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Chapter Text

--  Prologue --

There was so. Much. Pain. If he was in that in-between state of consciousness he couldn't ignore it as easily as he could when awake and in control of himself. He tried to assess his situation and the status but he couldn't. He drifted just along.

Voices. Low and silent as if not to disturb him. His throat was dry and he tried to wake up and request something to drink. Instead all became dull and wooly and he drowned in nothingness. Until the next time his consciousness floated just slightly under the surface.

"We need to leave this planet at some point. The energy is not a good one for healing."

"I know, but it's too early. You should listen to the best doctor in the world, my friend."

He couldn't remember if he heard the voices before. He couldn't remember... where he was. Which planet? He couldn't remember - Adrenaline rushed through him and set him to high alert - he couldn't remember anything. His breath hitched and he felt his body responding by twitching and convulsing -

"Wha..?" 

"Uh oh!"

The sudden alert around him was nearly tangible, "Can you hold him somehow? Only... gentle containment if I may call it like this, so I don't hurt him with the needle? Don't you dare to do anything physical that could disturb all the brilliant work I did!", one of the voices just babbled along. He felt something soft enveloping him like a huge blanket but slithered around him in a way that restricted his movements. He tried to - he didn't know what he tried to, just not... Darkness.

His body seemed to be ethereal. His mind was just... wavering. Nothing was important. Nothing made sense.

Theron? Theron... His name was Theron. He was somewhere where two persons with male voices tried to heal him. One was a doctor and one was a Force user, he didn't recognize their voices. After the all encompassing pain he felt in the beginning, it now was mostly focused on his torso, so he assumed that he had been wounded there. Every change in breathing hurt more. Every change in his blood pressure hurt more. The thought of moving made him nauseous alone by imagining it. So Theron tried to avoid everything by meditating whenever he was conscious enough for it. Usually it didn't take long. His two... room mates (?), friends (?), healers (?) never failed to recognize when he drifted through the layers of wakefulness and he went under shortly after.

The first time he opened his eyes he was surprisingly alone. The way he always felt cared for he had thought someone was watching over him. On the other hand, maybe he was monitored with cameras and surveillance devices. This caused a surge of discomfort through him that he couldn't directly place, wasn't that normal? Patients were monitored all the time.

"Look who's awake, sleepyhead!" An attractive dark haired man with a silly mustache and a smile like the rising sun poked his head around the room divider that he now recognized was next to his bed. So he probably wasn't as alone as he thought he was. The man came to his bed, checked his vitals and removed something from his face. "You had a long nice rest. Time to walk around the living again and show off your dashing new battle scars." He wriggled his eyebrows which was probably meant to look sexy but instead was just funny. "Don't take the walking part too literal right now, my friend. But that scars are quite a piece of art, if you ask me. My work is really recognizable by now.", the presumable doctor chattered uninterrupted.

The next person stepping around the divider and taking his hand with a worried face he didn't know either. No alarms went off in his head so he tolerated the hand holding for now. He looked at the dark-haired one and tried to get a few words out but to no avail. "My my, so eager! Here, friend, this should help. No one should say good ol' Doc doesn't let you to get a word in here!" The man offered him a little cup with a straw which Theron took a tiny gulp from and then another one. It had no taste but it's viscosity was different to water, so it coated his throat lightly. Better.

He looked at the two men and then crawed out the most obvious question. "How... did I get into... this mess?" The one who introduced himself as Doc laughed. The other frowned. So he asked a second obvious question: "And who are you?"

The laughter stopped immediately and the two men exchanged a side glance, the man let go of his hand. Doc smiled sunnily and friendly and seemingly unfazed picked a little flashlight from some pocket and looked into his eyes.

His casual question betrayed him though: "Ah, don't worry about us. What's your name, my friend?"

Theron looked between the two men. "I should know you, right? Is it amnesia?" Something ugly and heavy settled in his gut. A warning to better not share any details as long as he didn't know what happened. It was like some internal automatic protocol or a conditioning took over, a deeply unsettling feeling.

He looked at the second man who hadn't said anything so far. His features were quite distinctive so Theron would remember his face if he had seen it before. Or at least so he thought...

Chapter Text

Theron stood in the range, blaster in hand, squinting at the distant targets. His body moved almost on autopilot - muscle memory kicking in with each step and pivot. It was a familiar rhythm, a dance he knew well, even if he felt like he was missing a beat or two since... the incident. But that wasn’t going to stop him.

Nearby, Doc leaned against the railing, arms crossed, watching with a raised eyebrow. "You’re not aggravating your injuries, are you?" he called out in a teasing tone. "I mean, I don’t mind, but your bones might."

Theron kept his focus on the targets. "I’m fine, Doc. I’ve got this."

"Oh yeah, sure," Doc replied, grinning wide. "That’s exactly what everyone says - right before they fall over. One faint, and you owe me caf."

Theron fired a shot, rolling his eyes as he did. "Pretty sure I can avoid that."

"Yeah, yeah," Doc said, moving closer. "Until two minutes later when I’m patching up a blaster bolt on your leg. Again." He waved his hands dramatically, clearly reliving his past medical heroics.

Theron’s face made a complicated expression between a smirk and a frown, a tug of annoyance creeping in from the missing pieces of his memory. Silently, he asked, "How often did that happen?"

Doc’s grin only grew. "Oh, countless times, Shan, countless!" He gave a theatrical sigh. "I’m just saying, maybe pace yourself. You still got that whole ‘recovering from multiple life-threatening injuries’-thing going on."

Theron fired another shot, hitting the target but not quite dead center. He frowned, adjusting his stance. Doc squinted at the off-center hit. "Hey, not bad! But if you’re trying to impress me, you’re gonna have to do better than that, buddy." Theron ignored the jab and fired again — this time, close to dead center. He could hear Doc’s slow, sarcastic applause behind him. "There we go! Not just a pretty face after all." Theron let out a breath, rolled his eyes and reset the targets. Doc came even closer, peeking over his shoulder. "And look at you — not even ripping your stitches. I’d say I’m proud, but really? I’m just relieved." He grinned.

"Your faith in me is overwhelming," Theron deadpanned.

Doc clapped him on the shoulder - lightly, for once. "Hey, I’m here for the long haul. As long as you don’t give me more work, we’re golden." Theron lined up another shot, fired, and hit just off-center again. His frown deepened, and Doc, ever the helpful bystander, leaned in, inspecting the hit. "Not bad, not bad. Solid six out of ten. Seven if I’m being generous."

"I’m aiming for accuracy, not style points," Theron pointed out, which was a blatant lie and both knew it.

"Well, thank the Force for that," Doc said, humoring him with a pat on the shoulder. "Because let’s be real, your style could use some work." Theron hid that he was a little offended but Doc had a point. He half-smiled, shaking his head as he prepared for another round.

"You’re awfully chatty for someone not doing any of the work."

"That’s the beauty of my job!" Doc spread his arms wide like he was unveiling the Galaxy's philosophies. "I get to stand here, make smart comments, and look good while you do all the heavy lifting. It’s a talent, really. Some call it an art."

"No one calls that an art," Theron smirked, holstering his blaster and turning to face Doc.

Doc grinned back. "Well, no one except me, but clearly, I’m ahead of the curve."

Theron chuckled, picking up his blaster again, the tension in his body slowly easing. He fired another shot, this one landing dead center.

Doc whistled in approval. "Now that’s what I’m talking about! Nine-and-three-quarters. Easy."

Theron gave him a wry look. "What happened to tens?"

Doc waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, tens are reserved for when you pull that off without me hovering over you like your personal safety net."

"Funny, I don’t feel like I’m falling apart," Theron said, setting the blaster down.

"Not to burst your bubble," Doc replied, "but you’re still in the ‘I nearly died when it wasn't for Doc’ phase. Just because you’re stubborn doesn’t mean you get extra points."

Theron sighed, his tone a bit more serious. "Noted, Doc. Noted."

"Good!" Doc grinned even wider. "Because if you go breaking yourself before you’re fully healed, I’m calling the Jedi to babysit you."

Theron fake groaned, not wanting to give away the flip inside him that the mention of the man with the violet eyes caused. "That would be worse than the injuries."

Doc laughed. "Now you’re getting it! I’ll see you later — and next time, let’s aim for a perfect ten. No pressure." Theron shook his head, smiling to himself as Doc sauntered off, praising himself and posture full of bravado. As the tension in his chest loosened, Theron realized that, for the first time in a while, he felt just a little more like himself.

Doc’s voice echoed from down the hall. "And seriously, Theron - if you shoot yourself in the foot, I’m calling it 'self-inflicted emotional damage' on your medical chart!"

Theron couldn’t help but laugh.

Chapter Text

The Sith Warrior towered over his kneeling opponent, the hand with his humming lightsaber slowly rising for the killing blow. He anticipated the strike, the air thick with the stench of fear and desperation. His prey was gasping for breath, unable to keep the head up. Every part of the former Wrath screamed for blood. The satisfaction of watching this man die was so close.

But before Xordarr could bring his hand - and the lightsaber - down, Arcann’s voice broke through the haze of rage. "Wait."

The Warrior’s hand froze mid-swing. He could feel Arcann’s presence behind him, the cool detachment in his voice tinged with something else - something too soft for the battlefield. Pleading.

Arcann stepped closer, his imposing form somehow opposed by the gentleness and the vulnerability in his words. "You don’t have to kill him," he said quietly. "Spare him."

The pale Cathar clenched his jaw, his glowing red eyes above his mask narrowing at the man groveling before him. Weak. Pathetic. Every fiber of the Warrior longed to finish it, to erase this piece of filth from existence. But Arcann’s deep voice had wormed a way in his mind. "Why?" the Warrior’s voice was low, dangerous. "Why should I show him mercy?" Arcann took another step closer, now standing almost at his side, radiating warmth. "Because you’ve shown me mercy. More than once. If you could spare me - an arch enemy, your Nemesis - then you can spare him."

The Warrior’s blood boiled at the comparison. Arcann wasn’t like this sniveling fool beneath him. Arcann was powerful, useful. He was worthy of respect, and Xordarr had kept him alive because there was potential in him. A powerful pawn, perhaps something more, but still - someone he could mold, manipulate, control. Which he had done relentlessly, watching with silent fascination how far he could go.

Arcann, of course, had no idea how he was being toyed with. His trust in the former Wrath made him so much easier to manage. But now, Arcann was asking for something more. This wasn’t about strategy or necessity. This was Arcann pleading for the Warrior to spare a man who deserved nothing but death.

And that made it dangerous. The Warrior didn’t like dangerous if it wasn't for him being the most dangerous entity around.

He could feel Arcann’s eyes on him, watching his every move, his decision. The Sith had always liked that - having Arcann’s attention, his respect, him watching Xordarr's six. Keeping Arcann close was part of the game, but it also came with a certain... pleasure. Power. If he refused Arcann now, killed this man in hot rage, what would it cost him? Would Arcann’s admiration falter? Would the careful balance of control slip out of his hands?

Arcann spoke again, softer this time. "If you do this... if you show mercy, it will prove your strength." His voice was calm, like a gentle push. "You don’t need to kill him to show your power." There was something more below his deep voice, that made Xordarr's fur ripple in a sensual way. Like a caress with a promise for more. It felt dangerous again but the good kind this time.

The Warrior’s grip tightened on his lightsaber, the crackling energy buzzing in his ear like a seductive whisper. He could feel the tension building inside him, the Force in all its dark glory urging him to finish it. The thrill of it clawed at his mind, drowning out everything but the bloodlust.

And yet... there was something else.

Arcann was still there, waiting. His plea had been simple, unassuming. A request, not a demand. The Sith knew he could kill the man and Arcann would accept it, perhaps even understand it. But would it change something between them? Would it shift that delightful imbalance? Arcann’s trust was a tool, but the former Wrath had to admit that having it gave him a different kind of satisfaction. One he didn’t want to lose.

With a low growl, the Warrior deactivated his lightsaber. The hum died, and the air seemed to still. He could feel his own hesitation, the conflict roiling within him, but it was over. He made his choice.

The groveling man let out a broken sob of relief, but the Sith didn’t acknowledge him. His glowing eyes were locked on Arcann, watching his face somewhat hungrily as a small smile of gratitude touched the younger man’s lips.

"Thank you," Arcann said quietly, stepping forward to place a hand on the Cathar’s robed arm. His touch was warm, sincere. Unaware. The Sith forced himself to be completely still and not direct his bloodlust into a different kind lust and a different kind of target. But that would do more harm than good to his plans, to this play, this prey, in the long run.

Xordarr said nothing and kept his face unreadable. But inside, he was seething. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had wanted blood, revenge, maim. And yet, here he was, making the "right" choice, almost without realizing it. Not out of compassion, not out of any real desire to spare a life - but because sparing this man kept Arcann in his grasp, kept him in the dark about the dangerous game being played. But still it had been a choice seen as "right" by others.

Arcann stepped back, relief clear in his expression. He had no idea how close he had been to the Warrior losing his control, to being a victim of the very darkness he was drawn to. The masked man watched him with sharp eyes, feeling the weight of his decision settle in his chest. A decision made for keeping up his claim on his powerful companion — but one that felt disturbingly like... light.

As the Cathar turned away from the pitiful creature on the floor, a bitter taste filled his mouth. He had made the "right" choice, but hated it deeply.

Arcann fell into step beside him, unaware of the battle raging within the Sith’s mind. "You did the right thing," he said softly, glancing at him with admiration. "You showed strength."

The Warrior looked back at him, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint, twisted smile, unseen because his mask kept it hidden. "Strength comes in many forms," he replied, his voice low. But somehow his smile didn't go unnoticed.

Arcann's face lit up like the sun, a beautiful smile on his scarred but still attractive face, clearly relieved, and for a brief moment, the Warrior felt a strange pang of... something. Something he quickly squished under his boot. This was all a gamble, after all - a game he intended to win.

As they walked side by side, leaving a trembling but still breathing mess behind them, the Sith Warrior assessed his mind and bond to the Force, and the unsettling feeling that lingered just beneath his skin. He usually managed Arcann perfectly, guided his every step - and now here was something about this current moment that disturbed him.

He sideeyed Arcann, his look lingering a second longer than intended. The way the former Emperor moved - strong, yet graceful, confident in a way that most weren't - drew the pale Warrior’s attention more than it should. The younger man’s presence, the way he so easily believed in the Sith’s decisions, his strength, made something stir within him. Not just power... but something deeper. More dangerous. And the former Wrath didn't like dangerous.

Arcann caught the look, and a small smile tugged at his lips, warm and oblivious to his companion’s thoughts. "I knew you would do the right thing," he said warmly, his voice more personal now, not just the voice of one fighter to another - but one of friend to friend, as if they were equals. The Sith Warrior held his gaze a moment too long, his breath catching in his throat, though he quickly masked it with a sharp exhale. "Perhaps," he said, almost gruff. "But don't think mercy will always be so easily given."

Arcann’s eyes stayed on him, something unspoken passing between them, the weight of the moment hanging in the air. Xordarr could see something flit over Arcann's face but it was gone too fast to read. But the Warrior could feel it - the pull, the closeness between them that had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface. He had known how to pull Arcann close, how to guide his believes about the Sith, how to add fuel to the fire of admiration, but now... standing this close, the realization struck him: Valkorion's son wasn’t the only one being drawn in.

Arcann’s gaze softened, his voice quieter now. "You know... I didn’t always believe in mercy either. But sometimes..." He trailed off, his eyes searching the Cathar’s face, as if looking for something he couldn’t quite name. "After I found myself again, it feels right."

The Warrior’s jaw clenched, his heart betraying a beat of hesitation. He knew Arcann had no idea of the less pleasant thoughts that still twisted within him, no clue how easily he was courted by ruin. But in this moment, under the weight of Arcann’s gaze, something flickered. A flame licking below his ribs. The Sith hated it immediately.

He forced himself to look away, swallowing hard. He couldn’t let this go too far. Couldn’t let this... connection cloud his judgement. Arcann was a tool, a powerful pawn. Maybe a bargain chip. Something to show off sometimes like an exotic pet. That’s all he was.

Yet, as they walked on in silence, the Warrior could still feel Arcann’s presence beside him - closer than it had been before. Warmer than it should be. And despite everything, despite the darkness that he cherished and followed, he couldn’t shake the faint, nagging feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, Arcann wasn’t the only one being played.

A dangerous smile curved the Sith Warrior's lips, unnoticeable below the mask. He wasn’t losing control or handed himself over to the Light. He made a conscious decision to let this play out in his favour after all. Just how it always had been.

Arcann’s shoulder brushed his body just slightly, almost unintentionally. The Warrior felt something shift inside him. He frowned and shook the odd feeling off. But when Arcann left him alone he still felt his presence as if a part always stayed with him.

Chapter Text

Chaos is the flow within the Force that exists when control is shattered, a part where order has no hold to it and boundaries blur into nothingness.

Force and chaos thrive in raw unpredictability, where actions ripple without intent, and consequences spiral in ways no mind can foresee. In chaos, the familiar bond is distorted, and the rules we cling to disintegrate, leaving only the wild, untamed pulse of existence.

Chaos is that part of Force where control is not lost, but never existed - a void where reality unravels, leaving nothing but the pure, chaotic dance of disorder.

- 3rd Holocron of Darth Venomeness the Silent Ruler

The battlefield was chaos, pure and untamed. Blaster fire streaked through the air, cutting through smoke and ash as the screams of the dying mingled with the roar of the carnage. Everywhere, bodies clashed — locked in a violent, relentless struggle. But all of it, every last scream and flash of light, was a blur to the Sith Warrior.

He had lost sight of Arcann. Arcann who was supposed to be next to him, or at least close behind him. Healing, killing, splattered with blood and viscera, a sight to behold. But now behind him were only the remnants of maimed bodies.

The realization had hit him like a gut punch. One moment, he was cutting down enemies with the swift, efficient precision he was once chosen the Sith Emperor's very own executioner, his mind sharp and focused on the flow of battle. The next, he had glanced over, expecting to see Arcann at his side, watching his six, as he always was in the thick of things. But there was nothing. No flash of his familiar lightsaber, no presence in the Force. Nothing.

And just like that, the control the Warrior always prided himself on snapped.

Arcann was his. No one else’s. He had been directing his play - weaving threads of acceptance and companionship around the former Emperor, wrapping him up in his plans like a spider ensnaring prey. Arcann was a powerful tool. A means to an end. So why, then, did the thought of losing him tore violently through his mind, his sanity?

A feral snarl tore from the Warrior's throat as he spun through the battlefield, his lightsaber carving through anything and everything in his path. Bodies fell, both friend and foe - he didn’t care. Not now. Not when Arcann was gone. Gone, and the fear - the irrational, unwanted fear - took root in his mind. Had someone else taken him? Killed him? No, he would be the one to decide Arcann's fate. He wouldn’t allow anyone else the satisfaction.

The battlefield dissolved into a blur of motion and blood as the Warrior became a whirlwind of fury. His lightsaber was an extension of his rage, its charred, firely, unstable crystal-induced blade burning through the chaos with a viciousness that left nothing standing in his wake. He hardly registered the enemies he was cutting down - each one was just an obstacle between him and Arcann, and he ripped them apart like they were nothing.

Bodies sunk to the floor, armor cracked and molted, and the air was thick with the scent of burning flesh and ozone. He could barely see with that crimson glowing eyes of his, barely think past the haze of his own wrath that once gave him his title. But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was finding Arcann. His. His to order. His to own. His to destroy if he so wished. His to hold if he should crave for it. No one else had the right to touch him.

More enemies flooded the field - waves upon waves of soldiers, scrambling through the dirt, blaster bolts flying overhead, striking whatever was in their way. The Sith Warrior barely noticed the pain as stray shots grazed his fluttering robe or his skin under his short fur. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding Arcann, pulling him from whatever hellish corner of the battlefield he had disappeared into.

Every strike fueled by the dark fire boiling in his veins. "Where is he?" His voice was a growl, low and dangerous, as if demanding the Force itself to answer him. The bodies piling up at his feet were no longer enough - he needed to know. He needed to see Arcann, to confirm that he was alive, that he hadn’t been taken from him.

The Cathar could barely keep track of his body count anymore. His world had narrowed down to two things: the blade in his hand, and the desperate need to find what was his. He didn’t even recognize the familiar faces of his own forces when they crossed his path. All that existed was the blood-soaked chaos and the void Arcann had left.

And still, no sign of him.

Smoke choked the air, and the sky above seemed to crackle with the storm of the battlefield, like the heaven itself was hung in black. Xordarr's muscles started to tire, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He called upon the fury in his veins to keep going, days if necessary. His mind raced with thoughts of what might have happened - each one darker than the last.

But then, his thoughts shifted, twisted, as he realized something far more insidious.

If he couldn’t find Arcann, if the universe had truly ripped him away, then what was left for him? The control, the power he had over Arcann... had that been a lie? Had his weave backfired in the worst way possible? That gnawing feeling of... attachment that had wormed its way into his cold heart, was that his undoing?

No. That wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t allow it.

With a roar and his push of his lightsaber to the ground that shook the very soil beneath him, the Warrior threw himself into the fray once more, pushing past the starting exhaustion, the strain. His anger was all-consuming now, a storm that swept through everything in its path. He left nothing behind than dead bodies in disarray but only their silence bringing back a sick semblance of newly established order.

And then, in the midst of the storm, he saw him. Arcann.

The Warrior’s fractured sanity collected the shards of itself back to a conscious mind and to entirety as he caught sight of the former Emperor of Zakuul, fighting off a cluster of enemies with the fierce determination that had once made him a terror feared by the whole galaxy. He was battered, bloodied, but alive. Alive.

The relief hit him harder than any blade ever could, but it didn’t come alone. It was accompanied by something else - a deep, dark slither, sweet, sticky and dangerous. More dangerous than Xordarr was willing to accept. His hand tightened around his lightsaber as he watched Arcann fight, oblivious to the chaos that raged in the Warrior’s mind.

This was the moment, wasn’t it? The perfect opportunity to seize control again. To use this moment of weakness to reassert his dominance. To remind Arcann who truly held the power between them. He could strike now, take everything - and yet...

His hand shoke. He would have closed his eyes if it wasn't for not loosing sight on his favorite prey again.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he watched Arcann, his lightsaber's unstable blade crackling and coughing sparks next to his leg. The chaotic storm of the battlefield still raged around them, but in this moment, it was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them. And the Warrior realized, with a sickening twist in his gut, that he couldn't do it. That he didn't want to. The revelation made him ground his teeth and flared the crimson wrath in his eyes once more.

Arcann had no idea. No idea the game being played around him. No idea of the darkness wreaking havok in Xordarr’s heart. But the Sith... he knew. He knew that what had started as a game of manipulation had turned into something far more venomous. Far more personal.

Possession - this twisted bond, this dangerous, blinding illusion of dominance capturing both the holder and the held - to seize something - or someone - so completely that its absence becomes a black void, and in that void, the one who sought to control is the one truly ensnared. He suddenly understood that to possess was also to be possessed, to wrap chains around another’s soul, only to find those same chains digging into the very own flesh, binding tighter than any grip of power he could imagine. But he was a Sith. He was victorious. And through victory, his chains would break.

Arcann turned, catching the Warrior’s gaze. His still pretty face, bloodied and dirt-streaked, broke into a happy careless grin, as if he were genuinely relieved to see him. Xordarr stared, chest heaving, and for a brief, disorienting moment, he felt... calm. Grounded. The chaos of the battle seemed to fade into the background, and all that remained was Arcann - alive, and still his.

The Warrior swallowed, hard, his grip loosening on the hilt of his lightsaber. He could feel the dark thoughts retreating, replaced by something he didn’t want to name.

"Don’t look so grim," Arcann called over the noise, his grin widening, oblivious to the storm of emotions tearing through the Warrior. "I’m still here." He made his way over to the Sith and laid a warm hand on his arm, not minding the blood-matted, torn garments. 

The Sith Warrior let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, the tension in his shoulders finally, mercifully, easing. He gave a nod, turning around, stepping into his place - back to back with Arcann to face the battle again. His personal order had been reinstated once more.

Later, in the base when Xordarr checked his comms he stared too long at the short, two-sentence message.

Commander,

There is something I would like to talk with you about, in private. Could you please meet me near the ship docking port?

-Arcann

He read it twice, entertaining the thought of ignoring it for now to not seem overeager. But his interest in the other man won out. Curious he made his way through the base, in direction of his shipyard.

Chapter Text

Doc and his violet-eyed friend whose name he hadn't yet learned had helped Theron to half lie, half sit in the bed while healing. The pain was still a throbbing presence but as long as fully awake and aware of his surroundings he could meditate it away for a certain time.

"Where will we go?" After his question the two men shared a quick look again. Then Violet-eye spoke. Even though the man looked worse for the wear his way of speaking gave away his cultivated background even though he looked like a poor farm worker.

"We are on Nathema and healing here goes slower and has a higher risk of complications. Doc wants to go to Nar Shaddaa which is closer and the accommodation we have there is very... luxurious. I rather go to Coruscant which I find safer and have a better back-up-network but it's further."

"And it's boring! On Nar Shaddaa I can decide which room I take, on Coruscant I have to share with your weird friends", Doc chimed in. The other glared at him.

"They are also your friends...?"

"We also could get up his implants again!"

Now Violet-eye squinted at him. "What, by a street doc? Really, Doc? I'm pretty sure Coruscant, where he originally got them from, is the safer bet for that as well!" Doc threw his arms over his head in a mock desperate gesture and sighed theatralically loud. Then he stomped away. Violet-eye looked after him, his mouth pressed in a thin line before he turned back to Theron. They looked at each other wordlessly for a moment.

Then Theron gathered his courage and asked silently: "Why don't you tell me your name?" The reaction was somewhat more... telling and also far more intense than he had anticipated. The man closed his eyes shortly as if to gather himself, reached out with his right hand and gently cupped Theron's face. He let his thumb tenderly slide over Theron's left brow, just shy of touching his implant. It felt good, intimate. The gesture seemed so careless, natural, as if done countless times before. Something welled up inside him, a feeling buried so deep down that he wasn't sure how to name it even. Theron swallowed.

"I didn't want to trigger a memory you couldn't place correctly and see out of context." He stopped caressing Theron's face, sat down gingerly on the side of the bed and then cautiously took his hand, entwining their fingers. Then he looked up to meet his eyes again. "We are often... I mean. It's not like that, it's... We... You probably remember something about me that's... We argue a lot?"

"So our", Theron searched for a fitting word, which was much harder with the way his hand was gently holden, "association is confrontational?"

"No. And yes. Maybe. We are allies. We have been friends. Our discussion style is just slightly incompatible. I was worried your first memory is of us fighting over something inane and you get the wrong impression." The Mirialan looked up to Theron. "My name is Auksinis."

"'Have been' friends? As in, we aren't anymore?"

The Mirialan looked away. "We had different opinions about certain politics. As long as you don't remember the whole entanglement it is too complicated to explain and I don't want to taint your judgement." He swallowed visibly. "You call me Sinis. We know each other for a long time and it has not always been easy." The Jedi looked back at Theron. "I have your best interests in mind and... we... we are friends. For now, don't worry. We can talk about politics as soon as you are healed."

--

"Just the Jedi we were looking for."

After the holo had flickered to life, it revealed a hooded figure whose demeanor was as inscrutable as the shadows concealing the features. Theron studied the projection, noting the man's unassuming posture, the air of detachment he exuded and the seemingly torn robe. Despite the lack of visible details, there was an unmistakable aura of graceful power surrounding him. The person on the other side of the holo neither looked impressed nor particularly trustworthy with the hood pulled deep into the face, but Darok had insisted that this was the man they needed. So, this was the man they got. Theron didn’t offer any additional information through the holo, and the Knight didn’t ask for any. He probably knew how these things went.

When the disheveled drifter later entered the command room the agent shared with Darok, his first thought was that one of his underground contacts had tracked him down. Torn and dirty clothes, carelessly combined and not well-fitting, dusty skin and heavy bags under the eyes, the man looked exhausted and wary, his violet eyes stark against his smudged, golden-tanned face. His dirty-blond hair hung limply from his head like a mop. Wait, violet eyes? Ah, yes - Mirialan. The tattoos were nearly hidden in the wild scruff covering his chin, as if he either wanted to obscure the heritage or didn't care for it at all. He looked like a street urchin or a nerf farmer from an exiled planet at the edge of the galaxy than someone who should be in a war room. A very poor nerf herder at that, who now looked at the star map in the middle of the room with some mixture of desinterest and annoyance.

"You’re actually planning an attack on Korriban?" the man asked, his voice low and soft, yet with a precision in his speech that suggested a refined upbringing.

Theron frowned. There was something off about this situation. The man’s appearance clashed sharply with his manner of speaking. He glanced at Darok, half-expecting him to tell the drifter he was in the wrong place. But the Colonel, unperturbed, continued his briefing as if everything were perfectly normal.

"That’s right," Darok replied as if launching an assault on the heart of Sith territory was the most common thing in the world. Why was the Colonel letting this guy stick around? Then, as Darok turned to the man and said, "And you play a major role in this plan," it hit Theron embarrassingly late — this was the Knight of the Council he had called earlier. The holo had hidden all the grime and the whole ... dishevel, and the man had removed his hooded robe, just standing there in pants and shirt of questionable quality and cleanliness.

The Knight’s condition shocked Theron, though he didn’t want to admit it. So did his attitude. "This is not my fight and not my war," the Jedi said, his words heavy with weariness but his tone somewhat devoid of emotion. Theron raised an eyebrow. Yeah, no shit. But this was the guy who had taken out the Sith Emperor.

"There’s been enough bloodshed." With that, he turned on his heel, leaving Theron and Darok in incredulous silence. Theron watched him go, with utter disbelief. What the everloving kriff was that? Calling the Barsen'thor after that was... awkward.

--

The Barsen’thor was an eerie Jedi, a person that made Theron question their partnership from the start of the mission. The easiness with which she agreed to do things that were very much against the Jedi code as soon as their otherwise relatively responsible Sith companion suggested them unsettled him. And her casual dismissal of his concerns — when Lana had used him as bait, leading to his capture and torture — annoyed, worried and angered him too. Though she was well-respected, there was something about her that didn’t sit right with him. His discomfort only deepened when she started an affair with Lana. While never one judging on their choice of partners this was so out of... everything he knew, that he felt unsafe and disposable. The spy couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite her title, he couldn’t trust her any more than he could trust a Sith. Even though they managed to stop Revan, one of the results had been the reawakining of the Sith Emperor and a shift in power. With an estranged mother and the Barsen'Thor he found outright dangerous, he wasn't sure how he could support the Order at all. This was deeply disturbing, and he wondered if he should inform the director. The spy was sent for missions that went hand in hand with requests or at least mutual interest with the Jedi Council. The full weight of Theron's distrust hit him when he met the drifter again - the Jedi he should have worked with from the start.

--

The Knight was somewhat of an arse. Maybe it was just Theron's luck with people in general - no wonder he usually preferred to work alone. But his mother aside, the Barsen'Thor and now the Knight of the Jedi Council just not seemed to match his impression of the Order he was taught in. Theron was instantly annoyed as he looked at the unkempt man in front of him. "I'm not the Republic's poster boy," he answered with a touch of irritation to the greeting he was welcomed with.

The Jedi, still looking as dirty as when he met him the first time, looked at back with a smirk, partly hidden by the hood that was pulled deep into his face. "Could have been your job if you hadn't been running off from Darok," he went on. The smirk fell from the Knight's face.

"Feeling funny?" came that clear, cultivated voice. Theron rolled his eyes, trying to remember the Jedi’s name. It was something meaningful in his own language, a word that lingered just out of reach. Then the Jedi pushed the hood from his head, revealing the same uncombed mop of dirty-blond locks that Theron remembered from Carrick Station. Ah, right. Master Auksinis - golden. Taking his smeared tanned skin and his dull hair, the name made nearly sense.

"So what are you doing here?" Theron asked, still wary.

"Could ask you the same, pretty boy," Auksinis retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Theron's patience was wearing thin. He took a few measured breaths to calm down before speaking again.

"I was sent to secure a dangerous artifact. Only securing. The Council will then send a..." He trailed off as comprehension dawned on him. "Ah, kriff. You’re the one they sent? Sure you’re up for it this time and not running away from work again?"

The Jedi’s face darkened, and anger flared in his violet eyes. "You know nothing. Don’t rain judgement on me for your ignorance."

Theron felt his own anger rising to meet Auksinis’. "I need to know if you’re a liability. Last time we needed you, you kriffing walked out on us! A crucial mission! Do you know what followed? No, you don’t. So apologies if I hurt your kriffin' feelings, Master, but I need to know if I have to face the next complication alone or not!"

Auksinis’ expression softened, but only by a fraction. His eyes flickered with something - pain, maybe regret - but it was quickly buried. "I hadn’t been asked. I was ordered to your war room and informed to kill hundreds of people. Humans, maybe a few aliens, when Korriban is still what I remember it to be. None of whom I ever met or who had ever hurt me. I don’t do well with killing orders."

Theron was taken aback by the emotionless tone in which the Jedi Knight delivered his justification. And did he just say he'd been on Korriban? But there was something else beneath the surface, something Theron couldn’t quite place. The way Auksinis’ shoulders tensed, the way his gaze drifted skyward as if searching for something he couldn’t find - it all hinted at something deeper, like a wound only healed at the surface but festering below, poisoning the blood stream.

The Mirialan stared at the ruins with a long, hard look, his jaw clenched tightly. He seemed almost... haunted. Theron had heard rumors about what the Sith Emperor had done to some of his captives, how he had twisted even the strongest minds to his will. Auksinis had been one of those captives for an incredible long time - so long that the Jedi Council thought of him dead and lost forever. But the spy didn’t know the full story, the files had been so heavily classified that he hadn't been able to crack them. Not for the lack of trying though.

