small office. The man was of average height, and stocky build. Clearly, he had once been one of the dock workers himself, and the way he kept running his hands through his grey speckled hair and gazing out the window suggested that he wished he was out there instead of holed up in an office barely larger than a shipping crate itself.

"Wha' d'ya w---? Oh Master Jedi, forgive me. How could I help you today?" The supervisor's abrupt greeting shifted to respectful professionalism the minute he saw the lightsaber. Corev almost regretted it. The man might be less forthcoming if he felt he was being questioned in some sort of official capacity.

"I'm here to ask you a few question about a recent Jedi recruit that may have come through here." Corev kept his own tone professional but casual, trying to put the man at ease without losing his respectful attention. "A women about early middle age, black hair, slim build, her name is Erzabet."

At the sound of her name the man's face instantly brightened.

"Well of course I remember that fine young lady. What would you like to know?" The smile appeared out of place on the man's face, as if he hadn't had something to smile about in a long time. A pretty woman would certainly be a pleasant memory, but the man's enthusiasm was out of proportion to simple recollection of a shapely female form.

"What did she do while she was here? What did you think of her?"

"Well she was here with Master Nahila and Master Ketan, I do believe, and all they did was look around, show her what the workers did. I would have liked to have given her the tour myself but the Masters seemed a bit stand-offish about her, and I was busy anyway..." His voice faded with disappointment and his cheery manner fell away as he took a moment to dwell on his bad luck. Then he shrugged it off and returned to the topic at hand. "She didn't talk, didn't smile either. As for what I thought of her, I have to say I have never seen a finer looking lady. The kind of women that gets a man's heart racing if you know what I mean." He looked up quickly to see if Corev was offended. It wasn't exactly the sort of language people generally used when speaking to Jedi, and particularly not other Jedi.

Corev nodded and chuckled in agreement, He knew what the man meant. Though really, he shouldn't and he knew it. "You said she went in to the workers. Do you know if she talked to any of them? Do you know what they thought of her?"

"Nah. I don't pay attention to that stuff too much. You would have to talk to them about that." Was that jealousy in the man's voice?

"So I can go in?"

"Of course, Master Jedi. Just try not to disrupt the work if you could."

Nodding his head again, Corev strode past the man and through the door to the docking bay. The dock was not very large, compared to the other ones Corev had seen in his days. There were openings along the far wall where ships were being unloaded by the handful of workers on duty. Boxes were stacked along the other three walls, and Corev could see doors that he assumed led to storage rooms of some sort.

Noticing a Wookie unloading one of the nearest ships, Corev decided to start with him first. Wookiees were not known to be susceptible to the charms of human females, so he might be able to eliminate that factor from the equation. But as Corev approached the Wookiee, he realized he wouldn't be able to understand him. Glancing around he noticed a Twi'lek leaning on a nearby crate with a sour look on his face.

The Twi'lek noticed him and spoke up in Twi'lek, "I hope you speak carpet or you're wasting your time." He nodded dismissively toward the Wookiee.

Corev frowned at the man, "There has to be someone around here who can talk to him."

"That would be me."

Corev cocked one eyebrow at his apparent translator. "You don't seem too happy about that."

"Well aren't we the most observant. Of course I don't enjoy translating for this fur ball."

Corev's frown deepened, "Could you translate for me?"

"Have no choice, now do I?" He glanced at Corev's Lightsaber with a grimace before he turned to the Wookiee and said something. Well, at least Erzabet's Jedi status wouldn't work in her favor with this one, which was another factor eliminated.

The Wookiee responded, his dislike for his translator clear in both his look and the tone of his voice. "What do you want?" The translator seemed at least to enjoy the opportunity to reflect the Wookiee's lack of respect back at Corev.

Corev turned towards the Wookie and hoped he was more pleasant then the Twi'lek, and that the Twi'lek's manner was more exaggeration than translation. "Hello. My name is Corev Saal. I am here to ask you a few questions about Erzabet."

The tone of the Twi'lek's voice changed as he translated what Corev said. It became almost pleasant. The Wookie's expression changed (to the degree one could read a Wookiee's expression) and he hesitated a moment before responding, "Arribowtobuck, or Ari for short. I don't know if I could be much help."

"Did she talk to you when she was here?"

"No, I only saw her as she walked through with the other of your kind."

"You say my kind - why isn't it 'her kind?'"

"She is not like the others. You seem different too but more like them then she was. She looked at me and I felt her gaze. Sent a shiver from head to toe."

"What kind of shiver?"

"As if she was looking into me, seeing what I was feeling and thinking. It felt like she was the first human who understood me." The Twi'lek tone was irritated when he spoke, but the Wookiee's response ended on a lonely, plaintive note.

The Twi'lek was clearly not happy that he had to translate Ari's thoughts like this, "Ya need a tissue, you sobbing hairball?"

Ari growled at the Twi'lek and knashed his teeth before looking back at Corev.

"Well that is all I needed. Thank-you Ari." Corev turned away and walked towards the other workers.

Most of them had not even talked to her, but dock workers who had only glimpsed her once strove to outdo one another describing her attraction. Similarly, young Jedi who had only seen her walking the hallways said how she inspired them with her courage. Even the older Jedi, including the Masters, told him how they admired her determination to redeem herself and her dedication to the teachings of the Light.

It was all so frustrating. Corev had talked to her plenty of times and had found himself thinking the same things all of these people were telling him, but now that she was gone, he realized there was no reason for him to be thinking this way. And certainly no reason for them. Each time he talked to someone he became more convinced that Erzabet was somehow affecting people's minds. When he talked to the droids who might have had some information on her or where she had gone it just helped to prove his suspicions. The droids showed none of the signs of admiration that had infected everybody else. They responded the way they normally would when talking about a student of the Jedi, no more or less respect then what was required. This meant that she was somehow messing with the minds of organics and her powers did not extend to artificial intelligence.

As he walked down the corridors he was looking forward to the talks that lay ahead of him. It was a relief to be able to talk to someone about the situation. The great hall where the entrance to Nahila's office was situated was already bustling with activity, even at this early time of the day. He wondered how many of those people she would have to talk to in the course of the day and smiled softly in sympathy. Surprisingly, there was no one in the waiting queue to see Nahila. Considering himself lucky, Drev approached her assistant, Helim.

"Good morning, what can I do for you?"

"I need to talk to Nahila," he responded after nodding a greeting.

"I am sorry to say that Master Nahila left together with her padawan a few minutes ago and will not be available for an indefinite amount of time."

"She left? Do you know where to?"

"I'm afraid she instructed me neither on the reason nor the length of her absence. It seemed to be a matter of great importance, however, judging from her hasty departure."

"Hmm. Thank you anyway." That was unfortunate timing. An urgent matter, Helim said? That didn't sound good to Drev. Anyway, he thought, nothing can be done about it, so the Sith has to do for now.

The closer he got to the cells, the clearer it became to him that not just Nahila was absent. His view of the world was different from most people's. With the loss of his eyes, all unnecessary information got filtered away. Colours, even light and darkness were just abstract concepts to him, but he had something else, something which let him "see" beyond the limits of others. The power that connects all things was the light that led him, the fine ripples and tensions in the Force his guide. When he reached the room where she was supposed to be, he only got confirmation for what he had already sensed. But that was not the only thing he noticed; the man standing guard had something about him he could not exactly pinpoint, though he'd seen it in other people throughout the temple as well. Something wasn't quite normal about his connection with the Force, and the more Drev focused on it the clearer it became.

His presence in the Force itself was by no means out of the ordinary, but there was something else, fine threads of Force carrying tiny amounts of energy were radiating from him, all going in the same direction, getting more and more delicate the farther away they got from his body until they seemed to vanish completely a few meters away. If Drev really concentrated, however, he could just barely see that they went on to an unknown, untraceable destination. Or rather, uncertain, because he believed he knew where they went. Curious, he approached the guard.

Drev tried to start a casual conversation and when he asked whether the guard was feeling strange, or had noticed any other thing about himself lately, he got a slightly concerned look and the assurance that the man was actually feeling better than usual recently. Not wanting to scare the poor man, Drev took his leave and headed for his rooms, intending to think deeply about this.

As he walked down the long corridors, he noticed that the guard wasn't alone here with his peculiar condition. Again and again, he passed someone with the same signs and, now actively looking for them, wondered why he didn't notice them earlier. Again he met two of them, but one was different. His "connections" were so faint that Drev doubted the same transfer took place like the others', and a great many of them seemed to hang loose, in a manner of speaking. They looked like they had been there almost severed. He stopped to watch the man, who seemed to be questioning the other. Drev only heard a word here and there but he started listening more attentively when he realised that they were talking about the mysterious Sith. Was it her influence that caused those drains? He believed it was. And if she was, how could that man escape what afflicted so many others? After the two of them finished talking, Drev saw an opportunity.

