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Chapter Text

Cal’s lightsaber sizzled with every drop of sweat that escaped his forehead, disintegrating in the hot plasma of his blade. It threatened to cloud his eyes, to blur his sight, and yet his hands remained in a vice grip around his lightsaber. His gaze stayed focused on his opponent, not willing to split his attention for a single second, not allowing her to find an opportunity, an opening in his defense.

“Your pathetic attempt at this will amount to nothing. You have already lost, even if you are too ignorant to see it!” The Second Sister’s words, an attempt at cutting through the tension of the sudden stillness, failed at concealing the doubt in her voice. Even the distortion of her helmet could not hide the fact that the words seemingly aimed at him were spoken more to herself, a desperate attempt at a reminder of her conviction and abilities, a rallying cry nobody else would make for her.

He did not dignify her with an answer.

They had been locking blades for what felt like hours, their tensed muscles growing numb, the smell of drying sweat and colliding plasma blades filling the air, the understanding that this fight would only end in one of two ways making the hairs on each of their necks stand up. Cal stood very still, waiting for her to move. The desperation of her words willing him into waiting for the calamity to continue building up inside of her, to overtake the Second Sister to such a degree it would not only grant her power, it would also result in recklessness, in her own demise.

Not too long ago a part of him would have been convinced it did not have to end this way, that there was another path, always. As another drop of Cal's sweat sizzled and disintegrated before even touching the blade of his lightsaber, he stood not only in anticipation of his opponent’s move but in conviction - this was going to be their final battle. After everything that had happened, it had to end this way.

A part of the Second Sister realized what he was doing, was certain that striking now would be a mistake, knew she could not let the anger, desperation and pain overtake her, that she had to channel her emotions. Nonetheless, her breathing became ragged, her voice irritated, her heartbeat so rapid, she was unsure whether her heart was even still beating at all. “Move, you coward!”

She did not wait for an answer she knew he would not give as she charged at him, bringing her double-bladed lightsaber down from where she had lifted it above her head for a devastating strike – but it never hit. She frantically turned to where he had dodged out of the way, every muscle in her body tensed as she readied herself to shove the lightsaber right between his ribs, into his heart–

And then everything suddenly came to a halt. The Second Sister was frozen in time, her eyes only being granted mere moments to widen in fear and realisation before his lightsaber, thrown in a narrow arch, clearly passed through her neck.

When he caught his saber again and switched it off, her helmeted head had already come to a stop in front of Cal’s feet, yet her body remained in stasis. When the clanking of the rolling helmet and the gurgling of the severed blood vessels came to a stop, silence fell over the scene. There was no tremble in his hands, no raggedness in his breath as he watched the torso before him, ever so slowly, start to topple. The force’s grip on it allowed him to take in every minute detail of it: the knees giving out first, all the tension leaving her hands, causing her lightsaber to escape her grip and fall, seemingly light as a feather, as it remained almost frozen in time. All the muscles that had been tensed in the fever of battle relaxing, with any nerves that could have commanded them to move irrevocably severed. The Second Sister’s body did not come crashing down, it softly met the cold metal floor.

The last and loudest sound it made was when, well after her head had been severed from her shoulders, the Inquisitor’s slowed heart finished its final beat, causing a last wave of blood to spray out of the neck.

It was that beat, violently jerking him back to the reality of the situation, that made him sink to one knee, his head bowed to the floor. The freshly sprayed red blood was drawing patterns on the durasteel tiling as he remained on his bad knee, not lifting his head even when the heavy footsteps approaching came to a stop right in front of him.

Cal Kestis would never lift his head again, his essence, his whole being seeping beneath the cracks of the durasteel floor, like the blood of the Inquisitor he had just slain.

Their weakness died in this room, dripping through crevices in the floor just to dry up, dissolve and be forgotten in all of its inaptness to make way for a rebirth in strength and true power.

“Rise, Second Brother.”

Second Brother lifted his head to emptily gaze at the Grand Inquisitor, whose face and presence in the force was ever clouded by cold fury and calculated wrath — beneath the dark sided cloud cover, however, the novel Inquisitor could sense a grim satisfaction at his maker’s newest creation. He rose to his feet, Second Sister’s blood dripping from his leg where he had knelt in it, watching it drain out of her lifeless form. When the Grand Inquisitor spoke again, the satisfaction was evident in the tone of his voice even more so than his words.

“You have done well to prove your capabilities and loyalties. There is no doubt in my mind you will be of great use to the Empire — and I most certainly hope you remain aware of how displeased I would be about having to change my mind, yes?” Second Brother gave the slightest nod. “Yes, Grand Inquisitor.”

As the Grand Inquisitor left the room, his newest recruit remained standing alone. The doors closed behind his maker, and he shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he was not looking at Second Sister’s lifeless torso as much as he was staring through it. He wondered, absentmindedly, if the metal he could taste on his tongue, its smell completely coating his nostrils, was due to the durasteel walls, ceiling and flooring or due to the blood that seeped between its cracks.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a hallway and heard the doors fall closed behind him. There were troopers by his side, escorting him. It was strange, he mused, how different these troopers felt now, to him and in the force. They used to be clouded in hatred, disgust even, as they called him a traitor with their words and through their actions, causing irreparable damage to both his body and mind. And while these sentiments were undoubtedly still present – he was a force-wielder after all, a traitor (albeit a useful one now) – it was buried beneath waves of fear and horror that rolled off of them. He felt it in the force, within the dark, heavy blanket that was always wrapped tightly around Nur. Though one did not need to be in tune with the force to notice the trooper’s terror. It was in their steps, too rigid, almost too precise, afraid of what a single misstep might result in. Their grip on the blaster-rifles, unpractically tight, guided not by rigorous training but fear, clinging on to their one defense, as useless as they knew it to be in the face of an Inquisitor. The slight tremble in the panels of their duraplast armor as they desperately tried to control their tremors.

He blinked again, the bottomless pit of fear in the force now at his back, a wall of fabric in front of him. It was impressive, in a way, to not only have this many different shades of black cloth, but to divest precious resources to its acquisition, he thought. His face stayed empty, devoid of any emotion, as the tailor measured him, trembling way less than the troopers did – maybe a result of having honed their craft long enough to be considered for a position this prestigious. His eyes closed and opened a few more times before a helmet was placed on his head, the world suddenly tinted in red – fitting, he surmised.

The fear rolling off the group of troopers intensified again when he stepped out, clad in black armour, the imperial cog placed on his right shoulder. They did not tell him where they were leading him, perhaps out of fear, though they do not have to, anyways. He knew where he was headed, sensing the unmistakable presence in the force surrounding not just the Grand Inquisitor himself, clouding the whole wing of the Fortress Inquisitorious he resided in.

“Ah, Second Brother.” His office was right at the water line of the oceanic moon, and the Grand Inquisitor was stood away from his desk, hands clasped behind his back, watching the waves tirelessly crash against a large window. He continued to speak without turning to face his newest recruit. “There is no time to waste. We received reports of a Jedi terrorist on a mid-rim planet, and you are to capture or neutralize them at once. Since you have thoroughly proved yourself today, I will abstain of sending a handler with you.” He paused for just a moment. “Never mind failure – any hesitation or reluctance will carry grave consequences – you are a lapdog to the empire and a bloodhound to her enemies. Understood?” He barely turned towards the Second Brother while granting his last word the proper inflection. “Yes, Grand Inquisitor”

His head was still bowed as he made his way out of the office, the metallic smell of blood on durasteel still present in his nostrils and on his tongue as he made his way past the cloud of fear around his escort, towards the hangar.