After a moment, Master Auksinis finally turned back to Theron, his expression unreadable. "We go in tomorrow. Good night, Agent Shan."

As Theron began unpacking his camp utilities, he couldn’t forget Auksinis’ haunted eyes. The man had clearly been through something, something that had left deep scars. And despite his earlier anger, Theron found himself judging the Jedi a little less harshly. Maybe, just maybe, they were both more alike than he wanted to admit.

The retrieval of the artifact was unfortunately a very successful mission. Unfortunately, because Theron got paired with Sinis again whenever there was hacking, device control or stealth necessary. Didn't they have any other Jedi masters for him? Or, much more plausible, no one else wanted to work with him? Theron could understand that right this moment, in which he was hanging on for dear life as Sinis rammed their stolen speeder through the tight streets of the Coruscant Justicar district. “Can you maybe not crash this one?” Theron shouted over the engine and the general noise, gripping the side of the vehicle as they barely dodged a market stall.

“It’s not my fault the brakes don’t work!” Sinis shot back, eyes focused ahead as blaster fire from their pursuers passed them. Theron swore under his breath.

“You’re the Jedi! Use the Force or something!”

“I am!” Auksinis shouted, grinning. “I’m using it to make sure we don’t explode!” You gotta be kriffin' kidding him. The fact that they made it out of the chase alive - both of them in one piece and their enemies not - was a small miracle. Theron didn’t know if he should be impressed or annoyed. Being in Sinis' proximity definitely affected his life expectancy and be it for the raise of his blood pressure alone.

Theron was still wondering about the weird Knight of the Republic. He was granted the Master title and since then drifted around in the galaxy for quest runs, most extraction, sabotage and target elimination - similar to Theron's assignments and speciality. No known relationships aside his crew who were also a very interesting motley crew.

And... He had been flirting with Theron? That was so weird after the attitude the Jedi displayed earlier, that Theron filed it away as he had most likely misunderstood it.

"Your Master is some kind of dick, right?" Satele's disapproving frown was clearly visible on the holo.

"... He has never done anything else than follow the light but... he... is vocal about things he dislikes. I could imagine that dealing with people like Jaric Kaedan has not made him a more patient man."

They were arguing. Again. Theron didn't remember ever to discuss so much with a Jedi. And it was true that Theron had not him seeing or hearing walking a dark path, but he also wasn't wandering on the light one either. He was cynical, harsh, unfriendly and all of this in that soothing voice. Theron didn't know what to make out of it.

While the Jedi was... Unkempt, he wasn't really dirty either. His stained clothes and the torn robe were washed but Theron could see how they were somehow never getting clean. Dude also had nightmares and Theron saw him dissociating at least once. Fighting against the Emperor surely took a toll on everyone.

"Is it possible that he still struggles mentally?" Satele didn't answer first but then said,

"Jedi are wise enough to seek help if they struggle." Yeah, that was the answer he expected somehow and was annoyed about receiving.

Theron rolled his eyes. Stupid Jedis, always running head first into danger everywhere. This time it was Tatooine. "You come with me."

"What? No way, I have stuff to do."

"Kira and Doc can't, Rusk is too trigger happy, Scourge is Scourge and I can't take T7. But I can also go alone. If I die it's on you."

"Are you insane?? You are, right? Oh come on, man." Theron packed his med utensils.

Sinis stripped. What the hell was he... Oh, dude's packed, very pretty body, Theron felt his mouth drying. Also, aside from his face his golden skin was clean and healthy, soft looking and supple, the occasional bruise and scar aside. The problem was, that all he wore now was a stained trouser and his lightsaber. Fantastic. Theron had to look away to not get distracted by the expanse of muscled body on display. And he wanted to combust when he realized that the Jedi would run across Tatooine half naked and it was Theron's job to look at the body the whole time. Ugh, by the kriffin' void.

The spy realized at some point that Sinis never used mind tricks or the force to convince people or avoid fights. He could clearly utilize it and did that regularly but not on sentient beings. He wondered why, so he asked one day.

"How would you like it if I twist your brain until it just becomes mush and you are completely someone else?"

"You couldn't, I'm trained and equipped to resist that." The Jedi rose one eyebrow.

"Yes, you are. But you are the kriffin' 'first son' token SIS agent and not just one simple guy on some lonely core world." Theron was taken aback by the insinuation he was ever acknowledged as the son of two republic leader figures - The Jedi Council and the Military.

"But now imagine you had not that fancy implant and that iron control over yourself, you are just a farmer's boy. And I come to you and make you do things you don't want?" Theron swallowed for the absolute wrong reason here. "Void, I could make you want to do things you don't want. How would you feel if I bestowed passion for me on you, had my way with you the whole kriffin' night and then in the morning it waives off. How would you feel then?" Theron gaped at him. "Yeah, thought so." And then he turned to leave. The whole interaction was so disturbing, that Theron just dropped it and vowed to forever forget this ever happened.

"Why is nothing ever easy with you?" Asking the question in such an accusing way as Theron just did, usually only had two options. Either Sinis completely lost it or he just laughed. He never knew which one it would be, seemed to be dependent on the air humidity or what. They both had slid helplessly down the side of a hill, covered in mud, grass, leaves and other nature-things from head to toe. The Knight let out a breathless laugh - so it was one of the good days.

“Well, this is one way to make an entrance,” the Jedi said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

“I swear to the Force, if you laugh one more time... -” Theron began, wiping muck out of his ears, hair, face, completely making a mess of himself which caused the Jedi to laugh even louder.

“You’ll what? Threat me with a round of mud wrestling?” The Knight laughed breathlessly, standing up as gracefully as a Jedi could when covered in more filth than usual. But somehow he looked alive and vigorous and... beautifully untamed in a very weird way that tugged at Theron's heart. The violet eyes found him and for a moment there was... something. Sinis stopped laughing and with a good-natured smile he traipsed over to Theron to help him out of his swampy location. He pulled at his hand to get him on an even grassy patch and Theron might completely accidentally stumbled into Sinis' embrace. He was probably as subtle as a dewback and the Jedi looked at him with a small genuine smile in his eyes. Ah, kriff.

Theron should’ve known better than to agree to a "low-key" infiltration at a fancy dinner party. Especially when Sinis suggested it. Now, here they were, both wearing the most uncomfortable formal clothes imaginable, mingling with enemy spies. “How is this supposed to help us get intel again?” Theron muttered under his breath, fake-smiling at a passing guest.

“We blend in,” Sinis replied with an easygoing smile, sipping his ominously foaming drink. “You’re blending in terribly.” Sinis for once, was clean. Shaven, his hair combed and slicked back, wearing a nice suit. He looked actually really good, attractive even and the spy didn't like at all the weird flip his heart made at the sight of him. "You could at least try to look less uncomfortable", the Jedi teased him again.

Theron frowned. “This suit doesn’t even fit right!” Sinis chuckled, violet eyes sparkling with mirth.

“You look fine. Relax. It’s not like anyone’s going to notice you’re sweating in your pants.” Theron shot him a look.

“Not helpful.” Especially not helpful was that small smile again.

"I'm sorry, no really, don't pull such a face, Shan. Come, dance with me." Theron's brain kind of short-circuited. NOT HELPFUL.

Both of them moved cautiously through the ruins, their gaze scanning the weathered stone walls and crumbling pillars. The mission had gone smoothly - until it didn't. They’d infiltrated an enemy stronghold deep in Imperial territory, tasked with disabling the facility’s main power source, classic standard sabotage job. But under the Imperial structures was an ancient building of unknown purpose, which seemingly was the place of aforementioned power source. Intel was just shit sometimes.

Rough accidents and hilarious situations aside, Master Auksinis had proven to be a solid partner, someone Theron could rely on, despite their... complicated history. In which at some point the aloof Knight had become Sinis. The Jedi’s presence was calm, focused. His lightsaber had sliced through enemies with a practiced precision, and his insights into the ancient texts and traps had been invaluable. Nonetheless Theron could tell that the Jedi wasn't happy about their discovery as well even though they had made good progress.

Until they found it.

The ancient torture device loomed in the dim chamber, dark and cold, its purpose unmistakable. Theron wasn’t familiar with it, but something about the way Sinis froze beside him, his usual steady breathing faltering for a second, told him that the Jedi knew exactly what it was.

Theron glanced at him, expecting the usual distance to everything around. But there was something different now. Sinis’ jaw was tight, his shoulders stiff, and his eyes - usually steady and composed - had a shadow behind them. He wasn’t panicking, wasn’t falling apart, but he was... shaken.

"Hey," Theron said, keeping his voice casual. "You alright?"

Sinis didn’t look at him, which was never a good sign. "We should keep moving."

That was all. No explanation, no hesitation in his voice. Just the same determination that had carried them through the mission so far. But Theron could feel the shift. Sinis was still there, still reliable, but something had changed. It was like the air around him had grown heavier, darker.

Theron didn’t push it. They had that damn generator to find and switch off, and whatever was haunting Sinis, now wasn’t the time to pry. They continued deeper into the ruins, the narrow corridors and ancient murals leading them to a vast underground chamber.

As they approached, the temperature dropped suddenly, and the chamber's shadows seemed to shift unnaturally. Theron’s instincts flared - danger.

"Something’s wrong," he muttered, hand already moving toward his blaster.

Sinis’ lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss, the teal glow cutting through the dark. "Stay sharp."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the shadows began to coalesce into something tangible. Dark creatures, vaguely humanoid, twisted and snarled as they emerged from the corners of the room. They were fast, unnaturally so, and came at them with a frenzied aggression.

Theron fired, his blaster shots precise, but the creatures kept coming. There were too many.

"Go for the next corridor!" Sinis shouted, his lightsaber cutting through the darkness as he took up a defensive stance. "I’ll hold them off!"

Theron didn’t argue. He knew better than to waste time in the middle of a fight. Darting towards the hallway, he dodged and weaved between the creatures, his blaster taking down a few as he got closer.

But then something slammed into him - a shadowy form that knocked him off balance. He hit the ground hard, his breath knocked out of him as the creature loomed over him, claws reaching for his throat. A cold grasp weaved around his neck and blocked his airway. His blaster had fallen from his hand and he blindly padded on the ground to find it, while trying to fend off the thing. His vision slowly turned blurry and for a split second, the spy thought this was how it ended. 

Suddenly, Sinis was there. The Jedi’s lightsaber sliced clean through the creature, its body dissolving into dark mist as the Jedi turned to face Theron.

"You okay?" Sinis asked, offering a hand to help him up, his voice steadier now, though his face remained tight with whatever still haunted him.

Theron blinked. He let Sinis to help him up, grabbing his blaster. Bending over nearly made him dizzy and he felt the other man's hands on his shoulder and arm to steady him. "Yeah, I’m fine."

Sinis’ gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before he nodded, turning back towards the room they had come from, assessing the danger. "We should go now."

Theron stood there, catching his breath for a moment, watching him. Something was still off - something about that torture device had rattled the Jedi in a way he hadn’t expected. But even so, Sinis had risked his own safety to save him.

"Thanks," Theron said, his voice a bit softer than usual.

The Knight didn’t look at him, just gave a small nod. "Let’s find and shut down this damn generator and get the kriff out of here."

They moved quickly to outrun the shadows until their path ended suddenly. Theron groaned. “We don’t have time to find another way,” he complained, pacing the edge of the broken bridge. They were stuck, no way forward and behind them an army of smoke zombies or whatever the kriff those things were. “I hate this,” he added, more to himself than to the Jedi.

“I’ll handle it,” Sinis said, already looking at the gap like he was calculating the jump in his mind. It wasn’t an impossible distance for someone with his skill, but still - it was dangerous, and if he missed or mistimed it, there wouldn’t be a second chance. Theron felt the adrenaline surging through him.

“You can’t be serious,” Theron shot back, grabbing the Jedi by the arm before he could move. “If you jump and don’t make it, that’s it. We’re screwed. You’re screwed.”

Sinis turned to him, his expression unreadable but something fierce burning in his eyes. “It’s the only way. The enemy’s closing in, and we need to shut down that generator, or this entire mission’s a failure.” His voice was steady, but Theron saw something flicker behind the Jedi’s calm. Fear? Determination? 

Or something else.

"You go stealth," the Jedi looked around "maybe there." He pointed at a barely visible and dark alcove. Theron wanted to argue, wanted to stop him, but he knew there wasn’t time. If anyone could pull off the impossible, it was the Knight. Still, the thought of watching him leap into that abyss, potentially to his death, made Theron's heart plummet.

Before he could say anything, Sinis stepped closer. “Theron,” he said, quieter this time, and for a moment, Theron saw past the mask Sinis always wore - the emotional distance, the aloofness, the control - and saw the raw emotion beneath.

And then, without warning, the man leaned in and kissed him.

It was quick, almost desperate, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission or explanations. Theron froze, his mind blank, caught completely off guard. Still, he reciprocated only a fraction of time later, deepening the kiss, opening his lips. It only lasted a few seconds until the Jedi pulled back, his gaze steady but intense.

“I’ll come back,” Sinis said, his voice softer now but no less resolute. “I promise.”

Theron opened his mouth to say something - anything - but no words came out. All he could do was nod, his blood pressure in the kriffing sky, high as a kite on adrenaline, as he watched Sinis turn and sprint toward the edge of the chasm. Without hesitating, the Jedi leapt, the air seeming to still for a moment as he sailed over the gap, landing on the other side.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The steady sound of rain in the night was soothing, only enhanced by the rhythmic sound of Arcann's breathing as he slept silently beside the pale Cathar. Lightning erratically broke through the luxurious bedroom, casting harshly outlined patterns on the dark walls, but even that short illumination was swallowed by the black sheets and pillows. The warrior lay on his back in his bed that was positioned towards the gigantic windows, eyes open, staring into the dark stormy abyss of the night, thoughts as restless as the perpetual thunderstorm scattered across the sky over Dromund Kaas outside. 

Arcann was sound asleep, his bare chest rising and falling with a calm that unsettled the Sith. Peace - a word that felt foreign, almost offensive. Peace was a tool for the weak, an empty word in the former Jedi Order, the complacent remnants of once powerful foes. Yet, here Arcann was, lying vulnerably beside him, completely unguarded, trusting. Trust. Xordarr felt a twinge of something in his chest, sharp and unpleasant. Dangerous.

It was supposed to be control, the Sith thought. The seduction, the subtle coercion, luring the prey in your spiraling web - it had all been carefully crafted. Every touch, every whispered word, a stare, a hand on the back, meticulously calculated to make Arcann fall for him, to bind him with invisible threads of desire and loyalty. Power. Arcann had power, and power was all the warrior ever craved.

But now, with Arcann sleeping so peacefully beside him, the cold, detached logic he'd relied on felt distant. Twisted, like caught in an adhesive web that bound the catch the more it struggled to escape.

Passion - that was the lifeblood of the Sith, the fuel that ignited strength and power. Passion was raw, consuming, a push to surpass every limit, conquer every obstacle. The Sith Code glorified it. But attachment? Attachment was tangled, sticky, like a chain that bound his will, similar to the possession that held the outskirts of his sanity hostage. Passion was empowering because it could be controlled, directed like a blade to cut through weakness.

Attachment, however, driven into the soul with the double-sided knife of possession, a twisted ownership, that was treacherous - it made him hesitate, made him a prisoner of his emotions. The Sith teachings taught him to use passion to ultimately break free, but attachment threatened to make him bound - not to power, but to someone else. And wasn’t that the ultimate weakness? Being beholden to someone who could be taken from you?

He told himself he didn't care for the other man, again and again, as if the repetition would solidify the truth. He was not like Arcann, who sought connection and closeness. No. He was above all that - above the love the former Emperor confessed.

Yet, the longer he lay there, the more the denial felt like a lie. He could feel the heat from Arcann's body next to him, a warmth that radiated into Xordarr's own flesh. Attachment makes everyone vulnerable. Attachment is the death of power. That’s what he had been taught. It’s what had kept him strong, ruthless. He had sworn to never let his emotions dictate his actions, only to channel them into hatred and guide the Force.

He had power over Arcann, certainly, but now he wondered if Arcann had power over him too. A different kind of power, one that wasn’t based on manipulation or fear. Invisible chains, not held by calculating thoughts and cold hands but with a warm string directly extended from the heart.

And... he had let Arcann into his bed.

His eyes flickered toward the sleeping form. Even though he couldn't clearly see them, he knew Arcann's features were softer in sleep, free of the intensity and scars that defined his waking presence. His trust, his belief in this imagined partnership - it would be so easy to destroy. One word, one betrayal, and Arcann would be shattered. But the warrior hadn’t betrayed him, not yet.

And that was what troubled him most.

He closed his eyes, trying to drown the ugly emotions threatening to surface, the ones that made him feel unsafe in his own skin and mind. Vulnerable. Why didn't he send him away? He had tasted the sweet passion, conquered the other man like a battlefield, easily, so easy, drained Arcann's strength and willpower. But the Cathar also had been intentionally gentle, considerate and careful to not scare Arcann away when all his work of getting him there finally yield results. Had asked for consent and checked if the other felt good all the steps on the way - to earn him panted yes'es, nervous chuckles and hitched breaths. Had caressed all the skin he wanted to own, licked the fingers that trailed over his face, cradled the body he wanted to intrude and kissed all the parts that he'd obsessed over.

It had been sweet. Arcann was completely inexperienced and to be able to lay a claim that intimate on a man so powerful and feared by millions was worth the risk of letting himself fall into the pleasure of passion as well. At least it made sense in that moment where his mind had been flooded with the human's warmth, scent and touch.

And after the victory over both of their bodies, when the satisfaction tired their bones, when the human's eyelids had fluttered closed with the contentment to be with someone who thought he was safe with - safe with the former Wrath of all people - the warrior had done nothing. Had pulled the pliant and exhausted man into his arms and hold him like he cared for him. Called him soft pet names like sweetheart and darling and made him believe he cared for him.

He could have ordered Arcann to return to his own chambers. Could have been cruel. Could have been hurtful. Could have been cold. But he wasn't. Hadn't wanted to. He had looked at the red-bitten lips and the sweat-sheen skin, the still flushed face and gave in to... compassion. And wasn't that hilarious.

His chest tightened painfully at the thought, a low and gnawing discomfort clawing at the edges of his carefully built walls. Emotions he thought he had himself trained not having, peeled away the protective circle around the balance of his mind. He had formed... an attachment. As much as he tried to deny it, there was no other word for what he felt. An attachment that threatened to undermine everything.

The risk that he always was aware of in the dark corners of his mind - the risk of losing control - wavered under the thin veil of his sanity. What did it say about him, that he had let Arcann in - not just into his bed but into something deeper, something he had never wanted to allow? It felt like poison, something that could rot him from the inside.

No, he thought angry at himself, this is the ultimate control. If Arcann loved him and was convinced he was loved back, he would be even easier to... guide... and to order.

He turned his gaze back to Arcann, who genuinely had confessed his feelings, who had willingly handed himself over - kneeling - into the grip of his conqueror, who had bared his throat to a Sith with sharp canines, who looked at him like he'd hang moon and stars. In that moment, the warrior wondered if he had already crossed a line that could never be undone. If he had allowed something more untamed, more risky, more destructive.

And if it really started when he had kissed Arcann for the first time with the clear intent to tighten his grip on him or even earlier? And if it really started earlier - had it been him, who started it in the first place?

The rhythm of Arcann’s breathing, the excitement over his warm vulnerability, the calmness in his presence, the sweetness of his touches made it harder and harder to cling to the believe that attachment was the ultimate weakness he needed to get rid of.

Xordarr reached out with one hand to the sleeping man, who instinctively burrowed closer, nosing tenderly over the fur on the Sith's upper arm before gliding into sleep again. All the warrior dared to do was laying there and overthinking the terrifying possibility that his control - not over Arcann, but over himself alone - had slipped at some point without him realizing it.

Chapter Text

The Warrior leaned against the cold wall, arms crossed, watching as Arcann moved with precise, fluid motions across the room. The hum of his lightsaber sliced through the air in a steady rhythm, a quiet, almost meditative exercise. The Sith had seen such drills countless times, yet there was something in the way Arcann moved that made it different. It wasn’t the aggression the Sith had come to expect. It was calm, centered. Typical boring Ataru with a sprinkle of Shien - the few extras thrown in were a legacy to Zakuul's unique "side-less" grip on the Force. Xordarr itched to show him new, better forms but suppressed it. Another time maybe. 

He could feel the Force stirring between them, its song more vibrant when Arcann was near. The Sith hated how it felt - warm, balanced, so far from the raw power and rage he usually summoned. And yet, he couldn’t look away. He told himself it was curiosity, that watching Arcann tinker with his lightsaber between exercises was simply part of keeping tabs on his... ally, ensuring he remained useful.

The Force pulsed softly in the background, humming with a new energy, an unexpected harmony. The Sith could feel it in his bones, in his blood - a warmth that crept in despite his best efforts to resist it. Arcann’s presence shifted the way the Force responded to him, smoothing its sharp edges, and it was driving Xordarr mad.

Arcann paused mid-movement, glancing back over his shoulder. "You’re staring. Again."

The Sith stiffened, narrowing his eyes. "I’m watching."

Arcann chuckled softly, a sound that sent an inexplicable warmth spreading through the Sith’s chest. His voice had a quiet confidence, low and smooth, and for just a moment, the Sith’s gaze lingered on the curve of his mouth, remembering how his lips felt. He should have looked away. Missed the right moment. Passion flickered inside him - dangerous, but welcome this time.

"You say you’re watching, but your eyes are saying something else," Arcann added, a flirt playing at the edge of his voice as he turned back to his lightsaber.

The Sith’s jaw clenched, heat rising in his chest, not just from anger, but from a disarming fondness that surprised even him. The Force, always buzzing between them, felt heavier now than even in their battles before, charged with an energy he didn’t want to acknowledge. He could feel Arcann’s presence so vividly, so close, and it made his pulse quicken in a way only this one man could. It made him want to hold his weapon. Ignite it. Slash through something. Someone. 

The Sith’s fingers flexed, curling into fists at his side. He was in control, he reminded himself. This is just part of the game. But as Arcann focused on his lightsaber with a cute frown between his eyes, poking his tongue out in concentration, making fine adjustments, exchanging his colour crystal. The Sith’s couldn't avert his eyes. Arcann’s movements were intricate, graceful, and the air between them seemed to spark, charged with a new erotic sensuality in addition to the usual interplay of power, now that they also shared a bed. But not only that. Passion didn’t need to be sexually loaded, but Xordarr had made it that way. Deliberately.

"Do you ever tire of playing this game?" Arcann asked, his tone an amicable teasing but with an edge of curiosity.

The Sith could feel the heat rise in his cheeks, and it made him furious - at himself, at Arcann, at the way the Force seemed to tighten around them like a shackle. But as the anger surged, it wasn’t the kind of rage he could usually command. There was something in the way that made him hesitate.

"I don’t play games," the Sith said, his voice harsher than intended.

Arcann smiled and winked, just enough to stoke the fire inside the Sith further. "If you say so."

The Sith hated that smile, hated how it made the air between them vibrate with tension. He hated how his mind wandered to the proximity of Arcann’s body and how it could make them feel. Hated, that he craved it. 

And yet, despite that anger, he felt the Force hum - not with rage, but quieter, though it still made his heart beat faster for reasons entirely different than combat. Arcann was close enough now that the Sith could sense every shift in his energy, every movement he made like a ripple in the Force.

Arcann hesitated, glancing down at his lightsaber for a moment before speaking. “I haven’t felt the Force this way in a long time,” he admitted, his voice softer now, tinged with something raw. “Not since Thexan.” He looked intendly at his hand holding his lightsaber. "Something in me died with him. I murdered a part of myself that day. My connection to the Force was splintered, I didn't have had this link until I met you and our... we... connected. Like I was connected to my twin."

The Sith’s breath caught. He had never expected Arcann to bring up Thexan, the brother he’d lost. The brother he had loved. The brother he had killed. And now, here was Arcann, standing before him, baring a part of himself the Sith had never expected. For just a moment, the Warrior felt something like guilt - a foreign, unwanted emotion that crept in despite his usual defenses. He should have struck it down, buried it like everything else, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

"You are doing this on purpose," the Sith muttered in a sudden realization, half to himself, barely audible. "You think I'm yours."

Arcann’s eyes held his, steady and calm. "Do I?"

The Sith faltered, his mind spinning in circles. The more the Force sang between them, the more he felt the truth creeping in, undeniable and terrifying. He had been right all along, the fear he had in the dead of night confirmed in all its brutal glory.

He wasn’t losing control over Arcann or the situation or the Force. He was losing control over himself.

Chapter Text

Theron Shan stopped in the doorway of the medium-sized command room on the Carrick Station, taking in all the beeping and blinking from the consoles. The holomap hummed softly, casting an eerie blue glow across the room. He entered the room and hoisted himself on one of the empty tables, letting his crossed legs dangle. Aric Jorgan stood rigid in front of the holomap, his arms crossed and eyes fixed on the projection of one Arcann’s battle forces. Theron hadn’t seen him in years - not since before the galaxy turned upside down.

He braced himself for what was coming, choosing to wait rather than say anything first. Jorgan wasn’t one to waste time on pleasantries, especially not now. When the Cathar finally glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed slightly, like Theron’s presence was just another reminder of how bad things had gotten.

"Been a long time, Shan," Jorgan said, his voice gruff.

"Too long," Theron replied, keeping his tone neutral. He sat up a little straighter, though still trying to seem casual, knowing what was probably coming next. Jorgan had every right to be angry. "Heard you stayed with the Republic. Things must be rough."

Aric scoffed, turning back to the holomap. "More like impossible. But I didn’t run off to join the Commander’s merry band of misfits - the former Barsen'thor." He practically spat the title, making Theron frown.

Theron exhaled through his nose, but his gaze was angry. "I didn’t run. I made a choice. Just like you did." 

"Is that why you’re here?" the Cathar shot back. "To explain your choices to me?"

Theron shook his head. "Negative, sir. I’m here because we need you, Aric. Arcann’s tearing the galaxy apart, as you can see." He tipped his head toward the holomap. "We’re not going to win this war alone."

Frustration flickered across Jorgan’s face. "You can’t seriously think siding with the Barsen’thor is the answer," he said abruptly. "You know what she’s become, Theron. She’s not the Jedi we thought she was. She’s..." He paused, searching for the word, "...dangerous. Vicious, even."

Theron clenched his jaw, his calm exterior threatening to crack. "She’s the only one who can take on Arcann, Jorgan. No one else stands a chance."

"And at what cost?" Jorgan’s voice turned harsh. "You’re just going to follow her blindly, like she’s the savior of the galaxy? I’ve seen what she does. How many people she’s hurt. She’s no better than Arcann, and you know it! Aren’t you worried for your own safety?"

Theron felt a surge of anger rising in his chest, but he held it back, voice lowering. "I’ve heard this before," he snapped and looked away, the weight of the past hanging on his words. "This is exactly the reason why I..." He stopped himself, swallowing the rest of his sentence, his mind flicking back to someone else. Someone who had argued the same. The air between them grew thick with unspoken words. Jorgan watched him, his eyes narrowing.

Biting his lip, Theron refused to elaborate. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - bring up what had happened. The Barsen’thor had been part of it, yes, but it wasn’t the whole truth. "Look," he said, trying to refocus. "We don’t have time for this. We need to focus on Arcann. The Barsen’thor might be ruthless, but without her, there’s no winning this war."

Jorgan’s face turned from unhappy to anguish, but he didn’t press further. For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and filled with a pain Theron recognized all too well. "She’s gone, Theron."

Theron swallowed hard, not needing to ask who he meant. Meteor. Unlike her callsign, her real name hung unspoken between them, a shared loss that neither of them had quite processed.

"I know," Theron said quietly, his heart aching as he remembered the beautiful woman, the unstoppable soldier, who had been so important to Aric Jorgan, Jonas Balkar, the Republic and with the stability she provided, also to the SIS and him. "She was one of the best. She could’ve taken on Arcann."

Jorgan's knuckles turned white, when his fists clenched. "She wasn’t just the best. She was everything."

Theron nodded, his mind drifting back to all the times they’d fought together. Balkar, usually never the jealous type, had gushed for hours about her flaming red hair and what a lucky bastard Jorgan was for bagging the beautiful Mirialan trooper. Meteor had been loyal, witty, fearless, always charging headfirst into danger with a grin on her face and fire in her eyes. He could still see her cracking jokes in the heat of battle, lifting their spirits when things looked grim.

"I remember," Theron said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You remember that mission on Hutta? With Jonas?"

Jorgan grunted, and for a split second, the tension in the room eased. "Yeah. She talked Balkar into dressing up as a pirate to get past the Hutt’s guards."

Theron chuckled softly. "Jonas never lived that one down. I swear he still gets twitchy when someone mentions pirates." Jorgan’s smile was brief, but it faded quickly. The weight of the moment returned, settling back between them like a cloud.

Thinking about what Jorgan had lost, Theron’s chest tightened. The soldier's wife had disappeared - no trace, no word, just gone, swallowed by the chaos of the galaxy. Theron had seen her last not long before, still vibrant, still unstoppable, before everything went dark. He waited quietly as Jorgan stared at the holomap, lost in thought. Theron had his own memories of her, but it was clear Jorgan was remembering something more personal.

"You know," Jorgan started, his voice coming from far away like the times past these old battles, "there was this one time, a mission on Balmorra. Things got real messy. I ended up pinned by some thug who thought he had the upper hand." He glanced at Theron, a grim smile on his lips. "The guy had me at blaster-point, and you know what he says to her?" Theron raised an eyebrow, listening intently.

"He says, ‘If you try anything, I’ll shoot him.’ like I'm some kriffing damsel in distress. That idiot had watched too many holo novels, thought he had it all figured out, like he’d cornered me." Jorgan’s smile turned a little sharper. "Before I can even think of a way out, Meteor just steps out of cover, cool as a cucumber, lines up her shot, and fires - right at his gun arm." The spy laughed softly, seeing it play out in his mind.

"The guy’s blaster hits the ground, and he’s standing there, clutching his arm, too stunned to react. And Meteor? She just stares him down and says, ‘I want to see you try.’" Aric’s voice softened at the end, his eyes distant as he remembered. "She saved my ass more times than I care to admit. Never backed down from a fight. She always had my back."

Theron smiled. "Sounds like her. Always knew how to keep things… interesting."

Jorgan’s voice turned rough again, a mix of pride and grief when he spoke again. "Yeah, she did. I would do anything to get her back. Anything. If she’s alive out there, I’ll tear apart Arcann’s entire empire to find her."

Theron didn’t reply immediately. He knew from the classified files what Aric had been through. Knew the results from the psych eval, his stubborn disregard. Jorgan would never be able to move on, Cathar partnered for life. Theron’s own thoughts turned to the person he had lost. The guilt was familiar. It wasn't in the same way, but the emptiness he carried felt just as heavy.

"I know you would," Theron finally said, his voice quiet. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "And maybe you will. If there’s any way to find her, we’ll do it."

Jorgan gave him a sharp look. "You say that, but you don’t know what it’s like to lose her. You don’t-... " He stopped himself, as if something clicked in his mind, and the sharpness in his gaze softened. "Or… maybe you do."

Theron’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t intended to let anything slip, but Jorgan wasn’t a fool - otherwise he'd never made it to Major. He could read situations, enemies, people, and right now, he was seeing straight through the spy.

Jorgan frowned, the weight of realization dawning. "Weren't you with...?" He looked into Theron's face but never finished the sentence when he saw a shadow of the agony there. "What happened?" Theron looked away, the painful memories flashing through his mind. He didn’t say anything, didn’t confirm or deny. He couldn’t bring himself to speak of it yet. The wound was still too raw, the regret too deep.

"I made a choice," Theron finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I thought it was for the best." Aric's eyes seemed to soften, just a little, the anger fading from his expression.

"And was it?"

Theron didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The truth was, he didn’t know. But it was too late to change any of it now.

Jorgan sighed, running a hand over his face. "We’ve all lost something in this war, haven’t we?"

"Yeah," Theron said softly. "We have."

Finally, Jorgan broke the silence, his voice quieter, more resigned, as if the fight had been slowly draining out of him. "If taking down Arcann gets me even one step closer to finding her," he said, his gaze still fixed on the shifting shapes of enemy forces, "then I’m in. I’ll help you, Shan. But not for you. For her."

"Thank you, Aric." Theron met his eyes with quiet gratitude, his voice soft but sincere, but as he said it, his mind drifted elsewhere - back to the one he had loved, the one who had meant everything. Would he ever see him again? Theron didn’t know. And he didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it right now. There was a war to fight. A war without Meteor, a war they weren’t sure they could win. He pushed those thoughts aside. There would be time for regret later.

"I’ve set up a rendezvous point for you to talk to the Commander, Aric," Theron said, shifting back to business, his mind already spinning with strategy. Jorgan nodded, his expression hardened once more, slipping back into the no-nonsense soldier Theron remembered.

"We might be on Zakuul by next standard week." Theron raised an eyebrow, catching the hint of something in Jorgan’s voice.

"Havoc going rogue?"

Jorgan shook his head, lips tightening into a thin line. "Negative. But… we’ll do whatever it takes to keep moving forward. To keep the fight going, right?"