"I believe we should talk"...

She was gone.

Erzabet was gone, and Cain was not surprised. A shock to his body, but not his mind - in fact, even whilst his biology seemed to be suffering from her absence, his psychology had both expected and prepared for it. And why shouldn't it? His last two idols had done exactly the same, in their own way, through ideologies, through fear, or greed, through lust for power or lust for peace, or even through simple apathy, all three had either left, or forced him to leave them.

Cain seemed to have a knack for it - perhaps he deliberately sought out fragile alliances, in a pathetic attempt to punish himself. Perhaps the Force conspired against him, tying him together with untrustworthy, ultimately selfish people. Or maybe they just saw him for what he really was; weak. Weak willed, with a weak purpose and a weak ideology.

He sat in the same training room he had tried to teach Erzabet, in the same training room Nahila still tried to teach him. Once again, he stared at his weapon, the purple hue casting a dim light across his face. Before, he had looked upon this tool with a kind of fascination, even admiration. Now it was just detest - a sign of both his failure and his weakness. If he had struck that...thing down, perhaps there would have been a different outcome, but he couldn't, he was too weak to resist either Nahila or Erzabet.

No, the outcome, if anything, would have been worse. This tool is not meant for killing, mercy or otherwise. It is meant for protecting - protecting myself and those that need protecting.

Not that it had even worked in that purpose - he couldn't protect Erzabet if she didn't need protecting, and he couldn't keep those around him static if they wished to move. Again, it came down to his own weakness - if someone he cared for sought to leave, he didn't have the power to stop them.

"Then why do you still serve them? I understand many have left the order. Why do you stay?"

"Because...because for all my strength, I am still weak."

He had told her so himself - he was a weapon without a guiding purpose, latching on to those around him, leeching their dreams and aspirations and making them his. He was barely an individual, relying solely on those around him to know what to think, or what to do. And those around him seemed to think he was either dangerous, or stupid, or both; something to be avoided or looked down upon and mocked.

"You say you haven't been a Jedi for a long time? Well the council would like to formalize that."

"Petty little hound, there is no strength in your words."

They were both right - he was barely a Jedi, and he was barely an individual. He didn't have the power to change the course of events; and if he didn't have that, then he had nothing. No influence, no strength, no worthwhile words to speak or power to use.

His first idol had abandoned him because he could not find the words to persuade him to follow. His second idol had abandoned him because he could not find the power to be seen as valuable. The third left because he had neither, unable to find something that wasn't there, even at the most critical point.

Was that true? Was it really his fault? Had they all left because of his failure?

"I am the root cause of all of this."

"...I was selfish to have even come here."

She'd been manipulating him - not with malice, as far as Cain could tell, but in the same way she'd admitted she'd used that wound to manipulate, she'd done the same to him. Not with a physical wound, but a wound nonetheless.

Cain did not believe that she'd used him, but she had certainly manipulated him...and if that was the case, then any downfall would be due to her machinations, not his failure.

If all he had been was a puppet, tagging along on her string, then did that absolve him of any guilt? Was his only crime that of complacency?

False - even as complacency was gone, Erzabet and Ythros caught in their morbid act, putting together the tortued Sith, I failed to do anything. I failed to stop both Ythros or Erzabet, when it was clear that they had gone too far.

...Am I to blame?

...

No.

"You were right about me, Jedi,"

"Let that to be a comfort to you in the night when you think back on this scene - you were right."

They had left, they made their choice, and it was their fault.

Cain was weak, but that could change - he could become strong, but they were...broken. All of them, so utterly concerned with themselves and their machinations that they couldn't see those around them; so filled with fear that they froze or fled.

Cain was weak, but he was right, and they were wrong, with their false words, broken minds and crippling fear. Afraid, at their core, of their own mortality, of an unknown threat or one in front of them, so blinded by their selfish desires that they were so very capable of leaving everything behind, of severing ties and simply forgetting.

For a few moments, he sat perfectly still, his temper rising, his mind in agony.

Cain Screamed.

A roar of rage, pain, fury, malice, hatred and sorrow, as the Force rippled outwards, the internal conflict resolving, calculating, falling into place, as his inner struggle forced its way outwords.

It shook the walls as Cain thrust himself out into the world, letting out everything that needed to be released. Metal creaked, glass shattered and boundaries shook, as Cain, for the first time in years, truly expressed himself, finding that power, and influencing the outside world.

What was perhaps Erzabet's last gift to Cain, healing him even as she failed him.

Xan was failing.

He was more than Vect's bodyguard, he was Vect's guardian. Vect was powerful, but he wasn't strong. He needed someone to support him, someone to be his comforter and confidant when Erzabet wasn't there, and Erzabet had chosen Xan out off all them to be that person in her absence. Now he desperately clung to the hope of her return, even though he dreaded it. Vect needed her back, Xan needed her back, and he hoped she would forgive how badly he had allowed everything to collapse.

It was the proudest moment of his young life, the day she chose him, even more than when he'd been made second in command of his old gang. Of course he'd failed them too, but as Erzabet taught them all, in the trauma of such moments, they would discover their true connection to the Force.

He'd been duped with bad information and walked all his brothers and sisters (because that's what they were, the only family any of them had) all of them into a trap, a wildstorm of blaster fire that left almost all of them dead inside of 5 minutes. All except Xan. His legs had been shot out from under him, he was blinded by his own blood, but when the rival gang came to loot the bodies, his fury in the Force ignited a firestorm more deadly than any blaster fire. He killed them all, burned them until family and foe were indistinguishable scatterings of black bone.

The law took him from that hell, and Erzabet took him from the law, and brought him here to a new family. She'd made him a favored son, strong in the Force, loyal in thought and deed, and devoted in service. She'd loved him. Not like she loved Vect, of course, but no one needed to be loved like Vect did. They all understood that. Suffering pried them all open and let the Force flow through them unrestricted, they knew that, but Vect had been torn in half. Because of this, he was the strongest of them, but more than any of them, he needed to be protected.

But Xan couldn't protect Vect, not from the ghosts that attacked him every day. Ghosts, ghost voices, ghost limbs that itched and spasmed and could not be soothed because they didn't exist. Only Erzabet could protect him from these, and with her gone, their attacks grew, and now they never ceased. Vect would sit at the foot of Erzabet's empty throne, weeping and cursing at them. He argued with the girl, the ghost, who followed him all the time now. So because Xan could not protect Vect, he protected anyone else from Vect.

"I'm sorry," he said to Greker, "you understand why I have to do this, right? I know you just want to help him-we all want to help Vect-but you mustn't lift things for him. He doesn't have hands like we do, but the hands he does have are stronger than ours can ever be, and when you pick things up for him and hold things for him, he takes it as an insult to his skill with the Force." Greker was weeping openly. There was no shame in that, to weep with regret at having offended Vect. "Hold out your hand."

Greker extended his left hand without hesitation, and Xan drew his lightsaber and cut it off at the wrist. "Now," Xan assured him, "you can go and make your apologies. I'm sure he will forgive you this time, but if you do it again, I won't be able to intervene. The next time, you will have to prove your remorse directly to him, you understand? In The Box." The penitent nodded as he stooped to retrieve his fallen hand from the floor. Cradling it against his chest, he hurried to the throne room. There would be no trip to the medical lab for him. Instead, he would be allowed to return to his room and open his suffering to the Force.

Xan didn't start shaking until Greker left. He had to be strong for everyone's sake. If the others saw him start to panic, the whole place would descend into fear, and Vect was so sensitive to such things, it would only make it worse. He could only explain to them that Vect suffered terribly from Erzabet's absence, and it was only natural that it would make him touchy and irritable. Of course, they understood. One only had to stand in his presence to understand how important it was to care for him. The only thing they could do was try their best to keep him happy, and make sure that he knew they loved him, even when he lost his temper. And the only thing Xan could try and do was stand between Vect and the others, trying to contain his volatility and mitigate the punishments he would demand.

Schaden knew this, but for half an hour he had said nothing. He couldn't shout over at Yhtros nor did he want to. The cold silence, literally in this case, was preferable to conversation with a man who had only days ago taken him apart. Soon, though... soon it would be unbearable. It had been like this the entirety of the journey; Erzabet unmoving in the cockpit, Schaden immobile in the rear and Ythros invariably in a foul mood, bullying Schaden.

But sooner or later he was going to have to move, and it might as well be sooner. With a coughing, sputtering breath he squeezed out the words "Stop, please." The effect was instantaneous, Ythros jolting to his feet and jovially spreading his arms wide.