He spent the journey to Bothawui mindlessly flicking through the information he was provided on a datapad, only half paying attention to it and making no real attempts to commit any of it to his memory. A part of him felt insulted at the insinuation that he needed any of this, the crewmember who handed him the datapad had undoubtedly sensed it, no matter how vacant their presence in the force was. They scurried away as fast as their legs would carry them as soon as the datapad had left their hands. Second Brother had other, more refined means of acquiring information that made a hunt that much more interesting. He wondered if the Grand Inquisitor had wanted to test him by providing the information on this datapad. Most of it was useless, anyway. Some of it was false, perhaps.

During the majority of the hours spent in hyperspace Second Brother occupied himself with studying planetary maps, not raising his voice when he commanded his crew to land the ship at a certain outpost – if they were unable to hear or understand his orders, no matter the manner they were given in, he would deem them inadequate at their jobs and to be disposed of before returning to Nur. His ship touched ground at the outpost, with the number of breathing sentients onboard unchanged.
Stood in the galley raising the needle of a stim to his neck and pushing the potent liquid out of the canister, he stepped off the ramp as soon as it touched the ground.

The advantage of being turned from a terrorist traitor to a useful one, he mused, was that he knew precisely where to search for signs of a fugitive Jedi. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon as he stepped through the wide streets of the village, feeling drawn to purple glows of unconsciously left echoes in the force. Traces of fights over the price and quality of certain metals, the fear accompanying having to cross the saloon alone at night with its patrons drunkenly idling outside, the frustration over increased Imperial presence. The Inquisitor ignored the population's widening eyes and ever-rising fear for now as he continued his search to find a specific type of desperation. He must be getting close, for he could practically smell it. When Second Brother came to a stop in front of a stall in the middle of a market, he took a deep breath, virtually tasting the agony radiating from an unassuming piece of cloth, ripped off where it was caught at a particularly sharp edge of the stand. He knew he had her before he even took off his glove to touch it.

When he turned around, all the people trying to leave the market as fast and quietly as possible - herding their children around them and demanding the little ones  be quiet, attempting to unlock the doors to their homes with shaking hands - froze at once. It amused him, really, to consider that he did not even have to use the force to properly slow time, for his presence alone sufficed in stopping all the villagers in their tracks. He glanced through the crowd, wide eyes and panicked pupils averting their gaze as soon as he came close to tilting his helmet in their direction, until he rested his watch at the one face that dared to look right back at him.

The Inquisitor stepped closer to the man staring at him, slowly and methodically. When he came to a stop in front of him, Second Brother averted his gaze for a moment, glancing over parents shakily gripping their children who regarded him with wide eyes. The children were afraid of him like they were afraid of the bogeyman, the monster under their beds, of horrors they could not yet comprehend. The parents were terrified of breathing from the same atmosphere as him, aware of the horrors and atrocities his presence brought. Before finally resting his gaze on the defiant man in front of him again, he pointedly tipped his helmet towards the children cowered beneath their parents’ arms.

“Where is the Jedi?” His voice was ice cold but utterly calm. It was not a question he needed to ask, he already knew the answer. He had no use for information – he needed no sentient (or datapad) to acquire knowledge, ever – but a village that came in touch with Jedi terrorists and their traitorous ideology could turn into a city, a continent, then a planet, a system, and finally the entire galaxy. A single person disrespecting the Empire enough to meet the piercing gaze of one of her agents was a spark waiting to erupt into flame. The Inquisitor posed the question not for an answer, but to bring the Empire’s heavy boot down hard on any potential spark, to snuff it out violently and irrevocably.

Second Brother watched the man’s defiance falter, when one of the parents next to him started screaming, “The Jedi is-“, they did not get to finish their sentence, he lazily flicked his wrist, lifting them from the ground, choked sounds escaping their throat. “I was not talking to you, now, was I?” He had not looked away from the man in front of him, whose eyes lost any hint of defiance, his gaze morphing into blank horror at the Inquisitor’s cold fury, a battle waged internally - to divulge or not divulge the knowledge he clearly possessed - laid bare on his face. The Inquisitor could not tell if muffled cries were escaping the lifted parent’s closed-off throat or their children on the ground, perhaps both.

He continued, “You have until their windpipe bursts, until their esophagus is crushed, to answer me. If you fail to do so, they will all share the same fate, after which I will take my leave for your community to judge your decision and seek whatever reward or retribution they see fit.” He felt the emotions erupt around him in the force. Panic, desperation, horror and agony – it was like a feast to him, feeding into his own rage and pain, augmenting his already overwhelming power. The no longer defiant man swallowed before finally opening his mouth to speak. “The- The Jedi is in-“, the gurgling suddenly stopped as a loud crack escaped the parent’s throat, “-the woods to the east”. Their limb body crashed to the ground, yet nobody flinched at the sudden sound. Not even the child, half buried beneath their fallen parent, lifeless hand tangled in their long, brown hair.

Second Brother snorted, utterly amused at the theatrics. The defeated man trembled before him, eyes wide in blank horror. “How unnecessary” is all the Inquisitor sighed before turning around and leaving without glancing back, though he could hear the thudding, then cracking, then wet sounds of punches continuing to rain down on an already bloodied face, accompanied by bloodcurdling screams of “WHY?!”, pulling his mouth into a cold smile.

When he approached the edge of the forest, drenched in the fear of a poorly hidden Jedi fugitive, he dragged his lightsaber, single blade lit, across the ground. “You know I have come for you, and yet”, his lit blade crossed through a small puddle, causing a loud hissing sound as all the water evaporated in a near instant, “you have fled to the woods, leaving them all to me. Their fragile, meaningless lives to be extinguished in mere moments.” His voice rose, ever so slightly, but he recollected his frighteningly calm composure, continuing to speak with cold fury. “Protectors of the galaxy and its people, guides through the struggle, beacons of light?" Second Brother's voice was dripping with distain and disgust. "You Jedi are ignorant cowards. Your ignorance led you to believe you could outrun me, your cowardice not only keeps you from achieving real power, it convinced you to leave a whole outpost for dead.” He came to a stop where he could feel the Jedi’s presence closest. “You are not fit to serve the Empire as an Inquisitor. I will be your judge, jury and executioner, whether you are going to face me or not, you will die a coward’s death today.”

Everything was eerily still, the forest seeming utterly devoid of any life apart from them, as Second Brother waited for the Jedi to decide whether she was going to continue to bore him out of his mind or at least provide some entertainment on his first assignment. One thing he was sure of, though: for the second time today, he knew exactly how this encounter would end. When the human woman finally stepped out from the bushes to his right, he turned his head to face her. She was trembling, yet her blue saber was lit all the same, raised in defence. It covered one half of her face, illuminating the other. Her tears were glittering in a soft blue hue, illuminated by her saber which shook almost as badly as her hands, as they streamed from her eyes. Her pupils widened when she felt his amusement and smugness through the force, clearer than it would ever show on his face were it uncovered.

“You slaughtered my people and left the few of us that survived to be ostracised, on the fringes of every society in this galaxy, yet you dare to demand anything of me, to judge any of my actions? You are a vile creature, serving your masters as if they would hesitate to stab you in the back the second you are no longer useful to them!” Her voice was trembling, full of fear and desperation, and yet she spoke the words with conviction.