Theron nodded, trying to ignore the kernel of doubt in his own mind. He was already thinking two, three steps ahead, mentally mapping out the next mission, trying to account for every variable, every possible outcome. But a small voice nagged at the back of his mind, a voice that questioned the choices he made. He couldn’t help but wonder if bringing Havoc Squad into the Commander’s grasp was the right call. He knew what the former Barsen'thor was capable of - how unpredictable, how ruthless she could be. And Jorgan’s team was loyal, disciplined. Havoc Squad followed orders, but they weren’t prepared for someone like her.

What if he was doing them a disservice? What if this mission - this alliance - put them all at risk in ways they couldn’t see yet? His track record with life-changing decisions hadn’t exactly been stellar lately. For all his planning, for all his careful maneuvering, there was always that one variable he couldn’t control. The people he cared about seemed to pay the price more often than not. He didn’t want Jorgan or his squad to be the next casualties. But there was no turning back now. "We’ll keep going," Theron said, more to himself than to Jorgan, though his voice was steady. "One step at a time."

Jorgan grunted in agreement, his voice broke the silence again, quieter this time. "Meteor wouldn’t have wanted this. She would have hated this whole mess, the galaxy tearing itself apart." His gaze faltered for a second, warm and desperate in a way Theron never saw before. "She'd have found a way to fix it. To save us."

Both men wallowed in unhappiness, the name hanging heavy in the air between them. Meteor had always found a way - whether it was by thinking bolder and bigger in the middle of battle or pulling off a crazy stunt that no one else would dare attempt. She’d been more than just a trooper. She was the kind of person who made everything around her better, even in the worst of times.

"Yeah," Theron said quietly. "She would have."

And in that moment, the weight of her absence felt sharper than ever.

Chapter Text

It took Theron an embarrassingly long time to realize he was taken in by a legend.

After they relocated from Nathema to Coruscant where Sinis seemed to own a "tiny apartment" as Doc jokingly called it, Theron quickly discovered it was anything but small. The so-called apartment housed a vast library, a pretty garden, and comfortable quarters that spoke more to an elusive figure of myth than a humble Jedi. Sinis wasn’t just another survivor of war. He was someone who moved through history like a beacon, leaving fragments of light behind - whispers, rumors, and half-forgotten tales of a Jedi once spoken of in reverence, now cloaked in mystery. Some even thought he was gone, missing or dead, like the CO of Havoc, Darth Imperius, the Champion of the Great Hunt or the Voidhound. All the legends in the galaxy, erased. 

There wasn't much to do before Theron could begin with physical therapy and training, which always seemed to be starting next week. Whenever he asked Doc when he could go to the shooting range or maybe for a run it was "Let's check next week, buddy." and that was it. Frustrating.

To occupy himself, he investigated on his saviour. The spy spent hours combing through the holonet, cross-referencing records and backdoor access points that should’ve led to details, trying to dig up information about the man he lived with now. It was like trying to piece together a treasure map from scattered, half-burnt scrolls. Most of the hacking was muscle memory but he was missing the codes and passes, so he couldn't dig deep enough. Every lead ended with classified data, restricted by passcodes he couldn’t break without tools. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t penetrate the veil surrounding the Jedi. It was as if someone had deliberately erased parts of his history, sealing away the full truth — hiding the legend himself. It almost looked protective and given the unknown fates of all the Galactic Legends aside from the reigning Barsen'thor. 

Sure, he know that Auksinis been on the Jedi Council. Why he stepped back? Classified. His relationship to the Barsen'thor? Classified. To the Grand Master of the Order? Classified. And those pieces of news footage of the famous Jedi Knight who took the most dangerous missions in flowing robes from years ago, only to be replaced by images of him with a hardened face, scruff, and an unhappy frown in more recent times, with a void in the middle where nearly a year in between was missing. Why? Classified. A hero who had once held the galaxy’s attention before retreating into obscurity. But no details, no explanations. Classified, classified, classified. Theron grunted annoyed at his data console in the rich and big library section of the apartment.

His frustration took him into the garden, where he often sat and just rested, it would help to get in a better mood. The sun was dipping low on the horizon, casting long, golden rays across the lush plants maintained on the balcony. It wasn’t huge, but a pretty patch of greenery amidst the towering durasteel and glass structures of the city, with colorful trees, bushes and flowers. Theron often found himself sitting here, among the blooming plants and the gentle hum of traffic from far below, trying to piece together the fragments of his shattered memory.

The move from Nathema had been a welcome change. The oppressive atmosphere of the desolate planet had weighed heavily on him, making every breath feel like a struggle. Here, on Coruscant, the air was lighter, the sky vibrant  instead of the sickly environment he’d become accustomed to. It was a place where he could heal, or at least try to. The apartment itself was a comfortable space, modern and well-furnished, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light. It quickly became Theron’s refuge. He spent a fair amount of time soaking in the warmth of the sun, his thoughts meandering through the haze of his amnesia.

And seemingly today was one of those days. He had settled into his usual spot on a stone bench, leaning back and letting the sunlight bathe his face, slipping into a light meditiation to cleanse himself from the disappointment of his research. The sounds of the city were low, muffled by the distance, and the garden felt almost peaceful. Almost. There was still a lingering tension in him, a sense of something lost that he couldn’t quite grasp. He knew he was missing pieces of himself - memories, feelings, connections. It was like looking at a puzzle with half the pieces missing, trying to make sense of the picture.

Theron was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of voices drifting from inside the apartment. He recognized them immediately - Doc and Auksinis. The two had been in and out of the apartment frequently, keeping an eye on his recovery, though they had given him plenty of space as well. While Doc seemed to have a place somewhere else in the city, Sinis lived here, only left him when he went on errands here and there, but he trained, worked and slept in the flat.

Doc, ever the sunny, boisterous presence, had a way of filling any room with energy. Sinis, on the other hand, was more reserved, his demeanor often guarded, though there was an underlying warmth that Theron couldn’t help but notice. 

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as the voices grew louder, curiosity got the better of him. He quietly stood up and walked toward the open sliding door that connected the staircase to the garden. What he heard made him pause just inside the stairway leading down to the area that served as a mixture between cafeteria and kitchen.

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to put on that holoseries again, at least warn a guy,” Doc was saying, his voice filled with exaggerated exasperation. “I swear, I lost brain cells from the last episode. Who writes that stuff?”

Sinis’ laughter followed, a sound so rare that Theron was caught off guard. He made his way further down the hallway, curious, and finally spotted the two in the kitchen. “You wouldn’t have lasted a day in the field if you can’t handle a little mindless entertainment.”

“I don’t know how you watch it! Are you secretly training to endure boredom as a kind of torture, or is this some weird Jedi mental exercise?” Doc retorted, hands animated as he spoke.

Sinis’ grin widened, still laughing. “It’s called appreciating nuance, Doc. Maybe you just don’t get it.”

“Nuance? Seriously? The lead character barely has two brain cells to rub together!” Doc said, throwing his hands up in mock frustration. “I’ve seen better acting from a malfunctioning droid!”

“Come on, the plot twist with the bounty hunter was pretty clever,” Sinis shot back, still grinning.

Doc scoffed. “Clever? I saw that coming from parsecs away. And don’t even get me started on the dialogue. It’s like someone mashed a datapad with a rancor!”

Sinis shrugged, crossing his arms. “Sometimes it’s just about enjoying the ride.” His smile was wide and carefree, a stark contrast to the serious, sometimes haunted expression Theron had grown accustomed to. He couldn't look away. The spy watched them, unnoticed, as they bantered back and forth. Doc was leaning casually against the counter, waving a half-empty cup of caf around as he spoke. Sinis stood across from him, his arms over his chest, but the usual tension in his posture was gone. He looked… relaxed. Happy.

Something shifted inside Theron, a gentle but profound realization that settled into his heart. Watching Sinis laugh, seeing the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, how the lines of worry on his face softened in that moment - Theron realized he was feeling something for this man. Or perhaps, he thought with a pang he couldn’t quite name, he was feeling something again. But it wasn’t a desperate, confusing rush of emotions. It was quiet, warm, like the sunlight that filtered through the garden’s leaves. It was seeing someone as they truly were, beyond the pain, beyond the masks they wore. It was recognizing something in the Jedi that called out to him, a sense of belonging, of connection, that went deeper than memory.

Theron didn’t know how long he stood there, watching them. It felt like both an eternity and a single, fleeting moment. Eventually, Sinis caught sight of him standing in the doorway. His laughter faded, but the smile remained, a gentle curve of his lips that sent a warmth spreading through Theron’s chest.

Auksinis eyes locked onto his with a flicker of something deep and familiar. Without a word, without thinking, the Jedi moved toward him, like instinct. Theron felt his breath hitch as the Jedi closed the distance between them, and suddenly, their foreheads were pressed together, Sinis' hand softly in his neck. It was intimate, natural - like a reflex buried deep within them. Theron’s heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, it felt like everything was right, all puzzle pieces falling in place, the picture visible for a second and gone again. Then the Knight froze, realization dawning on him, his hand dropped, and he stepped back, his expression changing into something neutral and unreadable as if remembering this wasn’t what they were doing anymore.

“Hey, you’re up,” Sinis said, his tone still soft, thoughtful but guarded. 

Doc turned around, his grin as wide as ever. “Theron! Just in time to save me from this holoseries connoisseur’s brutal critique of my entertainment choices.”

Theron smiled, a little unsure but genuine. “Sounds like I missed quite the debate.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Doc replied with a mock-serious nod. “But don’t worry, we’ve settled it. The Jedi is now officially in charge of movie nights, and I’ll stick to what I do best - a mean stitch and looking awesome.”

Sinis chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, Doc.”

“And you love it,” Doc answered, coming closer to both of them and giving Sinis a playful nudge on the shoulder. Sinis rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile creeping back onto his face. “Just don’t expect me to defend your questionable taste in shows, alright?”

Theron felt a warmth spread through him at the easy camaraderie between them, but more than that, he felt a quiet certainty settle in his chest. Watching Sinis laugh, seeing that glimpse of who he could be when the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on him - it was in that moment Theron knew. He wanted to remember this man and their relationship to each other, wanted to know him better or to re-learn him and most important - to make him laugh far more often.

--

Theron had been wrestling with his feelings for some time now - a deep, unspoken connection with Sinis that wouldn’t let him rest. He had too much time to think in the library and on the shooting range, where he was finally allowed to go.

The Jedi smiled at him and didn’t shy away from occasional touches. Sometimes, an odd routine emerged where he would bring Sinis a cup of tea, prepared just the way the Jedi liked it, without even realizing it. In one particularly remarkable moment, Theron had bid Sinis goodnight in the library while the Jedi sat at his desk. Leaning down to kiss Sinis on the cheek, he realized and stopping just in time to awkwardly ask about his work. Theron was pretty sure Sinis knew what had almost happened and had decided to ignore it. He had been holding back, unsure of how to approach it, but the uncertainty was eating away at him.

Another time, he accidentally walked into the wrong bedroom. It was only when he noticed the unfamiliar angle of his view from the bed that he realized he had stumbled into another of those memory patterns. It was then that Theron started to suspect his feelings might not be a secret to Sinis and perhaps weren’t unrequited.

He found the man in question in his library, bend over a table with several ancient artifacts he seemed to study, turning them in his hands. “Sinis,” Theron said, his voice tight. “We need to talk.”

The Jedi didn’t turn around, his shoulders tense as he continued with whatever task he was pretending to focus on. “About what?”

Theron hesitated, searching for the right words. “Do you… have we... were ever… were we close? Before I lost my memory?”

Sinis’ hand paused in its work, his back still turned to Theron. “Why do you ask?”

“I can’t explain it,” Theron said, frustration seeping into his voice. “But every time I’m around you, I feel something. It’s like… like I’ve felt this way before. But I don’t remember. And it’s driving me crazy not knowing.”

Sinis finally turned to face Theron, his expression carefully guarded. “You’re confused, Theron. It’s normal, given what you’ve been through. Don’t read too much into it.” He smiled a smile that didn't reach his violet eyes.

Theron frowned, dissatisfied with the answer. “You’re avoiding the question. I’m asking if we were more than just comrades or friends. Were we together… like a couple?”

Sinis turned his head away, his walls going up, his jaw tightening. “No. We weren’t.”

Theron felt a sharp pang of disbelief, recalling the accidental routines they had shared. “You’re lying. To me of all people. Why are you lying?”

Sinis gripped the edge of the table, turning back to the artifacts. “It’s in the past. Leave it there.”

“What? You can't be kriffing serious!” Theron’s frustration boiled over as he grabbed Sinis’ arm, forcing him to face him again. “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you just tell me the truth?” 

The Jedi looked at his face, his expression a mix of anger and something deeper, something that looked like pain. “Because it doesn’t matter anymore, Theron. What’s done is done.”

Theron didn’t back down; his voice was heated. “What? It matters to me! If we were together, if we were… more than just friends, then I deserve to know.” He pressed, his frustration rising. “Are you afraid? Afraid that admitting we were together might taint your Jedi reputation? That it might make you look weak?”

Sinis’ eyes flared with anger. “That’s not it! Don’t accuse me of things you can’t know.”

“Then what?” Theron demanded, standing his ground, feeling more annoyed than he ever remembered. “What are you so afraid of? I don’t remember anything, Sinis, and it’s driving me up a kriffing wall.” Something bitter rose in his throat. “Was I just a dirty little secret? Is that why?”

The temperature in the room plummeted to a level that could rival Hoth. Sinis stepped closer, his eyes in flames with a mix of emotions - anger, pain, something deeper and more complex. Sinis didn’t answer, just looking at Theron with barely concealed emotions, his silence heavy with unspoken words. Theron realized that the Jedi was breathing deliberately measured, calming himself down. When he finally spoke, his voice was colder, more distant, but calm. “I can assure you, you have never been my dirty little secret. Don’t worry about us or our relationship before or now." Theron paled. "Focus on getting better.”

Staring at the Knight, Theron searched for any sign of the connection he felt so strongly, but all he saw was a wall, impenetrable and unyielding. The Jedi turned his back to Theron and started to tinker with his artifacts again.

“That’s it? You’re just going to shut me out?”

Auksinis didn’t respond. The silence stretched between them, cold and unresolved, until Theron couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, he stormed out of the room.

--

“Whoa there, sunshine,” Doc said, raising an eyebrow as Theron conquered the med-room like a man on a mission. “You look like someone who just seen a Houk's bathroom. Want some cute Manka kitten pics to help reset your brain?”

Theron didn't even smile, just rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm himself. “I need to know something, Doc. About… before.”

Doc’s expression shifted to something a bit more serious, but his easygoing nature didn’t completely fade. “Sure, I’ll help. But just so you know - poking at trauma can trigger all sorts of fun, like old wounds, PTSD and regrettable life choices. You sure you wanna dig in, buddy? Also, full disclosure, my memory’s only sharp for medical stuff and killer one-liners. Which one are you after?”

Theron didn’t respond to this humorous attempt either, his tone urgent. “Did Sinis and I… were we… together?”

Doc blinked, clearly caught off guard, then let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a question, isn’t it? Guess I should’ve seen this one coming.”

“Doc, please,” Theron pressed, desperation edging his voice. “I need to know.”

Doc sighed, scratching the back of his head. “Alright, alright. Yeah, you and Master Auksinis were close. Closer than a Hutt and his lunch buffet. You two… had something really special, unique even, but it was complicated.”

Theron’s heart sank. “Had? Past tense? What happened? Why did it end?”

Doc gave him a sympathetic look, though he tried to keep things light. “Theron, my man, my pal, relationships are like bacta patches - they don’t always stick the way you want ’em to. You were all about saving the galaxy, and the Jedi… well, he had his own way of seeing things.”

“Differently how?” Theron asked, needing more.

Doc hesitated, then shrugged. “Master Auksinis didn’t exactly trust the Alliance. Or the Commander. He thought you were diving headfirst into a sarlacc pit and leaving your common sense behind. He worried for your safety, which took a toll on him. He tried to stop you more than once. But hey, you were passionate. Nobody could ever say you didn’t give it your all.”

Theron frowned; the pieces still didn’t fit together. “Are you implying that I left him?” He couldn't comprehend that. Like, at all.

Doc leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “Well, it wasn’t like you packed your bags and left a goodbye note. But yeah, after they woke up the Barsen'thor, you went all-in with Lana and the Alliance. And things… well, they got rough. Sinis had been through his share of battles, seen things most people wouldn’t believe. It made him a little… prickly.” The humor drained from Doc's face as he turned serious. "He couldn’t follow you, Theron. It would’ve destroyed him. And that’s not just me talking as your friend - that’s a medical observation."

Theron’s brow furrowed. “What kind of battles?” Doc looked away, clearly dodging the question. “Let’s just say the Jedi had more than his fair share of close calls. Some scars don’t show on the outside, y’know?”

Theron’s frustration mounted. “But what did I do? Why did he push me away?”

Doc met his gaze, void of any humor, showing only sincerity. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Theron. You were doing what you thought was right. The Jedi… well, he’s always been the stoic type, and when you left, he took it hard. But he understood, even if he didn’t like it. One thing’s for sure, though - he never pushed you away. I’d stake my degrees on it. I know it's a bitter pill - no one knows that better than I do - but that’s solely on you.”

Doc hesitated, as if unsure how much more he could say. “You know, the two of you… you had something legendary together. Something people talked about.” He gave a small, half-smile. “I’d hear stories. Even the other Jedi would mention it - the way you two fought together, worked together. It was like you could read each other’s minds. You were partners, Theron. Real ones. Not everyone gets that.”

The words hit Theron like a physical blow, and he had to sit down on the small stool next to the med bed. Doc turned around to rummage through a drawer, facing him again after he found what he was looking for. He placed a small data chip in Theron’s hand. “Look, I found this a while ago. I guess you left it here back then. I wasn’t sure if you’d want it, but maybe now’s the time.”

Theron stared at the chip in his hand, closing his fingers around it, feeling its weight as Doc’s words echoed in his mind: Legendary. How had he managed to lose something like that?

Chapter Text

On the black-sanded shores of Rishi, the twilight sky painted the horizon in shades of orange and violet like she remembered it from half a lifetime ago. Risha Drayen sat alone, her gaze lost in the crashing waves. The message had come earlier, a blow she hadn’t expected - Vette. Her childhood friend, the one she’d been inseparable from during those early years of daring adventures and stolen credits, was now a memory. Gone forever, lost in the battle against Vaylin. The weight of it sat heavy in her chest.

She drew a deep breath, trying to anchor herself. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. They had drifted apart, each of them pulled by the currents of their own lives. Still, she had always believed Vette was out there, annoying that Sith Lord of hers, making dozens of friends everywhere, causing trouble somewhere in the galaxy.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. She didn’t have to look to know it was Corso. His presence was always steady, dependable. He sat down beside her without a word, his hand brushing lightly against hers in silent support.

"You’ve been out here a while," Corso said softly, his voice filled with concern. "I was getting worried."

Risha’s eyes stayed on the horizon. “Just needed some time.”

Corso’s brows knit together in quiet understanding, but there was a question lingering on his lips. “The message you got... was it about Beryl?”

Risha shook her head slightly. “No... not Beryl. Vette.”

Corso’s eyes widened with realization, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Vette, oh no. I’m so sorry, babe. I know how much she meant to you. She was... well, one of a kind.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, the sounds of the ocean filling the gap between them. Risha glanced down, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the sand. Vette had been more than just a friend - she was a piece of her past, a little sister more than anything, a part of her youth that was now lost.

“I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about everyone,” Risha admitted quietly. “About the people I’ve met, who’s still around... and who isn’t.”

Corso nodded, the understanding in his gaze deepening. “You and Beryl, though. You two worked together a lot... Maybe you’d find your way back to each other.”

Risha gave a small smile. “Beryl’s might not be the happiest to see me thoigh, I didn't always play fair with her. The Captain tried to make up for it though.” She hesitated, her thoughts drifting to the pretty Zabrak smuggler with the golden eyes who had been by her side for so many years. The Captain, called the Voidhound for a reason, had been more than just a partner in crime - they’d been friends, as close as sisters. Corso had never hidden his crush on the slender, fearless beauty.

“I still think you had a thing for her,” Risha teased lightly, nudging Corso’s shoulder.

He chuckled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “What can I say? She was something else. Brave, pretty, always two steps ahead of everyone. A mean blaster shot too, got to admire that. She had the galaxy in the palm of her hand.”

Risha’s smile faded slightly, a wave of melancholy washing over her. “We’ve lost so many people, Corso. But... I’ve been thinking about reaching out to Beryl again. Maybe it’s time to rekindle that friendship.”

Corso looked at her, his expression softening with understanding. “You should. We can’t hold onto everyone forever, but the ones we can? They’re worth keeping close.”

Risha squeezed his hand, grateful for the comfort he provided. “You’re right. I’ll send her a message. It’s better to have friends in this galaxy, especially now.” Corso opened his arms. She scooted closer and pressed her lips to his mouth in a chaste kiss, letting herself settle in his warm embrace.

--

Beryl Thorne’s commlink buzzed with a familiar chime. She glanced at the message, her heart skipping when she saw the name.

Risha.

Her brow furrowed as she opened it. Simple, to the point. It was an invitation, one filled with an almost apologetic warmth. The kind of message that meant the sender had spent days, maybe weeks, building up the courage to send it.

Beryl’s wife appeared at her side, her steps soft but her presence undeniable. “Who is it?” she asked quietly. Beryl turned the commlink towards her. “Risha. She reached out... after all these years.”

Her wife, all slender figure and pretty face, was unusually silent. Two pairs of eyes scanned the message, but there was something deeper in the silence that made Beryl uneasy. "What is it?" Beryl asked, her voice hesitant.

There was a long pause before her wife finally spoke, her voice low, almost strained. "She can never know."

Beryl’s stomach twisted but there was an unspoken understanding between them. "I know. I would never tell."

There had always been barriers within this Galaxy, within their relationships about what had been allowed - barriers Beryl had learned to accept. She’d felt the weight of those constraints, but she had always fought back. The galaxy was filled with people telling you who you could be and how you should live. But some truths were worth fighting for, no matter how hard it was to say them out loud. Some things had already changed to the better, but a lot was still shrouded in prejudice and neglect.

Beryl sighed, leaning back into the comfy seat of the starship, feeling the arms of the woman she loved slide around her. "Yeah," she whispered, more to herself than to her love. "She can never know." Despite it all, Beryl was determined to live her truth - even if some truths remained buried, out of reach.

In a different world, things might have been easier. Simpler. The constraints wouldn't exist. But in this one, Beryl Thorne was bound by more than just galactic laws. She was bound by a history that told her who she was allowed to love - and who she wasn’t. 

But there was still hope, still a future. Because no matter what, she had the woman she loved more than anything by her side. And that was a battle she’d already won. The Voidhound, once one of the galaxy’s most famous smugglers, was not just a memory to Risha. She was a chapter of Beryl’s life too and now part of a hidden, intimate truth. Beryl looked up to the Zabrak smuggler who loved her, who wore her mark forever, and she would never give up. The galaxy could keep its secrets. Beryl was used to living with them.

Chapter Text

Xordarr stood at the edge of a broken city, the landscape of Ziost stretched out before him in barren silence. The remains of the planet still bled with the echoes of despair, of death. A fitting place to clear his head, to strip away the tangled emotions he’d been fighting ever since Arcann came into his life.

After his last realization about how the former Emperor of Zakuul had wormed his way through his skin, he wanted to send him away - except he didn't. But he needed distance, needed space from the overwhelming presence that had been clouding his judgement. So his lover was off on some inconsequential mission, a milk run designed to keep him busy while the Sith faced the truth of what was happening inside his own mind.

He had always prided himself on control - over the galaxy, over others, and most importantly, over himself. But lately, that control had been slipping, and he wasn’t sure why. Arcann’s influence was subtle, but it was there, woven into the fabric of their daily interactions. The man had a way of finding some light in even the darkest corners, a way of making things... different. Better.

The Warrior scowled, the wind whipping around him as he surveyed the bleak horizon. This place - the ruins of Ziost - was a reminder of his power, his purpose. It had been a battlefield, a place where he had once thrived in chaos. But now, as he stood here, the destruction no longer filled him with the same satisfaction. It didn’t quiet his thoughts the way it used to.

He had been losing himself, piece by piece. It wasn’t Arcann’s fault - he was the one who should guard his being and his emotions. Always. Arcann’s idealism, his amicably offered friendship, his trust, all these were weaknesses, flaws he could exploit. The relationship had been strategic from the start, a way to keep Arcann loyal, to bend the former Sith Emperor’s son to his will. The most powerful opponent in the galaxy aside from his dead father and his equally dead sister (hopefully really dead this time, the recurring resurfacing started to grate on Xordarr's nerves). But somewhere along the line, things had shifted.

He hated it with a passion.

Ziost was supposed to be the answer. He had come here to remember who he was - a Sith Warrior who wielded fear and power as his tools. But instead, he found himself thinking of Arcann - again, nonstop, his subconscious reminding him ceaselessly of the way he moved through the galaxy as if he could find goodness in the ashes, as if every day could be better than the last.

Arcann had this way of brightening the space around him, of drawing the Warrior into moments of quiet peace without even trying. It was infuriating. No matter how much Xordarr wanted to maintain domination, he found himself softening in Arcann’s presence. He didn’t give in - he still had the upper hand, of course - but the subtle shifts were there. He had chosen mercy more often than he could explain. He had spared lives he would have ended before. Not because of Arcann - but because it was strategic.

That was it. Strategic. Purposeful. Let Arcann believe he was changing, let him see the light he so desperately wanted to believe in. It kept Arcann close, kept him invested in their future together.

But as much as he wanted to dismiss it as his personal flavour of... directing things, he couldn’t ignore the way Arcann made him feel. How he seeked out Arcann's proximity, how he kissed his bare shoulder and held the man in a close embrace in the night, the calm that settled over him when Arcann’s hand rested on his chest directly over his heart, the way he found himself craving Arcann’s presence when they were apart.

He had never wanted it before - not like this. He didn’t need love, didn’t need the softness Arcann offered. And yet... he couldn’t deny that it was there. A pull he couldn’t explain, a connection that went beyond strategy.

He closed his eyes, letting the desolation of Ziost wrap around him like a cloak. He had come here to reclaim himself for himself alone, to be reminded of who he was without Arcann’s influence. But even here, in the shadow of destruction, Arcann’s presence lingered in his mind.

Arcann, with his quiet strength and unshakable hope. The way he found light in the darkest places. The way he made even the worst days feel... different. Better. 

And wasn’t that the point? No matter the game they played, no matter how the Warrior tried to control the outcome, the truth was that they were both better together. Arcann’s optimism, his drive to make the galaxy a place worth living in - it had somehow crept into the Warrior’s own thinking. He had started considering a future, not just for himself, but for them.

He scowled again, but it didn’t last. The anger, the frustration - it was there, but it was dimmer now, overshadowed by something deeper. He could deny it all he wanted, but he had changed. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a weakness.

Arcann wanted to build a galaxy worth living in - a place worthy of their love, though he’d never admit that out loud. The Warrior had always thought that was laughable, typically Arcann’s idealism speaking, but now... now the laughter died in his throat. 

The galaxy had changed. He had changed. And with his change they pulled the Galaxy and all its events with them. 

But it wasn’t because of manipulation. It wasn’t because of control.

It was because Arcann had made him believe, in some quiet, stubborn way, that they could have something more in this time and space. That they could build something together.

He opened his eyes, staring at the wasteland before him. Ziost was a reminder of what had been - destruction, chaos, death. But there was no future here. Not for him, not for them.

Arcann wasn’t here, and yet, in his absence, the Sith could feel him more strongly than ever. He was starting to understand that it wasn’t Arcann he was running from - it was himself. It was the way Arcann made him feel. The way he made him want something more than power, more than control. Something... different. Just more. 

And despite everything, despite his instinct to push it all away, the Warrior couldn’t ignore the truth any longer. He wanted this.

He wanted them.

Maybe the galaxy wasn’t as broken as he had once thought. Maybe it could be rebuilt, shaped into something new, something that fit for them. Maybe it could be a place worth living in - a place worthy of Arcann’s love.

And maybe, just maybe, the Warrior was finally ready to be part of that future.

He took a deep breath, the weight of the galaxy no longer feeling quite so heavy. He would return to Arcann soon, and when he did, he wouldn’t admit to any of this. He would still claim it was all tactical, strategic, all part of the game. But deep down, he knew the truth.

Chapter Text

The sharp crack of training swords echoed through the sparring chamber, the Warrior’s blade meeting Arcann’s in a flurry of strikes. Their movements were precise - a dance of skill and strength - but beneath it simmered a tension, both from the fight and from something far more intimate. Arcann grinned, sidestepping the Warrior’s strike and countering with a powerful blow that the Warrior deflected at the last moment. “Starting to go soft on me?” Arcann teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

The Warrior’s lips twitched, something close to a laugh escaping him as he parried another swing. “Don’t test me, Arcann.” His voice was low, but there was no real heat in it - only the playful edge that had become more frequent between them lately.

Arcann pushed forward, pressing the advantage, and their blades locked for a moment. The Cathar could feel the heat radiating from Arcann’s body, their faces mere inches apart. He clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the fight, but Arcann’s presence - strong, steady, and infuriatingly magnetic - was impossible to ignore. The Sith broke the hold, spinning away and delivering a sharp kick to Arcann’s side. Arcann grunted, but his grin never wavered. He liked this - liked pushing the Warrior’s limits, liked seeing him change.

And the Warrior had changed. Not that he’d admit it, but somewhere along the line, he had stopped seeing Arcann as a liability to control. He had stopped viewing their relationship as just another power play. Arcann had slipped past his defenses, one teasing smile at a time, until the Warrior wasn’t sure where the line between manipulation and something real had blurred.

“Going soft?” the the former Wrath of the Emperor echoed, smirking as he stepped back, his breathing heavy but controlled. “I think you’re confusing softness with restraint.” Arcann raised an eyebrow, lowering his training sword slightly. “Restraint, huh?” There was a playful challenge in his voice, the unspoken tension between them lingering in the air.

The training ended with dinnertime approaching. Arcann was leading a mission to Ossus in the morning - a simple escort, nothing too dangerous - and they’d have the night to themselves before he left. As they headed to their quarters, Arcann smiled at Xordarr, their movements interrupted by trying to walk, undress, and kiss all at once, barely avoiding stumbling into walls and doorframes. Their night promised its own kind of battle - one of tangled limbs, laughter, and gentle bites - before fading into sleep with the quiet promise that Arcann would be back soon.

The morning saw a smiling Arcann leave while Xordarr still lay in bed. But when evening came, his partner didn’t return.

That was not part of the plan. The Sith frowned, worrying his lower lip with his sharp canines - he didn’t want to seem overbearing, but he was definitely concerned. It wasn’t like Arcann to miss a check-in, especially on a mission like this. He was a seasoned fighter, a loyal soldier, experienced both as CO and XO. Arcann knew how important it was to keep the HQ updated.

No reports. No updates. Silence.

The Sith’s worry turned to anger. Something was wrong.

After hours of pacing, Xordarr made his decision. If no word was coming from Ossus, then he would go to Ossus. It was the only option.

--

Ossus was chaos.

The small military outpost where Arcann’s unit had been waiting for their exfil was overrun with Geonosians. The base had been ground to dust. Republic forces had allied with the bugs to stage an ambush, and the Warrior felt his fury rise as he surveyed the wreckage. He could sense Arcann - alive - but the dread that something had gone terribly wrong burned into his bones.

The enemy didn’t stand a chance.

He tore through the Geonosians like the executioner he always had been, his lightsaber burning with raw fury through antennae, carapaces and wings. Every strike was precise, driven by the thought that someone had taken Arcann, that they had dared to lay hands on him. This was different than the time he had lost sight on him on the battlefield - he knew what happened, he needed to fix it. And he started with decimating the Genosian population.

The Republic soldiers fared no better - especially not the ones he captured alive, choking the truth out of one of them. The trooper crawed out the few pieces of information he knew: They had come with a massive force to overpower one man and his small team. Xordarr was almost proud that it had taken hundreds of soldiers to capture Arcann, and even then, according to the unfortunate creature in his grasp, Arcann had sliced through more than half of them before they finally subdued him. Only after dosing him with sedative shots had they slowed him enough to capture him, sluggish but still lethal.

The snap of the trooper’s neck echoed through the ruins of the base.

Xordarr saw red, grabbing another victim in the frenzy: Arcann had kept fighting, even sedated, until he collapsed from exhaustion. Unconscious, he was taken to a nearby cave system. The trooper had no idea which one. Xordarr completely lost it - there were dozens of tunnels and caves, and the Republic forces had slipped away.

The Sith’s interrogation methods left no room for mercy. The soldier who failed to provide answers met a brutal end, as Xordarr crushed his windpipe, still burning with the need to find his captured ma-... officer.

The longer they searched for the right location, the more the red haze of rage consumed him. Bodies littered the ground in his wake, but it wasn’t enough. The Cathar let out a blood-freezing battle cry, not caring if it would be heard - the battle was loud enough already, echoing across the area. His need to find Arcann pulsed louder than the blastershots and the fight around him.

When Xordarr and his team finally found the right tunnels and cave, he bathed the walls in a mosaic of bloody violence. Nothing would stand in his way. In the belly of the cave, they found what he was looking for. The sight of Arcann - his armor caked in dirt and stained with blood - nearly brought the Sith to his knees. Bound wrists over his head, arms hanging from a hook on a crane in the cave, his feet barely touching the ground, eyes still half-lidded from sedation, and breathing heavily - but alive. Arcann’s strength was still there, even subdued, a flame that hadn’t been snuffed out.

The Warrior didn’t hesitate and jumped forward. His blade cut through Arcann’s restraints in an instant, and he caught him as he slumped forward, pulling him into his arms - all in one smooth move. His breath hitched, and the anger melted away, replaced by something far more primal, far more vulnerable.