"But Schaden! You are unwell! It would be most unwise to alter the temperature while you are still in this fragile state," he said, the patronizing tone of his voice only heightened by its natural coarseness. "Consistency is everything when it comes to healing. I should know." His face darkened and he leaned in so close that Schaden could see his pupils widening in the darkness. "And I am a healer, I'm told."

Schaden said nothing; an hour ago it had been too hot to touch exposed metal, but under Bosun Ythros, the good ship's only consistent factor was sudden and unpleasant change. He simply stared back as Ythros dared him to comment with his proximity, dared him to try and move away. Pain shot through Schaden's arms as his fingers twitched violently under the blanket, praying that his anger could break reality and put his weapons back in his hands. Ythros' breath ran over Schaden's face in waves of petty warmth, eyes searching for anything in the gaunt features before him. And then he found one, the briefest flicker towards the bridge hallway, towards Erzabet.

Ythros threw back his head and laughed, cold and deep, before moving back away from the bed. "I'd kill you if it wouldn't be a service," he said darkly. "You honestly think you'll find salvation, don't you?" Schaden resigned himself to glance again at the hall, hoping that water might flow uphill and she would enter.

Ythros, however, scowled habitually before retrieving something from outside the room. He slipped back into the room with an object clutched in his hand and a jovial grin plastered through the scars. He almost skipped as he made his way to sit by Schaden again, patting his crossed hands. "I do feel I need to apologise, however, for a mistake I made back in our sewer retreat."

With a deft flick of his wrist, he sent a ragged morsel sailing from his hand to a rolling stop on the bunkside table. Schaden stared at the glistening tribute, the ragged lines of its wet and lumpy contours picked out by the lamp. Ythros gestured at the pathetic organ. "I have no idea what it is, but I found it rolling around and guessed you might want it back!"

Schaden stared, eyes wide, at the offering. His breath was quickening as Ythros frowned and leaned forward, his fingers spasming so violently that they seemed liable to tear themselves from his hands and wrap themselves around Ythros' neck. "No? I am not forgiven? Very well then, Schaden," he said innocently, "I was hungry anyway." Then, with agonising slowness, Ythros picked up the greasy morsel, put it in his mouth, and ate it.

Vect wept in solitude. Sprawled laxly against a bronzed wall he shook and sobbed and wept. Great streams of angry tears parted ways with his shaven chin and stained the pauper robes about his chest. He felt slain, viscerally torn from himself. For in suffering there was strength. He cursed viciously the heavens, the earth, this base, fate, his lost hands, himself - oh especially himself. For in anger there was strength. He lusted for calm, some hope of sanctuary from the storm of his lost sanity. For in longing there was strength.

"BUT I'M NOT STRONG!!!"

"Come now Vect, you've held this whole base together while Erzabet has been gone." The figment of Jhes consoled. "That takes a lot of strength. You're strong."

"The base is whole but I'M NOT! Don't you understand Jhes I - I just can't - I need - Where is Master Erzabet?! Why hasn't she returned Jhes? Why?" Vect's light-gray eyes pleaded with the incorporeal as his body sank low against the wall. His words escaped beaten and bruised, spoken softly but roaring of defeat. "I can't - I won't live - I'm not strong without Erzabet. I'm not whole without Erzabet. I talk to you Jhes and ... I really shouldn't talk to you Jhes - you're not real. But - I need someone to talk to."

A door leading to the outer atrium opened on the far side of the room. Sunshine invaded the solemn world of Erzabet's thrown room burning Vect's eyes and torturing his mind. A dull numbness leaked from the top of his skull as his vision quested for the intruder amongst the scoundrel rays of light.

Xan marched to Vect.

"Jhes, go away." Vect ordered. "Jhes go away! JHES GO AWAY!"

"Master Vect! Master Vect it's alright!"

"JHES GO AWAY!" He wailed fearfully. And then in an instant she was dead again. She perished right before his eyes, the color draining slowly from her pale skin and yellow hair, a smothered inaudible cry, collapse, emptiness, finality. "I watched her die." Vect told Xan, all emotion gone from his voice. "Right here. I just saw here die."

"Who? Who did you see die?" fear and anxiety gripped Xan's voice.

"Erzabet." Vect intoned longingly.

"What?! Erzabet not dead she's alive! She's alive out there somewhere and she's coming back! Were you hallucinating again Ve-"

"Not Erzabet!" Vect interrupted angrily. "Jhes. I saw Jhes die."

Silence again pervaded the mausoleum of a thrown room. Xan felt the death of 'Jhes' was healthy. It had to be a good thing when the spirits that haunt you fall in battle, didn't it? But he saw the huddled mass that was Vect on the ground and knew the truth. Every time 'Jhes' died, a piece of Vect tore.

"Come on." Xan said to Vect softly, trying not to upset his delicate balance. "Please, stand up and come with me. Please Vect, there's something you should see."

The crumbled ball of Vect rose slightly in the air. Still holding his ghost limbs in a fetal position, his body rotated and revolved. His legs folded out from under him and Vect was standing.

"Thank you." Xan praised.
_____________________________________________

Xan lead Vect to a simple in ornate white room. It was small and inconspicuous, devoid of furniture save for a plain upright coffin which menaced against one wall. There were no windows. There was only one door. It was empty except for The Box's watcher and The Box.

And the poor soul inside The Box.

"This is Ysmine's forth day in The Box" Xan said, desperately seeking a smile on Vect's face. "For four days she has proven her devotion to you and Erzabet. Four days!" Xan was growing increasingly disturbed by Vect's stony visage. But he could not show that doubt, he dare not show that doubt. "Doesn't that make you happy?"

Vect stared unansweringly at The Box. It was perhaps the simplest devise ever constructed. A prison with no lock. A jail with no warden. A simple wooden coffin the guilty could abandon at any time. People entered The Box to prove their love for Erzabet and Vect. They stayed, standing, alone, without food or water, until they were forgiven. The guilty could leave The Box at any time, but that would show how little they loved Erzabet and Vect. And so they waited. Waited for a single word or gesture of goodwill to exonerate them of their crimes and welcome them back to the light. A watcher guarded the box to ensure the guilty received no aid or companionship. It was a trial to be served in solitude. A reminder of the world before they knew Erzabet. A world before they knew their purpose. A world before they loved their master.

Xan fought on "Vect, you inspire devotion. Erzabet may be gone but she will return and until she does you Vect, you keep loyalty and faith stead-"

"Why has she entered the box?" Vect asked, dreading the answer.

Xan hesitated, and then hated himself for it. This was intended to cheer Vect, but it was all going so wrong. "Ysmine cried in your presence sir. You ordered her to The Box."

"I did this?" Vect felt the cold numbness dribble onto his spine and down his back. "For four days, I did this?"

"Yes but, it's to prove how much she loves you! Ysmine loves you! If she hadn't she could have left!"

"Get her out! I want her out of here! Ysmine get out!"

Force rocketed the door open and a young woman shouted and huddled her eyes against the light. She had copper hair that hung about her, dirty and knotted. Her legs shook visibly and her breath came in rasping gasps. She smelled of human defecation and her once fair skin hung upon a skeleton of tired bones. She stared now, out of The Box and into the blinding whiteness of the outside world, her eyes still not seeing. She was afraid. Horribly afraid.

The girl fell onto her knees and then her chest no effort to recover herself. She looked up weakly at her saviors and whispered a dry and raspy protest. When she recognized Vect, her eyes welled as if with tears, though in truth there was no water within her to weep with. She breathed an utterance more terrible to Vect than any other.

"... Loo - oovvee y-you."

"NO! Shut Up! Don't say that!" He pointed at the watcher with his phantom hand "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT!!! I have every right to - she cried in MY - I - I..."

"INTO THE BOX!!!"

Vect ran from that place. Behind him Xan comforted the fallen girl and the watcher steped over her to take her place. The door closed and Vect ran with every inch of his being, back to the thrown room. Back to Erzabet's home.

Jhes voice rang in his ear and pierced his sobs "You see Vect? You are strong. You've kept the base united while Erzabet's been away."

Ythros got all the way down the corridor before it happened. He moved as nonchalantly as he could, desperate to cover the coming storm from Schaden. It took all his effort and will to contain it all the way down the hall. Still chewing, he had to spit out the morsel to deal with the flood as it washed over him. Laughter. So rare now, a chuckle and a sigh that was at once so pathetic and yet the most he had smiled in weeks.