“I am useful to them because they have stabbed me.” He turned his whole body to face her properly. “I make demands because I was not too cowardly and ignorant to reach for power” Second Brother stepped towards her. “I judge your actions because they lead you right here, to this side of the Empire’s blade.” He ignited his second saber, bathing the scenery in bloodred light, vastly outshining her pale blue. The Jedi gasped, and, distracted by the screaming of the Inquisitor’s bled kyber, noticed the pull in the force too late, her lightsaber ripped from her hands, landing firmly in his. He had kept his left hand ungloved on purpose, so the echoes hit him immediately. He consumed all her memories, her pain, her fear, her desperation – most of all her self-hatred. A satisfied moan escaped him as she watched in horror, knees beginning to buckle under the weight of her predicament.

“Tahlia. Apprentice to Kelleran Beq. Tell me, what would your Master say to you after you left an entire village for dead in a desperate, pathetic attempt to flee? After you had already failed to protect the people that fed you for months during the Clone Wars, watching all of them be disintegrated by Seperatist battletanks without lifting a single finger to aid?” She sunk to the ground, muttering so many questions, never finishing any of them before vocalising another. “How do you- Why is this-“ The satisfaction in him grew. This might not have turned out to be an interesting fight in the traditional sense, but it quelled his boredom all the same. He turned his face down to look at her, grabbed her head at the nape, pulling her hair down, forcing her to look right at him. His voice was utterly calm when he spoke. “You are a traitor. A coward. Too weak for the force to ever allow you to join it in death, you will perish into nothing.”

Instead of awaiting any rebuttal Tahlia might have had, he forced his saber through her left eye. The scream that escaped her mouth was so loud and agonising, flocks of winged creatures evacuated the woods surrounding them. Then, for the third time today, he felt a life extinguish in the force. For the second time today, he watched a body hit the floor. Louder, faster this time. This Jedi was not worth his attention, was not worth wrapping the force around her body to commit her death to his memory. Before his boredom could set in again, she was so easily undone after all, Second Brother grabbed a stim, pushing the needle into his neck. As he exhaled, feeling the soothing effects of the substance wash over him, he clipped her lightsaber, proof of his success, to his belt.

Then the Inquisitor simply left her where she fell, to be consumed by wildlife, to be mourned by no one.

Bode suppressed the urge to chew the inside of his mouth until it turned raw, keeping his hands in his laps, commanding them not to fidget. “It seems, not in spite of but caused by your tenure in this organization, you are getting… sloppy.” A wave of disgust washed over him at the feigned casualty of Denvik’s tone, the nausea at his words soon followed. Knowing his handler’s affinity for monologues, he kept quiet, the stillness in the conversation amplifying the ringing in his ears. As the ISB commander stopped his artificial shuffling through the documents laid out on the desk before him, he spoke again. “I really had not considered the possibility of having to remind you of the benefits and privileges your… position within this organization grants you.” He paused, his piercing gaze fixating on Bode’s eyes. “And your daughter, of course.”

The former Jedi's heartrate rose immediately, and it took him every ounce of self-control to not lash out right then and there, any murderous fantasies forming in his mind immediately crushed by his overwhelming need to keep Kata safe. So, he kept quiet. “Letting a high-value target escape is very unlike you, Agent Akuna. You will understand, of course, the concerns this raises for our operation here.” Bode almost flinched. In all of his years as an Imperial agent, he had never slipped, never gave them cause to doubt his allegiance, stuffing his moral opposition to their operations ever deeper inside of him, where he kept the force and memories too painful to reflect on, until they were so utterly crushed, he truly considered himself a man without morals. On his last assignment, though, the morals he thought long dead came crashing over him like tidal waves in a storm. He could not do it. His target was barely older than Kata, looking up to him with her eyes, brown, accepting and kind, just like those of his daughter, and he could not bring himself to finish the job he was sent to do.

“I have a track record of years of solid work. It won't happen again.” He swallowed harder than he meant to, a new wave of terror washing over him at his choice of reminding Denvik of how long he had been doing this, and how good he was at it. While he waited for his handler to reply, he prayed to a force whose will he did not believe in anymore to not have the frail safety he had worked so ruthlessly for crumble right in front of his eyes.

“Well, I do agree with one of your assessments, Agent. This will most certainly not be repeated. In fact, you are to embark on your second attempt at this tomorrow morning. As you are surely aware, there are no second chances given within my operation. So, consider this a privilege for your… years of solid work. I do not intend to repeat myself; my expectations are clear. You are dismissed.”

Bode immediately jumped out of his chair and turned around to leave the office without looking at Denvik again. His heart was racing, only surpassed by the speed of his mind hasting over every single option he had. The nausea intensified as he realized that none of them were good, most of them were not even just bad, almost all of them were so horrific, he did not dare to linger on them. The only thing that was clear in his mind was that he needed to rush to his daughter and hold her in his arms tightly, if just for a moment, to recollect his composure.

While Bode was rushing to his and Kata's living quarters in cold sweat, Denvik leaned back in his seat with a satisfied smile. While he was generally disappointed in this turn of events, he remained pleased overall, as he had no doubts of his plan working without a hitch. When he grabbed his communicator, the ISB Commander could almost get over his distaste for the institution he called.

Chapter Text

It had been five years since Second Sister ripped him from his fragile life on Bracca, three years since he had killed his former namesake. They used to refer to him as the stubborn boy on Nur, now they barely dared to whisper his title.

From the moment Second Brother had returned from his first mission – or, more precisely, the instant the contents of his first mission report had become the talk of the fortress a few days later – the Inquisitor's reputation had started to precede him. While the sliver of disgust at a force user - an inherent traitor in the Empire’s eyes no matter how useful they might have proven to be - never fully disappeared, it was entirely overshadowed by their fear of him. Their terror seeped deep into their bones, enveloping every fibre of their bodies. And Second Brother enjoyed all of it. He had spent so long feeling useless, viewing himself as an utterly weak failure, finally wielding real power was the only reason he was still alive. And as frail and irrelevant as they might be, every single trooper’s, officer’s and worker’s fright of gave him more power than they could ever even dream of having themselves.

Second Brother had become the Empire’s most feared Inquisitor. As he was reminiscing on the successes of his career – and there were only successes when he was involved –  his gaze fell upon his very first price. He had kept every single lightsaber he had ever taken off all the traitors he had neutralized. They never proved to be fruitful candidates for the Inquisitorius – most even before he had met them, already knowing through their echoes that they would never stomach it, all of them at the very latest when they were faced with the heavy, all-encompassing cloud of darkness that permanently enveloped Nur.

While he had never met Lord Vader himself, his heavy presence was always felt on Nur. It did not matter that the Sith Lord himself was mostly completely absent from the oceanic moon, preferring to bide his time on Mustafar, given he was not preoccupied with keeping the more rebellious corners of the galaxy in check. Sometimes Second Brother wondered if it was not gravity holding Nur in Mustafar’s orbit, but Vader’s indescribable presence in the force, and if all the darkness that surrounded every inch of the fortress was nothing but the Sith’s presence in the force, enveloping it in its totality. He wondered how people were even able to breathe within the vicinity of the Inquisitorius’ Lord, though he had heard enough stories, witnessed enough echoes to know that many Imperials had seized breathing indefinitely after meeting him. He wondered if the Sith even had to consciously act to crush someone’s windpipe, or if he was merely restraining himself when he wasn’t.

Second Brother's thoughts wandered back to the lightsabers in front of him, the testaments of his inquisitions. A long time ago, he had heard of a Seperatist general who was notorious for his ability to go head-to-head with Jedi Masters and keep their lightsabers as trophies of his victories, even going so far as to wield them in battles. While now, it filled him with amusement, reminiscing on how many more bionic limbs he would eventually need to wield all of his trophies if he kept surviving and collecting them (more realistically he would perhaps need to settle for a full room for his collection instead of a display case), a small part of him did remember. When he was a young Padawan still, a time in his life he had not once dared to really think about since he had become Second Brother, the tales of the Seperatist general had frightened him to the point of nightmares.