“You’re safe,” the Warrior rasped, his voice cracking. “I found you. I’m here, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

Arcann blinked owlishly, his body weak from the drugs, but a small smile touched his lips. “Told’em… you’d come. Gave ‘em a fair warnin',” he slurred, swaying as he leaned heavily on Xordarr.

The Sith’s grip tightened around him, his breath coming in shallow gasps, panic rising despite the fact that Arcann was right there. His mind screamed with unspoken fears - What if I had been too late? What if- “I love you,” the words tumbled out, unbidden, unguarded. “Arcann, I love you. I-”

Arcann’s trembling hand moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, their foreheads pressing together. “I know,” Arcann whispered, the fingers on Xordarr's neck trembling, his voice soft, this time steady despite the sedation. “’m here. We’re both okay.”

But the Warrior couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold back the flood of emotion that had burst free, month of control and restraint unraveling in the wake of the terror that had gripped him. “I can’t - if I lost you - Arcann, I can’t...”

“You didn’n,” Arcann murmured, still a little out on it, eyes closed, foreheads still touching, brushing a thumb across the Warrior’s nape, grounding him with his touch. “’m here.”

The Warrior exhaled shakily, his heart still pounding in his chest. He buried his face in Arcann’s shoulder, the weight of his panic finally starting to ebb, replaced by something softer, more tender. He tightened his arms around Arcann's body slightly, his need to hold but not wanting to hurt him. “I love you,” he whispered again, quieter this time, like an admission to himself as much as to Arcann. “I can’t lose you.”

Arcann chuckled tiredly, both his arms wrapped around Xordarr, the two soldiers as close as they could be. “You won’t.”

Later that night, back on their ship, the Warrior’s hands traced over Arcann’s body, inspecting every inch for injuries, though the medics had already assured him that Arcann was fine, aside from a few bruises marking his shoulders, arms, and wrists. “You’re really not injured,” the Sith muttered, as if the medics had missed something. Arcann smiled, amused, watching as the Warrior’s hands brushed over his ribs and down to his waist, carefully checking every inch of skin.

“I told you. No cuts, no stabs.”

Xordarr grunted, unconvinced, as he gently pushed Arcann onto the pillow, continuing his inspection. His fingers skimmed Arcann’s hips, his touch lingering. “You could’ve lied.”

Arcann laughed, the sound light and warm, as he caught the other man’s hand. “I’d never lie to you.” He kissed Xordarr's fingers and palm. The Sith huffed but didn’t pull away. He let Arcann guide his hand to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of Arcann’s heart beneath it. The anxiety that had gripped him earlier finally began to loosen its hold, replaced by a calm he hadn’t felt in days.

“I trust you,” Xordarr murmured, his voice rougher than intended. Almost as if it were a revelation.

Arcann smiled, bent forward, leaning in to kiss his forehead, then his cheek, then a peck on his mouth. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.” He looked at Xordarr with an unreadable expression, which softened after a few moments. "I love you too, you know."

The Warrior finally let out a small laugh, a sound he wasn’t used to, but one that felt right. He clambered over the body below him, curled up next to Arcann, pulling him close, content to just be for a while, knowing that they were both still here. He closed his eyes, content that the next day would be better than this one.

Chapter Text

The wind whipped through the ruins, carrying the scent of damp earth and decay as Theron Shan crouched behind a crumbling wall, scanning the area with his implant. "You’re sure this isn’t just another wild nerf chase?" Auksinis' voice crackled through the commlink, dry as ever. Theron smirked. If it wasn't for his implant he wouldn't be able to see the Jedi Knight weaving through the jagged stones. "You really don’t like the idea of temples, do you? Still upset about the last one?" Sinis' tone remained light. "Let’s just say my trust in mysterious ancient relics is… minimal." Theron could practically hear Sinis' eye-roll, his smile widened as he adjusted the scanner. "Could’ve fooled me. You seemed plenty trusting after that kiss in the last ancient ruin." Auksinis was silent for just long enough to give Theron a sense of victory. "That was to shut you up, Shan. You were talking too much, and I needed to focus." Theron’s chuckled into the comm. "Right. Totally tactical. Funny that I wasn’t even talking - you were." - "Since you are still not shutting up I guess I have to do it again, honey." Auksinis’ stoic answer washed over him, but Theron couldn't ignore how much he liked the mock pet-name. He snorted to cover it up.

They moved deeper into the area, the familiar banter easing the tension in the air. Theron’s scanner beeped, interrupting the teasing. "We’ve got movement up ahead." Auksinis suddenly came up beside him, his garments simple and tattered as usual, making him barely visible in the twilight of the thunderstorm. "So, what’s the story this time? Vitiate’s loyalists digging up old junk?" Theron nodded, his expression growing more serious. "Looks like it. Old reports said there were remnants of Vitiate’s experiments in this area, but nothing concrete. If we’re lucky, we’ll find something before the Imps do." Auksinis sighed, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Lucky us." 

The landscape was desolate, the skies dark with storm clouds as rain began to fall in heavy sheets. Dromund Kaas had never been known for its sunny weather, but the oppressive atmosphere seemed worse this time.

"You sure this isn’t a waste of time?" Sinis, spoke in a low voice beside him. Even through the downpour, the Jedi’s voice carried its usual dry edge, though his tone was more guarded than usual. Theron smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "Since when do we go on missions for the excitement?" Auksinis’ lips twitched slightly, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. There was something different about Sinis today. It wasn’t just the ominous surroundings or the persistent chill in the air. Theron felt it - an unspoken tension that seemed to hang over them like a shroud.

"You've got that look," Auksinis muttered, his gaze flicking to the old temple ahead. "What look?" Theron asked, genuinely curious. "That 'I know something’s wrong, but I’ll pretend it’s not' look." Sinis deadpanned. Theron kept his face in check. "Not much gets past you, huh?" - "Not much." The temple loomed larger as they approached, its massive structure pulsing with the energy of the Dark Side. As they stepped into the shadow of its towering walls, Auksinis stiffened slightly, his steps more measured, more deliberate. Theron noticed the way Sinis’ hand lingered near his lightsaber, his body tense, as if bracing for something unseen.

"You’re not usually this jumpy," Theron observed quietly as they approached the entrace, its gloomy stone arch dark against the background. But his eyes watched Sinis closely. "Something about this place bothering you?" Auksinis’ face remained unreadable, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "I’m familiar with places like this… and with what we’re up against." - "You mean the Emperor," Theron said, keeping his voice casual but his gaze sharp. "I know you faced him before. You took him down, but not without… complications. I only heard him bragging. Twice. He's quite the talker." The attempt of humor fell short. For a moment, Auksinis was silent, his pace slowing. Then, with a low voice, he replied, "You know I was captured the first time." Theron nodded. "And that you escaped. But there’s more to it, isn’t there?" The spy hadn't been able to crack this classified file. 

Auksinis didn’t answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the temple’s entrance ahead. The air here was heavy, charged with the same dark energy Theron had felt when he tried to stop Vitiate with the Barsen'thor on Ziost, but this time, it felt more personal. More oppressive. Auksinis’ jaw tightened, and for the first time in a while, Theron saw something that worried him - a flicker of uncertainty. "I didn’t just escape," Auksinis said finally, his voice low. "He… turned me." Theron’s heart skipped a beat when his mind procured a picture of Master Surros, but he kept his expression neutral. "What do you mean, 'turned'?" Auksinis stopped, his hand resting on his lightsaber hilt as if steadying himself. "The Emperor made me a Sith. For a time, I wasn’t myself - I was his."

Theron’s throat tightened, the weight of those words sinking in. He had heard about Jedi falling to the Dark Side, and he was pretty certain he knew one personally, but hearing Sinis admit that he had been one of them - it felt awful. "What… what did he make you do?" Auksinis’ face closed off. "I knew you would be interested in the juiciest parts first." He paused for a moment, his features hardened. "I hurt people. Killed people. I was a weapon, and I… enjoyed it." Theron stared at him, trying to process the revelation. "But you came back," he said, more unsure than he intended. "You didn’t stay a Sith."

The Jedi took a deep breath and looked intensely at the SIS agent. "Because I had help," Auksinis said slowly. "Scourge and the Force ghost of Orgus Din - my old master - pulled me back. They helped me break free. I escaped, but not before…" His voice trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid, his gaze back on the entrance of the ancient building. Theron’s mind raced. The idea of Sinis being turned, of enjoying the darkness, felt wrong - like it didn’t fit the man he knew. But then again, maybe that was the point. Maybe it had changed him more than Theron had realized. "And you’ve been dealing with this ever since," Theron said, his voice quiet. Auksinis gave a curt nod. "Every day."

Theron wasn't sure what to say, what would be appropriate. "I knew you had scars from that fight, but I didn’t realize they ran this deep." Auksinis smiled without humor. "You wouldn’t. I don’t let people get close enough to see."

Theron felt a twinge of something in his chest. He had been with Sinis on enough missions to know that the Jedi carried burdens. But this? This was more than he had expected. "You’re not alone in this, you know." - "Sometimes it feels like I am." Sinis’ voice was guarded, but his usual dry humor crept back into his tone. "But I appreciate the sentiment, Shan." Theron looked at him. "I’m not just being sentimental. I’m serious. I’ve got your back."

They made slow progress through the half-crumbled structures, careful to neither activate traps nor anything that could potentially live and thrive here. Sinis was tense, so Theron wondered if he could get his mind off the pressure of the atmosphere for a moment. "Is that the reason you never use Force Persuasion?" He asked quietly, though he already knew the answer. He had asked once before and was still disturbed by the rough response. Auksinis shot him a look, but this time, instead of a similar sharp retort, he sighed. "I don’t use mind tricks. I prefer people to think for themselves." Theron raised an eyebrow. "Last time you said that, you were less polite." Auksinis gave an amused but somewhat strained smirk. "Yeah, because you've been an annoying little shit." The SIS agent wanted to protest but didn't as the weight of the dark energy pressed down on them again.

"You’re not going back there," Theron said instead. "Not while I’m here." Sinis glanced at him, his eyes reflecting a mix of appreciation and wariness. "It’s not that simple." - "I know it’s not," Theron replied, his voice amicable but insistent. "But we’re getting out of this. Together. At the same time preferably." As they moved on, the dark energy around them seemed to intensify, swirling like a storm. Theron glanced at Sinis, who was visibly struggling to keep it together.

They reached the entrance of the temple, and the oppressive dark presence inside grew stronger. Theron felt it in the pit of his stomach, a familiar chill. He glanced at Sinis, whose face had hardened again, the Jedi’s grip tightening on his saber hilt. His usual guarded nature was even more pronounced now, and Theron could sense the internal battle Sinis was fighting. "Still with me?" Theron asked, trying to keep his tone light. "Depends," Sinis replied, his voice flat. 

Without any disturbance like the weird dust zombies last time, they reached the heart of the temple, where the dark energy seemed to pulse strongest. Sinis stepped forward, his expression tightening as he stared at the ancient artifact glowing with malevolent power. Theron could feel it too - the pull of the Dark Side, tempting, insidious.

"You okay?" Theron asked, his voice more serious now. Auksinis’ grip tightened on his saber. "I’ll manage. Just... stay close." Theron’s heart clenched at the uncharacteristic vulnerability in Sinis’ voice. It wasn’t fear of the artifact - it was fear of what it represented. A reminder of the darkness. The spy swallowed hard. He had a sudden, irrational fear of losing Sinis - not physically like jumping over that kriffing cleft, but to the darkness that still seemed to hover around him. The idea of Sinis being pulled back into that shadow, of becoming someone else entirely - it terrified him.

"Sinis," Theron said calmly, while nestling at his utility belt, "I know this isn’t easy. But you’re not the person the Emperor turned you into. You’re not going back to that." Sinis didn’t meet his eyes, but his grip on his saber tightened, while Theron pulled the explosives from the pockets. "I hope you’re right, Shan."

Theron eyed the artifact and toyed with the Thermal Detonator in his hand. Auksinis raised an eyebrow. "You and your explosives, Shan. For a spy who’s supposed to be stealth expert, you’ve got an unnerving taste for loud solutions." Theron flashed a grin, setting the detonator on the altar. "What can I say? Sometimes the loud way’s the best way." Auksinis chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, I really thought I’d be the reckless one between us." - "This coming from the guy who jumped off a cliff last time without warning? After the kiss, no less." Theron deadpanned.

Auksinis smirked. "I figured if I survived the kiss, the cliff wouldn’t be much of a problem." Theron grinned, glad for the opportunity to lighten the mood. "What can I say? I have a taste for something loud." Auksinis shot him a toothy grin: "Is this also true in social interactions?" The spy's face lit up at the innuendo. "Depends. You definitely seem to be the mouthy type." - "Wouldn't you love to know, honey", came the immediate response. The line blurred, Theron knew it. But he couldn't stop himself. "You know, I actually would." Sinis looked at him, his eyebrows nearly in his hairline. "Want to know, I mean." The eyes of the Jedi darkened. "Can we probably not discuss this in front of this manifestation of Vitiate's experiments?", he asked, waiving at the obnoxiously pulsating artifact. "Let's get out of here first. You can wine and dine me as soon as we are back on Coruscant." - Wine and dine?", Theron murmured while preparing his demolition devices. "What became to the Jedi ascethic lifestyle?" Auksinis snorted. "I’ve got some flexibility in my vows." - "Have you now?", the spy murmured more to himself and the Jedi didn't answer.

As they set the charges and prepared to leave, the temple’s oppressive energy seemed to intensify. Theron glanced at Auksinis, who was visibly shaking and exhausted. His past with Vitiate and the trauma of his time as the Emperor’s tool showed. Theron reached out and squeezed Sinis’ arm. The Jedi looked at him and nodded. Then they started running.

The blast reverberated through the temple, shaking the ground beneath their feet as dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. Auksinis and Theron sprinted toward the entrance, dodging falling rocks and the occasional arc of unstable energy from the now-destroyed artifact. "Did I ever tell you I hate temples?" Auksinis shouted over the commotion, tension beneath the humor. Theron couldn't resist the barked laugh, dodging a particularly large piece of ceiling that threatened to introduce him to an untimely demise. "Just an hour ago or so but I’m getting that vibe. Though, I thought Jedi were into all the ancient temple stuff. History, dusty relics - very your aesthetic."

Auksinis rolled his eyes mid-sprint. "Yeah, sure. Right next to ‘getting blown up for fun’ in the Jedi handbook." They were nearly at the exit when, with a deafening boom, the massive stone doors slammed shut in front of them, sealing them inside. The sound echoed through the chamber, as if the temple itself was mocking them.

Theron skidded to a halt, staring at the sealed doors. "That… wasn’t supposed to happen." - "Yeah, no shit," Auksinis muttered, staring daggers at the entrance as if he could melt the stone with a glare. "It’s him." Theron gave a low groan, rubbing a hand down his face. "Of course it is. It’s always him, isn’t it?" Auksinis gave him a flat look while investigating the door to look for anything useful like an opening mechanism. "You’re lucky that you are pretty enough to keep around. Otherwise I would just offer you, maybe he let's me go then." Theron snorted. He scanned the wall right to the door with his implant. "You know, you’d miss me. You’d be lost without the loudest stealth specialist in the galaxy."

Auksinis’ lips twitched, but the hint of amusement faded fast. He grimaced, his hand lifting to his temple as a pained expression twisted across his face. Before Theron could react, Auksinis staggered, clutching his head. "Sinis?" Theron’s voice sharpened, reaching out, but Auksinis was already dropping to his knees, breath ragged. "It’s... the Emperor," Auksinis choked out, trembling as Vitiate’s lingering darkness closed in around him. Theron’s heart pounded. "We need to move," he urged. His fingers twitched for a detonator, but his belt was empty - no more explosives. So no fast way out. Kriff.

He glanced at Sinis, whose face was locked in a grim battle with unseen forces. Theron knew Vitiate was gone, but his influence had never truly left the Jedi, who tried to kill him.

"Sinis," he called softly, stepping closer, trying to steady his own panic. "Focus." Auksinis’ eyes flicked toward him, dark and distant. "He’s still here," he rasped. Theron’s chest tightened. He had to hold it together - for both of them. He knelt beside Auksinis, gripping his shoulders. "He’s not here. You’re with me, Sinis. Focus on that." Auksinis’ eyes fluttered, unfocused. "He won’t let me leave…" - "Yes, he will." Theron was proud how steady his voice was, though his heart raced. "You’re stronger than him. Stay with me." But Auksinis’ breath quickened, his body still locked in a battle Theron couldn’t see. The spy tightened his grip.

Theron’s mind raced. He needed to calm Auksinis down, but they also had to get out of here - and fast. The noise would have alerted anyone nearby, and they couldn’t afford to be trapped here with reinforcements on the way. The spy looked around the chamber, assessing their options. "Okay, I’ll get us out of here," he muttered, more to himself than to Auksinis, who was still grappling with the Emperor’s presence in his mind. "I just need you to hold it together a little longer, Sinis. Can you do that?" Auksinis groaned. "Trying…"

Using his implant to finish the scan of the chamber he started earlier, Theron pinpointed a crack in the wall left from them. An idea sparked. "Alright, hold tight, Sinis. I think I’ve got a way out." He gently leaned Auksinis against the door before standing and moving toward the cracks. "Whatever he’s saying - it’s a lie. You’re not his anymore." Theron analyzed the weak points in the wall, glancing back at Auksinis, whose breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. His grip on his lightsaber was white-knuckled. "No…" Sinis whispered, battling the phantom of Vitiate inside his mind.

Theron hurried back, gripping Auksinis' arm. "Hey, focus on me," he urged. "You’re stronger than this. I need you to help me get us out of here." Auksinis blinked, his fog lifting slightly. "I’ll… try." - "Good enough for me," Theron said, his voice firmer than he actually felt. "See that wall? We’re out of explosives, so I need you to blast it. Forget everything else. Just focus." Sinis nodded, but his face twisted in pain, lifting his hand to his temple. "He’s… torturing m-..." - "I know," Theron interrupted, gripping his shoulder tighter. "But you’ve got to push through it. I’m right here. Just focus and hit that wall."

For a moment, everything hung in tense silence. Then, Auksinis lifted his hand, aiming at the cracked stone. Theron felt the subtle ripple of the Force, expecting the usual controlled push of the telekinesis blasts. But instead, crackling blue lightning shot from Auksinis’ fingers, slamming into the wall with ferocious power.

The stone shattered, debris flying as the crackling energy subsided. Theron stared at the hole, wide-eyed.

Force lightning.

Cold slid down Theron's spine. Sinis didn’t use lightning. He wasn’t supposed to. He had never used powers of the dark side - had fought so hard against it. But now... Sinis slumped back against the door, his breathing harsh, his expression confused and stricken. "Theron... I didn’t mean-..."

"I know," Theron interrupted him, trying to mask his own shock. His heart pounded as he forced himself to remain calm, to not let his fear show. "We’re not done yet. We need to move. Now." He grabbed Sinis by the arm, pulling him up and towards the newly opened gap in the stone. The structure groaned ominously as sand and small stones fell around them, but they made it through, sprinting outside. 

Theron’s mind raced. What had just happened? Had Vitiate left some lingering hold over Sinis, some dark taint that was surfacing now? Or was it just the weight of his past, the trauma that never really left? Once outside in relative safety Theron glanced back. The temple’s shadow seemed to reach for them, the dark energy still palpable even as they moved through the ruins in the open air. Sinis was shaking slightly, his hand flexing and unflexing as if still feeling the electric pulse that had come from him.

"Sinis..." Theron began, but the words stuck in his throat. Auksinis looked at him, his expression torn between guilt and confusion while he tried to justify himself. "I don’t... I don’t know why that happened. I wasn’t trying to..." Theron swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "It’s okay. We made it out."

But what else had made it out?

Chapter Text

The thunderstorm raged outside the cave, slashing rain against the rocky entrance. They were waiting for exfil, with no idea how long it would take. The dropship couldn’t fly in this weather, and they were both beyond exhausted. Worse, Theron was sure Sinis had pushed himself too hard again. He could see it in the rigid set of his jaw and the way he hadn’t said much since they’d holed up. Theron wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. Maybe Sinis hated Dromund Kaas as much as he did. The spy's soaked clothes clung to him uncomfortably, and he let out a loud, exaggerated sigh, hoping to get the Jedi's attention.

Predictably, Master Auksinis remained stoic, staring out at the storm with his usual brooding silence. Theron rolled his eyes.

He shifted again, his wet clothes squishing as he settled closer to Sinis, who still didn’t seem to notice. “Alright, fine,” Theron muttered under his breath. “If you won’t offer, I’ll take it.” He scooted over a little more, blatantly seeking the warmth radiating from Sinis. He stopped just shy of touching him, trying to keep up appearances, but the cold had other ideas. Another minute passed, and Theron gave up with a groan. “Look, I’m freezing here. So either you come closer or I’m hugging you like a Wookiee with separation anxiety.”

Sinis blinked, glanced at him, and without a word, motioned him closer. Theron was so surprised that he didn't react right away, so Sinis reached out, wrapping his arm around Theron’s shoulders and pulling him close, gently but firmly. “Alright,” Sinis said, his voice soft and calm, “if you insist.”

Theron’s eyebrows shot up as he found himself pulled against Sinis’ chest, his body warming immediately from the contact. He opened his mouth to make a quip, but the words died on his lips when Sinis shifted, pulling him even closer, wrapping his other arm around him in an unmistakable embrace. He moved a little behind Theron and pushed him softly down, and when he lied comfortable in the V of Sinis' legs, he rested his chin on Theron's head. Uh, that was very close and somewhat unexpected, so Theron’s heart did a little somersault in his chest.

“Wow, didn’t think I’d win this round so easily,” Theron joked, trying to keep it light even though his voice came out quieter than intended. “You usually play harder to get.” Sinis chuckled softly, rubbing his stubbled cheek over the hair, his breath warm against Theron’s ear. “Just this once.”

Despite the teasing, the gesture wasn’t lost on Theron. He hadn’t expected Sinis to reach out and, yeah, cuddle like this - to be the one offering comfort. They sat like that for a few moments, with the storm howling outside and the quiet of the cave enveloping them. Theron could feel the slow rise and fall of Sinis’ chest, the steady warmth of his body, and for once, the silence didn’t feel so bad.

But, predictably, Theron couldn’t leave it at that. “Okay, so I’ll give you the warmth thing,” he said, turning his head up slightly in Sinis’ arms to face him. “But now you’ve got to tell me what’s going on in that mysterious head of yours. Because we both know I’m not built for this much quiet.” Sinis glanced down at him, and for a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to respond. But then, he sighed. “It’s... complicated.” Theron arched an eyebrow. “When is it not complicated?”

Sinis’ lips quirked in a faint smile, but it faded quickly. He still slightly dragged his face over Theron's hair like a Loth cat marking her pack. “The visions,” he said quietly. “They’re still there. The ones the Emperor planted. I keep seeing... possible futures. And some of them are about you.” Theron’s playful smirk faltered as he heard the weight in Auksinis’ voice. “Me? Really? I knew I made an impression, but haunting your nightmares wasn’t on the list.”

The Jedi snorted, which Theron could feel on his head. “It’s not funny. They’re... twisted. I see you in them, and it’s never good.” He paused, his voice growing softer. “I can’t shake the feeling that no matter what I do, I’ll fail. That I’ll lose you.” Theron turned slightly around to stare at him, taken aback. He hadn’t expected Sinis to open up so much, especially about something so personal. The knot of emotion that had been building in his chest tightened, and he shifted slightly, to lean his head against the other man's cheek.

“Well, first of all, I’m not going anywhere,” Theron said softly. “So you can drop that whole ‘failing me’ thing. You’ve saved me enough times to last a lifetime.” Sinis shook his head. “It’s not that simple. You don’t understand - these visions show me things. Outcomes where I fail. Where... I lose you. I see it, over and over.” Theron could feel the tension in Sinis’ body, the way his muscles tightened under the weight of the words. He exhaled slowly, leaning his head against Sinis’ shoulder. “You’re not going to lose me. Not like that. I’m right here. And we’ve been through enough crazy missions to know we can handle whatever’s coming next.”

Sinis was silent for a moment, his arms still wrapped securely around Theron. “You think I’m a hero,” he said quietly. “But I’m not. I never was.” Theron blinked, surprised. “I don’t remember saying you were a hero.” - “You didn’t have to,” Sinis muttered. “You look at me like I could save the galaxy. But I can’t. I’m not the person you think I am.” Theron turned his head, looking at him. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice firm but soft. “You may not be the holodrama kind of hero, but you do stupidly heroics things all the time and half of them just for me. And that’s gotta count for something.” Sinis blinked, and Theron could see the flicker of emotion in his eyes before he turned his gaze away. He didn’t say anything, but the way he held Theron just a little tighter spoke volumes.

"Were those visions also the reason for... for the lightning?" Theron had debated with himself if he should bring it up. He felt the Jedi behind him both stiffen and clutching at him. "Yeah," Sinis sighed, "I think so? I don't remember that ever happen to me before. Not even when he had me." Theron realized that 'It looked cool though' wasn't the right thing to say, so he settled for, "It's probably not permanent." When Sinis nodded, Theron felt the gentle weight of his head resting on his shoulder, the warmth of his breath on his neck. It was... nice. Nicer than it had any right to be. 

They sat like that for a while longer, the sound of rain filling the space around them. Theron leaned into the warmth, the steady rhythm of Sinis’ breathing lulling him into a strange sense of peace. But something still lingered at the back of his mind, something he’d been thinking about for a long time.

“Listen,” Theron began, his voice quieter now. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say. It’s kind of important.” Sinis looked at him, waiting. Theron cleared his throat, suddenly feeling more nervous than he had in a while. “I’ve had this... vision, I guess. Not like yours, obviously. More like a... dream. I thought maybe we could be more than this. More than... friends.”

Sinis was silent behind him and he didn't dare to turn and look at him. “I mean,” Theron continued, a little too quickly, “if that’s not something you want, that’s cool. No pressure. I just tho-..." - “I want it,” Sinis interrupted softly, surprising Theron. “I’ve thought about it too. But... I’m afraid. Afraid of what happens if I fail you.”

Now Theron did turn to look at him for a long moment, letting the words sink in. Then, slowly, he reached up and rested his hand on Sinis’ cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against his skin. “I really have the feeling I repeat myself here, but you won’t fail me, Sinis. And even if you did... I’m not going anywhere.” Sinis’ gaze softened, but the worry lingered. “There’s more to it than that,” he murmured, voice tense. “The Jedi Order… they don’t exactly encourage attachments. Relationships like this. It’s against everything they stand for.” Theron let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Right. The whole ‘no attachments’ rule. Guess that makes this a little more... risky, huh?”

Sinis’ lips quirked into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “A little.” Theron tilted his head, meeting Sinis’ gaze. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve never been one to follow the rules. And you give me the vibe neither are you.” This earned a chuckle from Sinis that due to the proximity seemed to travel through his whole body, but the tension still hung between them. “It’s not just about rules. It’s... the pictures in my head. I keep seeing paths where you are taken from me. And I don’t think I could live with that.”

Theron’s heart clenched at the raw emotion in Sinis’ voice, but he kept his tone light, nudging him playfully. “Hey, I’ve got a pretty good track record of surviving. You’ll have to try harder than that to get rid me.” Sinis’ expression softened, and after a moment, he moved his hand to the throat below Theron's chin to nudge up his face a little. When their mouths were aligned, he leaned in. Their lips met in a soft, slow kiss - gentle, not rushed, filled with more promise than heat. When they pulled back, they stayed close, Sinis' nose resting against Theron's cheek. He didn't take his hand from the throat either, a gesture slightly possessive. 

“Does this mean you’ll not walking out of mission briefings anymore?” Theron murmured. Sinis chuckled softly, his breath warm against Theron’s skin. “No promises.”

Chapter Text

Hero worship is harmful because it places undue emphasis on the individual rather than the ideals and principles they represent.

The real hero is not the one who seeks recognition or adulation but the one who humbly does what is right, aligned with the Force, regardless of whether they are seen or remembered. Hero worship detracts from this truth, as it puts the focus on individual accomplishments rather than the greater journey of growth, balance, and service.

- 8th Holocron of Jedi Master Yalai'ah Birk'wan, Warden of Pengalan

Theron adjusted his gear, fidgeting more than usual as he waited in the hangar. This mission felt... strange. Not because of the task itself - he’d been in worse missions before, with shit intel and shittier weather - but because of his partner. Master Rahutu.

Both the SIS and the Jedi Order had been clear about the fact that just because the 'usual' asset wasn't available didn't mean Theron could go without the support or - maker beware - have a break. He was still the best agent the SIS had. 

So the agent glanced up as the assigned Jedi Knight arrived, looking every bit like he’d just stepped out of a holovid romance. The human's fancy red-blue robes were spotless, despite Nar Shaddaa’s grime and chaos. His hair? Perfectly styled, coiffed and combed, no fly astray. His body left nothing to ask for with pretty hands and slender legs. Freckles scattered across his face, adding an innocent charm that was almost unfairly disarming to his already attractive appearance. To top it all off, Rahutu greeted him with a smile so warm that Theron could practically feel the sincerity radiating from him.

"Agent Shan! It's such an honour to meet you finally!" Rahutu called, his voice a perfect blend of cheerfulness and calm. "I heard so many stories from my fellow knights and I hope to get the best from yourself! You all set?"

Theron blinked, caught off guard by the Jedi's upbeat tone and the personal greeting. What the kriff? He gave a quick nod. "Yeah. Ready when you are. I just fear 95 percent of my stories are classified.", he grinned. 

He stole a glance at the shadowed corners of the room where Sinis would normally stand, arms crossed, watching like a silent sentinel. But Sinis wasn’t here - he still recovered from their last mission, his PTSD that he tried to hide from Theron showing, while this bright-eyed, perfect Jedi took his place.

Theron didn’t like the situation, but the director had been very clear, that his experience in the field was irreplacable. The spy wondered what Balkar was up to - they hadn't seen each other for a while. And then there was Master Rahutu, who was... Well... he was the complete opposite of Sinis. Every mission Theron had done with Sinis had been rough around the edges, chaotic, messy - but they always got the job done. With Rahutu? Theron felt like he was standing next to the ideal Jedi - clean, precise, perfect.

As they set off, Rahutu struck up casual conversation, his voice soft and friendly. "I heard about your last mission with Master Auksinis. It must’ve been tough." Theron nodded, keeping his voice neutral. "Yeah, it was rough. Sinis was blindsided ... by some big baddie." Rahutu’s expression softened with genuine concern. "I hope he’s recovering well. You two seem close."

Theron paused, unsure how to respond to not get them in trouble. "Yeah, we are. He’s been my partner for a long time." The Jedi's gaze lingered on Theron for a moment, as though studying him, then smiled. "That must be nice. To have that kind of bond." Something in Rahutu’s voice got Theron's attention. Was that... envy? He wasn’t sure. Rahutu continued, his tone light but interested. "I’ve always found it hard to build those kinds of connections. The Jedi Code and all... it can get in the way." Theron smirked, trying to shake off the sudden weight of the conversation, filed through a ton of deflections. "Oh, you know, I had to wrestle him for it. Won him over with my charm - or, more likely, I just latched on him like an electro leech to a cable."

Rahutu laughed at that, a soft, genuine laugh that made Theron grin and like him even more. "You should give yourself more credit for the impression you make. I gathered that he is more the gruff type. Still, the friendship and the bond you two have, it's something to admire. No one else stands his whole...", the red-clad Jedi was looking for a fitting word, "...'lone kath hound' thing as good as you do. He is a great Knight, it would be a pity to lose that just because he is all left by himself. But you are able to really bring out the best in him. Not a few in the Order appreciate you for that." His green eyes gleamed with a warmth that made Theron feel... seen.

The spy shifted, not entirely comfortable with the compliment. "Yeah, well... I just do what I can." Rahutu tilted his head. "You do more than that, Agent Shan. Working with someone like Master Auksinis... that takes a certain kind of strength." Theron waved it off with a casual shrug, hiding his unease behind a smirk. "Nah, I just know how to roll with the punches. And it's Theron, not Agent Shan." But something in Rahutu's words stuck with him as they continued talking, lingering in the back of his mind. "So," Rahutu asked, his voice softer now, "what’s it like, working with someone like him? I imagine it can be... intense."

Theron hesitated, not expecting the even more personal question. But Rahutu seemed genuinely curious. Really interested. "It’s... different. But it works." Theron’s lips quirked. "Sinis isn’t exactly textbook, but he’s damn good at what he does." Rahutu nodded thoughtfully, and for a moment, Theron found himself easing into the conversation. Rahutu had that disarming charm, that ability to make people open up. He wasn’t just the perfect Jedi on the battlefield - he was the guy you wanted to be friends with. At least that meant no awkward lectures during meals, he had to admit that he liked that. But when he thought that by now he probably had started the second fight with Sinis over their strategy he silently chuckled. 

--

The mission unfolded smoother than any Theron had ever experienced. Rahutu didn’t just look like a holovid hero - he moved like one, effortlessly, gracefully, his saber deflecting every blaster bolt with pinpoint precision. Even his hair somehow stayed in place. Twice, he saved Theron from a close call. The first time, he pulled Theron out of the path of a falling beam, their arms brushing in the process. The second time, Rahutu leaped in front of a blaster meant for him, deflecting it with ease before flashing him a reassuring smile. "I’ve got you," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made Theron pause.