He ate the rest of the sorry meatball before retrieving a bowl full of them. The pilot had liked this particular delicacy, apparently, and his cooler had been stuffed with the things alongside alcohol and some sort of steak. Ythros avoided the steak, it was a wide galaxy and just because it looked good didn't mean you should put it in your mouth. Instead he slumped down, eating his way through the squishy orbs. It was therapeutic in a way. The simple, real, corporeal act of taking in food. It reminded him he was more than what was eating him up inside, he was also that which was eating up on the outside. Another brief, humorless chuckle escaped him, any more in one day and his sides would start to hurt.

This mood had marked his mind for almost the entire trip. Gone was the teasing inevitability of fate, the painful battle against his own will and stubbornness. Now he was suspended in inaction, like the gentle caress of the Bacta that had held him not long ago. Freedom in imprisonment, it would seem he wasn't out of ironies completely.

Setting aside the food, he lifted himself onto the pilots bunk where he had assembled his meagre possessions. A lighter, a pack of cards, a picture of some exotic forest. Wafting the lighters flame over his leg, he stared at the image; why not a picture of himself? Or friends? Why in the force did Ythros care? His fingers tightened on the picture, slowly crumpling it in frustration. His other hand pressed the hot lighters vent to his neck, the searing sound and soothing pain allowing his hand to relax and unclench.

Was it a good sign that he was hurting himself again? A measure of his newfound peace that he became unsettled again when in tranquility? Whatever the cause or result, Ythros was finding solace in routine.

Oh, and bullying an invalid. But some things never change.

Corev had just finished listening to another Jedi Master of the Temple praising Erzabet when he heard a man speak from behind him. "I believe we should talk."

Corev turned to look at the man. He appeared normal until you got to the face which sort of drew the eye. There were patches of skin that were a different shade and had a shiny quality. His eyes were entirely white, there were no irises or colour to them at all. This man had obviously been victim to a fire, a long time ago by the looks of it. "About what?"

"It might sound odd, but have you noticed anything strange about yourself lately?"

The question was indeed odd and caught Corev by surprise, "and what do you mean by strange?"

"Lack of energy, for example or, uh, well, anything really..." He was hesitant, like he didn't exactly know how to ask the question. His voice was quiet and Corev could detect that there was nervousness in there as well.

The conversation made Corev curious but cautious, "Maybe a little, why do you ask?"

"I have reason to believe that something weird is going on, affecting people in some way I don't quite understand yet."

"What, exactly, do you mean?" Who is this person, Corev asked himself, why is he asking this?

"I, er, how should I explain... I can "see", not with my eyes, but through the Force and some things are revealed to me that remain hidden to most others. And lately, I've seen some sort of ... abnormalities on a lot of people, people like, for example, you."

A blessing that came from a tragedy it seemed. What this man could do would be very useful. "What sort of abnormalities do you see?"

"Threads, lots of incredibly fine threads of Force, going away from the person toward a common destination and taking away tiny amounts of energy. Well, except on you, I haven't seen your kind on anyone else"

"Who have you noticed has more of these threads then others?" As more was revealed Corev became excited, here was somebody that could help him finally. Somebody he could work with to find the truth.

"That's one of the interesting things about this... thing, it seems to manifest stronger in Force sensitives than other people, which I can sort of understand, you know, it being a Force related affliction and all. But what really puzzles me is that it seems to have favorite places, too. In some of them, the threads were especially numerous, but I can't see any logical connection between them. I mean, it's not like, for example, the detention block and the meditation garden are remarkably similar... Still they were affected in a strangely strong manner, together with the training rooms, and, uh, the guest quarters, if I remember correctly."

Corev was impressed. He had gotten more out of this man then he had from all the people he had questioned that day but something still needed to be confirmed. "Would you mind coming with me to the loading docks?

"The loading docks? What've they to do with anything?"

"I need to confirm something so if you wouldn't mind."

"Well, alright, you got me curious."

The walk down to the loading docks was quiet. Corev was excited. He finally had a lead on what was happening with Erzabet. The man walked beside him in silence as well, staring the blank stare of a blind man. Corev wondered what he was thinking, his face looked concerned. They quickly arrived at the loading docks and Corev lead the man inside, "Alright, look a these people and tell me what you see."

"Hmm, interesting. Most of them are suffering from the condition I told you about, some quite heavily" He paused and turned to look at Corev, "But how did you know?"

He ignored the man's last question, "Which seem to be suffering from this condition the worst?

"Let me see... The man over there to the right, you see who I mean? The one who's shouting all the time, he's affected real bad, it seems. Oh, and the Wookie back there by the ship." The first man he had pointed to was none other then the Dock Supervisor that Corev had interviewed earlier.

That confirmed it. He had to tell this man everything he knew, but not here. "Lets go somewhere better to talk more about this. My rooms should serve nicely."

"Alright, lead the way."

The walk up to the guest quarters was just as quiet as the walk down. Corev was more excited then before but he was also filled with worry. With this man's help he had learned some truly shocking things about Erzabet and it disturbed him. What was she really doing?

They entered the dark room and Corev turned on the lamp, flooding the room with light. The small quarters were clearly empty with neither Erzabet nor Ketan in sight. He then turned to look at the blind Jedi in the doorway, "You said you noticed something different about me, what did you mean?"

"Yes, while you have threads, like the other ones, yours look... lifeless. As if they were severed." He was fascinated by what he saw in Corev. It showed in his voice if not in his face.

With that out of the way Corev figured it was time to tell his companion what he knew. He walked over and sat down in a chair by the lamp motioning for the man to have a seat. "The places all of the threads seem more focused are connected. There is a person that has frequented those places more then most.

The Jedi pulled up a chair and sat down across from Corev. "Which person?" The interested look on his face showed Corev that he wanted to know what was going on as bad as Corev himself did.

"The Sith woman who arrived in the temple not too long ago, Erzabet. She was in these areas everyday repeatedly. She is the one person in this temple that everyone can't get enough of. People who haven't even talked to her are telling me how she is a Saint. These threads you tell me about just help to confirm my suspicions" After he finished it felt as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

"But how did she do this? I mean, without anyone noticing?"

"You said yourself it was a Force affliction. She must have some sort of power to attach these threads to people. When she arrived at the Temple her strength in the Force was small but recently her power has increased substantially. She healed me when I was in the Med Bay and I noticed that the Force seemed to be coming from outside of her."

"This is disturbing... You said that all the people she meets adore her, right?. How far d'you think would they go to please her?"

"I don't know. Its not like Force Persuasion where the weak-minded are dominated by the user because even strong-willed Jedi Masters have fallen for this trap, if it is a trap. For all we know this could be something that she does without even realizing it."

"So we've got ourselves a situation where even the one who's causing it doesn't know what's happening? I've never heard of anything even remotely similar to what's going on... It would probably be best to consult the archives for now, if you don't have any other suggestions."

"No, the archives sound like the logical solution. Let's go."

"Helim, I am officially not available until further notice, and if anyone insists on sitting outside my office waiting for me, it won't do them any good, because I'm not coming in." Nahila tried to keep her voice on the comm calm and business-like, but just managed to sound flat and snappish instead.

"...Yes, Master Nahila." Helim was much better than she was at concealing himself behind a mask of professional calm, but he didn't fool her any more than she fooled him. "If they ask the reason for your absence, what would you like me to tell them?"

Tell them to put on their big boy pants and take care of their own problems for once, Tell them I'm not their damn mother.

"Tell them I'm sick and resting."

"Understood." She could hear him hesitating. "Master Nahila..."

"Yes?"

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, but thank you."

She wasn't fooling Helim, of course. He knew she didn't get sick, ever, and if she did, she would heal herself and keep going. Except this time, she couldn't. This sick feeling, this unbearable ache, this painful constriction in her throat as though she'd swallowed a shard of glass, there was no healing for it. Not for a Jedi, anyway.

There is no emotion... Oh, the rank idiocy of that - of course there was! Grief, loss, the sudden realization of just how much she was going to miss him, twisted, hateful freak that he was, and the bitter shame of just how completely she had failed him.

Forgive me. Great Force, how useless, how self-serving that had been. The years she'd spent congratulating herself on saving him, sheltering him, when in truth she had abandoned him in the wilderness of himself. She'd said he had the right to be what he was, after all he had suffered, but it never occurred to her that he had the right to be more. Forgive me. Forgiveness? He had no such ability and she deserved no such grace. She deserved this, to sit on the edge of the bed choking helplessly on her failure and regret. If she weren't a Jedi, she might find relief in tears, but decades of discipline had her by the throat, so she would just have to bear it.

But it was more than she could bear. It hit her in while she stood in the shower. Maybe it was the water running down her face that unlocked the physical memory of the last time she had wept so long ago, maybe it was as simple as camouflage, burning tears concealed in the hot spray from the showerhead, maybe decades of discipline simply weren't enough. She stood in the shower and sobbed until her knees gave out, and then she sat in the tub and howled until the hot water gave out.