He stepped closer to the display case where he kept all his trophies when his very first one caught his eye – the lightsaber he had taken of Tahlia, the Jedi traitor he had slain on his very first mission. One of the many side effects of psychometry was that he did not (becausehe could not) ever forget the names of any of his victims, the Inquisitor's brain forever filled to the brim with memories of a thousand lifetimes – and enough pain to put an end to the crew of an entire fleet of Star Destroyers.

He carefully opened the doors to the display case. It had slipped his notice at the time, but in hindsight the saber had been too large for Tahlia. He regarded it for a long time as his hand slowly reached out to it, drawn to the memories still contained within the lightsaber. His hand started to halt its movement towards the weapon. There was an unfathomably deep ache in his chest, threatening to steal his very breath away. The closer his fingertips got to the hilt of the lightsaber, the deeper the remains of his heart sunk in his chest. His deeply buried feelings towards a weapon that was too big for the wielder he took it from was never something the Second Brother would want to investigate. He would not ever be able to do so, anyways, for the dark smoke rising from his inferno in the force smothered every inkling of curiosity he had towards it, so he seldomly paid it more attention than stealing a glance.

His fingertips were mere millimetres from Tahlia’s lightsaber when his communicator sent him back to reality: An immediate meeting with the Grand Inquisitor himself. The Second Brother’s face distorted into a heinous grin. A new mission, he was sure. Just in time, he thought, as he pulled his hand away from Tahlia’s lightsaber. He could not afford lose himself in complacency, not for a single moment.

He had already buried any thoughts about the size of Tahlia’s lightsaber deep within the pits of his inferno again as he left his quarters and thought about probably having to commission a larger display case after this mission.

“Hey, little Star.” Kata had been laying on the couch, her eyes closed, when Bode entered their living quarters. She must have been half-asleep already, but sleep could not yet have had a strong grasp on her, she was already firmly in his arms by the time he was done greeting her. “Papa!” He wrapped his arms around her, so tightly a part of him was worried it might be uncomfortable for her – no part of him was worried about hurting her, though. He would kill the entire galaxy or die a thousand deaths himself; he could not ever envision hurting his little girl. No one would hurt her, not ever again. Bode would make sure of it.

“How have you been today, Kata?” His voice did not betray him, it never did. It was calm, collected. Even as his ears rang so, so loudly he was worried she might hear it herself and be bothered by it. And, indeed, she did seem bothered as she threw her head back and grunted, frustratedly. “I had to do sooooo much math! I hate math.” A small smile escaped him while she pouted. “I know, I know. But it’s important that you still learn about it – and the quicker you’re done with it, the more fun stuff we can do!” Bode lifted her up above his head and she laughed so gleefully, it tore his heart apart.

The Empire did value education – in maths, physics, chemistry, science. Never social studies, arts, crafts, botany – the things Kata would excel at, would find so much joy in learning, would absolutely thrive in. None of that knowledge could be utilised in warfare, imperialist expansionism and Imperial Greatness, so she was stuck having to study algebra, gravitational fields, chemical reactions and the make-up of ship engines. His little girl deserved to thrive, deserved to learn all about every little thing in the galaxy that brought her joy, and Bode's heart broke for he could not give any of it to her. All he could do was try his best to keep her safe. His heart threatened to burst as he slowly started to admit to himself that the one thing he had been able to provide, at the cost of everything else, was slipping through his fingers. Kata and he were no longer safe here.

He realized too late that she had stopped laughing. “Papa, what is it?” His little star was so perceptive, and it terrified him, since he knew exactly why even he could not hide everything from her, no matter how honed in his skills in shrouding himself in a blur of the force were. He set her down on the couch beside him, her hazel eyes, a perfect mirror to his own, watching him attentively, as Bode brought his duracrete walls up even tighter around the turbulent ocean he was in the force.

He took some time before he started to speak, choosing his words carefully. “Well… I think I can tell you this now because you’re old enough to understand.” She grinned, proudly. “I am a bit nervous, because– remember how I told you that, someday, we might take a secret surprise trip? Tomorrow’s the day!“ Her eyes grew bigger with every word he spoke. “Really? Promise you’re not being funny, Papa!“ A deep, rumbling chuckle escaped him. “I would never lie to you!” She pouted for a second, “You lie to me a lot, Papa! But promise you’re not lying this time?” He did not dwell on her words. He could not have stomached to. “I promise. If you promise to be good and remember what I told you: This is our little secret surprise trip, so we pack tonight and don’t tell anyone we’re leaving tomorrow, we don’t want to spoil the surprise after all.” She nodded profusely and was already halfway through the room “I need to get Mookie! And the map of the galaxy I drew! I’m so EXCITED PAPA!” He smiled as he watched her stumble into her bedroom to gather her things. He thought the plan he hastily threw together through one more time.

Tomorrow, he would pretend to go on the mission Denvik had sent him on. The setup was always the same: a ship with a small crew. Shortly after departing from the ISB base, he would dispose of them, get the armour of one of the troopers, change the ship’s ID, dump the bodies, return to Nova Garon, pick up Kata from the agreed hiding spot wearing the trooper’s armour, get back on the ship and jump to hyperspace as soon as were out of the asteroid base’s range. He had not planned much further than that, but they would have to spend as much time in hyperspace as the ship’s fuel allowed to, anyways. Though having heard rumours about an organisation willing to take in force-sensitive children and considering not even he knew much more about it than faint rumours, that might be their only hope.

It was not much of a plan, but it would work.

It had to work.

“Papa, I can’t find Mookie! Help me look!” Bode got up from the couch and bottled up his fear, his terror to the best of his abilities, shoved it behind the metres of duracrete and sunk it down to the very depths of the sea. “I’ll help you look – did you check under your pillows?“

When the troopers knocked on the Akuna’s livings quarters to escort Bode to the hangar the next morning, Kata was hugging him oh so tightly and threatening not to let go. It took him way too long to think of the words to say to her, to prepare her for what she had to do on her own until he was able to finally pick her up again – so long, he was surprised when the troopers just gestured for him to go, Kata still in his arms, one of the troopers grumbling something about escorting her to her classroom later.

On any other day, he would have spent more than a moment of surprise wondering about it, would have questioned why any of it was happening – on Nova Garron and under Denvik’s orders, nothing ever happened for no reason – but that morning, he could not spare a single moment, a single synapse of his brain. Get on the shuttle. Wait until it is out of range. Get the troopers first, the navigator last. Pile them up. Take the armor of the tallest one. Change the ship ID. Dump the bodies in space. Get back to the ISB base. Pick up Kata. Leave. Never come back.

His anxiety threatened to overtake him, but Bode tried to stay calm, did not want his little star to start wondering if it really was just nervousness he felt. Something was different and it made him uneasy, he felt scorching heat slowly build up inside of him, it had been so long since he had experienced anxiety like this. As irritated as he was by the physical sensations of it, which felt utterly foreign to him, he was grateful for his training and for the certainty it gave him that not a single blood vessel in his cheeks would be betraying him by reddening his skin. There were eight troopers in his escort instead of the usual four. Must be because some of them were supposed to escort Kata to class.

Get on the shuttle. Wait until it is out of range. Get the troopers first, the navigator last. Pile them up. Take the armor of the tallest one. Change the ship ID. Dump the bodies in space. Get back to the ISB base. Pick up Kata. Leave. Never come back.