But when Theron hacked a terminal or found a hidden spice stock after triangulating radio scanners, Rahutu looked genuinely starstruck, his eyes wide with admiration. "Genius deduction!" Rahutu had exclaimed, and Theron wasn’t sure if he was serious or teasing. Either way, it felt… strange. Not unpleasant, but definitely strange.

It wasn’t just Rahutu’s flawless run of the mission that caught Theron’s attention - it was the way the Jedi asked questions, showing genuine interest in Theron’s life outside of the field. "So... do you ever get time for yourself? What do you do when you’re not saving the galaxy?" Rahutu asked as they navigated the narrow corridors of the facility.

Theron stared at his mission partner while the Jedi plucked some stems and green leaves out of a planter that just happened to stand there. That wasn’t a typical mission question. When he didn't answer, Rahutu turned to him, clearly waiting for him to speak. He shrugged. "I dunno. I like my downtime. Holonet, maybe a drink." Rahutu chuckled, the sound light and easy. "I’ll have to try that sometime. Always wondered what normal felt like."

Theron found himself grinning despite everything, he couldn't remember when he had 'normal' the last time. Rahutu was likable - smart, funny, kind. Maybe too kind. For a moment, Theron almost forgot about the pressure of the mission. Almost.

He was the kind of Jedi you wanted on your side in a fight, sure. The kind you’d want your kid to look up to. But he wasn’t... tangible.. .? There was no fire, no edge. Theron found himself missing Sinis’ roughness, the way he threw himself into danger with reckless abandon, how every mission was a battle against his own dark history.

Back on Carrick Station, Rahutu gave him a genuine smile. "I really enjoyed working with you, Theron. Maybe we’ll get another chance to team up in the future." Theron smiled back, and yeah, another mission with this guy wouldn't be too bad. "Yeah. Maybe. Hopefully not at the cost of an injured Jedi." Rahutu nodded, surprised Theron with an embrace, squeezed his upper body and bid his good-byes.

--

When Theron returned from the Senate on Coruscant for a debrief, Sinis was waiting, leaning in the corridor. His arms were crossed, his expression carefully neutral, but Theron could feel the tension radiating off him like a charged wire. Sinis’ gaze flicked up to meet his, eyes narrowing just slightly.

"How was the mission?" Sinis’ voice was calm, too calm, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath the surface, one Theron knew all too well. The spy shrugged, hand in the pockets of his red jacket. "Went smooth. Rahutu’s... good. Real good." He hesitated, catching the flicker of something in Sinis’ eyes - something dark, sharp. Jealousy. Sinis glanced away, jaw tightening, a bitter edge curling his lips. "Of course. Perfect Jedi, right?" His tone was clipped, just a little too casual to be natural.

Theron raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Jealous?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. Sinis scoffed, though it sounded more like a growl, his eyes narrowing further. "Of him? Please." But the tightness in his jaw, the set of his shoulders, betrayed him. Theron could see right through the Knight’s thinly veiled front. "Come on, babe," Theron said, unable to resist the tease. "Can't fool me."

Sinis’ gaze darkened, his voice dropping low. "He’s what I’m not. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?" There was a bitter bite in his words, and Theron felt the weight of that accusation hit harder than expected. Theron turned serious, no smirk, no teasing. "He’s not you," he said, voice quiet but sure. Sinis frowned, his lips pulling into a thin line. "Is that supposed to be a good thing?" Theron stepped closer, the air between them suddenly thick with tension. "Yeah. It is," he said, meeting Sinis’ eyes without hesitation. "Rahutu’s great. Perfect, even. But he’s not real. He’s not you."

For a moment, Sinis didn’t say anything, but Theron could see the shift in his posture, the crack in his armor. Slowly, some of the tension melted away, though the wariness in his eyes remained. "You really think that?" Sinis asked, his voice quieter and softer now. Theron didn’t often see that side of him, but when he did, it always hit him right in the chest. He smiled. "Yeah. Besides," he added with a smirk, "Rahutu’s not interested in me like that. Jedi code and all. You’re stuck with me, Jedi." Sinis’ lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Guess I’m lucky, then." Theron chuckled softly, stepping close enough that his hand brushed against Sinis’ arm, the warmth of the contact lingering between them. "Yeah. Lucky us."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the bustling sounds of the Republic capital fading into the background as they just... looked at each other. Sinis’ gaze dropped briefly before lifting again, and for just a second, Theron saw something raw and unguarded flicker in his eyes. Vulnerability. Sinis had been through so much, carried more than anyone should have to bear, and yet here he was, still fighting.

Theron broke the silence. "Take me somewhere where not half the Republic can see us. We need to talk." Auksinis nodded and they took a speeder to his apartment. 

--

The garden was really something else, the view from the main platform offering a breathtaking sight of Galactic City’s skyline. Theron leaned against column, taking it in, but he could feel Sinis' presence behind him - somewhat unhappy and tense. He didn’t need to turn around to know what the Jedi was conflicted about. "Theron..." Sinis' voice broke the silence, low and hesitant, as if each word carried a weight he wasn’t sure he could bear. "I don’t want to screw this up." Theron smiled softly at that. He turned, facing Sinis, and without hesitation, reached out, his fingers curling gently around Sinis’ wrist. The simple touch seemed to ground them both, and Theron gave a light squeeze, his thumb brushing against the Jedi’s skin.

"You won’t," Theron said, his voice quiet but certain. "I’m the one who’s good at screwing things up, remember? Whatever you think you need to do to not screw this up, you are already doing it." Sinis gave a small, fleeting smirk, but Theron could still see the tension lining his features. The kind of tension that didn’t come from just this moment but from years of fighting, from pushing down everything else that didn’t serve the mission. It was in the way Sinis’ shoulders stiffened, the way his eyes flickered with something unresolved. "I told you that when we were freezing in that kriffing cave and being on a mission with Master Pictureperfect instead and without you, has not changed my mind." Sinis snorted at that but didn't look entirely convinced. 

Theron stepped closer, determined not to let him run from it this time. "You’re my hero, Sinis," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words carried the full weight of everything Theron felt. "Not my mom, not Rahutu, not anyone else. You." Sinis blinked, his eyes widening slightly as if the confession caught him off guard. For a moment, he just stared, as though trying to understand the truth in those words. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his hand reached up, fingers brushing against Theron’s jaw before cupping his cheek. The touch was tentative, unsure, as though Sinis wasn’t convinced he deserved it.

Theron leaned into the warmth of the Jedi’s palm, his heart beating a little faster, his breath catching in his chest. The weight of their closeness - physical and emotional - was impossible to ignore. "I sometimes don't understand what you see in me," Sinis admitted, his voice rough and edged with doubt, like he didn’t quite believe he could ever live up to those words. Theron grinned, that mischievous spark lighting up his face for a second. "Yeah, no shit. Same." He chuckled. "Besides, if we were gonna have a hero moment, I’d much rather it be with the dude who nearly gets me killed on a regular basis."

Sinis huffed a silent laugh, the tension finally breaking a little, and he shook his head, his thumb brushing absently against Theron’s cheek as he let out a quiet laugh. "I’m not sure that’s how heroics work, Shan." - "Yeah, well, I’m not sure we’re the best examples of it either," Theron replied, his grin crooked but no less sincere. “It works for me,” Theron teased. “But seriously... I mean it, Sinis. You’re everything I want.” Sinis’ gaze darkened, but this time, it wasn’t from jealousy or doubt. Before Theron could say anything else, Sinis closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Theron’s in a kiss that was deep and hot with need and want.

When they finally pulled apart, Theron rested his forehead against Sinis’, his breath uneven. “So... does this mean we’re officially more than mission partners now?” Theron asked, his voice teasing, but there was a deeper note to it - a vulnerability that wasn’t usually there. Sinis smiled at him, his hand sliding down to rest on Theron’s hip. “Looks like it.” Theron grinned, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time. “Good. Because I’ve got a whole list of things we’re gonna do together, and none of them involve missions.” - “Oh?” Sinis arched an eyebrow. “Care to share?” And Theron leaned in, his lips brushing against Sinis’ ear as he whispered his ideas. 

Chapter Text

A woman stands in a vast, empty space - a horizonless expanse where the ground is smooth like glass but feels like flesh underfoot, warm and slightly disgusting. In her hand, she cradles a golden orb. It hums with a warm, radiant light, casting an inviting glow, as though it’s alive, pulsing a slight rhythm, not exactly a heartbeat.

A crackle cuts through the stillness, hunts a distant whisper of sanity. The light in the orb begins to twist, its glow warping, flickering.

Suddenly, the golden light flares, but instead of brightness, it warps into a jagged stream of lightning - violent, hungry.

The woman screams, though the sound is swallowed by the endless void. The orb melts in her grasp, its once-perfect light shattered into shards of electric chaos. The lightning strikes outward, no longer contained, tearing at the empty space, and where it touches, the air itself fractures like glass. The glow is gone, replaced by the storm.

The lightning strikes once more, tearing everything apart, including herself.

- Classified dreams and visions, Dep. 1.23, row 19/20, medical Jedi archives

The Odessen base was never really silent and her room didn't even have a decent door. Still she didn't care if someone saw her practice. No one would question her training. The white golden glow of the orb in her hands twisted. It distorted, changed its shapes. A violent strike shoot from her hand into the rock of the ceiling. It's force had been blunted, otherwise she would have been able to destroy half the base. A dark chuckle escaped her lips. 

The quiet hum of the console filled the room where the Barsen’thor stood, her figure bathed in the blueish glow of it. But the soft light did nothing to ease the tension swirling around her. Power crackled in the air, the scent of ozone sharp and oppressive as lightning flickered from her fingertips - blue streaks of dark energy arcing through the room. 

Lana Beniko stood back, watching. She observed as the woman she had once known as a somewhat curious and quirky Jedi, now a force of unrestrained power, shifted between the old and the new, her telekinesis powers fading into the background as Force lightning became her weapon of choice. The Sith had always imagined the journey to power would be a long, deliberate path - one that involved subtlety and precision. But the Sage had embraced the dark side far more quickly than she expected. This, Lana thought, was not how it was supposed to go. The pace of the transformation both unsettled and fascinated her.

This wasn’t the same woman who had fought beside her on Rishi and Yavin 4, so eager to learn, so fascinated by Lana's whole being. Back then, the Jedi had been curious, even eager to understand the dark side, but still grounded in her Jedi beliefs. That not-so-innocent eagerness to collaborate with a Sith - Lana could remember it as if it were yesterday. She had admired the woman’s willingness to walk a fine line, to open herself to a broader perspective in pursuit of greater goals. It was one of the reasons Lana had grown so close to her, one of the reason she fell fast and hard.

But time, as always, had a way of reshaping people. The journey to power was never linear.

Lana’s gaze remained steady as she watched the Commander test her Force abilities - lightning arcing from her hands, stronger and fiercer with every flicker. The dark side coursed through her now, its strength taking root where the Jedi’s old disciplines were fading. Telekinesis had become an afterthought, a relic of her past that no longer served her ambitions. Lana smiled faintly, how the Force had led them here. She could feel her partner’s growing frustration with the light, the Jedi teachings she had once clung to like a shield. Those days were long gone.

"I’ve mastered it," the Barsen'thor muttered, more to herself than to Lana. Her voice held a manic edge, a low, fervent hum of someone who had discovered something forbidden and powerful. "The Jedi ways were never enough. This gives me everything I need." 

Lana took a quiet breath, careful not to disturb the silence too much. She had always envisioned this, a leader who wasn’t bound by the shackles of outdated Jedi codes or foolish Sith dogma. A leader who could merge both schools of thought to become something greater. But watching the once beautiful women now, her glowing orange eyes, the faint dark veins on her pale face, seeing the darkness coil tighter around her, Lana wondered if they had perhaps underestimated just how far this journey could take her.

“You’ve always known the Jedi path was limited,” Lana finally said, stepping forward, her voice smooth as velvet. “It could never give you what you need.” The Barsen'thor turned toward her, her expression wild with a dangerous confidence. “And now I see it clearly. Being bound to one path is weak, bound by rules and restrictions. Expanding it gives me freedom.” Lana nodded, satisfaction blooming in her chest. The former Jedi believed she had found her way - one of true strength, one that would allow her to reshape the galaxy as she saw fit. And it was Lana who had guided her here, had nurtured the seeds of doubt and pushed her to embrace the dark.

But there was something fragile in that conviction, something more volatile than Lana expected. The Barsen’thor believed, deeply, that she was still a Warden of the Order, wore the title with conviction - the one who would bring true balance and peace through power. Wasn't she the one who striked down those ill-born abominations of the Force, the twisted and unhinged Vaylin, the power hungry Valkorion - an Emperor of all Sith? No. It was a good deed. Good work. The work of a good person. It was almost a little funny, that the people thought she was the evil one here. As if she would have not burned the whole planet down to make these homicidal maniacs pay for their sins.

"The mission, Zildrog,” the Barsen’thor suddenly said, her voice snapping Lana from her thoughts. “The coordinates lead to Theron?”

Lana’s mouth tightened at the mention of Theron Shan. That part of their Alliance had turned darker still. The Sage - more of a Sorcerer now - had become obsessed, convinced that Theron’s actions - his defiance, his constant questioning of her decisions - had revealed his true nature. She saw him as a traitor, and that belief was feeding her growing mental instability. Lana wasn't happy about that and wanted this inconvenience to be solved. One way or the other.

"Theron is a traitor," the Barsen'thor continued, her voice sharp and venomous. "He thinks he can stop me. He’s always doubted me. But now... now I’ll find him, and I’ll crush him."

Lana watched her closely, noting the flicker of disturbance in her eyes. Theron had once been her second in command, his skills highly valued, but now? Now he was an enemy to be eliminated. Lana had always known this was a possibility - Theron had never fully trusted their methods, had always challenged the Barsen’thor's growing power. She had always pushed him away, but now? Now she wanted him gone for good.

"And when we do find him?" Lana asked, though she knew the answer. The Sorceress' smile twisted into something cruel. “I’ll kill him. He’s a threat. I’ve let him live for too long out of some misplaced loyalty, but no more. I should’ve swatted him like a fly ages ago.” Lana nodded, her expression neutral, though inside she was already calculating the possibilities. Theron had always been difficult, but now, he was an obstacle. She still liked him, had always liked him, but she wouldn't stand against the woman she loved and adored. Their journey had brought them to this moment - where all ties would be severed, and all opposition crushed. “You’ve come so far,” Lana murmured, her voice low, almost reverent. “From the Jedi Consular who sought peace, to the leader of the Alliance. But now? Now you are something more. Something eternal.”

The Barsen’thor’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, but Lana saw the cracks beneath the surface - the instability that grew with every use of lightning, with every inch she stepped closer to total darkness. The Sorceress believed she was walking the right path, that she was the savior who would bring balance to the galaxy.

The truth was, she had already lost herself to the dark side. Lana just loved her even more. She'd put the Galaxy at her feet if she was ordered to. Make it bloody if requested.

Even as she saw the cracks in her sanity, even as she recognized the unhinged hunger for control, Lana couldn’t help but admire the sheer force of will, the burning determination. It was this strength, that unstoppable power, that had drawn Lana to her in the first place. And now, despite everything, that love still held, stronger than ever. To stand beside her, to support her no matter what the future would bring - Lana had made her choice long ago. Darkness or light, madness or sanity, it didn’t matter. This woman was hers, and she would follow her into the void.

“We’ll find Theron,” Lana continued, her voice unwavering. “And when we do, he’ll be dealt with. But you... you’ve already won, my love. The galaxy is yours to shape, the Force serves you.” The Commander nodded, her expression fierce. “Yes. I will reshape it. The Jedi were fools. The Sith, too. They cling to their old ways. But I’ll bring true peace. True order.”

Lana stood beside her, watching the odyssey they had started so long ago on Rishi, when the Jedi had first admired her, had finally come full circle. She spoke to her, voice low, intimate. “This is where our journey leads us, isn’t it? To the end of all that ties you to your past. To the final reckoning.” The Sorceress met her gaze, her smile cold, calculating, her sanity in a precarious hold. “Yes. And when it’s over, nothing will stand in my way. Not the Jedi. Not the Sith. And not their funny little Intel farms.”

Lana felt a surge of pride, tempered with something darker. 'This is what I’ve always wanted', she reminded herself. And yet, there was a sense of finality creeping in, a knowledge that this alliance was reaching its climax. What lay beyond it - what lay beyond them - was uncertain. But it didn’t matter. She had made her choice long ago, and she would see it through to the bitter end.

Together, they would destroy whatever remained of the old galaxy. And from the fire and the ashes, they would build something new. Something strong, that would last.

The dark side of the Force pulsed between them, a living, breathing entity, and Lana couldn’t help but smile. The Force served them well.

The journey wasn’t over yet.

Chapter Text

“I am the Warden,” she whispered to herself, her voice a comforting mantra. “I will save them.” The galaxy was rife with chaos, and only she had the strength to wield the power necessary to extinguish it. She thought of the countless battles she had fought, the lives she had saved from tyranny and darkness. The evil she crushed. Every choice, every action had been a step toward the greater good.

She looked into the mirror in the 'fresher of her ship, assessing her face, her eyes. The lines on her pale skin, the changed color of her irises - golden like molten lava and flickering in the light. They seemed to pulse, ever-shifting, as though not entirely solid anymore. Her voice was thin. "I earned those marks of power."

But as she leaned closer, the mirror warped. Her reflection rippled, skin shimmering like glass about to crack. Her lips pulled tight, eyes stretching unnaturally wide - too wide, so wide they devoured her face. She blinked and it was gone, just her own reflection once more, tired yet powerful. A fleeting trick of the mind.

“It’s not about power,” she reminded herself, lifting her chin, forcing her gaze back to the woman in the mirror. “It’s about responsibility.” Responsibility to act decisively. To eliminate the threats that lurked in the shadows. But the reflection didn't quite follow her movements, its lips curling into a smile a fraction too slow. She ignored it.

Her hand rose slowly, almost as if on its own accord, fingertips brushing against the cold surface of the mirror. It felt strange under her touch, not smooth but grainy, as if tiny fractures were spidering beneath the glass. She pressed harder, her pulse quickening when the cracks deepened, creeping outward in erratic lines, distorting her reflection. Her eyes darted around the image. She could see it clearly now - the face in the mirror was hers, and yet not hers. Its molten eyes burned brighter, and the skin rippled as though something darker, more dangerous, lurked just beneath the surface, ready to break free.

A slow smile spread across the reflection’s lips. A smile she hadn’t chosen to make.

Her heart stuttered. No. Focus.

She drew her hand back, shaking off the chill that crept up her arm. Her reflection returned to normal - or what passed for normal now. She took a steadying breath, but it came out ragged, uneven.

“Some sacrifices must be made,” she thought, her heart steadying as she forced herself back to the mission. The galaxy was on the brink of annihilation. She knew she had to take matters into her own hands. Even if the mirror showed a face that was no longer entirely her own.

In the quiet recesses of her mind, whispers stirred like shadows scraping against the edges of her sanity. "It's necessary." The voices flickered, but she brushed them aside, shaking her head. “They don’t understand,” she murmured, more forcefully this time. “They can’t see the bigger picture.”

And then there was Theron Shan.

Theron, with his incessant objections, the voice of reason that grated on her soul. He’d been by her side for so long, yet still, there was defiance in his hazel eyes that irked her.

Her teeth clenched, her vision narrowing, darkening, as the lightning at her fingertips flared briefly with her anger. Theron Shan. He had dared betray her. After everything they had achieved together, after all she had done to save the galaxy, he had gone behind her back. Undermining her efforts. Joining the enemy. Rebellion. Resistance. Freedom. It was laughable. He was laughable.

Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred at the edges, and the mirror seemed to ripple again. Theron’s face flashed before her, distorted, twisted. His eyes - those insufferable, defiant eyes - burned into her, mocking her.

He had thrown everything away. Everything. He was hers. Trusted in ways so few had been. And he had chosen treachery.

Her nails dug deep into her palms. “Ungrateful. Fool.” The words echoed in her head like a drumbeat, each syllable stoking the fire in her veins. She could feel the blood searing beneath her skin, the desire to find him and end his miserable life consuming her. He deserved it. He deserved to pay for daring to betray her. Her.

The air around her crackled. Her breath came in short bursts. She could already see it - the moment his smug defiance crumbled beneath the weight of her power. The way his body would convulse under her lightning. The broken look in his eyes as he realized he had made the greatest mistake of his life. She would savor it.

Her hands trembled, the lightning sparking uncontrollably now. Her reflection in the mirror was gone, replaced by something monstrous, warped. Her skin - veined, pale, the hue not unsimilar to the power she wielded now. Her bones, jagged and sharp, bent to the sheer force of her power. Her mouth opened into a soundless scream, the gaping void inside stretching wider, swallowing everything.

For a brief second, she wondered if she was losing control, if she had become too consumed. But the thought only made her smile.

There was no going back now.

She grinned at the mirror, at the twisted and disfigured reflection staring back at her, its eyes glowing with hunger. “I am responsible,” she whispered, her voice twisted. “I will bring order. I will save them all.”

The lightning flared again, brighter, more violent. Her hand twitched, fingertips scorching the glass in front of her. She traced her reflection with her fingers, feeling the heat from the lightning burning against the cool surface, the sensation both pleasurable and agonizing.

Images of Theron filled her mind - his proud face, his smug grin, always questioning, always thinking he could reason with her. The thought made her laugh. A sharp, brittle sound that echoed in the small room. He thought he knew her. Thought he could stop her. But Theron was nothing more than a pawn now, a hurdle in her path. And like the others, he would fall. She would crush him, and when he was gone, the galaxy would be better for it.

Lana had the coordinates. He was out there, scheming, waiting. He wouldn’t know what hit him.

Except that wasn’t true. No. She would make sure he knew exactly what hit him. She wanted to see the recognition in his eyes, to feel the moment when he realized he could never have stopped her.

Her hands stilled, trembling from the surge of power. The glass in front of her cracked, the fissures spreading across the surface like a web of lightning. Her reflection splintered into a thousand tiny fragments, each one showing a different version of herself - some calm, some monstrous, some smiling, some screaming. She saw them all, and yet she couldn't tell which one was truly her anymore.

But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She was the Warden. She was the only one who could save the galaxy from itself. Theron was just another obstacle. Another threat to peace and order. He was chaos, and chaos had no place in her vision of the future.

With a final, satisfied smile, she stepped back from the mirror. The cracked surface shimmered in the light, broken and distorted, just like everything else. She turned her back on it, the lightning sparking at her fingertips again. The thought of Theron’s fall steadied her heart. It was a mission now, a singular, unwavering goal.

And when it was done, there would be nothing left standing in her way.

Especially not Theron Shan.

Chapter Text

Gault had always liked the hunter.

It took an awful long time until he saw the face of the dude - a rather nondescriptive formerly human cyborg - but Gault didn't need to see the face to know they were two sons from the same Hutt.

He thought that the hunter liked him too. After he picked the Devaronian up on Tatooine and a few short missions on Taris, where he took the Mandalorian kid with him, it was mostly Gault and him. The hunter went with things that Gault suggested, huffed about his awful jokes and listened when he spilled memories about his past.

Yeah, Gault liked the hunter.

Mako liked the hunter too, he observed, even though at least it was in the beginning more a "liked to get into the hunter's panties" way of like. She didn't succeed though. Gault was not really interested in the reasons why, but Mako cried his ears full until he overdramatically sighed.

"Why doesn't he like me?" - "I'm pretty sure he likes you. He just doesn't like you like that." - "Yeah, but why?" - "Listen, girl, I can't help you here. Maybe he thinks you're too young. Maybe he likes blondes. Maybe he likes men. Maybe he likes Wookies. Maybe he likes blonde, male Wookies. There are literally hundreds of reasons and none of them knowing will help you. Get over it and move on." Mako punished him with silent treatment then for some time. Gault just internally shrugged. Fine by him.

After she made a really obvious move and the hunter clearly avoided her afterwards, she came to her senses. The Mandalorian kid, Torian, and Mako started dating shortly after the Devaronian had overheard the hunter encouraging the young fighter to go for it. Torian adored their employer, he would never had persued Mako if he thought he'd cross a line but with that the whole affair died down. Affair. Ha-kriffing-ha.

In the beginning he had asked for money or boons to make a little on the side. It was nearly no fun because the hunter either called the bluff or rolled with it. Which actually... was fun. As silent and as brute as the Powertech appeared, he wasn’t stupid. He also could move nearly silently and swing a mean knife, all skills and competences that Gault actually admired. The assignment also brought him enough money to not worry for once and he basically never paid for his drinks. Yeah, definitely two sons of the same Hutt. 

Gault asked for leave to clear things with Hylo and it was granted immediately. When he returned, the hunter waited for him in his bunk to let him cry in his shoulder. Which totally didn't happen. He didn't cry. Ok, maybe a little.

When they found Blizz on Hoth Gault also looked forward downtime. The Jawa was like a little fluffball on the ship and everyone adored him. Unfortunately he was immensively competent too, so that downtime for Gault meant there was no Blizz, because he then was usually with the hunter on a mission. Oh well. There was always the option of playing cards in the local cantina to avoid overhearing the two lovebirds in the Mantis.

No one liked Skadge by the way. Not even Gault and he was the one who usually got along with every son of a Hutt that crossed his path. Until the very end, no one understood why the meatpile breathed their oxygen.

The cantina was crowded and too hot. Gault nursed his pinkish drink and looked around, just to know when opportunities arose. The hunter was silent as a rock next to him and exposed as much emotion. "Hey, killer. How come you never take anyone to the ship? Was wondering that since you shot down our pretty little hacker." He really wasn't. He just wanted to make smalltalk. The bulk of a man next to him didn't answer. He didn't expect him to, to be honest.

That suddenly changed when they were requested to Makeb - by Darth Marr of all people. Sith Council meant good money and Gault was all in. The pretty slender redskinned Sith with more gold in his face than the Devaronian had seen for a while and the no-bullshit lady Gault adored immediately because she reminded him of Hylo led them through a harrowing mission of kriffing saving a full-ass planet. Hopefully there was a lot of money at the end.

Gault was nothing but some attentive bastard so he clearly knew something was happening when during the next mission debrief the hunter wore no helmet. He didn't remember when was the last time he had seen the hunter's face, so it was a little bit like life day presents. On their way out Gault couldn't resist. The hunter still had his helmet in his hand and the expession on his plain face was pensive.

"Now who of the two beauties stroke your fancy, killer?", he asked and bumped the hunter's shoulder. The man looked at him, flush on his cheeks, his eyes a little skittish and he bit his lip. Gault blinked. The hunter had the emotional capacity of a dead Genosian and when he told people he counted until three so they could go out their way he usually shot at 2. And now he was... embarrassed? "C'mon, you can tell me, no secret that isn't safe with your good ol' friend Gault.", he looked the hunter dead in the eye. It worked, they both snorted at the same time and the tension broke. Laughing they made their way to the next location. He didn't even know the hunter was physically able to laugh.

Makeb kriffing sucked. Who the hell put faculties in vulcanos? Hutts were idiots, every single one of them. If there wasn't a kriffing mountain of money to get here, Gault considered just throwing the towel and retire. And absolutely hilarious, his partner turned into a downright chatterbox.

The usual vocabulary of the Powertech shifted between something like "Hm.", "No.", "You're dead.", "Two." and "Where's my money." Gault was pretty sure that he didn't miss how the hunter asked Lord Cytharat - a Sith of all available options - to come down to Makeb and fight alongside him. What was even better, the Sith had humored all his pitiful pick-up lines with a dignity like he was courted by some Alderaanian noble. And if that wasn't enough, the stonecold killer that made seasoned weapon cartels wet themselves and the Sith Council antsy went to lengths and back to actually save the red ass of said Sith. For. One. Single. Kiss. Gaults eyes glittered. He would tell the story Mako at least three times until she wept and begged for mercy. He would write a kriffing holonovel about this and become rich.

When the Devaronian laid his holonovel plans out to his friend he was greeted with the usual impression: Plain desinterest. "C'mon. You have a heart! Or at least a dick. I didn't even know you have any organs aside from the blood you shed when you forgot to step out of the hail of blasterfire." The hunter looked away and answered. "Hm." Gault laughed with glee.

It's been a hilariously shitty mission and an even shittier day. Gault wiped crispy fried enemy intestines from his one remaining horn. "Y'know, killer, it was impeccable timing to kickstart the flamer when I just had thrown the seismic." The hunter turned his head so that the dark visor was in his direction but didn't say anything. "We should do that more often." Gault stripped out of his soiled clothing and sighed. "I will burn this like the one with the Rakghoul excrements from Taris. I'm pretty sure, you owe me roughly 4 shirts now." - "No." Gault looked at the mess, then snickered. "Have you seen the face of the one than ran away? I'm pretty sure, he shat himself before you got him good." He stepped into the fresher to shower. When he returned the hunter was still there but this time he wore no helmet and had two cold drinks in his hands. "Aw, you sap!" They sat on the entry steps of the Mantis on some forgotten planet and chucked down their beverages. It was nice. Gault talked his most likely cybernetically enhanced ear off while they were watching a kriffing sunset. Perfect bromance - one could nearly get sentimental here.

2 days later a stack of 4 new shirts lay on Gault's bunk. The quality was so good, that he couldn't even complain about it.

When the Republican spy stepped into the holoterminal the first time to get them out of the Manaan laboratory he thought that this dude could be a good fit for his hunter and suggested as much. "That's a cute one, killer, could battle the red precious from Makeb, no?" - "Do I look like someone who fraternises with the kriffing Pubs now?" Wow, long sentence, seemed to be important. "Aw, boss, you are no fun."

Gault was no one to be attached or at least he thought so. He had betrayed, left and lost the woman he loved the most over some silly stunt. Yes, that had hurt but he didn't dwell much on that. When it would come to his assignment on the Mantis, he thought, he would just shoulder his duffle and never look back - there was money to make, scammer to scam and fun to be had somewhere in the galaxy.

He didn't think it would pain him as much as it did when it ended. They all looked through the windows of the Mantis when Darth Marr's ship cracked in two halves and Gault knew that no one survived this. He wondered about the hole in his chest and realized he just had lost a friend. A comrade. The boss he liked the most of all he had so far. Stupid fucker, couldn't get half a sentence out of his mouth to save his life. But a pity.

He watched Torian and Mako fall apart. Blizz only made a high pitched whine. Ok - it wasn't that bad, was it? He looked back to the smothering ship and the sight of it stabbed his heart. Ok, maybe it was that bad.

Gault had always liked the hunter.

He drifted around for a while. Hylo didn't want to work with him at first but then she thawed a little and gave him smaller appointments here and there that were hard to scam or fuck up. Fine by him. He didn't miss her as much these days, he totally not lied to himself. It wasn't that he ever let two people close and lost them both. That's not tragic, that's weathering, he didn't miss it. What he missed was the effortless, humorous easiness he had with the hunter, someone to poke, someone to rely on. Someone who just steamrolled with his genius ideas. He hadn't realized how good friends they had become, how much it meant. Until it was too late. Shame.

He waited at the cantina to meet his contact, the usual hum of meaningless chatter filling the space. It all sounded the same now - ever since that kriffing ship split in two.

The drinks weren’t enough to drown the sting in his chest. Gault absently sipped at his favorite pinkish drink, that he paid himself for this time, eyes scanning the crowd, but no one really stuck out. He half expected the hunter’s hulking, silent figure to appear beside him again, but of course, it wouldn’t. That was gone, like the stupid idiot who never said more than two words in a row unless money or blastershots were involved. And now, he never would again.

His throat tightened at the thought. It wasn’t like Gault to feel… like this. Not over anyone. Hell, he had survived worse. He had lost more. But when the hunter had been there in his bunk, awkwardly patting his shoulder while Gault pretended he wasn't crying over Hylo - maybe that had been a turning point. Because even though they didn’t really talk about it, the hunter had been there. That mattered.

He rubbed his eyes, cursing under his breath. What the kriff was wrong with him? There was no time for this. He had a contact to meet, money to make and a job to do. But as he lowered his hand from his face, the vision of Darth Marr's ship breaking apart flashed in his mind again, and for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

Before he could shake the feeling, he noticed someone approaching. He blinked to clear his vision, squinting as the figure drew closer. Small, almost delicate compared to the usual brutes that haunted this place, but with a confidence in their stride. They stopped in front of him, their eyes bright with purpose, and a hand was extended towards him.

He stared at the hand for a moment, then slowly raised his eyes. That spark. That glimmer of something familiar, something daring, hit him before he even knew why.

Her skin gleamed under the cantina lights, but it was her smile that hit him hardest. Something inside him, tight and bitter, began to loosen. He found himself grinning back and extending his hand to shake hers. 

"Hi," the blue Twi'lek said with a slight grin, her voice casual, almost playful. "I'm Vette."

Chapter Text

Sometimes intel was just shit.

Theron hadn’t expected this. He’d infiltrated plenty of Imperial strongholds, but this assignment was kriffing cursed.

The problem was, the Sith Lord, Darth Amatox, had a boy - a young apprentice, barely sixteen. Vaasko was more than an acolyte in his standing, more a ward, but less than a Sith. Not hard, not cruel, not really powerful or versed with the Force. The apprentice status was more a fluke than anything else, the teen could barely lift a cup with the Force. He was far too soft. Too delicate and sweet for the brutal life of the Sith Academy. His lovely green eyes and his copper curls too pretty for the predators that lurked among the ranks of the Empire.

Intel had failed to mention the kid in any detail, and now Theron was knee-deep in the middle of a situation that no longer felt as black and white as it had been when he just had the kriffing briefing.