She climbed shivering out of the shower and into her robe, and somehow made it to her bedroom before the next wave hit. She sat doubled over on the edge of the bed, stomach heaving, shoulders shaking. Whatever inner strength she'd had as a Jedi was gone, flooded, drowned. How did ordinary people survive this? It wasn't like weeping, it was like vomiting tears. They kept heaving their way out if her until somehow it was done and she was left curled up in a stupor, trying to understand what had just happened.

The doorbell rang. She ignored it. There was a long pause and then it rang again, hesitantly insistent, another pause, and again, less hesitant and more insistent. There was no point in ignoring it. She reached for the comm button.

"Yes?" Her voice was thick and sticky - she did actually sound sick now. Felt sick too. So she wasn't exactly a liar, now, was she?

"Master Nahila, may I speak with you?" It was Helim.

"Now is not a good time, Helim. What do you want?"

"I want to come in and speak with you." Ahh, she knew that tone. It was the infallibly polite voice that Helim used to bully senators into taking a seat in the waiting room. If he was determined to bully her into opening the door, there was no getting around it.

Judging by the suppressed shock and distress on his face, she must really look like hell. She waved him into the room and shut the door behind him.

"What did you want to talk about?" She tried to maintain a facade her usual brusque manner, but Helim, who had been her assistant ever since he'd been made a Jedi, who was as close to a padawan as she had ever had until Cain, who knew her probably better than any other sentient in the galaxy, just stared at her with undisguised concern.

"Master Nahila, may I please get you some tea?"

Nahila sipped at her tea but for the most part just sat with her hands clasped around the cup, trying to warm them. Why should crying make her hands cold? It was a miserable business, crying. She felt like a popped balloon dropped in a mud puddle. Helim sat across from her, waiting for her to answer the questions he knew better than to ask.

"Erzabet and Ythros are gone," she said at last.

"Gone?" The surprise of it started Helim out of is usual detached concern. "Gone how? You don't mean - are they dead? The assassin, were they killed?"

"No," she assured him. "They are fine. Erzabet has taken Ythros with her back to her base."

Helim was not reassured by this at all. "Back to her base? Her Sith base? Did anyone try and stop her?"

"No, I did not try to stop her. I told her to take him with her."

He stared at her, too shocked at first to speak. "You sent Ythros to the Sith? Are you--" Are you mad?, he didn't say. "Are you sure that was wise?"

She gave him a sidelong look. "Nice save, there."

He returned her look with the barest frown. His silence spoke volumes of their mutual understanding of one another. I know that you know that I understand that you know that I know...

"Won't he just kill them all like he has before?"

"No. I don't believe Erzabet is truly a Sith any more than Ythros is a Jedi. They are where the Force dropped them in their lives, but that doesn't mean they belong there. Crash landing on Kashykk doesn't make you a Wookiee. I do not think her people are like any Sith we would recognize."

Again, Helim sat across from her, eloquent in his silence.

"Erzabet says she can heal him, that she can restore his connection to the Force." Nahila's voice broke and the tears threatened to return. "She says that he would have been a healer, if he hadn't been broken, that she can teach him to be at peace with himself."

"Ah, well," Helim sipped at his tea, "I can't imagine the Council will approve of what you've done."

Nahila scowled into her cup. "The Council can take their approval, wrap it around their lightsabers, and shove it up their asses."

"Now, Nahila," said Helim in tones of mild reproof, "you know they would never do that. In order to put their lightsabers in, they'd have pull their heads out, and we both know that will never happen.

After a moment's quiet consideration, Helim asked, "What will you tell Ketan?"

Nahila was very glad the puffy mask of tears that covered her face concealed her reaction. "He - he went with them, to look after them." That wasn't really a lie was it? Surely his spirit followed them. There is no death, there is only the Force. "He was truly dedicated to Erzabet's redemption and training. I doubt I could have stopped him from going with her, even if I wanted to."

"Yes," Helim agreed, "he always believed that anyone could be redeemed. Even Ythros."

That started her off again. Her face tightened and crumpled and the tears came again. She had failed him, she had failed them all, and Ketan had paid for her failures with his life.

Helim stared at her, frowning with concern. "I know you will miss them, but surely this distress is a little...excessive, don't you think?"

Yes, yes, she did. She had things that needed to be done, one last request to honor.

Burn my things. All of them.

She would do that. She owed him that much.

Corev sat in a hard chair staring at a terminal screen. Searching through the archives was a tedious task and he had grown bored of it in the first hour. Drev was off somewhere talking with the librarians trying to find out what he could about the subject while Corev had to stay in the uncomfortable chair and read through report after report on Padawans and JedI developing weird abilities or any case that involved the force. His eyes quickly passed through a report on a case where a Padawan experienced extreme cases of anger and had gone into beserk rages where he attacked anything in sight with immense power. All sorts of therapy and training were reported to have been tried before the Padawan had left the temple in the night. It was interesting but not what he was looking for so he moved on to the next report. The report discussed the connection between Masters and their Padawan learners. Nothing of interest appeared to him until around the second page where a sub section titled Force Bonds caught his attention.

Force Bonds

Commonly occurring between Jedi Masters and their apprentices, a Force bond, also known as Force chain or Jedi kinship, was a link through which two Force-sensitives could influence each other. It allowed the communication of feelings, thoughts and images across distances and granted greater coordination in battle. Through such connections the Force flows easily, sometimes allowing one's will to bolster the strengths of the other, or possibly to draw upon their strengths.

The formation of Force Bonds between a Jedi Master and a Padawan occur slowly, requiring them to grow together and understand each other. More powerful bonds are known to occur between relatives, exerting great influence. Jedi traditionally separate children from their parents, so that one's development would not be affected. It is also thought that moments of death, or near-death, might cause such bonds.

He copied the file to a data disc and got up from his chair to find Drev. Could what Erzabet was doing be a form of Force Bonds? If so could she control it? He needed to find Drev so they could discuss this and maybe he had found some information of his own.

QoH is in the process of being moved to another venue. Currently, final edited chapters are being posted to Lucasforums, starwarsknights.com, in the Coruscant Entertainment Center. The location of the ongoing RP has not yet been finalized. Please PM me if you wish to be notified of the new location. I will be returning for a little while to check my PMs.

mshcherbatskaya:
QoH is in the process of being moved to another venue. Currently, final edited chapters are being posted to Lucasforums, starwarsknights.com, in the Coruscant Entertainment Center. The location of the ongoing RP has not yet been finalized. Please PM me if you wish to be notified of the new location. I will be returning for a little while to check my PMs.

Wow, i guess that makes RW2 and 3 my last RP's on the escapist.

Crazy.

Oh and... take me with you. I think i'm sort of needed for this one.

Ultrajoe:

mshcherbatskaya:
QoH is in the process of being moved to another venue. Currently, final edited chapters are being posted to Lucasforums, starwarsknights.com, in the Coruscant Entertainment Center. The location of the ongoing RP has not yet been finalized. Please PM me if you wish to be notified of the new location. I will be returning for a little while to check my PMs.

Wow, i guess that makes RW2 and 3 my last RP's on the escapist.

Crazy.

Oh and... take me with you. I think i'm sort of needed for this one.

See, now, this disturbs me a little. You guys are talking as if you're leaving The Escapist. Is this correct? Please tell me I've gratuitously misinterpreted both your messages and horribly offended both of you by even insinuating such a radical idea; that would be easier to deal with than losing two of our best RP'ers.

... I suppose I understand though, if you two are leaving. And I can't really blame you.

As for this RP, I don't know. Would I be worth bringing with?

Ah, yeah. I still will come back to read the articles and watch the videos, and probably pop in to chat on occasion, but the forums just aren't doing it for me any more. I feel like everyone posts and nobody reads. When I care about an issue, I can easily spend an hour crafting a response, but that's a lot of wasted time and energy when it's drowned in a flood of posts in 15 minutes. I try to read a thread, but because people aren't reading and responding to anything but the OP, I have to sort through 5-8 pages of posts just to try and follow a single conversation. I'm not flouncing out in a big gonzo huff, I just can't get what I'm looking for out of the forums any more.

Still love the articles. "Hard-Wired For Gaming" in particular was excellent this week.

Oh, and hell yeah, you'd better follow on. I thought Qayin already contacted you about the move. You gotta write Vect. That sick twitch even disturbs Ultrajoe, and he's one crazy bugger.

Well mshcherbatskaya, I haven't been here long, but from what I see it will be a shame to have you leave. I have been attempting to read QoH, but I'm not very far. Please let me know where this will transfer to though.