As Kata was gripping tightly to his collar, he wondered what she could sense off him. His shields were metres upon metres of duracrete, but it never seemed to matter to her, she always found a crack to squeeze through. And Bode swore he could feel something, somehow affect the oceans inside him, no matter how thick and impenetrable his shields were supposed to be. He felt pride and immense sorrow at the fact that his little star was smart enough not to mention anything, to not tip the troopers off that something was very unusual today, she had to grow up way too fast. The other Imperials were looking at them even funnier than usual. Had to be because he was carrying his babygirl.

Get on the shuttle. Wait until it is out of range. Get the troopers first, the navigator last. Pile them up. Take the armor of the tallest one. Change the ship ID. Dump the bodies in space. Get back to the ISB base. Pick up Kata. Leave. Never come back.

If it had not been for the force, he would be lying on the ground and hyperventilating – his abilities allowed him to blur all of it, to obscure the lines between hyperventilating and breathing, screaming and remaining silent, crying and staying focused, panic and calm. Bode knew it was all rising within him, could feel the heat mercilessly continue to climb inside of him with every step he took towards the hangar. And yet, he forced himself to push it behind the haze. He just had to go over the plan one more time to make sure he knew exactly what to do.

Get on the shuttle. Wait until it is out of range. Get the troopers first, the navigator last. Pile them up. Take the armor of the tallest one. Change the ship ID. Dump the bodies in space. Get back to the ISB base. Pick up Kata. Leave. Never come back.

Bode realized too late that he had made a grave mistake trying to convince himself it was mainly nervousness he felt, that the heat that threatened to boil him alive was just a result of his anxiety: the puzzle pieces had been falling into place right in front of his eyes, but he had consciously kept everything so blurred and hazy, solely focusing on his plan, not even the warnings shrilling through the force had gotten through to him. His jaw was clenched so tightly, he could practically hear the sound of his teeth chipping ricochet off the walls – Kata was eerily still in his arms when his hands started so shake. The eight trooper escort had turned into a platoon surrounding them in a half circle. Bode's breathing became shallow, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, causing his hair to stick to his skin. A storm surge was starting to leak through the cracks in his shields, meeting a hungry, insatiable inferno. His eyes were widened in pure horror, facing a ship with its ramp lowered.

Kata lifted her head, looking at her father with wide eyes. “Papa, who is that?”

The sound of military-grade boots on durasteel was so ear-piercing, it threatened to overshadow the deafening ringing in Bode’s ears as he watched an Imperial Inquisitor descend onto the hangar. He was shrouded in an enormous cloud of pain, suffering and anger – the heat radiating off him threatened to choke the former Jedi’s breath in his throat, like he was stuck in a burning building, desperately trying to draw a breath, but his lungs only filled with smoke and desperation. His duracrete walls started to tremble as he tried keeping rough seas at bay.

“Agent Akuna – I believe you were given a mission by your superior, yes?” Second Brother came to a stop a good few meters in front of Bode and Kata, but as far as Bode was concerned, the Inquisitor might as well be stood on his feet, the steel soles of his boots crushing the former Jedi’s feet, the hilt of his bloodred lightsaber poking into Bode’s side as a twisted warning, Kata’s usually red checks, now devoid of any colour, reflected in his spotless, Imperial-cogged helmet as cruel foreshadowing.

Bode knew he had to speak, knew he should be frantically looking for an out, had to try and assess why exactly the Inquisitor was here, how much he knew about him, if he knew about Kata – if he knew about Kata…

The scorching, fiery smoke emanating off the Inquisitor was beginning to make its way from Bode’s lungs to his brain, depleting the oxygen from it that he so desperately needed to think and instead filling it with pain, desperation and anger. He felt utterly incapacitated, needing every ounce of his self-control to keep his trembling shields up, to hold back the storm surge locked behind them.

Second Brother had always loved to take his time. He was intently studying his target’s facial expressions, utterly fascinated by how little the man was giving away. He had been told that the ISB Agent was not only force sensitive but had even been trained by the Order and amounted to the rank of Knight before the Purge – and yet, all he could sense were miniscule drops of desperation seeping from the most minute gaps in the ISB agent’s shields. Or so he thought.

Beneath his helmet, his eyes widened, a terrible grin forming on his face – all he let on outwardly was an ever so slight tilt of his head. He was seldomly surprised, for it was hard to surprise someone who could learn every thought and emotion of every sentient being with a simple touch, but when he finally sensed a small, golden glow in the force that was decidedly not coming from the man in front of him, but from the girl held in his arms, his curiosity was more than just piqued. This was going to be even more interesting than he had anticipated.

Kata was watching the figure in black with huge eyes. She had expected a surprise, but her Papa had instructed her to stick exactly to the plan, and he had never mentioned this. There were so many different feelings in this room, it was hard to keep them apart. Like strings or cables all tangled together, you could not make out any individual string anymore, just that there was a bunch of them. This was a huge mess of cables, and Kata did not know if she should or how she could untangle them all. She wanted to ask her Papa what to do, but she could not stop looking at the figure in black, something about them drawing her in, grabbing her so tightly it made her uncomfortable. She did not know what to do. The tighter she was entagled with the mess of feelings, the more she began to feel that they all had something in common, no matter how different they were: they all hurt. They hurt so bad, the only time she had felt something similar was after Papa came back from looking for her Mama and told her that they would be on their own now. And here, there were so many of them. Her cheeks were already wet, her voice hoarse when she spoke, looking directly at the hooded figure.

„Why are you hurting so bad?” She hoped her Papa would not be mad at her for asking.

The Inquisitor almost gasped in surprise – this inconspicuous child had managed to surprise him twice in mere moments. Then, he almost choked as something deep inside of him, something he had not felt in a very long time, started to rear its head again. He would not allow it to, instead slowly raising his hand as he started to speak. “You are very perceptive, little one.”

Bode watched the Inquisitor’s hand rise in horror, the Imperial Hound's fingers being drawn towards himself in a beckoning gesture, when he felt his grasp on Kata loosen, felt her slip through his hands, just like the safety he thought he could provide for her.

The trembling of his shields raised to an unendurable frequency, the heat penetrating his walls boiling the stormy seas, he could not bear to keep the numbing, blurring haze around his presence in the force up any longer as he opened himself up to it, a guttural scream escaping his mouth as he reached towards Kata, who was still staring at the Inquisitor.

“Let her go!”

Second Brother’s grin intensified, finally being able to sense the former Jedi more clearly, even if his shields still did not allow the Inquisitor to fully see him. He was confident that would not be a problem, though. While he usually opted for inanimate objects carrying echoes that laid his mark’s deepest secrets and most vulnerable moments bare, right now, he had everything he needed to break the former Jedi, almost at his fingertips.

His voice reeked of sweet horror as he said the only thing he needed to: “She will make a fine Inquisitor.”

The inferno within the words, a promise to the truth of the intentions behind them, was blazing against Bode's walls, dark waters and thick smoke pushing against the edges of their confines, tearing at his shields, unmaking them from the inside.

Kata was crying now. While she felt the explosion of feelings in the force behind her, she still could not keep her eyes off the Inquisitor in front of her, his pain and suffering completely smothering her. “I’m sorry you’re hurting so bad… There’s a medical wing here, I can show- “

Second Brother reached for the force just milliseconds before the ISB agent’s explosion hit him. He yanked the little girl, still suspended in mid-air, towards him, when he was pushed back violently, tightening his grasp on her, not willing to let go. He hit the wall hard with his back, his limbs sprawling out from the recoil.