Darth Amatox’s protective hand over Vaasko would fall away once the mission was complete. The Empire didn’t tolerate softness. The moment Amatox faltered, even for an instant, the other Sith would pounce. The "apprentice", with his quiet kindness and unguarded heart, would be the first to suffer. If the master fell, the boy would follow, a victim of the merciless machinery that governed Imperial life.

Theron knew how it worked. He’d seen it play out before.

Power in the Empire was a fragile, fleeting thing. Strength ruled above all, and the slightest hint of weakness was an invitation to be crushed. Sith Lords maintained their position through fear, not loyalty, and apprentices were only valuable as long as they served a purpose. Once that purpose was gone, so were they.

Vaasko, with his friendly demeanor and soft-spoken nature, was a ticking time bomb. The moment Amatox was gone, the kid would be devoured by the same system that had once protected him. Soft individuals like him didn’t survive in the Empire. They were seen as liabilities - weak links in a chain that could not afford to break. And the Empire executed orders with cold precision.

Theron had seen it before - apprentices killed the moment their masters fell from grace. Betrayals were swift and brutal. Those who had enemies were taken out quickly, before they could retaliate. But those who had no enemies? They were often left to rot in the shadows, consumed by a system that valued only power. Vaasko would be chewed up by that machine. Whether it was a jealous rival at the Academy, an ambitious Sith looking to prove themselves or simply a monster that wanted to ruin the beautiful teen with pain and blood, Vaasko wouldn’t last long once Amatox’s protection was stripped away.

In the Empire, kindness was a weakness. Softness was a death sentence.

It was clearly a fatherly love that Amatox held for Vaasko, otherwise Theron had ended the Sith then and there. The boy sometimes even slipped, calling him "Papa" instead of "Master," in moments of unguarded affection. There was no darker intent, no hidden malice in their bond. It was something gentle, that had no place in the cold, calculating world of the Sith.

Both of them were kind, in their own way. And that kindness was what would doom them.

Of course, Theron wasn’t Theron in the eyes of the Empire right now. He was "Lieutenant Harris," an Imperial officer embedded in Amatox’s retinue. His name, his way of talking, his mannerisms and gesturing, even what could be done to his appearance without being too impactful - all had been altered to blend in with the Sith’s military entourage. But his morals, his ideals, those were still his own - which could be inconvenient at times. 

Killing off this paranoid Darth had sounded good in theory, Amatox was a danger to the Republic. Funnily enough, he was to the Empire as well: His influence was growing, his reach extending into dangerous territories. But now, with Vaasko in the picture, everything had become more complicated. The boy was an obstacle that Theron hadn’t been able to account for, one that tugged at his conscience. He’d tried to convince the SIS director to consider flipping the boy, to smuggle him into the Republic where he could be safe, maybe even trained.

But Marcus had said no. The Republic wasn’t interested to deal with this problem. They wanted results. They wanted Amatox dead. Theron hadn’t been able to shake the conflicting feelings that had settled in him since that decision.

He stepped into the chamber where Amatox and Vaasko were talking quietly, their conversation too low for him to hear without activating his implants. The boy sat beside his master, eyes wide and attentive, clinging to every word Amatox spoke. Theron swallowed, pushing down the growing unease in his mind.

"My lord, the Moff is here," Theron said, his voice steady.

Amatox turned, his gaze sharp, but he nodded. "Yes. Lieutenant Harris, may I entrust my apprentice to you in the meantime?" He turned to Vaasko, his voice softening. "Vaasko, go with the Lieutenant. I’ll return soon."

Vaasko stood, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Yes, Master." He hesitated, then added in a quieter tone, "Be careful."

Amatox’s expression softened for the briefest of moments. "Always," he replied, before turning back to his work.

Theron led the boy from the room, the doors hissing shut behind them. As they walked down the corridor, the cold, sterile walls of the Imperial stronghold pressed in on them. It was a place devoid of warmth, devoid of anything human.

"Do you think the Moff will agree with my master?" Vaasko asked quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

Theron glanced sideways at him. "Your master is persuasive. He knows how to make people see his side."

Vaasko nodded, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. "He’s been different lately. More... on edge. I think he’s afraid. Not of the Moff, but... of something else."

Theron’s surpressed a sigh. Vaasko was too perceptive for his own good. The boy didn’t understand the full danger he was in, but he was beginning to see the cracks forming around him. Amatox’s paranoia was justified. The Empire was a pack of Firaxans, and the moment they sensed blood, they would strike.

"What happens to you," Theron asked carefully, "if something goes wrong? If your master doesn’t succeed?"

Vaasko blinked, surprised by the question. "I... I don’t know. I guess I’d be assigned to another Sith, or maybe sent to Korriban to continue my training. Why?"

Theron swallowed, keeping his voice steady. "Because if your master falls, there’s no guarantee anyone will protect you. You could end up dead - or worse."

The boy’s face paled. "My fa- master would never let that happen." The slip broke Theron's heart. "He might not have a choice," he said quietly. "The Empire doesn’t care about promises or bonds. It cares about power. And when your master is gone, so is your protection." He held back the hand he wanted to lay on the kid's shoulder. 

Vaasko’s steps faltered, fear flashing in his eyes. "I’m not a threat to anyone. Why-" - "They don’t care that you’re not a threat." Theron cut in, his voice firm. "All they’ll see is an easy way to move up the ladder, and they’ll cut you down the moment they get the chance."

Theron’s words hung in the air, and he could see the fear settling into Vaasko’s expression. The boy’s shoulders tensed, his steps faltering as he struggled to process the harsh reality Theron had laid before him. "I don’t... I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this?" Vaasko’s voice was shaky, his eyes pleading for answers.

Theron felt a stab of guilt, knowing that the teen didn’t fully grasp the danger he was in - not just from his homeworld, but from Theron himself. It would have been easier to let the Sith apprentice remain ignorant, but Theron couldn’t bring himself to stand by and let the inevitable unfold without at least offering some kind of warning.

Before he could respond, Vaasko stopped walking and turned to face him. His green eyes, wide with vulnerability, searched Theron’s face. "You’re part of the military," Vaasko said, his voice a mixture of hope and desperation. "You have influence, don’t you? Couldn’t you... I don’t know, help somehow? Keep me safe if anything happens to my master? I... I can be useful...?"

The innocence in the boy’s words and the unintended insinuations of them made Theron feel sick. He wasn’t sure what to say. The role he was playing - the Imperial officer with authority, with power - was of course a fabrication by the SIS. But Vaasko didn't know that. 

Theron swallowed hard, keeping his expression neutral. "It’s... complicated," he said carefully, choosing his words with caution. "There are forces in the Empire that even someone like me can’t always control."

"But you could try, right?" Vaasko asked, taking a small step closer, his voice quiet but insistent. "I mean... you’re an officer. You’re respected. You could... talk to someone, make sure I’m not in danger."

Theron felt the knife twist deeper. The boy’s trust, his reliance on a system that would ultimately betray him, made everything harder. Vaasko had no idea how precarious his situation was, and the last thing Theron wanted to do was give him false hope. But at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to crush what little faith the teen had left. Not yet.

"I’ll do what I can," Theron finally said, his voice low. He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes shortly. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He would try to help Vaasko - but not as the person the boy thought he was. "Just... be ready for anything. The Empire changes quickly. You need to be prepared. It maybe that I can't explain myself the moment it happens. But if it happens I need you to trust me."

Vaasko nodded, still stiff, still afraid. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said silently, his tone filled with a desperation that made Theron want to shoot something very often. Before he could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Theron’s heart sank. Darth Amatox was returning, his black and white robe billowing as he moved with calculated precision. His gaze swept over Theron and Vaasko, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

"Lieutenant Harris," Amatox said, his voice low and commanding. "Is everything in order?"

"Yes, my lord," Theron replied smoothly, slipping back into his role. "Your apprentice is safe with me."

Amatox’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, as if weighing the truth of Theron’s words, before turning back to Vaasko. "Come, apprentice. We have much to discuss."

Vaasko shot a glance at Theron, uncertainty and fear swirling in his green eyes, but he said nothing as he followed his master down the corridor.

The Empire was a machine of death and betrayal. Theron watched them go, hating that he knew what was coming.

Chapter Text

The stronghold was like a maze, intended or not. The corridor was cold and silent, except for the muffled hum of distant generators. Theron, known to these people as Lieutenant Harris, moved swiftly, slipping past the Imperial guards unnoticed. His pulse was hammering through his body, though his face remained calm and composed. His emotions were locked down, especially important here, deep within the heart of enemy territory.

But something was going on, had his hackles raised.

Intel had come through about an Imperial agent. One dispatched to clean up problems. Darth Amatox had drawn too much attention, and now, the Empire was moving against him, even before the Republic. Not openly, of course - there were too many politics at play for that. But they didn’t need to do it openly. The agent would come, kill Amatox quietly, and leave no loose ends.

No loose ends.

That included Vaasko.

Theron’s jaw tightened as he navigated the narrow hallways. The boy was too soft for the Empire, too soft for the Sith. But he was innocent, and he didn’t deserve to be swept up in the coming storm. Theron had already been inside Amatox’s compound for weeks, gathering intel, planning the eventual assassination - but the kid... this changed things.

If the Imperial agent got to Vaasko, there would be no mercy for Vaasko. He was too much of a liability, too connected to a Sith Lord with a death mark on his back. And while letting the agent handle Amatox would be the most convenient end of Theron’s mission, he couldn’t let the boy become collateral damage.

Theron wasn’t here to save Sith. But there were lines he still wouldn’t cross. No matter how deep the mission went.

He paused outside the training chamber, where he had last seen Vaasko and Amatox. A glance at his holopad confirmed it: the agent was already inside. Moving fast.

Damn it.

Theron slipped into the room, silent as a shadow.

Inside, the Imperial agent - Cipher 6, Rieres Balar, if his intel was right - had cornered Vaasko. The boy stood frozen, wide-eyed, as the agent advanced, a vibroknife in hand, his movements slow and deliberate. Theron’s heart clenched as he saw the fear in Vaasko’s face. The boy was defenseless, completely out of his depth. He didn't even had a lightsaber or any other kind of weapon. Amatox was gone, off dealing with other political matters, leaving his apprentice not unprotected but in danger of Imperial intelligence.

It would be easy to let this happen. To let the agent take care of the Sith problem, eliminate the threat, and make Theron’s mission simpler.

But Theron wasn’t that man.

Also the Cipher was a cruel person. To kill the boy off, he could just have used a poison dart. Vaasko would have choked, maybe fainted and no pain, no horror, no blood. Silent and clean. Instead the kriffing son of a Hutt had to draw a knife. Blood, pain and fear was, what this agent was after. Theron knew the type and hated them with a deep passion. 

Before he could think twice, he stepped forward, his voice low and authoritative. "Balar, stand down."

The agent froze, his dagger hovering in the air, inches from Vaasko’s throat. Slowly, he turned, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Theron.

"Harris," Balar spat, clearly unimpressed. "What are you doing here? This isn't your mission."

"I’m making sure you don’t leave a trail of unnecessary bodies behind," Theron replied coolly, stepping between the agent and Vaasko. "The boy isn’t part of your assignment."

"He’s Amatox’s apprentice," Balar shot back. "He’s a loose end."

"He's a kid." Theron's voice hardened, a sharp edge cutting through his otherwise calm demeanor. "He's not a threat to the Empire. You don’t need to kill him."

Balar sneered. "I don’t need to, but I will. You don’t get it, do you? They will kill off the Sith anyways. You think they’ll let the kid live once the Darth is gone? You're delusional."

Theron felt the tension rise in his chest. "He doesn’t need to die. We can-... "

"We?" Balar laughed, a hollow sound. "You're awfully protective of a Sith's pet, Harris. Or maybe... you’re not who you say you are."

Theron’s blood ran cold. Behind him he heard the boy breathing like a panicked, fluttery bird. Balar was watching him closely now, suspicion flickering in his gaze. As a Cipher he hadn’t been in Imperial Intelligence this long without knowing when someone was hiding something. Theron could feel the conversation tilting toward danger, his cover teetering on the edge.

And if Balar exposed him, everything would fall apart.

The Cipher agent stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "You’re going soft. That’s not how this works. The boy dies, Harris. I’m doing you a favor by cleaning this up. Who's not doing a favor is you for yourself, standing in my way like this." 

Theron’s fingers twitched, his hand slowly sliding to the blade hidden at his side. He wasn’t going to let this happen. Not while he was still breathing. This disgusting excuse for a human being in front of him - he was doing the galaxy a favor wiping it off this planet. 

"Your work’s not my concern," Theron said quietly, his voice like steel. "And neither is your mission. Walk away, Rieres."

The agent’s eyes flashed with anger, a cold, calculated fury that could only come from years of hardened service in Imperial Intelligence. "You really think you can take me on," Lieutenant"?" Balar hissed, making air quotes with the hand not holding the knife, his voice dripping with contempt. "You’re one step away from exposing yourself, and you know it."

Theron’s expression remained stoic. He didn’t respond, didn’t waste breath on words. In one fluid motion, he pulled his knife from its sheath, the glint of the blade catching the light as he aimed for Balar’s solar plexus.

Balar moved inhumanly fast - years of fieldwork had honed his reflexes to razor-sharp precision - but Theron was faster. The two men collided, the impact jarring through Theron’s arm as his blade nicked Balar’s side, drawing first blood but barely enough to slow the Cipher down.

"Not bad," Balar sneered, twisting away. His hand shot to his belt, and before Theron could react, a small canister clicked open in Balar’s hand. A cloud of greenish gas erupted between them, blinding Theron’s vision and burning his lungs.

Instinct kicked in. Theron dropped low, pulling his collar over his mouth and ducking under the toxic haze. His training had prepared him for this - how to move when the world went dark, how to use the sound of an enemy’s breath, the subtle shift of air, to guide his attacks.

Balar slashed out wildly, his blade aiming for where Theron’s torso had been, but Theron was already gone, rolling to the side. He counted the seconds in his head - three, four - before Balar would strike again.

Just as predicted, the Cipher jumped forward, knife hold close, blade outside. But Theron was ready. He twisted around, sweeping Balar’s legs out from under him with a low, brutal kick. The Cipher hit the ground with a hard thud, but he was already scrambling up, his reflexes just as deadly as Theron's.

"Poison’s not your only trick, is it, Cipher?" Theron muttered under his breath, barely audible as he flipped his knife into a reverse grip with an elegant twist of his wrist.

Balar’s grin was cold as death, and suddenly, the man was on his feet again. He pressed something on his wrist - a small injector slid out, and with a vicious snap, he plunged it into his neck. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as the combat stimulant hit his bloodstream. His movements became faster, unnaturally so. 

"You're out of your league, Harris," Balar snarled, charging at Theron like a storm.

Theron barely had time to parry the first strike, Balar’s blade whistling past his ear as he twisted out of reach. The Cipher came at him with brutal force, swinging with calculated precision. Theron blocked the next strike but felt the edge of the blade graze his forearm, burning as the knife cut through skin. Blood dripped onto the floor. Theron didn’t care, couldn't let that stop him.

He dodged Balar’s next swing, spinning behind him and landing a solid kick to the Cipher’s butt. The agent staggered but didn’t fall. Instead, Balar pivoted, pulling a flash grenade from his belt.

Theron’s eyes widened just in time as the grenade hit the floor with a sharp ping. He threw his arm up, turning away just before the flash erupted in a blinding explosion of light. Even still, the edges of his vision blurred, his head ringing with the force of it. Balar didn’t waste a second. He charged, his blade a silver streak aimed for Theron’s throat.

In the split-second of clarity that followed, Theron ran on auto-pilot. He side-stepped the killing blow, his own knife coming up in a sharp arc. He felt the satisfying slice as his blade cut into Balar’s side again, deeper this time, blood soiling the Cipher’s uniform.

Balar grunted, his breath labored, but he wasn’t done. With a furious roar, the Imperial agent struck back, swinging with brutal force. Theron twisted away just in time, but not before the blade slashed across his ribs. Pain flared, sharp and hot, but he didn’t let it slow him down.

In a sudden moment he saw the crumpled body of Vaasko watching them with giant eyes, tear tracks on his face, trying to make himself as small as possible. But this was not about the boy anymore. This was about survival.

With a quick, precise movement, Theron ducked under Balar’s next wild swing and struck out, driving his knife into the soft spot between the Cipher’s neck and shoulder. The blade sank deep, and for the first time, Balar’s expression faltered.

The Imperial agent let out a strangled, bubbling cry as blood poured from the wound. His grip faltered, and his dagger clattered to the floor as he staggered back, clutching at his neck. Theron didn’t hesitate. He followed through with a brutal efficiency, twisting the blade deeper into the artery. Balar’s legs buckled, his body crumpling to the ground, gasping for breath as the blood loss overtook him. His eyes fluttered, a last look of disbelief flickering across his face before his body went limp.

Theron stood over him, breathing heavily, the knife still slick with blood in his hand. He could feel the tension still pulsing through his veins, the weight of what he had just done settling on him like a lead blanket. Balar was dead. The fight had been close - too close. But now the Cipher lay lifeless on the ground, in a increasing circle of crimson liquid, the air still thick with the stench of poison and the haze of combat.

He turned for Vaasko and found the teen hiding in a corner, his face hidden in his hands. 

For a long moment, the room was silent, but the silence didn’t last long. The heavy metallic doors slid open with a hiss, and Theron’s pulse quickened as Darth Amatox stepped inside. He stopped abruptly, his sharp gaze falling on the lifeless body of the Imperial agent still crumpled in his own blood. The next second his eyes lay on the collapsed apprentice. 

Theron braced himself, standing between Amatox and Vaasko.

Amatox’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling in barely restrained anger, but instead of striking out, he tilted his head slightly, as though studying Theron. "What happened here, Lieutenant?"

Theron’s cover was hanging by a thread, but he kept his voice even. "The Empire sent Balar to clean up," he said, gesturing to the corpse. "He came for you - and for Vaasko. He was going to kill the boy. I stopped him."

Amatox’s expression flickered, just for a moment, with something that looked like genuine concern. He moved closer, his gaze sweeping the room as if trying to piece together the events that had unfolded in his absence.

"Vaasko?" The Darth’s voice was low, almost gentle in its urgency. "Is that true, son?"

"I w- was safe," the teen replied with a stuttering voice, clearly shaken but meeting Amatox’s eyes. "It was exactly as the Lieutenent said. I can confirm."

Amatox’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and for the first time, there was something close to gratitude in his cold, dark eyes. He walked past the corpse and placed a gloved hand on Theron’s arm, a brief but unexpected gesture of thanks. "You saved him," Amatox murmured, his tone softened by what felt like genuine relief. "You’ve done more for me than I expected, Lieutenant."

Theron swallowed, feeling the weight of his mission slip further from his grasp. He had planned to kill Amatox, but now, standing here, with the Sith Lord’s defenses down, it didn’t feel right. The boy had a chance now, and that was worth more than completing the mission.

Amatox straightened, his mind already shifting gears. "We need to move," he said, more to himself than to the other two. "The Empire will come for me, and if they find Vaasko…" His voice trailed off, while he looked at his wide-eyed apprentice, but the urgency was clear.

Theron watched as Amatox started to prepare, moving quickly, calculating escape routes, his mind running through the logistics of fleeing the Empire’s grasp. Theron could see the panic beneath his calm exterior - this wasn’t a Sith Lord ready for a fight. This was a man about to lose everything and preparing for the inevitable.

Within minutes, Amatox had packed a small set of belongings, hurriedly stuffing data drives and personal items into a bag. He looked up at Theron, his expression hardening again, though the gratitude still lingered. He ushered the boy to the door, handing him a few items and asked him to wait in the shuttle. "Grab your emergency bag, just as we discussed. I will be there in a moment." Vaasko all but run down the hallway to the landing pad.

"You saved my apprentice, and for that, I owe you. But I need to get him out of here. He’s too vulnerable. He doesn’t know it yet, but this life is over for us." He glanced down the hallway, his eyes softening briefly. "I’ll tell him to stay put, wait for me in the shuttle."

Theron nodded, his throat tightening. "What about you?" Amatox gave him a strange look, one filled with a grim sort of acceptance. "There’s something I need to finish," he said, his voice turning darker. "Loose ends to tie up."

Theron’s instincts prickled at the same words the agent had used.

"Lieutenant Harris," Amatox said softly, a dangerous edge to his voice. "I underestimated you. You’re not Imperial Military, are you? What is it? Hutt Cartel? Republic SIS? Bounty Hunter Association?"

Theron’s breath hitched, his blood running cold. He knew then what was coming. Amatox’s hands dropped to his side, fingers curling, and the flicker of dark energy began to hum in the air around him.

"You’ve been playing a long game, haven’t you?" Amatox continued, stepping closer. "My assumption is, that you’re a Republic agent. I should have known the second you tried to save Vaasko. The Empire and the Cartels don’t care for such sentiment." His voice grew colder. "Which means you’re a loose end. And I don’t leave loose ends."

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Theron said, voice steadier than he felt, though his hand was already inching toward his only remaining close-combat-weapon - his bloodied knife.

“Neither did I,” Amatox replied, his tone low, dangerous.

Amatox struck without further warning. Lightning crackled from his fingertips, the air itself screaming as it shot toward Theron. Again years of training against Force users enabled his automatisms. Theron let himself drop to the floor and rolled to the side, putting weight on his injured arm, which forced a cry out of him, barely avoiding the crackling tendrils as they slammed into the wall behind him, leaving scorched, twisted metal in their wake.

He jumped to his feet, his blaster drawn in one smooth motion, but his hand slippery from his own blood. He fired - once, twice - each shot expertly aimed, but Amatox deflected them with a casual wave of his hand, the blaster bolts evaporating against the shimmering barrier of energy that surrounded him.

Theron cursed under his breath, ducking to be a smaller target, his mind racing. He couldn’t take Amatox head-on, not like this. He had already pushed his limits - blinded by gas, nearly poisoned, his body injured from the last battle. There was no backup coming. No escape route.

He was alone. Kriff.

“Is that all the Republic has to offer?” Amatox’s voice echoed across the chamber, mocking. “You’ll die like the rest of them, Harris, or whatever your name is.”

Theron gritted his teeth, anger surging through him, but he forced it down. He couldn’t afford to lose focus.

Amatox approached him with a slow, deliberate grace, the Sith Lord relishing the hunt. His lightsaber ignited with a sharp hiss, the red blade casting an eerie glow across the room. Each step echoed with lethal intent as he closed in, the heat from the blade palpable even from a distance. Theron’s mind raced through every option, every contingency. His blaster wouldn’t break the Sith’s defense - he was down to his knife.

His body protested every movement, but there was no choice. He had to be faster, smarter, one step ahead.

Amatox struck, the red blade slashing down in a deadly arc. Theron barely managed to twist out of the way, feeling the heat of the saber sear the air inches from his face, the cut in his side waving searing pain all over his body. He rolled forward, low to the ground, and in one swift motion, sliced at Amatox’s thigh with his knife. The blade bit through the fabric of the Sith’s cloak but skidded off the reinforced armor underneath.

Amatox snarled, a predatory sound. With a vicious, lightning-fast strike, he brought the lightsaber down again, forcing Theron to throw himself sideways in a desperate dodge. His movements were slowing. Each breath burned in his lungs. He couldn’t keep this up.

The Sith Lord advanced, each swing of his lightsaber more aggressive, more precise. Theron ducked, weaving in and out of range, every move calculated to keep him alive by fractions of a second, but he was running out of time. His vision blurred, the toll of the previous fight catching up with him. He could feel the sting of Balar’s poison still lingering in his bloodstream, the exhaustion dragging at his limbs.

Then - Amatox stepped in too far, his overconfidence creating a split-second gap in his defense. It was all Theron needed. With a surge of desperate energy, he darted forward, his knife plunging into the soft underside of Amatox’s upper arm, slipping between the armor plates and sinking deep into the flesh.

Amatox’s eyes widened in shock, his movements faltering as pain shot through him. Blood shot from the wound, dripping down his arm in thick, red streams. Theron didn’t waste a second. He pulled the blade free, Amatox’s blood slicking his hands as the Sith Lord staggered back, disoriented, clutching his arm.

But Theron wasn’t done.

He stepped forward, every remaining ounce of strength focused into this one final strike. In one swift, merciless motion, he slashed across Amatox’s throat, the blade cutting deep into flesh and sinew.

Amatox’s eyes filled with horror and disbelief. His hand shot to his neck, futilely trying to stop the torrent of blood now spilling freely down his chest. His lightsaber flickered and died as he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, drowning on his own blood. Theron stood over him, chest heaving, the knife still clutched in his trembling hand. His vision swam, his body on the verge of collapse. But it was done.

Amatox fell, his body hitting the cold floor with a dull thud. The room was silent, save for the harsh rasp of Theron’s breath. Theron stood over him, panting, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The Sith Lord’s body lay crumpled at his feet, lifeless, the lightsaber extinguished.

But there was no victory in it.

Theron wasted one precious second to close his eyes and rub his less bloody hand over his forehead. He took a deep breath and followed the boy to the landing pad. 

Chapter Text

Theron slumped into the debriefing room, barely able to keep his eyes open. The room felt cold, sterile - a little brighter than the Imperial stronghold he had just left, but just as uninviting. His muscles were stiff with fatigue, and blood clung to his clothes, dried from his battle with the two Imperials. His hands trembled slightly as he waited.

The officer in charge of his debrief - Lieutenant Commander Rix - wasn’t someone Theron had dealt with before. He was younger, fresh, and too eager for promotion. As Theron sat down, Rix leaned forward, his face a mixture of fake concern and smug superiority. “Agent Shan, welcome back. We’ve received your report,” Rix said, the words hollow. “Your assassination of Darth Amatox - quite the feat. You’ve done a great service for the Republic.”

Theron glanced up, eyes heavy.

Rix continued, unphased. “But you didn’t complete all your objectives, did you?”

Theron tensed, the room suddenly feeling too small. “I took out Amatox. I secured the intel you wanted.” Rix’s expression hardened. “The intel’s valuable, yes. But you let the apprentice go. Vaasko. Your orders were clear: Don’t engage with the ward. Now Amatox’s apprentice is on the run and aware. You’ve given the Empire time to hide him.” Theron’s jaw clenched, his hand tightening into a fist. “The boy was no threat. He didn’t deserve to die.”

The air between them grew thick with tension. Rix stared him down, unimpressed. “Deserve? This isn’t about what you think is right. This is about orders. We can’t afford to leave potential Sith to grow into threats. Empathy gets people killed, Shan.” Theron leaned forward, his voice low and firm. “He’s just a kid. He knows shit.” He paused, the added a belated "Sir."

Rix waved him off, uninterested in moral debates. “And you compromised the mission because of it. The Republic has no room for hesitation in war. Sith or not, the boy was a liability.”

The words cut deep, the realization striking Theron like a blow to the chest. The Republic - his Republic - had become something colder, more calculating. The ideals of freedom, justice, protection of the innocent, they were slipping away, replaced by a ruthless, bureaucratic machine. To them, Vaasko wasn’t a child; he was a target. What was the difference to the Empire? The lines blurred, even more for someone who worked with the Empire before.

For a moment, the room fell silent. Theron’s  body still aching from the fight, his eye lids in danger to droop. He had killed Amatox, but in that moment, he had destroyed something more than a Sith Lord - he had shattered his own sense of loyalty to the Republic. The face of the Republic he had grown up believing in - the one that fought for the oppressed - was fading, replaced by something that demanded unquestioning obedience.

When Rix didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he pressed on. “You took too long. Our intelligence operatives are expected to make clean, precise moves. You acted on emotion, and that jeopardized the mission.”

Theron stared at the man in disbelief. “You’re telling me saving an innocent life is what jeopardized the mission? I'm pretty sure Marcus would see it differently. He knows my methods.” Rix’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not your job to decide who lives or dies. You hesitated, and now there are consequences. Maybe Trant won’t see it as clearly as you think.” Theron felt a sharp sting as Marcus Trant - someone he considered a friend, one person he thought would understand - was weaponized against him. The mention of Trant, not as an ally but as a potential critic, hit hard. The thought that even Marcus might doubt him now felt like a deeper betrayal than the rest.

He stood up abruptly, feeling the heat rise in his face. “Is that all?” Rix gave him a curt nod. “For now. But the higher-ups will be reviewing your performance. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that your way is the Republic’s way. This is about the greater good - our good. You’re just a cog in that machine, Shan. Never forget that.”

Theron didn’t wait for more. He turned and left the room, the door shut behind him. As he made his way through the sterile hallways, he could feel the cold weight of the Republic’s indifference pressing down on him. Every step echoed with the emptiness of the ideals he had once cherished. The Republic, the one he had bled for, had twisted into something unrecognizable - a regime obsessed with control, no matter the cost.

--

Back at the apartment he shared with Auksinis, Theron stumbled inside, the door closing behind him with a soft hiss. Exhaustion washed over him like a wave. His body ached, his mind felt raw, and all he wanted was to fall apart. This - this was the only place he felt safe anymore.

Sinis was there. He glanced up from the corner of the living room where he had been meditating, his violet eyes softening when they landed on Theron. Without a word, he stood, walking over with quiet concern.

“Theron,” Sinis whispered, his voice gentle but firm. “You look like hell.” Theron tried to smile, but it faltered. “You should see the other guy.” But the joke didn’t land. The weight of everything - the mission, the killing, the Republic’s coldness - crushed down on him. As soon as Sinis’s arms came around him, Theron’s walls crumbled. He buried his face in his lover's shoulder, his body shaking as the tears came, unwanted and uncontrollable. He had been holding it in for too long.

“I killed him, Sinis,” Theron whispered, his voice breaking. “And Vaasko... he’s - he’s safe for now, but I couldn’t bring him here. I couldn’t risk it.” Sinis held him tighter, his hand resting on the back of Theron’s neck, grounding him. “It’s okay,” the Jedi said softly, his voice steady. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this.” Theron nodded weakly, the relief of being home, of being with Sinis, washing over him. For a moment, the guilt and anger ebbed, replaced by the warmth of the other man’s care.

“I’ll make a call,” the knight said quietly. He pulled out his holocom and quickly dialed Kira Carsen, his second hand never leaving Theron's shoulders. Her holographic figure appeared in the middle of their living room. “Kira,” Sinis said, his voice calm but urgent. “I have a situation. There’s a boy, Vaasko... He’s Force-sensitive but not strong enough to survive what’s coming. He’s in a safe location for now, but he needs to be taken off the grid.” Kira’s expression shifted from confusion to understanding. “You sure know how to pick up trouble, don’t you, Auksinis? But yeah, I’ll help. Of course I help. I’ll get him somewhere safe and discreet.”

Sinis nodded. “I’ll send you the coordinates. Thank you.”

The holocall ended, and Sinis turned back to Theron. His gaze softened as he saw the way Theron was swaying on his feet, barely holding himself together.

“You’re bleeding, love,” Auksinis murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Firmly he added "I call Doc to check you." - "No!" the Jedi looked up at Theron's sudden outburst. "I don't think I can handle any more people this evening." Auksinis sighed. "Alright. But you have to let me take care of you." The spy nodded tiredly. Gently, the Jedi guided Theron to the fresher, helping him sit on the edge of the tub. He began undressing him with care, his hands steady but his eyes filled with concern.

"Come on," Auksinis murmured, reaching out to unbuckle the straps of Theron’s armor. "Let’s get you cleaned up."

Theron didn’t resist. He let Auksinis remove his gear, piece by piece, until the emotional burden he had carried all this time seemed to peel away with the clothes. His muscles ached, and his movements were sluggish and clumsy with exhaustion.

Theron winced as the Jedi peeled off his shirt, revealing the deep, partially seared cuts on his side. The wound was jagged and raw, a mix of blade and lightsaber damage. Sinis took a cloth, dipped it in warm water, and began cleaning the wound with tender precision, dabbing away the blood and grime. Theron’s breathing hitched, but he stayed silent, letting Auksinis take care of him.

“You really should have gone to a medbay,” Sinis muttered while he looked at his bruised body, his sharp tone softened by concern. Theron gave a weak chuckle. “Wanted to come home.” Auksinis hummed while he cleaned the cuts on Theron’s side, then moved to his arm, carefully wiping the long blade cut. He wrapped it tightly with a bandage, his fingers brushing lightly over Theron’s skin as he worked. There was no rush in his movements - just quiet, deliberate care. “You’re an idiot,” Sinis said softly, his words carrying affection more than reprimand. Theron managed a faint smile, the exhaustion catching up to him. “I know.”

The Jedi manhandled Theron under the shower head, making sure to always steady him. He took care that his bandages weren't soaked while cleaning the rest of Theron's body off and gently washing his hair.

Once the dirt and blood went down the drain, Sinis helped Theron out of the fresher and into their bed. The sheets felt soft against his skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Theron allowed himself to relax. Sinis lay beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist, grounding him in the moment.

--

Later that night, Theron sat alone on the balcony, staring out at Coruscant’s skyline. He had jerked awake from a nightmare and couldn’t fall back asleep. Sinis slept soundly in their bed, but Theron didn't want to wake him just for his comfort alone. His mind was restless, the weight of his actions pulling him down.

The lights of the city stretched out endlessly before him, but instead of comforting, they reminded him of the Republic’s all-seeing eyes. This city, this world - what he had sworn to protect - felt like a cage now. A Republic he’d spent his life serving was shifting before his eyes, becoming something colder, more indifferent. The ruthless bureaucracy had become a machine that swallowed people whole. Vaasko had almost been one of its victims. Almost.

Theron leaned his head against the cool metal headrest of the bench he was sitting on, closing his eyes. Every battle, every mission weighed on him, but this one - this one had cracked something deep inside. The Republic he believed in, the one that fought for freedom and justice, seemed more distant now. Rix’s words echoed in his mind: The greater good. Our good.