Dastardos:
Well mshcherbatskaya, I haven't been here long, but from what I see it will be a shame to have you leave. I have been attempting to read QoH, but I'm not very far. Please let me know where this will transfer to though.

The polished, edited version can be found at Lucasforums, i am told. They have swanky users called 'Ultrajoe' and 'Mshcherbatskaya' there who post them for us.

And i'll still be around for discussion and so forth, like Msh, but i'm moving my RP activities elsewhere. What i came here for is no longer here, and it's nothing personal or vindictive in the fact that i'm seeking it elsewhere. I dont regret or hate the change, but it is a change.

Dont worry, i'm not going anywhere. I might post a bit less, but i've never been all that high-output anyway (Save for certain... intruiging threads). Unless the drastic occurs, the Escapist will always have The Ultra Joe. He's just going other places too, that's all.

Drev lowered his head removed his earphones. Days like this made him reconsider the option of optical implants. All told, he preferred to see the world through the Force, because he thought it was the most accurate means of perception but it didn't work on data screens. Voice interface was fine for most things, but listening to hours of archival records droning away was a soporific for even the most hardened of insomniacs, especially when all work seemed to be in vain. Hours of searching through the Archives yielded no results whatsoever and he was beginning to doubt the use of looking.

No results? That's not true.

Right, there had been something that caught his attention, a collection of studies and data concerning the development of Force Powers after traumatic experiences. There were the dreams she induced after all, the tortured nightmares. He shivered at the thought of the pictures once again rising up before his inward eyes. Of course he couldn't say for sure that they were her actual memories but certainly only a ravaged mind could produce such images, in other people no less.

But that wasn't it, was it?

Some other matter, something personal lurked at the back of his mind, dim, unfocused.

Come on, you've avoided thinking about it long enough.

Avoid? I'm not avoiding anything, it's... it's just of no importance. There are other things I have to worry about right now...

Self-deception is just as bad as lying to any other person, you know...

Drev decided to give the search one more try, even if just to block away the uncomfortable thoughts that kept nagging him like his old master had done, many years earlier. Not really paying attention to his work, he mused about the time with his Master and how he couldn't remember a time, until his Master had died, of course, when he hadn't been arou...

"Huh?" Drev gasped (quite loudly, actually, much to the disapproval of the Archive Librarians, who encouraged silent enlightenment), suddenly realizing what he was listening to. It was about a person, the so-called "Exile", who allegedly developed Force Bonds without effort or even noticing and...

Atris' voice, "Confidential data | Please contact Head Archivist".

Confidential? Now that certainly sounds interesting." When he found the Head Archivist, she was examining an apparently malfunctioning droid, hands on her hips, aura full of tired concern. On her other side she was flanked by another droid of the same model, busily working on a console and making faint clicking noises.

"Another one for the repairs" she said quietly while turning to Drev, "and it's really no wonder either". She shook her head in sincere sympathy for the semi-intelligent heap of metal in front of her. "They're constantly slaving away, the poor little things. Without them organizing everything the whole place would be one great chaos, without a doubt."

Drev, not caring all that much about robot working rights, remained silent and watched her motherly sentiments with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. "Did you need anything?" she finally asked. He wanted to think up some witty reply but decided he was too tired at the moment. "I need access to some confidential files" was the brief answer he eventually gave. The Archivist's aura didn't change, much to his surprise. He had expected her to become suspicious, at least a little bit. "You'll need a special research permission for that, I'm afraid." That, on the other hand, came as expected. He'd have to get the special permission from Nahila and she was away. He needed to think of something...

What are you going to say? You aren't going to lie, are you?

Now wasn't a good time for his Jedi indoctrination to try and appeal to his ethics. Drev needed a clear head to maneuver through this conversation. He beckoned her to lean closer and lowered his voice, "Listen, I can see from your Force aura that you can be trusted, otherwise I wouldn't tell you what I am going to say now." After the "see" he moved his eyes around rapidly and randomly, for maximum effect, and exerted just the slightest pressure of his will against hers. It was hit or miss, really. She just nodded, however, and the Force around her sparked with curiosity. "I'm here for some secret research for Nahila."

"Is this about that Sith woman?" The Archivist tone was disapproving, but of who? He couldn't tell, but he took a guess.

"Yes, I believe we might be dealing with a problem of extreme danger if left ignored. Your cooperation in this matter is essential."

"I've given her everything I've got, all the intelligence reports, system history, shipping routes and records, even financial statements and transactions reports, and we can't figure out how she paid for the materials for that base of hers, much less how she got it built or kept it defended. I don't know what she thinks you can find that I couldn't."

He moved quickly to mollify her. "I'm investigating a different aspect of her...development as a Sith."

"Really? I confess, my own curiosity has been piqued at this point. If you have leads, I'd like to see what you find myself."

Deceiver. Liar.

She handed him a small, unadorned card. "With this you can access the same restricted content I can."

"Thank you." Drev turned his back on her and walked towards his terminal again. He was feeling strangely dissatisfied, despite the success.

There are sounds that you can get addicted to. Such utter constants, unchanging rhythms that soon your entire body can tense in anticipation for every beat, and before long you can't hear them unless you strain. Ythros had once made a habit of trying to fight such conditioning, but there are simply just some humdrums that even a droid will write a subroutine to ignore. But regardless of the un-listener, the cessation of any such noise is purely... deafening.

The engines of the ship cut out in an instant, and Ythros woke with wide eyes and his ears strained for any sound other than his breathing. A slight groan as the ships components cooled, the steady pulse of his blood through his ears, and a faint gurgle as his bowels registered the morning's most pressing task. His mind snapped into gear, protesting slightly in ache at his demands for alertness so soon out of dreamless sleep. It took him a few minutes to start thinking straight, and he even managed to get all the way to the lavatory before his awakening mind hit him with the obvious; They were there.

And then he realized what sound he had been straining to hear. Anticipation ceased, and the future collided with the rushing 'now' mercilessly, uncaring for his readiness. There was no more contemplation. There was no time left to dwell on how and why he faced this second, because this second was finally here. He dragged on his robe with the practiced motion of someone whose hands are not under his control. There was simply no time to think, just to process every instant in infinite detail.

The past had been turmoil. But this was a terrifying certainty. It rushed to make the present with merciless abandon, swept along as he was by time and fate. And in the middle, there was simply no time to think. And the ramp descended, as he quietly took a place at the shoulder of the woman who's only indication of recognition was to begin her descent.

He would always remember the faces. So powerful was the sight that it muscled aside memories of fire and steel, taking an all-to-vivid place in the slideshow of his closed eyes. They were fixed, in a way that not even the most malevolent tyrant could command, and unwavering in the knowledge that there was no other sight worth viewing. Ythros scanned the faces and even in his frozen mind had time to recoil at what he saw etched on their features.

She swept out as only she could, when on a purpose, into the assembled throng which parted not from reverence but the simple knowledge that she wanted them to part. Around him the buildings stood in simple elegance, it saturated them as surely as it did the expressions of those around him. Love. They were built not from duty or desire but the assurance that this was what was needed and it was their joy to do it. On their faces, the euphoria that only the stricken could feel, and in their eyes the contentment that only devotion could grant.

Ythros wanted to punch the shit out of them. The clarity of the unknown was fading under the influence of the familiar. They were all drugged, drunk on an affection as non-existent as his dreams. He had braced for horrors but instead scowled at something much more intimidating, a fanaticism that transcended faith. He could kill one, he could throttle one dead right here on the landing pad and they wouldn't raise a hand unless she told them too. And she wouldn't, she wouldn't because she knew he could never choke the life fully from someone who still smiled in resignation. The very fact that he could slice one from nape to neck meant he wandered by her side past them in passive loathing, hypocritically baying at his own leash for the opportunity to rip away theirs.

This wasn't some new horror, this was what he had watched bieng spun at the Jedi Temple, but advanced like the venom it truly was. He felt relieving, familiar contempt flood back into his veins. With it came the old familiar compulsion, the groove he settled into had certain... traditions.

"Not much for applause, are they?" He asked wryly, layering as much sarcasm as he could onto a voice like an abrasion-saw. Schaden shot him a look of reproach from Erzabet's other side, and Ythros blinked as he realised he had forgotten his former victim entirely. "What, all this ceremony and not a shred of decent palm-smashing?" He said, before turning to Erzabet and asking lowly "Or do they know it would be like pissing in a desert?"

Erzabet looked around, evidently searching for a face that was not there. "They do not need to applaud" She responded, as she changed course to deal with the absence "But I'm sure some are tempted to celebrate your arrival". And as Ythros whirled to scan the crowd again in surprise, Erzabet swept away to find whomever she had not seen.