Bode could not contain himself anymore. He would not fail. Not again. He would not let the Inquisitorious touch Kata. He had already lost his first family to the Empire. Then the love of his life with which he had built his second family. He would not lose the only thing he had left. The force rushed through him like a seismic wave, completely enveloping and capturing him. As he saw the Inquisitor hit the wall, he frantically searched for his little star’s face.

When he finally locked his dark eyes with hers, time stood still. She was suspended over the edge of the hangar, moving through the air as if it was a gelatinous substance. He tried to raise his arms to catch her, tried to reach out with the force, but something was constricting his movement, the space around him feeling like half-dried duracrete.

Time started moving normally again when Bode heard a wet crack. The space Kata had just occupied suspended over the edge of the hangar was empty. Her glowing gold presence in the force had disappeared. The force had not suddenly taken on a benevolent will and stopped the rapid descent of his daughter, the adrenalin in his body had just forced his brain to commit every minute detail of it to memory.

Kata was gone. He felt her life extinguish.

Bode erupted in the force, crushing the troopers, who were still on the ground from the first shockwave mere seconds ago, in their duraplast armor. Reducing bones to dust, flesh to sludge, sentients to nothing.

The whole hangar started to vibrate and shake, giving the Second Brother not a single moment to recollect himself or get up, as durasteel plates were ripped from the walls and ceilings like flimsi, burying him beneath them.

Bode violently ripped and tore at the force, wailing. He was burning up and drowning at the same time, watching the hangar around him crumble and fall apart. Feeling himself crumble and fall apart. 

When unconsciousness wrapped itself around him like a warm blanket, he hoped with every fibre of his being that it was the force. He only wished to become one with it in death, hoping to feel a small golden shimmer within it.

He felt nothing.

Chapter Text

Bode was deaf to the tremendous ringing in his ears, blind to the dust still settling around him. He did not taste the mixture of ash, blood and durasteel on his tongue, did not really feel the weight of his little star’s body as he, gently, lifted her up the ramp of a shuttle that had miraculously remained spared from the carnage he had caused in the hangar. Apart from the slight singe that had nestled itself upon his very soul, he did not feel a thing. In an instant, he had been reduced to nothing– The realisation tasted like acid on his tongue, wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed so tightly he could hardly bear the pain, when he had to admit to himself that he was still here — it was Kata who was gone.

He had no recollection of the shuttle’s starting sequence, no memory of the coordinates he pushed in when they– when he jumped to hyperspace. None of it mattered, anyways. Nothing mattered anymore.

It felt almost normal, soothing her, stroking her hair with his left hand. Though none of this was normal, his right hand covered in blood from carrying and holding her. “It’s okay, little star. We’re never going back. It’s going to be okay.” He could not bring himself to look at her face, even though he knew her eyes were still open. The image of her big, brown eyes, a perfect match to his, was forever seared into his brain. As was the empty stare of people’s eyes after they had passed away, he had witnessed it more than often enough. Realistically, Bode knew exactly what Kata’s eyes would look like, devoid of her spirit. Still, he could not bring himself to look at her, to confront this reality, to peer at her face long enough to close her eyes for the last time. He was completely unable to face the finality of it.

His calm façade started to crumble, Bode’s already damaged shields giving out as he frantically reached out through the force in a way he had not since he had been a crecheling: with no regard for secrecy or safety, no rationale, just out of raw, brute emotion. He turned over every little spec he felt in the force at least three times, every dust mite in each nook and cranny too narrow and niche for even the most diligent cleaning droids. Every particle of plant matter sticking to tables, chairs, even the ground where some imperial trooper must have dropped a ration bar and numerous others carelessly stepped through it, spreading its gunk throughout the ship, where some of the miniscule particles escaped the diligence of imperial cleaning in microscopic cervices: he could feel all of it, desperately tore through even the tiniest of fragments in search of the smallest sliver of gold. He held Kata in his arms tightly, pressed her tiny face to his chest. She had felt like the first strong rays of the sun after a particularly harsh winter, a golden glow kissing your skin, enveloping you in kindness and joy. Now, all he could feel was the cold and uncaring emptiness of space. Bode had thought he would have long known what true loneliness and isolation felt like, but the abandonment he felt in this moment was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

He was trembling now, physically and in the force, and yet – out of desperation and habit alike – a part of his brain was still trying to look for an angle, for a plan, for an out.

There was nothing to get out of anymore, nowhere to get to, no goal to reach.

Bode Akuna had not been a Jedi in a long time, he had never really wanted to be an Imperial agent, and now the galaxy had taken the one thing from him he had ever truly been with pride – a father.

His voice was stricken and raspy, his vocal chords ached almost as much as his heart, but in his complete and utter desperation, the only thing he could think of to do while gently stroking Kata’s hair was to sing.

Ghost star, wonder where you are, Ghost star, are you very far?
All night long, I will sing your song if you watch over me.
Ghost star, hiding in the night.
Ghost star, all your friends are all so bright.
When the sky is clear, I can sense you’re near, looking down on me.
Ghost star, silent in the sky,
Now I start to wonder why.
Show me your light, I've waited all night.
Ghost star, won't you sing with me?

He sang the lullaby Tayala taught him all those years ago again and again, until his throat was raw. Even when the sobs started to interrupt the song, intensifying his tremors, he continued until all he had left in him were guttural screams and cries, broadcasting his torment through the force like tidal waves after an earthquake.

Bode stood in the middle of a field. The wheat reached high up, almost to his hips, and seemed to stretch on endlessly. There was not a single cloud to be found in the sky as the sun burned down on him, mercilessly. He already felt lightheaded as he turned to take in his surroundings, but all he could discern was an endless sea of fields.

A sudden panic gripped his heart, sweat already starting to accumulate on his forehead, making his t-shirt stick to his back, the blistering heat spreading throughout his body. He squinted his eyes, tried to see further in the distance, but there was no shade, no relief from the heat to be made out.

His sweat was starting to drip from his forehead into his eyes now as Bode started to panic. He could not dehydrate, had to find some shadow as the heat mercilessly kept building. His feet were heavy, weighed down by the sun’s incessant scorching rays that kept pressing down on him, as he started to run.

The wheat bore no grain as it lashed against his thighs, its arid branches fit for nothing but a fire. As if the thought provoked the universe, Bode started to smell smoke. He tried to pick up his pace as best he could, kept running as the smell of burning started to dance around his nostrils.

His already laboured breathing grew even heavier when the fumes started to sneak all the way down to his lungs. Bode was properly drenched in sweat by now, but the searing heat was not just threatening him from above now, it was closing in from all around him.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Keep running. Get out. The mantra he kept repeating in his thoughts did little to improve his situation, his limbs growing heavy, the air around him felt like it was made up of soot, he crashed to a halt, met the ground face first as the flames closed in around him.

It cost him all his strength just to turn around. Laying on his back now, his eyes widened as Bode came face to face with a sea of fields turned into a sea of flames. He felt feverish, the heat becoming unbearable now. Just as Bode was about to close his eyes, accepting his fate with a pounding head, the wall of fire parted to make way for a scarfed figure. Bode’s heart skipped numerous beats as the woman began to speak.

“You failed. I made the ultimate sacrifice, and you still failed.”

No tears escaped his eyes, no words left his mouth. All Bode could do was watch Tayala in front of him, burning up in his own shame and self-hatred.

The woman stretched her hand out as a tiny figure stepped through the flames to join her. Holding hands with her mother, she stared right at Bode.

“You were always gone, Papa. And you lied A LOT. I was alone and scared. You said it was because keeping me safe is the most important thing, but then I died.” Her lips started quivering, her voice cracked as Kata started crying before screaming as loud as her small lungs would allow her to: “I hate being dead. I don’t wanna be dead anymore, Papa!”