The Republic had always claimed to be the force for good in the galaxy, but somewhere along the way, it had lost sight of what that meant. Rix, the higher-ups - they wanted results, not compassion. They wanted soldiers and spies who didn’t question orders, who didn’t hesitate. But Theron wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be.

The familiar hum of a speeder passing overhead brought him back to the present. He rubbed his face, exhaustion pressing in on him. His side and arm throbbed with a dull ache, the bandage Sinis had wrapped still holding tight.

A soft rustling behind him made him glance back. Sinis stood in the doorway, his violet eyes soft as he looked over Theron's tense form. He didn’t say anything, just stepped forward and sat down next to his lover, the quiet between them comfortable.

“You should be resting,” Sinis murmured, his voice steady but warm. Theron gave a tired smile. “Couldn’t sleep.” Auksinis studied him, his gaze piercing but patient. “What’s really keeping you up, Theron? It’s not just the mission.”

Theron sighed, the tension in his chest tightening again. He stared out at the city, the words catching in his throat. “It’s the Republic,” he said finally, his voice low. “It’s changing, Sinis. Or maybe I’m just seeing it for what it’s always been.”

Sinis didn’t respond immediately, letting the words hang in the air. When he did speak, his voice was quiet but firm. “You think it’s lost its way.” Theron nodded, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Rix made it clear. We’re just tools to them. I took out Amatox, but the way they see it, I failed because I didn’t kill Vaasko. They wanted a clean operation. No loose ends, no complications.”

Sinis’s hand came to rest on Theron’s shoulder, grounding him. “You did the right thing. You saved a life. Isn’t that what you signed up for?” Theron let out a shaky breath. “I thought it was. But now... I don’t know. They’re starting to feel like...” He sighed. Sinis’s grip tightened slightly, a silent show of support. “The Republic may have its flaws, but you’re not fighting for them, Theron. You’re fighting for something bigger - for the people who still believe in what the Republic should be. You’re doing this for the innocent, for those who can’t fight for themselves.”

Theron closed his eyes, the truth of Sinis’s words settling into him. That was why he had stayed. Not because of the orders or the missions, but because of the people he was trying to protect. The Republic might be changing, but that didn’t mean he had to lose sight of why he fought in the first place. “Maybe,” Theron murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. “But it’s getting harder to keep fighting for a cause that doesn’t believe in the same things anymore.”

Sinis shifted closer, leaning his head against Theron’s. “Then fight for something else. Fight for the people. For Vaasko. For us.”

“Yeah,” Theron whispered, leaning into Sinis’s touch. “For us.”

Chapter Text

There is no emotion, there is peace.

Rahutu closed his eyes, trying to force himself into the familiar rhythm of the Jedi mantra. But his mind betrayed him. A flash of Theron’s smile. The way his eyes crinkled at the edges. The somehow playful presence he carried. Rahutu's breath hitched as he tried to pull his focus back.

No. This wasn't about Theron. It couldn't be. There is no emotion. He repeated the words like a shield, but they felt hollow. Even as he tried to deny it, he felt the burn of anger. Not at Theron. At himself. At his inability to let go. And worse, at Auksinis - who seemed to have no such trouble. Auksinis, who seemingly lived in a relationship with the man Rahutu could barely look at without feeling his resolve crack.

The mantra did nothing. Instead, the image of Auksinis - so calm, so unbothered by the Code he should be upholding - broke through. How can he be at peace when I am like this?

Rahutu gritted his teeth. Peace was supposed to be the path to clarity. But right now, all he saw was passion.

Peace is a lie. There is only passion.
__

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Rahutu had always prided himself on being rational, on understanding the Jedi teachings as more than just rules - they were a guide, a way to maintain balance. But today, sitting in the archives, he felt nothing but utter distress.

He stared at the holocron, its teachings on attachment blurring in front of his eyes. Knowledge was supposed to bring him clarity, but the more he read, the more conflicted he became. The warnings were clear: Attachment led to destruction, to the dark side. Rahutu knew this. He had believed it once, deeply. But knowing was no longer enough to silence the storm inside him.

The archive's lighting flickered, the low electric hum of machinery that traveled through the libraries a stark contrast to the loud thoughts battering Rahutu’s mind. Auksinis and Theron. Their connection felt undeniable, tangible in every glance, every shared moment. And still, Auksinis seemed in control, unburdened by the rules that Rahutu clung to so desperately.

The younger Jedi scrolled through endless records, seeking answers, but instead he found more contradictions. Jedi who had loved, Jedi who had broken the rules - and yet, some remained strong. His frustration mounted. If they could love and not fall, why couldn’t he? The thought pushed to the surface, unbidden, and with it came a pang of shame.

He pressed his hands into the table, leaning forward, willing his mind to find a solution. But every page, every piece of knowledge led him further from peace. How is it that Auksinis - as a Council member of all people - can disregard the Code and still remain a Jedi Master? It wasn't fair.

As his obsession grew, so did his need for answers. He poured over texts late into the night, his passion for knowledge transforming into something more - a desire to prove that the Code was flawed, that he wasn’t the one who had lost his way.

One particular passage caught his eye, something buried deep in old records. It spoke of power, the kind that came not from serenity, but from embracing one’s emotions. Rahutu’s hands trembled slightly as he read it, and though a voice in the back of his mind warned him, another part of him felt... awakened. Why should I deny what gives me strength?

It was passion - his passion for Theron - that pushed him deeper into the archives, into forbidden knowledge others feared. The deeper he went, the more he felt a flicker of something powerful, like a fire being stoked within.

Through passion, I gain strength.
__

There is no passion, there is serenity.

Rahutu tried again. Sitting cross-legged in his quarters, he closed his eyes and attempted to meditate, to find serenity in the stillness of the Force. But every time he reached for peace, the same images invaded his mind: Auksinis and Theron, sparring in the training room, their movements in perfect harmony. Theron’s laughter, Auksinis' gentle teasing. It all felt so natural between them.

Serenity fled from Rahutu. He should have been focusing on his breath, on the flow of the Force, but instead, his thoughts circled around one undeniable truth: He wanted what they have.

Shame washed over him again, but it was weaker this time. The longing, the desire - it was stronger. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. There is no passion. He repeated the mantra in his mind, but the words felt distant, like a fading echo.

Rahutu had tried to bury his feelings for Theron, but they only grew. Every time he watched them together, every time he saw their bond, it fanned the flames of his jealousy. How does Auksinis remain so calm? How could he carry on without being torn apart by desire?

As Rahutu meditated, the frustration he’d been trying to suppress surged forward. The harder he fought against it, the more it consumed him, pushing against the barriers he had built in his mind. He gritted his teeth. There was no serenity in this fight - there was only a storm raging inside him.

And then, something shifted. In his frustration, Rahutu reached deeper into the Force like he read on that ancient text, tapping into a well of strength he hadn’t known was there. It was... exhilarating. For the first time in weeks, the storm in his mind seemed to quiet, but not because it was gone. Rather, it felt controlled, like he had harnessed it.

His breath came slowly now, but his heart beat with the power that hummed through him. Was this serenity? Or was it something else?

Rahutu opened his eyes, feeling strangely at peace. But it wasn’t the peace the Jedi Code spoke of. It was strength - something serene and powerful all at once. It felt like he had found a new connection to the Force, one that the Jedi had never taught him.

Through strength, I gain power.
__

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

Rahutu stared out across the training grounds, watching Auksinis and Theron. They were laughing together again, their voices too low for Rahutu to hear, but the closeness between them was clear. He watched the way they moved, the way they lingered near each other, and something twisted deep within him.

The scene before him should have brought him peace - Auksinis was a Jedi Master, a pillar of calm. But all Rahutu felt was chaos. His thoughts and emotions swirled like tentacles across his skin, slippery and caressing, and no amount of meditating or mantra could stop it. Auksinis’ very existence shattered the harmony Rahutu had been trying to maintain.

But tonight, as he watched them walk away together, something changed. The bitterness that had gripped him for so long loosened, just a little. Why am I the one suffering while Auksinis seems unaffected?

Rahutu closed his eyes, breathing deeply, searching for the chaos within himself. But what he found wasn’t disorder. It was clarity. His feelings for Theron - his anger, his jealousy - they weren’t weaknesses. They were the source of his power.

In a moment of desperation, Rahutu tried a new meditation, one that allowed him to touch on his emotions rather than suppress them. As he did, the chaos within him began to settle. The swirling storm of his mind gave way to something smoother - something more controlled. For the first time, Rahutu felt in harmony with himself, but not in the way he had been taught.

He opened his eyes, and everything was sharper. His focus, his resolve - it all felt different now. This is harmony. Not the kind the Jedi preached, but a balance he had created, bending the chaos to his will.

Auksinis had been right all along. Harmony wasn’t about denying his feelings - it was about mastering them.

Through power, I gain victory.
__

There is no death, there is the Force.

The Jedi Code had always promised Rahutu guidance, comfort. The idea that no matter what, the Force would always be there, guiding him on the right path, had been a source of reassurance. But now, that belief felt hollow.

He had spent weeks trying to follow the teachings, to adhere to the Jedi’s strict code, and where had it gotten him? Pain. Frustration. The agony of watching the one he desired slip further out of reach while the man he admired most violated everything the Code stood for.

Rahutu looked out at the stars, thinking of the Force in a new way. It no longer felt distant, like an abstract power that governed the universe. It felt close, personal - alive. And in that realization, Rahutu understood that the Force wasn’t bound by the rules the Jedi had imposed on it.

The Force had never abandoned him. The Jedi Code had.

Auksinis had defied the Code, and yet he remained powerful. He had found love, strength, and peace, all without following the teachings that Rahutu had clung to so desperately. And here Rahutu was, standing at the edge of something unknown, something that no longer frightened him.

For the first time, Rahutu understood that the Force wasn’t about right or wrong. It wasn’t limited to the Jedi’s narrow view of the world. It was freedom, boundless and unyielding, and it was his to claim.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

Chapter Text

Theron lay on the cracked metalplanks of Nathema's hidden spot for Zildrog, propped against a few rocks, his breath shallow and labored. The light spear had pierced him clean through from behind, a gaping, burning exit wound on his chest that left him trembling, blood pooling around him. He could feel his strength draining and his consciousness waivering, the fire in his chest growing dimmer with each heartbeat. He had tried to explain, to reason, but his words had fallen on deaf ears.

Above him, the Barsen’thor stood with that maddened look in her eyes - eyes that might have once sought balance, wisdom, justice. Now, they held only cold certainty and an unshakable belief in her cause. To her, he was a traitor, a conspirator against everything she had built, and in her mind, there could be no mercy for someone like him.

“I... I was trying to save us,” Theron croaked, his voice hoarse from the pain. “I’m not the villain here.” He didn't have much breath left to say more.

She heard him. But she didn't listen.

The Barsen’thor’s lips curled into a cold, joyless smile. "You always were blind to the truth, Theron. You’ve become everything you swore to fight against - a betrayer, a liar. You think you’re serving the greater good, but all you’ve done is weaken the Alliance."

To her, Theron was the villain, the enemy who had worked in the shadows, plotting against her. She had once trusted him, had seen him as an ally, perhaps even a friend. But now? Now he was something to be disposed of - another traitor to be sacrificed in the name of the greater good. Her conviction was absolute: She was the hero, her actions, no matter how ruthless, were necessary to preserve order and justice.

Lana stood by her side, conflicted and pale but silent, after she had tried to intervene to his advantage once. She had seen the signs of the Barsen’thor’s descent into madness, but even Lana could not challenge the dark Jedi’s will. The Barsen'thor thought herself the savior of the galaxy, the one who would bring balance, but Theron saw the truth. She had completely fallen into the very darkness she sought to destroy.

Theron’s head spun with pain, but through the haze, he couldn’t help but feel the bitter irony of it all. To the Barsen’thor, he was the betrayer - the villain in her narrative. But in his eyes, she had become the very thing they had both sworn to fight. She, too, was a villain - twisted by power, her sense of purpose corrupted by the delusion that she was still serving the light. She thought she was fighting for the good of the galaxy, but the righteousness of her cause had blinded her.

“I never... wanted this,” Theron pained and weakly muttered, the words barely audible. He wanted to say, 'You’ve turned everything we fought for into a nightmare', but he couldn't. There was no strength and air left to get the words out.

The Barsen'thor's face darkened as if she heard it anyways, her anger barely held in check. "You still don't understand. Everything I do, I do for the Alliance - for the future of the galaxy. There is no place for traitors like you. You forced my hand."

She turned away, signaling to Lana that it was time to leave. "We’re done here. Let him die with his lies."

Lana hesitated, a flicker of compassion crossing her features. She glanced down at Theron, her eyes full of regret. “Theron…”

But the Barsen'thor was already walking away, her mind made up. “Leave him, Lana.”

As Lana followed, casting one final, sorrowful look at Theron, he felt the crushing weight of betrayal. She was abandoning him too. They were all leaving him to die on this forsaken world.

Theron closed his eyes, the pain overwhelming him. He wanted to call out but he couldn't. His body wasn't obeying his will anymore, instead trembled, his life slipping away with every shallow breath. He had given everything to protect the Alliance, to stop the conspirators from within. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered. To the Barsen'thor, he would always be the traitor who had turned against her.

Yet as darkness closed in, a figure appeared before him, a face so vivid it startled him. Sinis.

Theron’s heart painfully clenched as memories of the man he loved flooded his mind. His violet eyes, bright with concern, filled Theron’s fading vision, cutting through the pain. Auksinis - the one person he had loved so deeply, the one he had left behind to join the Alliance. He had tried to tell himself it was for the greater good, that leaving was necessary. But now, as his life ebbed away, he saw the truth.

'I’m sorry, Sinis. I never should’ve left you. I never stopped loving you.' he thought or whispered - he wasn't sure.

Theron had thought he could live without him, that he could throw himself into the cause and maybe... move on. Or forget. But as the light faded, it felt fitting that his last thoughts were of Auksinis - the man he had loved endlessly and even after their ways separated never truly let go.

A smile, sad and bittersweet, flickered on his lips as the cold claimed him. In the Barsen’thor’s story, he was the villain. But here, in the silence of his mind, all that remained was the love he had carried with him all this time.

The world around him went dark, and Auksinis’ face began to blur. His body felt light, weightless, full with regret as he drifted into the void.

Chapter Text

After his fight with Sinis and his talk with Doc, Theron wasn’t sure how he managed to reach his quarters. Shell-shocked, he plugged the chip into his datapad, fingers hovering uncertainly over the keys before he began hacking, instincts taking over even as his mind reeled from the revelation.

But instead of what he’d imagined - pictures, love letters, or something sentimental - the datachip held codes, bridges, worms, and crawlers. A full armory of hacking tools.

Opening the classified files unraveled a story that left him overwhelmed and nearly unable to process what he saw.

The first document was an announcement, buried deep within Jedi Order records, hidden from history as if they were trying to erase it. His heart skipped a beat as the screen flickered to life, revealing an image that crushed him with its weight.

Auksinis stood there, composed and beautiful, his blond hair catching the soft temple light, violet eyes softened by an expression Theron barely recognized - love. And not just any love; it was directed at him. In the holopic, they stood side by side, hands clasped in a way that spoke volumes beyond the formality of the moment.

Theron couldn’t move. Theron couldn't breathe. 

We were married.

That. That was new. The feeling that a vice pressed on his rips took a few moments to ease up. 

He studied his own face in the image - quiet joy, the way he angled toward Auksinis as if naturally drawn to him. He looked... at peace, like he had finally found something he’d been searching for his whole life and decided to hold on to it. It was a moment frozen in time, a piece of his past that had slipped into the shadows of oblivion, nearly gone, yet so monumental in its significance.

Auksinis was right there with him, his commanding presence softened by the smallest, genuine smile. His fingers gently gripping Theron’s, as if they were the only people in the galaxy that mattered.

Theron’s chest tightened again as he scanned the rest of the document. It was clinical, Jedi formalities woven in like a reprimand disguised as protocol. The Council hadn’t just been displeased - they had been outraged. Auksinis, a Jedi Master and Council member, had defied their ancient laws by marrying an outsider who couldn’t follow their teachings. They tried to diminish the union with words like 'controversial' and 'unexpected', but none of that mattered. What mattered was that Auksinis had given up everything for him - his status, his influence, the code he had lived by for years and with that, his integrity in the eyes of the members of the Order. It wasn’t just personal - it was historic. It was the complete opposite of what he accused Sinis of earlier. 

Theron’s hands shook as he swiped to the next page, revealing more pieces of a life that was buried in his missing memories. But he kept coming back to that image, to the way Auksinis had looked at him - as if nothing else in the galaxy mattered. Not the Council, not the war. Just them.

Despite his amnesia he instinctively had known some things that were like galaxy-wide facts and he could walk, read and shoot. How could he not remember this, this overwhelming all-encompassing truth? The question hit him like a punch to the gut. How had he lost this? When he spoke to Doc, yeah, he assumed that the man meant partners as in... romantic partners. But he didn't expect this monumental, historical... event. In a lack of better words. 

He scanned more lines of text, the report of their marriage echoing in his mind. Auksinis had sacrificed everything including his seat on the Council, his reputation and his career - just to be with him. It was a sacrifice that would be remembered in the records, a moment when a Jedi Master stood against the rigid traditions that had been passed down through generations. A moment that altered both their lives, a decision that left its mark on the historic annals of the Order.

Theron’s heart made that skipping thing again - probably not for the last time. I walked away from that? The weight of the choice crushed him. Auksinis hadn’t left him or pushed him away as he thought; he had abandoned Sinis.

When his feelings for the Jedi blossomed (again), he had assumed since Sinis was pushing him away now, closed him off, shut him out, that this was what he'd always done. Instead Auksinis had understandably just protected himself. He couldn't blame him for that. 

The image blurred, but he looked up to the ceiling and willed the tears away. Auksinis had loved him - completely, unconditionally - and Theron had somehow managed to - yeah, to throw it all out of the window seemingly. It wasn’t just a personal failure. He had shattered something between them, something that had challenged and defied the very structure of Jedi tradition. 

He felt gutted and needed a break from the file, so he switched to other paths, fingers shaking as he hacked into his concealed mailbox. He wasn’t sure what he expected - banter with colleagues, encrypted files - but when he saw the name at the top of one holo-mail, his stomach dropped again.

Satele Shan. His mother. The name stirred something faint and distant within him. His heart pounded as he opened the message. 'Theron,' it began, 'I was glad to hear of your marriage, though I cannot openly celebrate it with you.' 

Her words echoed with the weight of their shared history - her own struggles with love and duty, the legacy of the Shan name. The Grandmaster of the Order that didn't, couldn't sanction their bond. It was distant, but there was warmth hidden beneath the formality. Satele had congratulated him, offering words of quiet pride - her happiness that he had chosen love. She had been proud of him. Proud that he had let himself be happy, even though his decision would not fit neatly into the recorded annals of the Order. Theron’s eyes burned as he reached the closing lines: 'I have always wished for your happiness. I’m relieved you’ve finally found it with someone who cares for you as deeply as you deserve.' It hurt like a vibroblade to the chest, twisted for good measure and then some. Satele had known, had understood what Auksinis meant to him, even if she couldn’t fully be part of their lives.

He still couldn't fathom which thought process brought him to the decision, that a corrupt Jedi would be the better choice than this life. He couldn't. He wished his memories back so badly, just to understand himself. 

He closed the message, hands trembling. His mother had celebrated his love, quietly from the shadows. He had destroyed something that could have prevailed - a love that had already etched itself into a legend through defiance and sacrifice. Hadn't Doc mentioned others spoke about their legendary bond? The pain was close to unbearable. 

He dove deeper into the files, desperate to understand why. Why had he walked away from Auksinis? What had driven him to leave behind the one person who loved him that much? It didn't get better when he found an Imperial report. The tone was brutally neutral, the Empress of Zakuul was allied with Empress Acina after all. He'd been there the report said, on Dromund Kaas. He'd been there and not with his husband. 

The file detailed Theron's time with the Barsen’thor. His breath caught in his throat as the details unfolded. She hadn’t been a Jedi at all at least not in recent history. She had been an abomination, manipulating those around her, using them like pawns to seize power for herself. He had followed her if not blindly, so at least willingly, right into the darkness.

I gave up Auksinis for this? The realization nearly drowned him. The Barsen’thor had become something twistedly vicious, something cruel, and Theron had let let the man he loved slip away for a cause that had been rotten from the start. His heart hurt with guilt, the stupidity and regret of it cutting deeper than any blade. Doc said, Auksinis had fought against this. He had tried to save Theron from walking down the wrong path. But Theron hadn’t listened. That Sinis and Doc both had come to rescue him, was a kriffing miracle. 

This wasn’t some minor detail lost to time; this was everything. Their love, their marriage - this was the kind of bond people fought their entire lives to have. And he had it. And he’d thrown it away.

Theron tossed the datapad aside, unable to stomach any more. He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with a ton of suppressed emotions. Auksinis had loved him. And Theron had left him. Auksinis came and saved him nonetheless. 

He stood, pacing the room, ashamed how he handled the Jedi's refusal to explain their relationship to him; it must have hurt like hell. His emotional downwards spiral crashed then as there was nothing where it could go deeper. And from this lowest point something new arose: Resolve. Theron took a breath. 

It was more than guilt; it was the need to make things right. Theron didn’t just want his memories back - he wanted the life that came with them. Auksinis had been his anchor, his home. Even now, the connection between them was undeniable. Theron had felt it, even without his memories. That bond hadn’t vanished, no matter how much damage had been done. 

He needed to fix this.

First he needed to clear for himself what he wanted. Yes, he had felt the connection to Sinis. He wasn't good at it but he should probably explore his feelings for the man for real. Did he love him? Theron sighed. Yes, he did. He was sure that some of it was actually residue from before, but it was also fresh. The bits and pieces Sinis had allowed him to see, all made him drawn to the Jedi.

Did he want to reconcile and salvage the marriage? Well. He already came that far once, right? Theron rubbed his forehead. What a kriffing mess. He knew that his track record of considerable life choices wasn't the best, but this took the kriffing cake. Where to start? Pretty sure that anything physical was off the table for a while, trust would be the next step. It would be a long and painful process. He looked up to the ceiling again, thinking. But there was no use in dragging it out, he needed to face this. And he definitely needed to apologize. 

I fact, he owed Auksinis more than apologies - he owed him his commitment, his love, his promise never to walk away again.

With a steely determination, Theron walked to the library, each step harder that the one before. Auksinis sat and read there, his back to him, as rigid and guarded as ever. The tension was palpable. Theron’s voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual edge. “I know I don’t remember anything, Sinis. But I know enough now. I’ve seen what happened, and... I’m sorry.”

Auksinis remained silent, his posture stiff, but Theron stepped forward, determined. “I know I hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I did was hurt you, and it’s killing me.” Auksinis turned on his chair to face him, violet eyes sharp but filled with pain and love.

Theron took another chair and sat down to not hover over the Jedi and pressed on. He barely breathed, needing to get it all out before his courage left him. “You saved me, Sinis. You found me on Nathema. You brought me back... even after everything I did. I’ve loved you through every fight, every stupid mistake I’ve made... even when I didn’t know what we had." He took a deep breath. "I love you now." Sinis blinked. "Please... let me fix this.” That was a long speech, Theron thought somewhat hysterically.

Auksinis looked at him, his eyes reflecting years of shared history, moments of both joy and heartbreak. Theron hated the fact that he couldn't remember but he felt the weight of every decision, every choice that had shaped their past, their present, and possibly their future.

"Did you hack your own life?" Theron huffed. This impossible man. "Something like that, actually yes," he admitted, but Auksinis turned serious again. "You don't remember it? You only read historical files?" Theron nodded and opened his mouth to apologize again but the Jedi interrupted him. 

“You hurt me more than I thought was  possible,” Sinis said, his voice trembling slightly, though he tried to hide it. His gaze flickered to the floor for a moment, not being able to let see Theron the emotions his eyes carried. “But I never stopped caring for my husband.” Theron’s breath hitched, hope flickering to life in his chest. “Then let me make it up to you, Sinis. Let me show you that I can still be the man you loved. I want to be the man you married. Plea-... ” Auksinis hold his hand to stop him, most likely overwhelmed with the rush of words coming out of Theron's mouth.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if wrestling with something deep inside. When he opened them, they were filled with so much hurt, that it was barely possible to look at him. “This isn’t going to be easy, Theron. You broke something between us, something that I don't know if it's fixable.” - “I know,” Theron said, reaching out but not touching, his voice soft but resolute. “But this is the most important priority for me and I want it. I won't leave. Not again.”

For a long time, Auksinis just looked at him, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he finally said, “We’ll see.” Two words. That was all it was. It wasn’t a full reconciliation, but it was something. A small step toward the future Theron so desperately wanted. He knew he still had a long way to go to earn Auksinis’ trust again, to heal and overwrite the ugly parts of their history. But then the Jedi reached out, took Theron's hand and entwined their fingers, not letting go for quite a while. 

Chapter Text

Unlike Gault, the hunter didn’t waste time trying to charm people or make small talk - he was focused, silent, and stuck to the job. That’s why Gault, with his constant chatter and schemes, was both a source of amusement and occasional irritation.

In the early days, the hunter could tell Gault liked testing him - throwing out jokes, weaving lies, seeing how far he could push before the hunter called him out. It was a game, one the hunter didn’t engage in, but let Gault believe he was winning. Every once in a while, though, the hunter would throw Gault a bone, give him the reaction he was looking for - a grunt, a chuckle, a deadpan comment that hinted at more. It was easier that way, keeping things distant, impersonal. Easier to avoid forming attachments.

It was Gault’s way of handling things that the hunter came to appreciate more than he expected. Gault was able to make light of even the most dangerous situations, and sometimes that humor, though irritating, helped take the edge off. There were times when the hunter found himself almost laughing, but he swallowed it down. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

The hunter didn’t make friends easily. In fact, he preferred to work alone. Ever since accepting the Great Hunt’s invitation, the number of people he could trust had dwindled. Mako was different - she had her uses, and her loyalty was unquestionable. But Gault? He was unpredictable, and that unpredictability should have been a dealbreaker. But something about Gault’s sly charm and incessant optimism got under the hunter’s skin. He didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed, and that unsettled him.

Partnership wasn’t about sentiment, it was about practicality. Gault was useful, resourceful, and knew how to navigate the underworld better than anyone. The hunter respected that. Still, there was a part of him that kept Gault - and everyone else - at arm’s length. Trust too much, let someone in, and you might lose your edge. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, and he wasn’t about to repeat it.

But sometimes, when the quiet stretched between them, when Gault’s jokes faded and they were alone in the cockpit of the ship, the hunter would catch himself thinking. About Gault, about the crew. About what it meant to have people who had his back. He’d shake it off, remind himself that attachments made you vulnerable. Then Gault would say something ridiculous, and the moment would pass, like it had never happened.

As for Mako, the hunter had noticed her interest right away. She was a good kid, smart, loyal - but the hunter didn’t feel the same. Her age and his preference aside, this wasn't about it alone. It was about focus. Romance had no place in his life, and Mako, with her wide-eyed affection, was something he didn’t want to deal with. When Torian started showing interest, he saw the opportunity to encourage it. It wasn’t just that it would help Mako move on - it also meant less drama aboard the ship, and that was something the hunter appreciated.

Throughout their time together, the hunter found Gault oddly reliable in the least predictable way. He was always ready with a quip, a scheme, or a way to get them out of a jam. Even though the hunter didn’t say much, he found himself trusting Gault’s instincts more than he initially thought he would. That trust was dangerous. It was creeping into territory the hunter wasn’t comfortable with, but he didn’t stop it.

He first met Gault on Tatooine, being his target originally. Gault was full of tricks and cons, the kind of guy who could get you into trouble but talk his way out of it too. The hunter had seen plenty of scammers like him before, but Gault had something most of them didn’t - a knack for survival and a ruthless edge that he liked immediately. And that made him useful. So, the hunter kept him around, even when the Devaronian’s sharp tongue grated his nerves. That was the logical choice. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Gault liked to talk. A lot. He didn’t stop yammering even in the heat of battle, which was probably why Mako tolerated him. But the hunter? He didn’t have time for chatter. He dealt in silence - planning, assessing threats, neutralizing them with ruthless efficiency. And for a while, Gault seemed to understand that, filling the quiet with jokes and stories that the hunter pretended not to hear.

But over time, something shifted. Gault began to feel less like an obligation and more like an ally. The hunter wasn’t about to admit it - he wasn’t sentimental - but he respected Gault’s resourcefulness. When Gault asked for time off to handle personal business, the hunter didn’t hesitate to grant it. When Gault came back, a little worse for wear, he didn’t ask questions. That was the unspoken rule between them - no questions, no prying. You handle your business, and I’ll handle mine. He liked it that way. Simple. Clean. But he did listen to what Gault said voluntarily and padded his shoulder in encouragement. Why not, there was no harm in that simple gesture.

Then they found Blizz on Hoth, and the dynamic shifted. The little Jawa brought out something in the whole team, a kind of protective instinct that the hunter hadn’t seen before. It was almost funny, watching Gault fuss over Blizz like a big brother or Torian's silent respect for the technical skills he had. But as much as the hunter appreciated the downtime, he had a job to do. Every mission, every credit earned, was a step toward something bigger. He had to stay focused, had to keep pushing forward. That’s what mattered. Or so he told himself.

When Darth Marr approached with the job on Makeb, the hunter knew it was high stakes. Gault, of course, jumped at the chance, eager for the payoff. But the hunter understood the gravity of working for a Sith Lord - it wasn’t just about money. It was survival. And Marr? Marr didn’t tolerate failure.

Makeb was a mess. Lava, collapsing platforms, Hutts in power plays - it was one of the most chaotic environments he’d ever worked in. The hunter hated the whole affair - lava, planet instability, the Hutts being their usual greedy selves. But what surprised him most was how Gault seemed to notice things that no one else did. For instance, the way he kept teasing him about Cytharat - the Sith Lord they’d met there. Gault’s teasing about the hunter’s interactions with Cytharat hit closer to home than the hunter would admit. Sure, the Sith had intrigued him, and there was something about the red-skinned warrior that had caught his attention, but Gault reading the situation so well had caught him off guard.

The hunter wasn’t one for romantic notions. He couldn’t afford distractions like that, distractions got you killed. But as he fought with Gault on Makeb, the calm guidiance of the Sith watching over them, the chaos swirling around, the pull toward Cytharat grew stronger. He tried to ignore it, focus on the mission, but in a rare moment of weakness, the hunter kissed him.

That kiss stayed with him, though he never spoke of it. Not to Gault, who basically witnessed it, not to anyone else. The hunter kept his helmet on, kept his feelings buried, and pushed forward. He told himself it was just adrenaline, that it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, he knew better.

Later, when they were on another nameless planet, Gault made a crack about the shirts he was owed after a particularly messy mission. The hunter, without thinking much of it, placed an order for four new shirts - high-quality ones. It was a small gesture, but it was one that spoke louder than any words he could have said. Gault understood.

Then came the mission with Darth Marr. The hunter didn’t hesitate when the Sith called. Marr commanded respect, and more than that, he offered a chance to do something bigger than just another bounty. It wasn’t about the money anymore; it was about purpose.

But he never expected it to end like this.

As Marr’s ship split in two, the hunter knew it was over. No amount of skill, no number of weapons could save them now. There was a moment of stillness in the chaos, as the hull gave way to the vacuum of space, and the hunter felt something he hadn’t in a long time - a pang of regret. Not fear. Not panic. Just regret.

Gault, Mako, Blizz, even Torian… they would keep going. They had to. They were survivors, just like him. Or at least, like he used to be.

He looked out the viewport as the flames consumed Marr’s ship, and for a brief moment, he thought of Cytharat. Of the kiss. Of what could have been if things had been different. But there was no time for that now.

In the final moments, the hunter didn’t think of the credits he earned or the jobs he completed. He thought of his crew. His strange, dysfunctional, ragtag crew. They had become something more to him than just partners. They were… family.

And that was the last thought he had before everything went dark.

Chapter Text

"I’d love to get my hands on one of those. Looks amazing, shoots even better." Aric snorted. "Ever thought of specializing in sniper first?" She laughed, her red ponytail bouncing. "You make everything so complicated. I could learn with it, yeah?" He joined in her laughter. It had been a beautiful night on Ilum.

The cold didn’t touch him then, not with her close by, her voice soft against the biting wind, their laughter rising above the snow. Ilum had been freezing that night, but he hadn’t felt it. The cold felt different now - like something that had seeped deep, never leaving him.

He was on Ilum again. Aric spotted around the corner to watch the Gree droids lazily observing the area. It didn’t take long to take them down.

Two more, he thought. Two more and he’d finally retrieve the prize he came here for.

Sometimes he wished he had the luxury of a tombstone, an urn, a plate - anything to honor her. All Aric had right now was an MIA code beside his Colonel's name and an office that asked every five standard months if they could finally change it to KIA, offering him the advantages reserved for widowers of military personnel. Aric was a little worried that if he didn’t make a decision soon, another psych eval was heading his way, and some brass would take the choice out of his hands.

No tombstone. No closure. Just endless reminders of her absence. Aric sometimes didn’t even know himself how he coped with it.

--

Finally, he looked down at the beautiful sniper rifle now in his hands. The weight felt heavier than he’d imagined. Solid. Cold. He wished she’d been the one holding it. That they’d tracked it down together, laughing like they had on Ilum, her excitement contagious as she ran a hand along its frame. He could almost hear her: You make everything so complicated, Aric.