The assembled faces locked eyes with his, and Ythros found a whole new reason to fear this place.

You never notice a sound until it stops. And this sound had been in his ears for as long as he could remember. Even Nahila had sung it when they first met; even the most unfazed Knight had given a rendition. The only person never to sing this song was the enigma of silence that even now re-embraced a domain she had never truly left. But to hear it's absence in the eyes of others, those who were once whole of mind and soul...

And as the men and women studied him, he found himself offering silent prayer that one, anyone among them, would offer him the slightest shred of fear.

Stepping off the ramp into the welcome of her people-it is a comfort she had almost forgotten she missed. Coming in from the cold to a warm room, coming home. Beside her, Ythros chills. Beside her, Schaden struggles with the weight of his own new-knit flesh. She must have the doctor see to him, both as patient and specimen. But first she must find Vect. She could seek him in the Force, but his essence so pervades the others, it is easier to search for Xan, whose focus and devotion are like a beacon marking Vect's location. Now the beacon broadcasts distress. Vect's mind has fallen in on itself, but he can be retrieved.

The halls around Vect's quarters are empty, not only because everyone came to greet her. They fear Vect, their fear flows into him and frightens him, fills him with terrors, and he becomes terrifying. They flee from him, and he feels their abandonment. They return to him, return to his relief, his welcome, his rage, his vengence, and the cycle starts again. Xan steadies him with a devotion that shows no fear of him, only fear for him. Xan loves Vect because he must, he protects what he loves with his life, and it is because he gives Vect his life that Vect will never take it.

Even now, Xan is with him while Vect lashes out at a girl who does not exist. He screams at her to shut up, to stop lying, to stop taunting him. He throws things at the invisible girl with his invisible arms , until he stands in the center of a cyclone of debris. Only Xan's own ability in the Force protects him for the whirlwind of shattered furniture and memories.

Erzabet hates this girl who takes Erzabet's place in Vect's mind at the least opportunity. It is strange that it should be so, this jealousy, but Vect is her apprentice, she is his Master, and she will not be supplanted. She wraps Vect's mind in the embrace of her will, and in return he throws his invisible arms around her and draws her to him from across the room.

Corev looked around for Drev, not remembering where he was sitting. He soon spotted the old Jedi seated at a terminal nearby. It was clear that he was listening to an archive, and his face grew more and more troubled. Corev loudly whispered, trying to get Drev's attention. "Drev. I think I found something that might help."

Drev did not respond right away, appearing distracted by what he was listening to, "As have I."

Interested Corev moved over to the terminal Drev was seated at, "What did you find?"

"Nothing initially, but I came across some records referencing a specific Jedi. They are incomplete, her name has been removed from the files but she might provide us a clue." He paused for a moment to let Corev digest the information before asking, "What did you find?"

Swallowing his questions, Corev began to explain. "Initially I found nothing as well, but then I came across an interesting article on Force Bonds that might help explain some of Erzabet's abilities."

Drev's eyebrows raised, "Force Bonds? Tell me more."

Corev continued to explain, "Force Bonds are connections created, commonly between Master and student, that allows the connected Force-Sensitives to influence each other through the force. They can share things across these bonds, such as thoughts. It is also says that the Force flows better through these connections."

A look of pure excitement came across Drev's face. "That explains a great deal! These records I have been listening to - this Jedi, the Council were very concerned about her. In her file again and again they note the strength of the bonds she forged with everyone around her. Even when she was a padawan, they worried she had a dangerous degree of influence on the other students. When they spoke of the bonds she created, I thought they simply meant the influence of a strong personality, that she was just a natural leader, like Revan, who could forge bonds of leadership and respect. But if they were speaking of Force Bonds..." He let the sentence hang in the air, they both knew what it might mean.

Corev was curious, he needed to more about this mysterious Jedi. "What did the records say happened to this person?"

Drev became troubled, increasing Corev's curiosity. "She went to fight with Revan in the Mandalorian War. She was young, with little experience, yet Revan made her a general." He paused for a moment deep in though. "Perhaps Revan recognized this Force Bond in her. If she formed these bonds without intent or effort, in an army it would almost be like Battle Meditation, would it not? She would be able to hold troops together, make them follow orders they might otherwise question or even refuse."

Corev was surprised at how much the information they had both found was connected "Yes, the article said it could show up in abilities such as Battle Meditation. This could explain how Erzabet inspired her followers."

The excitement was clear on both men's faces as they began connecting the information to Erzabet. The mystery behind Erzabet's unique abilities was becoming clearer. "Imagine, forming a bond that made you like a Master to a padawan to everyone around you."

Corev considered Drev's statement. He had never taken on a padawan for himself, as he did not see himself as much of a teacher. The thought of opening himself to so many people, feeling their pain and having to deal with all of their troubles. How could Erzabet handle such a thing? "That would be a unique experience but I am not sure it is one I would want."

"And if you had been raised in the Dark Side of the Force, what would your influence be then? But then again, I never felt the Dark Side in her, not as I have felt it in others. Though it is true that I never had any real contact with her."

Corev looked back on all those times he had been with Erzabet. He remembered the conversations that had gone on long into the night. She had been so like him. "I don't think she was entirely influenced by the Dark Side. She was more in the middle, a bit of both ideals."

Drev gave a small look of relief. "That is reassuring I suppose."

Corev directed the conversation back to the nameless Jedi. "Is there any information on the Jedi with the Force Ability, after the war?

The relief was quickly replaced by a frown, "She was at Malachor. Well, that is a bit of an understatement. She destroyed Malachor. She gave the order to activate the Mass Shadow Generator. Can you imagine it? Sending hundreds of thousands of people to their deaths with a single strike?" Drev shivered in discomfort at the thought before continuing on with the story. "But she did not follow Revan into the Civil War. She came back and turned herself in to the Council for judgement."

Corev looked down at his feet. "Yes I know what it feels like." He let out a troubled sigh. "I was there." The revelation brought some amount of relief to Corev. Memories of past battles flooded back, momentarily filling his vision with destroyed cities, dead bodies, explosions and a cacophony of sounds.

Drev was taken aback, widening his eyelids in shock. "You served under Revan?"

Corev's voice was detached, lost as he was in the memories, while he responded. "You could say that. I was a Major for the Republic." He knew he was avoiding the answer Drev was looking for but he wasn't sure if he wanted to reveal that much about himself.

The relief returned to Drev's face as he mistook Corev's meaning. "You served as a Jedi under the Republic?"

The question Corev had known was coming but instead of explaining he simply said, "No."

"No?" Drev's voice was full of the confusion that was clear on his face.

Still avoiding an explanation Corev answered, "No. I did not serve as a Jedi under Revan."

"Then how...Jedi do not serve as soldiers in the Republic army."

Knowing that Drev would not give up until he answered, Corev made a decision. He would tell Drev, he would explain his unique ability. There was a long pause as Corev willed himself to reveal the secret he had kept from everyone except Nahila. Willed himself to divulge information on his past that he had told to no one. "That is true. At the time I was not a Jedi. You said you noticed something different about my connection to the force, did you not?" He would explain it slowly, and to its entirety so that Drev would understand everything, so he would be able to see clearly what Corev had kept hidden for so many years.

Drev was curious, and he leaned forward in his chair as if getting closer would make the information come faster. "Yes."

"Well it is different. I have an ability to hide my Force Sensitivity from those around me. It even works while I am using the Force." There, it was done. Drev was only the second known person alive who knew Corev's secret. "I went into a self-imposed Exile shortly before the Mandalorian Wars. Once the wars started I figured I should help out and joined the Republic Military. With my unique ability I was able to appear to be just a common soldier. With my Jedi training along with the Force I was able to rise in the ranks quickly."

"But...why? Why leave the order?" Drev was clearly shocked, unable to imagine making such a choice himself.

"I am afraid I did not entirely agree with the Jedi code. I had always been a sort of loner in the Temple." Corev held back the reason he had left the Jedi Order because he was afraid of how people would judge him.

Doubt filled Drev's blank eyes, and extended into his voice. "You did not..." He paused, his mouth condensing to a line in distaste. "You did not fall? Did you?"

There it was. The judgement he so feared, the entire reason why he had told no one why he had left. "No, I did not fall to the Dark Side. It is possible to detach oneself from the Jedi and not be Sith." He could not keep the bitterness out of his reply.
The doubt still plastered on Drev's face angered Corev. "One of my reasons for leaving the Order, in fact, is that very judgement you have made. The Jedi are too pretentious, they believe their way is the only way and that is how they teach."