Bode had never wanted anything as badly as to die in this very moment, when suddenly the flames died, the sun went out and Kata and Tayala disappeared right in front of his eyes.

The father no more was left in utter darkness, alone with his shame and guilt.

It momentarily yanked him back to reality when the ship abruptly left hyperspace. He was laid on the ground, his cheeks long dried, dehydrated and sore. Bode’s breathing was erratic as he still reeled from the nightmare – or was it a cruel vision in the force? A path or connection to some afterlife?

Waking up had been no mercy. He would have preferred an eternal purgatory of insults and hatred from his dead wife and daughter in blistering heat to this reality where they were both irrevocably gone.

Kata laid next to him. Bode was utterly exhausted, needing to support himself with his elbow to come upright. The pain from how hard his jaw was clenched shot through his whole body like electricity. He knew he had to face Kata, no matter how horribly his very soul ached at the thought of it.

Inch by inch, Bode’s blurry gaze slowly shifted towards his daughter. When he finally faced her, he realized her eyes were already closed, her hands neatly folded on her torso. A harrowing sob escaped him – he had no recollection of placing her this way.

Bode did not know how long he stayed like this, quietly sobbing over his little star, part of him aching so deeply, he just wanted to stay like this forever until he simply died from exhaustion. But there were some small embers left in him that were still being stoked, that told him he could not give up and rejoin the force in hopes of finding a golden shimmer yet. So, Bode got up and walked to the cockpit of the shuttle. Glancing out of the viewport confirmed what he had felt in the force upon their arrival: after some harsh, long years, he was back on Birren.

The rain was torrential, relentlessly pouring from the skies, collecting in puddles on the ground. None of this made the most difficult thing Bode had ever had to do any easier. Hands covered in dirt, the hole – the grave – he had been digging was collecting rainwater and mud alike, for every shovel of soil he dug from the ground, a handful slid back down again. And yet, he did not waver, he did not tire, he just kept digging.

The cloud cover made it impossible to tell when the day had ended and the night had started, but the blisters on his hands told him that he must have been digging for hours when he was finally able to retrieve Kata, now bundled up in fabric, from the shuttle and gently lower her into her grave. Even if the rain had not been so deafening, she met the ground so softly, it would not have made a sound.

Bode’s limbs were numb and tingly when he started to carefully place some flowers on top of the fabric – purples and blues, they had been her favourite colours. His heart had stomached enough, he could not fathom just covering his everything with layers and layers of mud.

When enough flowers laid in the grave for no sliver of fabric to still peak through, Bode sunk to his knees. He spoke as well as he could between sobs that shook his entire body. “I’m sorry, Tayala. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect our little girl.” He fell forward, punching his fists into the ground, grabbing handfuls of grass. “You gave your life for ours, you sacrificed everything, and I couldn’t even-” Bode was absolutely drenched to the bone, still he could not feel the cold, all he could feel was a deep pit of pain and hatred where his heart used to be. “I’m so- so sorry little star. You are-“ He paused, unable and unwilling to correct himself. “-the best thing in the entire galaxy. I’m sorry you had to learn about chemical reactions for bioweapons and spaceship gyros. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Speaking did not lighten his heavy load, it just intensified and sharpened all of the pain he felt. His crying shook Bode so violently now, he was utterly unable to continue to speak. It did not matter much, anyways, for there was no one left to listen. So, he started pushing mud into the grave with his bare hands, still sprawled on the ground on all fours.

The rain had brought many small insects, bugs and worms out of the ground. Feeling them as little specs in the force felt like a cruel taunt to Bode as he shoved handful after handful of soil into his little star’s grave, a festering, bloody wound in the force where Kata’s presence used to be.

At least she would not be all alone, then. Shiny emerald beetles and colourful centipedes were a bitter solace.

When he went to lay a last bouquet of flowers upon the grave, the rain had subsided. With a few feet of soil between him and his little star, he was able to think a bit more clearly. It had been absurdly reckless to go back to Birren, he thought now, the only place in the galaxy apart from Nova Garron the Inquisitorious could tie him to. But, like so many things, that did not matter anymore. He was no longer a father. There was nothing left for him to lose, so he had all the options now.

He had buried his old life here, once before, the small metal box he had retrieved earlier laid opened before him. When he reached out in the force, the kyber crystal inside his lightsaber joined the waves of hatred and suffering Bode was emitting through the force. There was no use in hiding anymore. The former Jedi fully opened himself up to the grief, the loss, his pain and his hatred. The lightsaber ignited in a deep reed, the last few drops of rain sizzlingly disintegrating before even touching the blade as him and the bled crystal screamed in unison for the only thing that mattered anymore: vengeance.

Second Brother tried to open his eyes, but he remained in utter darkness. As he tried to move, his body remained completely still. The Inquisitor could not sense where he was, could not immediately recall how he might have gotten here. He was completely unprepared when the sensation of horrible pain came crashing down on him. It was so overwhelming, so intense, he felt like he was drowning in an endless ocean of agony. He was submerged in memories of torture, echoes of torment, enough to last a thousand lifetimes. Second Brother felt the loss of every single limb a hundred different times, felt needles poking through his skin, pressure under his skull, far behind his eyes. His lungs were useless, his throat choked up. He was drowning.

Then, the Inquisitor started to panic as the realization hit him: he was back in the chair. If he even ever left it – his brain was filled to the brim with so many different memories, he was struggling to differentiate which truly belonged to him. And he still could not move, could not open his eyes. Nevertheless, he felt his body thrashing against restraints, felt his throat go raw from screaming, felt his ankles and wrists cut open from struggling against his restraints, blood coating his skin. He was sinking ever deeper and still could not breathe.

Second Brother wanted to scream for help, but that would have been a useless endeavour, there had never been anyone to listen. No one had ever come to get him, other people had only ever brought him pain, receiving help was almost inconceivable to him. And still, he yearned for it, from the depths of his soul. He could simply give up, keep sinking to the bottom like a boulder thrown into an ocean, but he struggled, reached for something, someone, until he came to the same painful realization he had come to countless times before: no one would hold him.

So, he reached for the only thing that ever answered, reached for power in the force. It took the Inquisitor a long time to find enough focus to do so, having sunk to the bottom of an unfathomably deep oceanic trench, struggling with every desperate, failed attempt at drawing a breath. The force welcomed him in a sweet embrace. It wrapped itself around him tightly, pushed its countless fingers in every single wound he had ever sustained, every ounce of pain he had ever witnessed in an echo, agitating and amplifying all the suffering. He erupted in a blazing inferno so scorching, it evaporated the tons upon tons of water that had been entrapped him.

His eyes flew open and he immediately broke out in a powerful force push. Needles yanked out of his arms, equipment and pieces of the structure he had laid upon just a second ago flew through the room. The Second Brother managed to stay upright when he felt his bare foot connect to durasteel flooring. With feverish eyes, he tried to take in his surroundings to make sense of what was happening to him when he heard a bloodcurdling scream. A piece of metal had lodged itself into someone’s thigh and pinned them against a wall. The Inquisitor raised his hand to the wailing person and closed his fist. He was breathing heavily now, still hazy from the memories and echoes he had been lost in, he finally regained enough clarity to take in his surroundings.

There was no lava pit beneath him, no purge troopers guarding the door, no electricity in the air – instead, the fluorescent lighting of the room revealed cupboards, beds and medical droids where he had expected torture units. Second Brother glanced back at the person – the body – in front of him and realized they were not wearing black armour with an imperial cog stamped on it, but a simple lab coat.