They could’ve taken it out for target practice. Could have used it to piss off a few Zakuul Knights together. He remembered the glint in her eyes when she took a good shot, that fierce satisfaction. Remembered the sparkle in them whenever he kissed her.

Years ago, he might have cried, but there were simply no tears left. Just the numbness he tried not to show, knowing if he did, someone would eventually take him off the field.

Aric entered the coordinates into the shuttle’s nav and settled in the pilot’s seat. It didn’t take long to reach his destination; he knew he’d arrived when he saw the wreck of the Terminus, the closest thing she’d ever have to a gravestone.

He prepared the airlock and set the Gray Helix sniper rifle in the door frame, hesitating. Part of him wanted to override the security, stay in the room when the door opened to space. You’d kill me for giving up now, wouldn’t you? he thought, his insides rough as he pictured her, laughing and fierce.

He ran a hand down his face. Ah, there were the tears. He considered the option longer than was healthy, eventually making his way back to the shuttle’s controls. He looked out at the wreck, reaching out to open the airlock. The rifle was sucked out into the chaotic collection of waste and scraps orbiting around the Terminus halves.

"Happy anniversary, babe," he murmured into the silence.

Chapter Text

Amidst the war-torn chaos of the galaxy, the stronghold had become a hidden shrine to knowledge - a quiet sanctuary where wisdom, history, and memories of the fallen persisted. The galaxy’s greatest legends had all but vanished, leaving only fragments behind. Many were dead, others missing, and a few whose status had evolved in ways no one could have predicted.

Talos Drellik held a Holocron, turning it carefully between his hands. Where to place it? The history within was connected to the Knight of the Republic, but whether the Knight was dead or simply lost to the shadows remained unknown. Rumors abounded, yet there was nothing as definitive as the Champion of the Great Hunt or Cipher Nine - both dead. The Voidhound, Meteor, and likely the Knight too - all missing without a trace. The Sith Emperor’s Wrath, on the other hand, had become entangled with the former Barsen’thor. Talos couldn’t shake the thought of what it must’ve cost the Wrath to survive such a dangerous alliance, as rumor whispered his blood price had been Arcann. He shuddered at the implications what such a powerful man as Arcann could do in the hold of the Sith warrior and placed the Holocron of the Knight carefully in the “Missing” section.

As he returned to the main hall, Talos spotted the Inquisitor in a quiet moment with Khem Val. The massive Dashade leaned down, flicking his tongue affectionately over her cheek. Talos grinned, familiar with this unique form of affection Khem reserved solely for her; it was the Dashade’s version of a kiss. To Talos, whose days were filled cataloging ancient relics and decoding Sith artifacts, witnessing such an unusual but genuine love was, honestly, fairly tame on his weirdness-scale.

“Talos!” Ashara’s voice brought him back, and he looked up to see her approaching, eyes bright as she displayed the newest artifacts she’d uncovered on Tatooine. He nodded, smiling as he examined her latest finds. Ashara was endlessly enthusiastic, a spark of light among the ancient dust and echoes of their preserved histories, and he was glad to have her at his side.

The Togruta inhaled deeply, savoring the vibrant air of Yavin 4 as she returned to their stronghold. Here was where she felt her real family lived - not by blood, but by bond. These people were the closest she’d ever had. Spying Xalek near the landing pad, Ashara lifted her hand in a wave. He was prepping for another relic hunt, and she wondered if she could join him on his journey to Hoth. Unless, of course, mom - no, her Sith Master - had tasks for her here.

Stepping into the main hall, she glanced around, taking in the familiar sights. Khem Val was there, his hulking figure still imposing but softened in rare moments like this one. He touched mom's shoulder with surprising gentleness, and even brushed a kiss across her cheek. Ashara felt a warmth seeing them; it was a private moment of affection that she didn't wish to interrupt. Smiling to herself, she caught sight of Talos coming from the library and called for him. Perhaps she could spend some time cataloguing her found treasures with him before meeting up with Xalek. It seemed like the perfect way to balance her time between the two.

Xalek leaned against the shuttle, idly twirling his lightsaber hilt between his three clawed fingers. The Kaleesh warrior didn’t particularly care for Hoth - the cold was biting, even through his armor - but the chance to hunt with Ashara made it worthwhile. She was skilled with her lightsaber, and her more gentle nature balanced his own silent, often brutal, methods. When they worked together, they complemented each other well. Her warm, social approach softened his rough edges, at least outwardly, and he found himself respecting her more deeply for it.

The two of them often took on missions to treacherous planets. His Mistress worried for their safety, something that initially had confused him. But over time, he understood: Her concern didn’t imply weakness or dishonor; it was her way of protecting what she valued. She gave them freedom and independence, but her support was always there. Xalek saw how deeply Ashara cared for the Inquisitor, sometimes letting her affection slip through her calm demeanor. While Xalek felt loyalty and respect for his Mistress, his personal favorite was Andronikos. The pirate occasionally joined him on diplomatic missions, though they both knew "diplomacy" was sometimes just another form of negotiation - and intimidation, where Xalek came in handy.

Andronikos had a charm and sharp wit Xalek lacked, but they made an excellent team. Xalek’s mastery of the Force and his menacing presence countered Andronikos’ quick talk. A practical partnership, yes, but there was something about the pirate’s easy manner that Xalek found himself gravitating toward. It was a rare friendship, one he appreciated in his own stoic way.

A familiar voice called out, and he turned to see Ashara, waving and approaching him. Nodding back, he climbed into the shuttle, readying it for their next hunt.

Andronikos squinted as he watched the gentle breeze outside, sunlight spilling over the balcony. He yawned again, marveling at the day’s promise of… absolutely nothing. Perfect. Maybe a little longer in bed was the best way to honor such an ideal morning.

Stretching with the satisfied groan of a man at ease, Andronikos mentally sorted through his possibilities. A trip to Nar Shaddaa was tempting - there was a pair of charming Twi’leks he remembered, always a good time. Or maybe he'd check in with the boss. The Darth kept a tight circle of what he liked to call “historical overachievers” - Talos, Xalek, and the rest, each one a character in their own right. Odd as they were, he’d grown attached to this “nerd brigade,” as he secretly dubbed them.

Taking Talos out could be fun, Andronikos mused. A trip to the cantina would broaden that poor archaeologist’s horizons. He pictured Talos’s fascination with the variety of shady drinks and outrageous company, his curiosity uncontainable, like a kid on Life Day. Or maybe a quiet day fishing; the thought of outwitting a fish or two sounded nice. Nothing strenuous, just good old-fashioned laziness. With one more contented yawn, he decided on the most important task of all: a nice, uninterrupted nap.

Pulling the covers back over his head, he settled in, thinking about how he’d tell Talos they were going on a “mission” later.

Khem Val sometimes couldn’t believe he was allowed to have this. To have her, his fierce and powerful bond-mate, as tiny in stature as she was enormous in spirit. Her strength was something he both feared and admired - an unyielding core wrapped in flesh and bone, and yet, when she looked at him, there was softness in her eyes that no other being had ever dared show him. It was a softness that made his own massive heart clench with something both familiar and foreign.

With a low, rumbling purr, he leaned down, running his tongue over her cheek, savoring the taste of her and the warmth of her skin. She turned to him, her eyes gleaming with amusement and affection, a sight that seemed to calm the predator in him, sating him in a way far deeper than any battle or conquest. He couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to consume her whole or shield her from every threat in the galaxy. In truth, it was both - but "consumption" had taken on a new meaning for him now. To be close to her was enough to feed even his deepest hunger.

She stood gracefully on her toes, touching her nose to his cheek, then his neck, her lips brushing his skin in a way that made something coil tight and hot in his chest. It was a feeling he still struggled to name. She made him feel… kept. Valued. Not as a shadow killer or as Tulak Hord’s servant, but as someone she cherished. He knew she needed no protector; she had more than enough strength to command the galaxy. But for him, she was everything - and he would become anything for her if she asked it of him.

He remembered Veshikk Urk, an old aquaintance in the Dashade warbands, one who had long ago recognized what Khem himself had struggled to understand. It was Veshikk who’d mocked him for being a shadow killer brought to heel by a 'Sith pet'. Veshikk had called him soft and favored, assumed he loved the tiny woman, 'love' like a curse, uttered in the same breath as insult and offence. Khem hadn’t believed him, not until his mistress had looked at him that one fateful day with an unexpected softness and spoke his name in a tone that even years of killing had not hardened him against.

Since then, they had been inseparable, bound by more than servitude or the echoes of old vows. She was not like the others who had wielded power over him. She did not demand obedience but offered him respect, a fierce loyalty that called to the creature he was at his core. And she did not look at him as a weapon or tool but as her partner, as the one she had chosen.

His clawed hand rested gently on her shoulder, as careful as he could manage with talons sharp enough to slice through armor. She leaned into his touch, letting her smaller hand cover his in a gesture so simple, yet so deeply intimate, that it filled the spaces within him that he’d never realized were empty. He felt something in him quiet, a calmness that was as foreign to him as the sensation of her soft skin beneath his claws.

He looked down at her, letting his gaze linger on her face. Beautiful and strong - the only being in the galaxy who had ever truly seen him and, more surprisingly, wanted him. And for Khem, who had known only hunger, violence, and loyalty to a long-dead master, that feeling of being wanted - of belonging- was a treasure he would guard more jealously than any Sith holocron. She pressed a gentle kiss to the edge of his jaw, her smile soft, and he found himself rumbling in a rare show of affection. There was no fear here, no need to hide or defend himself. Only them, together in the quiet safety of their shared stronghold and family of choice, surrounded by the relics and ancient knowledge they’d gathered as a testament to their journey.

In this hidden sanctuary, he was no longer the shadow killer, no longer just the hungry Dashade who haunted dark corners of Sith lore. Here, with her, he was simply Khem Val - her bond-mate, her shadow, and, in his own way, her equal.

Settling into this moment of privacy and security, the Inquisitor felt a profound sense of contentment, a rare emotion for someone who had lived most of her life amid shadows, ghosts, and ancient secrets. Here, within her stronghold’s stone walls, she could shed the weight of survival and ambition, all the harshness of being Sith. She had never imagined herself finding peace, let alone in a place so vibrant with life. Surrounded by those she trusted and cherished, she felt anchored in a way that no title or power could offer.

The walls around her were filled with reminders of the galaxy’s greatest mysteries, of allies and rivals both gone and forgotten by most - yet remembered here, preserved as something precious. Even her own companions seemed softened in this quiet sanctuary: Talos with his reverent awe for history, Ashara’s bright laugh echoing down the halls, Xalek’s quiet loyalty, and Andronikos’ dry wit filling the silence with warmth. And beside her, Khem Val, her truest love, who had followed her from the deepest darkness to this unexpected place of light.

Chapter Text

Theron sifted through a stack of datapads, reorganizing the desk he and Auksinis shared in their Coruscant apartment library. Most of the devices were packed with tactical reports or encrypted mission logs - typical for both of them. But one datapad, lying under a few mission records, looked out of place. It was older, with a worn casing and no identifying markers.

Curious, he picked it up and brushed a finger over the display. The screen flickered to life with a faint hum, and before he could even begin scrolling, a recording started playing.

“...sometimes I wonder if I should have ever let him go.”

Theron froze. Auksinis' voice filled the quiet space, low, raw, and unmistakably pained. Theron’s pulse quickened as he glanced around, half-expecting Auksinis to walk in at any moment. He tried pressing the screen, tapping the edges to stop the playback, but the recording continued, slipping further into Auksinis' innermost thoughts.

“It’s hard,” the voice on the datapad murmured, as though Auksinis were confessing to himself, “knowing I should have never let him go… not knowing if he’d even survive out there, and I just watched him walk away.” A sharp exhale, his voice almost breaking. “I thought it was the right choice - to let him choose his own path. But the silence, the nights wondering if he’d come back or if I’d ever even see him again…. I wondered if he's safe everyday I heard more from Odessen and I wanted to just run in there, grab him and pull him out - what if he's the next on her list... And now it nearly was too late and what if it kills him?” The broken sob was clearly audible. 

Theron’s fingers fumbled against the datapad, and the volume accidentally turned up, amplifying every vulnerable word. The more he tried to stop it, the more he seemed to make things worse.

“By the void, c’mon,” he muttered, tapping in earnest now, hoping desperately that Auksinis wouldn’t hear.

But in those few extra minutes, he heard enough: mentions of Nathema, the vision he had that showed Sinis Theron's broken body in a heap and how this turned out true, how the Jedi thought Theron might not survive, the long, sleepless nights replaying what-ifs, and the haunting fear of a choice that had kept Auksinis awake at that moment, weeks after finding Theron. It was a pain he recognized but had never heard voiced with such raw honesty before.

And then, just as he finally managed to silence the device, the room fell into an uneasy, suffocating quiet. He found himself standing still, the weight of Auksinis' words pressing down on him. For a moment, he just stood there, feeling like he’d glimpsed a hidden scar he hadn’t realized his husband still carried.

A soft sound at the doorway made him turn, and there was Auksinis, watching him with unreadable eyes, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Silence hung thick between them, and Auksinis’ gaze flicked to the still-glowing datapad in Theron’s hand.

Theron quickly set the datapad on the desk, frustration twisting in his gut. He lifted his hands slightly, caught between guilt and the urge to explain.

“Sinis… I didn’t mean to - I thought it was just a mission log, and then it started playing, and I... ” He rubbed down over his face, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against his collarbone. “I kept trying to shut it off, but it just kept going, and… damn, it’s frustrating. I know that I was once considered one of the best slicers in the galaxy, and now I can’t even shut off a kriffing recorder.”

Auksinis' tense expression softened, if only a little, though his eyes stayed guarded. “So… you heard it?” he asked, voice clipped but with an undercurrent of something fragile.

Theron nodded, regret in his eyes. “More than I should have.” He took a breath, his voice low and careful. “I didn’t realize… how much you went through on Nathema. That you’d blamed yourself for letting me go.”

Auksinis looked away, his face going through a series of complex emotions, and for a moment his shoulders sagged. “I never wanted you to know,” he admitted, the bitterness in his voice barely masked. “Because the more I talk about it, the harder it is to forget. You were…” He trailed off, his gaze unfocused, as if he were back on Nathema. “You were dying in front of me, and I could hardly look at you without remembering what happened. What I let happen.”

Theron just wanted to hold him. His hand reached out instinctively but pausing just shy of Auksinis’ shoulder. “I left, Sinis. I made that choice, and you were the one who found me when no one else would. If the story would have gone any other way - if I hadn't known you - I would be dead. It wasn’t your fault, any of it. You must know that.”

Auksinis turned back to him, something raw and reluctant flashing in his violet eyes. “I hate to know that if it wasn't for a kriffing Force-vision you wouldn't have survived this. I thought you might never wake up. Every day I watched you there, comatose, knowing that we might never have a chance to fix what I’d… what we’d broken. And it kept me awake every night.” He was silent for a moment. But then he whispered "I hate her so much, I wish I could just close my hands around her throat."

Theron swallowed hard, hearing the weight of that in Auksinis’ voice, recognizing the love and despair. Quietly, he reached forward, resting a tentative hand on Auksinis’ shoulder. When Auksinis didn’t pull away, Theron slid his hand to the back of Auksinis’ neck, pulling him into an embrace. At first, there was a stiffness between them, as though each was uncertain, holding back but then Auksinis’ arms wrapped around Theron in return, melting against body, his grip tightening with a desperation that surprised them both. 

They stood there, anchored to each other in a way they hadn’t been since everything went wrong between them. Theron held him close, letting the silence between them be a balm, a quiet acknowledgment of all the things they hadn’t said. The knowledge that this was good and kept getting better, let him breathe easier than all the time before. 

Auksinis breathed out, his tension easing just a fraction as he rested his forehead against Theron’s shoulder. They’d taken a step toward rebuilding something that hadn’t been lost - just buried under the pain they didn't want the other know about. 

Chapter Text

Xordarr slowly woke from his warm and pleasant dream to a soft clinking sound. It supposedly wasn't the low noise that rose him but simply the time of the day. He reached out to the other side of the bed to find it empty and grimaced. Arcann's warm body wasn't there to grab. Why wasn't it at its rightful place next to him in the bed? To this petulant thought he opened his eyes to find Arcann sitting at the desk of their shared bedroom.

The cool glow of the yellow crystal cast Arcann’s face in soft light, his expression one of calm focus that Xordarr couldn’t look away from. Even though being certainly at peace this very moment right after sleep, he wondered what it would be like to feel the same tranquility Arcann radiated. But that wasn’t him; Xordarr had always thrived in the chaos, in the fierce and unrestrained energy of the dark side.

Arcann looked up, catching Xordarr’s gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re awake but not quite. Lost in thought?” he remarked, setting the lightsaber down. “That’s unusual.”

The Sith let out a short, dark chuckle. “Just thinking how you look out of place with that calm expression. Can’t imagine how someone like you could have once led the Eternal Fleet,” he replied sleepily, half-teasing but mostly curious.

Arcann’s smile widened, understanding the jest but not deflecting. “Balance, Xordarr,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “I may walk the path that your people define as the light, but that doesn’t mean I deny the darker parts of myself.”

The Cathar let both of his arms fall left and right like outstretched wings, brow furrowing as he looked up to the ceiling. “Balance,” he repeated, almost dismissively. “You make it sound so simple, but I’d lose everything I am if I tried to live that way.” His eyes closed but his voice had an edge, almost daring Arcann to challenge him.

Arcann's voice whirled around his head, gentle, calm and unwavering. “I wouldn’t want you to,” he said softly. “Your path is yours, and I would never ask you to leave it. I love you because of who you are, not in spite of it.” Warmth pooled in Xordarr's lower belly. 

There was a long silence as the Sith took in Arcann’s words. For someone who used to rule with fear and ruthlessness, Arcann’s gentle certainty had a surprising weight. And for Xordarr, who was so used to the raw strength of the dark side, this kind of acceptance felt unexpectedly powerful.

The warrior rolled out of the bed and lumbered over to the desk, wrapping his warm arms around his lover, feeling the weight of the words between them. “And you,” he muttered in Arcann's neck, voice quiet, “don’t change who you are either. I… I don’t think I’d survive the light. But I wouldn’t want to dim it in you.”

Arcann closed his eyes shortly, then opened them again, his gaze clear and bright. He took plucked Xordarr from his neck to take his face into his hands and kissed him, full of love and devotion.

The Cathar pulled him out of his chair and threw him on the bed, where he landed laughing while the Sith crawled over him. 

Much later they lay together holding each other close, the dark and the light, woven together in a fragile harmony, that felt somehow inextricable.

Chapter Text

It started slowly. There was a moment on the fleet with Sinis that felt oddly familiar. Theron rubbed his forehead and wondered about the weird feeling in his stomach but it was there and gone.

The second time happened when he read something about Rishi. A thought crashed through him 'Ugh, I hate Rishi... getting tortured wasn't fun either.' - which caught him off guard and made him feel dizzy.

He belatedly realized that it was a memory. So he panicked and did the one thing that made sense: He holo'ed Doc.

Theron’s fingers lingered on the holocom, hesitation making them hover before he finally tapped Doc’s contact. The line crackled as he waited, heart racing with a mix of nerves and impatience. After a moment, the familiar voice cut through.

“Theron! Good to see you! On the other hand, lookin’ a little pale there, buddy.” Doc’s smirk was unmistakable, but his tone shifted quickly to concern. “What’s wrong?”

Theron took a shaky breath. “I… something’s coming back to me, Doc. Memories. Things I know I wasn't able to remember.” His hand drifted up, rubbing at his right temple where the dull ache was already forming again. “It started as flashes, nothing clear, but it’s getting stronger.”

Doc’s brows furrowed. “Describe it to me.”

“There was this moment on the fleet with Sinis… he was just there, and suddenly it felt like we’d been there before, like I’d… I don’t know, been with him in that exact way. Then later, I was reading up on Rishi, and…” He paused, letting out a harsh exhale. “And I remembered being there. Being tortured. I remember every detail, Doc. And it wasn’t just… fragments. It felt real.”

Doc nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’re pulling something back, piece by piece. Could be the brain’s way of handling trauma - sort of trickling it in so you don’t get overwhelmed. Have you noticed any pattern?”

Theron shook his head, frustration evident. “No pattern. Just Sinis, or random places, and it’s like the memories tear through me. It doesn’t stop there, either. I remember what I felt - anger, fear, and…” He trailed off, swallowing hard, feeling a surge of emotions that made his heart pound. “Helplessness.”

“Helplessness?” Doc’s voice softened, and he nodded, as if understanding something unspoken. “Look, memory recovery is no picnic, especially when it involves emotional stuff. Your brain’s holding onto things that matter. Could be something unresolved. Could be something you need to face.”

Theron felt the weight of Doc’s words sink in. “I know,” he murmured. “But if this is happening now… it has to mean something. Maybe it’s time I tried to figure out what I’m missing.”

“Take it slow,” Doc advised, his tone warm but serious. “And talk to Master Auksinis. If he’s tied up in these memories, he might be able to help you piece it together.”

Theron hesitated, a pang of guilt rising. The idea of facing Sinis was terrifying, but he knew Doc was right. If anyone could ground him through this, it was Sinis.

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll… I’ll talk to him.” He cut the call, gripping the holocom a little tighter as he took a steadying breath.

He didn't talk to him. Auksinis also had to deal with his own kriff and he didn't want to start with a memory that must have been as painful for him as it was for Theron.

But given his track record with life choices, he should have known it would come back to bite him in his arse.

Theron’s hand lingered on the cold surface of his datapad, though he couldn’t recall the reason he’d picked it up in the first place. The words he’d been about to type slipped from his mind as images - so vivid and painfully familiar - flashed before his eyes.

It started as a slow trickle, a few disconnected images at first: a cantina where he’d watched Sinis across the room, the half-smile that Sinis had barely let show. Then came the sound of Sinis’s laughter - quiet, often buried under layers of sarcasm, but real. Theron’s breath hitched as a wave of moments crashed down, each one carrying more force than the last: Sinis waiting for him on a windswept cliff on Balmorra, the two of them fighting side by side, leaning on each other, always.

The memories hit like a flood, impossible to contain, each one as clear as the day it happened. He remembered their first night on... Alderaan? The tomb and the banter giving way to something deeper, something that had terrified him with its intensity when it became less awkward later. He remembered falling in love slowly over the span of their missions and adventures and stealing warmth on Dromund Kaas. By the Sith's hells, that had been a shit mission. He remembered the scars on Sinis’s hands, so familiar that they had become his own landmarks, each one a reminder of the life they’d carved out together. Some he had when they met. Several came while they were side by side.

Theron stumbled, gripping the edge of the desk to steady himself. He sucked in a shaky breath, realization sinking in like a blade. I remember.

His hands shook, and he pressed them together, feeling the weight of every decision, every word and every silence that had built the bond between them. He saw Sinis, his face blurred in despair after Theron’s heatly discussed departure, his violet eyes hollowed by fear and pain and he remembered the last look Sinis had given him before he left, this tired, hurt, defeated acceptance, a look that had haunted him in fragments ever since.

Theron’s heart twisted painfully. All those empty weeks spent feeling like something was missing, like he’d left behind a part of himself he couldn’t name - all of it fell into place now, a brutal clarity that felt like a punch to the guts. He hadn’t just left Sinis behind; he’d left behind the best part of himself, the one thing he’d always sworn to protect.

And Sinis had been there, waiting. Even after everything.

Theron’s voice was barely a whisper. “By the void. I'm so sorry.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Since he awoke he was haunted by the reason why. Why did he leave behind the best thing in his life? A decision he wasn't able to follow. But now... Now he understood it.

--

Lana stepped closer, her gaze steady and unyielding. There was a sharpness in her expression, an urgency that refused to be softened by words alone. The hallway of the Alderaan noble house she chose as "neutral ground" felt closed. Theron watched her warily, wondering what she wanted.

"Theron," she began, her voice a controlled calm, "I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. I’ve seen what you built for yourself, and I know how much it means to you. But Arcann’s reign... It’s dismantling everything we have left. The Empire, the Republic… both are shadows of what they were.”

Theron’s expression hardened. “Lana, I’m not interested in risking what little we have for the sake of the Barsen'thor's crusade. We... I finally have something like a life worth living. I can’t just walk away from that.”

Her gaze didn’t falter. She took a small step forward. “I’m not asking you to be a soldier, Theron. This isn’t the Republic’s mission or the Empire’s. It’s our survival. Arcann has laid waste to everything he’s touched, and he won’t stop until he has the whole galaxy kneeling to him. That includes you and… Auksinis.”

His jaw tightened, the words hitting deeper than he let on. She knew about Sinis. The name alone tugged at the edges of his resolve, reminding him of every quiet moment they’d shared, every night he’d spent making sure Auksinis could sleep in peace. He swallowed hard, averting his gaze. “Don't use him against me. He didn’t sign up for this. Neither did I.”

Lana’s voice softened, but the urgency behind it didn’t waver. “If you won’t fight, then who will? Arcann’s forces are crushing every resistance they find. Worlds are falling, families torn apart. I’ve seen it. And if we don’t push back, if we don’t fight - how long do you think it will be before that comes for you? For him?”

Theron clenched his fists, the words burning a hole through his chest. She didn’t know. She had no idea how deeply he’d fought to keep Auksinis safe, how each day they’d managed to carve out a fragile peace was a battle in itself. She couldn’t know that Sinis had been through more than any man should endure - that he’d already given enough.

“Lana, I’ve done my part. I don’t see why I should throw everything away just because...". But that wasn't true, was it? He knew exactly what was coming if no one fought. If no one helped. If no one resisted. Lana was right. Fighting against Arcann was keeping the people safe, was a necessary battle.

“Are you sure, Theron?” Lana’s voice was softer now, almost questioning. “Or are you waiting to lose it, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but ashes? Arcann doesn’t stop. You and I both know that. And the people who wait to act… they’re the ones who lose everything in the end.”

Even though he knew in an abstract part that she tried to manipulate him, her words tore at him, a hard-edged truth cutting through his resistance. She was right, even if he fought against her reasoning. But she doesn’t understand, he told himself. How could she? Auksinis was more than just a reason to stay; he was the reason Theron had turned his back on the wars that had claimed so much. But even that conviction felt fragile now, the weight of her words forcing him to see the galaxy beyond their home - a galaxy that was torn apart.

“I can’t…” He managed, his voice strained. “I can’t drag him back into this, Lana. After everything he’s been through…”

Lana’s eyes searched his, a hint of something softening her expression. “Theron, I’m not asking you to leave him behind. I’m asking you to protect him. To make sure this life you’ve built has a future. Do you really think it’s safe from Arcann?”

No. He wasn't. No one was and he knew that. Theron closed his eyes, the enormity of the choice pressing down on him. The life he and Auksinis had struggled to build, the fragile peace they’d carved out against impossible odds… If he stayed, he risked watching it all fall apart, one piece at a time, until they were left with nothing. He fought against the tears that tried to show.

Finally, he opened his eyes, resignation weighing heavily in his gaze. “Alright, Lana. I’ll join you. Not for the Barsen’thor, and not for your Alliance. But for him. I’m not going to lose him to Arcann. Not to anyone.”

But he did lose him to himself.

--

Theron hadn't even realized that he went into the library, watching his husband reading with the back to him. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. The words felt like lead in his chest, too heavy to say yet impossible to keep silent any longer. “Sinis… I didn’t leave because I wanted to.” He clenched his fists, struggling to hold back the raw ache that surfaced with the memory. “I left because… if I didn’t, I was made to believe that you would be taken from me.”

Sinis froze, then turned around, stood up and cautiously walked in front of Theron just to look at his face. He looked confused, only stared but then, “You… you did that for me?”

Theron nodded, his eyes distant, reliving every brutal detail. “I thought I could find a way back, stop Arcann, then return… I didn’t want to lose you, not after the Alliance made it clear you’d be the first to pay if Arcann won.” He took a shuddering breath, his voice breaking slightly. “I chose to leave so you’d be safe, even if that meant you’d hate me. Kriff. I'm such an idiot.” This time a tear made its way down his cheek.

Sinis’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering. “Theron, you are not an idiot for being afraid or for someone manipulating you into being afraid." He gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. "But all those times you thought you were alone… I was afraid of losing you too. Every fight, every risk I took, I took for you. Maybe I didn’t walk away, but I walked into enough danger that it’s a miracle I ever walked back.”

Theron looked up, his face a mixture of surprise and understanding. He hadn’t considered that Sinis’s love was just as reckless, just as fierce. He always believed, all fights were his to endure, that he had to keep all battles away from his love to not drag Sinis back into his trauma, into his past. Instead he had fought just as hard, just as determined.

Theron’s throat felt tight as he looked at the Jedi. The words Sinis just spoken hung between them, raw and unsteady, and he didn’t turn away. There was a flicker of something in those violet eyes, a rare softness that made Theron’s chest ache. The silence was filled with the weight of everything Theron had lost - and found again.

Sinis’s expression remained calm and steady, unwavering, as if he were searching every corner of Theron’s face for something - maybe for the truth he thought he’d never hear, or perhaps for the closure that had always seemed just out of reach. Finally, Sinis’s voice broke again the silence, low and carefully measured.

“I wondered if you’d ever remember,” he said quietly, as if each word cost him something. “You… you never said why you wanted to fight Arcann so desperately that you joined the Barsen'thor, who you actually despised.”

Theron took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t remember until now, Sinis. I was… terrified you’d be killed if I didn't help to fight Arcann. That I had to choose between the lesser of two evils.” His hands clenched and unclenched as he fought to get the words out, that Lana's conviction had planted that kernel of horror into his heart. “I was convinced that leaving was the only way I could keep you safe, but I never imagined I’d lose… us.”

Sinis looked down, and for a fleeting moment, Theron thought he saw the flicker of an old, familiar pain in his eyes. “Theron, I would have faced any danger. I’ve done it a thousand times.” His voice softened, turning almost wistful. “You’re not the only one who would throw everything aside for the people you love.”

Theron swallowed hard, his chest tight. “I know. But my head was so full of threats and consequences that I thought maybe if I left, you’d finally be free of them.”

Sinis shook his head, a faint, wry smile ghosting over his face. “You were always part of me, Theron. When you left, I wasn’t free. I was broken, because that part of me was missing. And I would’ve stood by you, even through that. I never asked you to protect me alone.”

Theron felt the weight of that truth, sinking deeper with each word. He hadn’t understood before, hadn’t known what Sinis would sacrifice for him - but now, every memory, every piece of what they once were, surged back into focus.

“Sinis,” he whispered. "I… I need you to know that if I could take it all back, I would. I’d face every threat if it meant you didn’t have to go through this. I would give everything to keep you."

Sinis took a step closer, his hand reaching up to touch Theron’s face, the touch both familiar and achingly tender. “Then don’t spend your life regretting it. Just be here, Theron. That’s all I ever needed.”

Auksinis leaned forward and kissed Theron gently, who felt that last pieces slot into place. Their love, the touches, the tenderness and as well the heat and the desire.

Theron leaned into Sinis’s touch, his heart pounding as he felt the strength in the hand holding him. When they parted to catch their breath, he quietly confirmed “Then that’s exactly where I’ll stay."

Chapter Text

The forests of Alderaan were quiet, almost reverent, as Rahutu made his way through the towering silver-green trees. He’d come to search for a young Jedi rumored to have vanished near the mountain retreat, and now, finally, he had found him. Standing by a crystal-clear stream, the young man - no more than twenty, with a serene face and an air of quiet confidence - had looked over his shoulder as Rahutu approached, offering a gentle smile.

They had spoken little, both sensing the unspoken tension between them. The boy was pretty, sandy hair, pale blue eyes and a lean but strong body. Rahutu felt the familiar warmth flicker in his chest, a feeling he’d once thought reserved for Theron. But as they stood together beneath the sun-dappled canopy, he felt something far deeper and more consuming than he had ever felt before. He wanted to feel the warmth that seeped from that body, longed to feel the thrumming of the pulse in it. He wanted to lick the silky skin and grip this sandy hair. He could nearly envision it, just that before his inner eye the sun-kissed locks were matted with blood.

He wanted to own the young man, to have him all to himself. This desire was different - sharper, darker, no longer confined to the safety of a quiet longing as it had with Theron. And this desire demanded release.

Hours later, Rahutu stood alone among the trees, his mind tracing the recent memory of the young man’s clear blue eyes, the way he had looked at Rahutu, realization dawning. His beautiful petal mouth opening and his eyes fluttering shut. 

The Jedi shook his head, a smile flickering on his lips. Whether it was the sweet relief of giving in or the release of long-buried frustration, he felt the weight of his restraint fall away, leaving him lighter, unburdened. The passion had been raw, sweet and addictive.

The quiet forest was now touched with a deeper, darker silence, punctuated only by the soft murmur of the stream. There was no sign of the young Jedi, not even a trace of his presence, as if he had been a mirage - something conjured by the forest and reclaimed by it. Rahutu glanced back once, feeling a thrill course through him, a new depth of power humming under his skin, both intoxicating and absolute.

"I am finally free," he whispered, as he turned and walked back into the forest shadows.

Chapter Text

Vaasko is taken care of by Kira and due to his weak connection to the Force, he becomes an avid smuggler over the years. He cannot really show his face im Imperial space but otherwise he's good. He treats Theron more or less like an uncle. Same for Auksinis.

Amatox is actually not dead. He is absolutely fine. He is a pure lightsider and would never have battled Theron but rather taken his boy and go with him.



Xordarr is and will stay absolutely besotted with Arcann. Whatever happens, these two belong together.



Aric and Meteor live happily ever after and won't let each other out of their eyes.



Rahutu's final path is not yet clear to him.

Thanks for reading!