Drev flinched at the word pretentious, clearly insulted. "I suppose you found a better way? Will you start a new order around the principles you discovered?" His voice was filled with sarcasm.

A typical Jedi response. They were always afraid of different ideals, preaching they would lead to the Dark Side. Corev was tired of being judged by the Jedi, and Drev's statement fuelled his anger. "The Jedi need to step down from the pedestal they have put themselves on and look around. Just because someone thinks they have a better way does not mean they are going to create their own group and start preaching their ideals. I went into Exile to be on my own."

Drev's doubt changed to shock, he did not expect Corev to go so far. Insulting a Jedi was not something you did everyday. Corev did not care, it needed to be said. The Jedi needed to know that they were capable of mistakes, they needed to learn to change. "I am not here to bicker about why I chose to do what I did. The Mandalorian Wars were far from pleasant. I fought on the front lines like every other soldier. I saw the brutality of the Mandalorians and I also saw the brutal reactions by the Jedi who were with Revan. Wars change people, and perhaps the Order was right to urge caution." He paused to catch his breath before continuing. "The repercussions of the Mandalorian Wars are enough to testify for that. However being there on the front lines and witnessing the death of countless innocents I also understand where Revan was coming from."

"I do not understand where Revan was coming from, I only understand where he went, to the Dark Side."

Was Drev really so blinded by the Jedi's teachings? "Revan's decision to defend the people of the Republic was noble. His intentions started out good but like I said War changes people."

Drev's voice became challenging. "And how did it change you?"

Corev's angered flared again. He was insulted that Drev would suspect him of falling to the Dark Side. "If you mean to imply that I am following the same path as Revan than you are mistaken."

Drev's face became apologetic. "Well, yes, I think you are right about that." He quickly change the subject by turning back to the archive. "The Exile, when she returned, the Council noted her ability had changed significantly. Again, the record is incomplete and refers to files to which I have no access, but they spoke of her as a hole in the Force. It is hard to get any details on what exactly they meant by that, but they seemed to think it was...deeply destructive, that it damaged the very fabric of the Force itself."

Corev remembered the Jedi that Drev was talking about. He could not place a name to her face but he had remembered how proud she was. He had only seen her a few times during the Mandalorian Wars, but she had always been right there with the men. Inspiring them to fight harder, and they did. They fought for her, and died for her. Corev remembered feeling a great deal of respect for that Jedi, and he felt saddened that such a traumatizing thing would happen to her.

A thought on how this was connected to Erzabet jarred him from his memories. "This also might explain how Erzabet developed her abilities. There was an incident where she had a nightmare and projected it at everyone in the temple. Did her memories enter your dreams as well?"

Drev shivered at the memory. "Yes.." He paused trying to recall the nightmares, "...I could barely understand them, they were so...How could anyone do such things to a child?"

That was it. "Exactly. The trauma she went through was enough to change even the most steadfast of people." Corev had a sudden vision of himself standing on the bridge of a ship, looking down on the wreckage that was Malachor V. He saw the debris scattered all around the planet, he heard the screams through the Force as thousands of people were crushed to death. He remembered the looks on the faces of all the Jedi on the Bridge, most of all he remembered the face of the mysterious Jedi who had given the order.

"We are assuming a great many things. We are assuming that Erzabet had this Force Bond ability, an ability only ever seen in one other person that we know of, and that this ability is warped in it's nature. But if it is dangerous, why didn't anyone feel it? Surely a gift twisted by such an experience would give off some taint of darkness."

Drev's voice brought Corev out of the terrible memories. His voice still had a hint of the pain he was remembering. "I don't know, but we need to take what we know to Nahila.

Drev nodded an affirmative. "Perhaps we are imagining things, or seeing a threat where none exists, but if we are, I would like Nahila to be the one to tell us so."

And she would tell them too. "Well let's go then." They both got up and walked towards the door. Corev had forgotten where they were and was momentarily surprised to find himself in the Archives room. Shaking his head, he pushed open the door and walked out with Drev in tow.

We moved off-site because nobody ever read it here, but thank you for reposting it anyway.

I'm bogged down with some Eviljoe writing at the second, but after that i'm straight back into QoH with a vengeance.

Yeah, I'm going to bring back here, now that I've trained myself to stay out of Off-Topic.

Corev sat on the floor in his room, with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. His master had let him go early from today's lesson and he thought he should try to meditate. He wasn't very successful, something felt wrong in the Temple. Shifting slightly, Corev tried to block out the strange feeling he was having. He had never had much luck with meditating, the reason why his Master had instructed him to try whenever he had available time. This time was different though, it wasn't just that Corev was restless and couldn't sit still, it was this strange uneasy feeling that something was terribly wrong.

It had been a couple of days since the attack on Coruscant by the Sith, and everyone was still uneasy. Corev couldn't bring himself to dismiss his feeling as being related to that. Sighing he got to his feet and made for the door, forgetting to turn out the light as he left. The closer he got to where he had left his Master the more uneasy he felt. By the time he had reached the end of the hall, he was running and it only took him a few moments to reach the training room. The feeling was no longer something that Corev could dismiss as paranoia, and he quickly passed through the door. The room was dark, the eerie kind of darkness that made you think that things were moving in the corner of your vision. Corev moved farther into the room, reaching towards his lightsaber with uneasy hands. He heard a sound behind him, like a muffled groan, and whipped around. He flicked on his lightsaber and the light revealed a scene that almost made him drop the weapon. A dark figure stood behind his master, its Jedi disguise on the ground beside the pair. It was holding his Master up from behind and a look of shock and pain was on his teacher's face. Moments passed where nobody moved and then a red lightsaber extended through Corev's Master's chest, forcing Corev to step back in horror. The assassin dropped his Master to the ground and laughing, leapt over the body. Corev barely had time to bring his blue lightsaber up to block the red one. His mind was reeling in shock, but he had to focus or he was going to die as well.

This was the first time that Corev had fought with a Sith, the first time he had tested his abilities in real combat. He was strong for a Jedi his age but he was still outmatched by the Sith. Corev noticed the distinct differences between his style and the Sith's style. The Sith lacked finesse but he made up for it in raw strength and brute force. He was forcing Corev back step by step towards the wall of the training room. Their Lightsabers were a blur in front of Corev's face as he strained to hold off his opponent. He wasn't used to the Sith's tactics and was caught off guard a number of times, causing his body to burn with the numerous wounds he had received. Corev brought his saber up to block an attack but the Sith pushed it aside and raised his lightsaber above his head. This left the Sith open, and Corev pushed out with the Force, sending the Sith flying across the room to smack into the far wall.

The Sith got to his feet, wincing in pain. He advanced towards Corev with his lightsaber ready but didn't attack. "How do you use the Force when I don't sense any strength in you at all?" The man's voice came out as a rasp, as if the Dark Side had perverted even that. "How do you fight so well, and so quick, without the Force to guide you? You should not even be able to handle a lightsaber." A hint of confusion entered the man's voice.

Corev looked into the hate filled eyes of the Sith. He had one advantage over the man and he wasn't about to explain it to him, so he said nothing.

"What's the matter? You a mute?" He paused waiting for some response from Corev and when he got none he continued, "Well, no matter. I won't be beaten by a lowly Jedi, no matter what tricks he may have." And with that he rushed forward throwing a new onslaught of attacks at Corev.

The fight seemed to last forever for Corev. The flashing of the two colours in front of him seemed to go on for hours. His muscles ached, and his wounds burned, he wasn't sure how much longer he could continue. The Sith's eyes were filled with rage at this point, clearly he did not expect Corev to last this long in a fight. Even though sweat was dripping down his opponent's forehead, Corev doubted the Sith was in as rough shape as he was himself.

As if the Sith knew his thoughts, he swung a powerful blow at Corev's chest. Corev managed to bring his lightsaber up to block but he was too slow, and didn't have the strength to fend off the blow. His lightsaber went out and flew across the room as the Sith's lightsaber cut across his thigh. Corev fell to one knee, his body was in so much pain. He was beginning to grow light-headed from all of his wounds and he had trouble looking up into the face of his attacker. The red glow from the lightsaber, added in with Corev's eyes being unable to focus, gave the Sith a villainous appearance. Corev tried to raise his hand to attack the Sith with the Force but he didn't have the strength. Thoughts of dieing, and this being his last moment, as well as his Master's face flashed through Corev's mind as he saw the lightsaber raise up. Black began to creep into Corev's vision, and he teetered where he kneeled. He heard voices and a new colour joined the red one. The ground appeared to rush towards him and he realized that he was falling. Something caught him before he hit and he looked up into a familiar face, he couldn't place a name but he knew she was a friend. Maybe his only friend left, he thought with sadness as he passed into unconsciousness.