He was in the medical wing.

His feet carried him towards one of the cabinets holding medical supplies faster than he could finish his thoughts as he yanked its drawers open with the force, sighing in relief when he found what he was looking for and injected the stim into his neck. The Inquisitor’s ears were ringing for a few seconds, a bitter taste like duracrete in his throat, and then the substance spread through him as he exhaled shakily.

With the increased clarity came the awareness that he was almost naked, only wearing a surgical gown. The Second Brother hated feeling exposed, so he tore through all the remaining cupboards, cabinets and crates, looking for anything to cover himself with, but all his efforts were to no avail.

He felt discomfort, insecurity and shame rise in him when suddenly, the doors to the medical wing opened and Second Brother immediately sunk to his bad knee. “Grand Inquisitor.” His gaze was firmly focused on a specific crack in the floor.

“I see you are not only awake but seem to be itching to make yourself useful again.” The Grand Inquisitor’s figure was imposing as it towered over the Second Brother. The Inquisitor hoped his slight trembling would go unnoticed as he let the pain that radiated from his knee and the shame he felt within every atom he was comprised of fuel his strength and composure as he waited for his maker to continue to speak. “I must say, I was very surprised when the two troopers remaining of your squad brought you back here unconscious.” Second Brother felt the Grand Inquisitor’s gaze eating away at him like acid. “And even more surprised when I was debriefed on the Nova Garron mission.” The trembling intensified as the pain in his knee was overtaken by abject fear. “And I sincerely hope you remember how much I dislike surprises, yes?” The Grand Inquisitor bent down until his mouth was so close to Second Brother’s ear, he could almost feel lips brush against his skin. “Fix this.” It was barely a whisper, the Pau’an never needed to raise his voice to make a point, for his subjects always knew what was on the line. After a few short yet never-ending moments, he straightened his posture again and turned on his heel. He addressed the troopers stood by the door, “Clean this up!”, before leaving and being swallowed up by the fortress’ everlasting cloud of darkness.

Second Brother remained on his knees for a few more moments, just until he could get the trembling under control, before getting up to leave himself. The troopers had turned towards the room in the meantime, standing in his way. “Move!”, his voice echoed through the force as he shoved them aside.  The sensation of drowning – in shame, fear, pain and hatred – accompanied him all the way to his quarters. This was clearly the Grand Inquisitor’s punishment for a failed mission, the memories of which were coming back to Second Brother now – a force-sensitive child and potential recruit dead, a Jedi traitor on the run. He was lucky he was still breathing, that he had been in a medical bay and not found himself strapped to the chair. As he navigated through the fortress as quickly as possible, though, a part of him almost wished to be on the chair instead. Usually, everyone he crossed paths with exuded blank fear, immediately sinking their heads, staring on the ground in terror as they waited for him to pass. Now, they still bled fear in the force, but it did not keep them from staring at him. Without his uniform, he was missing vital protection and the only comfort he was still granted in this life. Now, Second Brother felt as though he was forced to parade his body around on a silver tablet. Every single scar reflected in the overhead lighting, his cybernetics laid completely bare, the unyielding and throbbing infection where his right knee met the cogged metal and never fully healed visible for everyone to see.

It made him feel weak. And no torture method ever conceived could be worse than feeling weak.

The anger rose up in him so intensely, panels started to shake in the walls, the whole corridor starting to shift ever so slightly as he walked past Imperial personnel who finally averted their gazes again as quickly as they could.

When he eventually reached his living quarters, the force erupted from him in a subdued discharge, cracking any surface made of glass. The Second Brother’s eyes wandered to the display case he had regarded before departing on his mission. He had brought no new trophy with him, the now cracked glass another reminder of his failure. Of the weakness that yet remained within him. The Inquisitor pushed his bare fist through the glass, gritting his teeth and breathing heavily.

As he watched the blood drip from the fresh cuts in his hand, he swore to himself that he would irrevocably crush this last sliver of weakness within him. He would fix this and make sure no failure or weakness would ever taint his track record again.

Chapter Text

The soft drizzle made “drip-drop”-sounds as it trickled against his visor. It annoyed him endlessly. Second Brother scoffed as he headed through the bustling streets, ignoring the pulls of countless echoes – drunken laughter, spice-fueled misadventures, a deal gone wrong, a shank between ribs – none of the memories intrigued him whatsoever. Matter of fact, none of this was of any interest to him at all. The pitter-patter on the visor right in front of his eyes was unabating, his teeth were clenched in frustration.

He knew why he was here, he knew the job he had to do – but more than anything, he knew that this was a waste of his fucking time. Of what interest could some inconsequential force sensitive fugitive be to him? He had done what he was about to do countless times before.

Raindrops had started to run down his visor, the drip-drop of the ever-incessant drops fueling his madness. He had failed once. Once. And this undoubtedly was his punishment for it. The overwhelming urge to fix this, to project his power, rudely interrupted by an inconsequential mission. At least he had been able to shake off his squadron of purge troopers – the Grand Inquisitor’s babysitters, no doubt, just with him to add insult to injury.

He had never needed a handler. He had never once faltered since he rose as Second Brother, he had never failed, never been weak. Until Nova Garron. A frustrated sigh escaped him as he stopped in the middle of one of Nar Shaddaa’s shoddy alleys. His gloved hand met the damp wall as he tried to center himself. It was not pouring, not even raining, really, but the mere drizzle still left him feeling drenched to his very bones, even if his uniform was barely wet at all. His hand cramped to a fist, and he took a deep breath.

There was no him. No wishes, no urges, no feelings or opinions on what he was sent to do.

You are a lapdog to the empire and a bloodhound to her enemies.

The Grand Inquisitor’s words echoed through his mind. They were forever etched into his psyche, a frayed lifeline he used to regain composure whenever his emotions started to flare up and threatened to overtake him. His pain, rage, shame and frustration – they were not to be his fire, but his fuel.

Second Brother took another deep breath. The fugitive was ever-present in his mind – not the one he was sent here to kill or capture (as if anybody had ever been worth capture), but the one that inexplicably got away. His image was crisp in the Inquisitor’s mind. Olive-tanned skin, dark eyes and even darker hair – Second Brother could recount every single one of his moles, the tension in his jaw, the soft indications of wrinkles between his eyebrows and the abject terror in his face. But more than anything, he recalled his rage. The Inquisitor had only witnessed it for a mere moment before being hurdled through the hangar, skidding to a halt as his head met durasteel, knocking him unconscious.

But in those few moments, for the first time since his hunt began, Second Brother had felt it clearly:  Bode Akuna would be worth capture, worth every second of his time. The Inquisitor this Jedi would make would be a beautiful, terrifying force of nature.

He finally breathed out, letting go of his fugitive Jedi in order to focus on the renegade force-sensitive he had come to Nar Shaddaa for.

When the Inquisitor picked up his pace again to head towards his target, he could not help but wonder again how he was feeling so utterly soaked – he blocked his irritation at it out, along with his annoyance at the drizzle, his frustration about his failure, his shame of his weakness and his reverence of Bode Akuna’s rage.

Second Brother was going to complete the mission first, and then he would finally fix this.

When he at last turned towards the alley absolutely reeking of desperation and fear, he scoffed: it was a dead end. How theatrical.

“You know why I am here. We both know what is about to happen. Do yourself a favour and do not resist so this is over quickly for the both of us, yes?” Second Brother waited a few beats for an answer he should have known he was not going to receive. So, he added: “I am really not in the mood for any games or delays today.” Instead of waiting for a reply again, he ignited both blades of his red saber and stalked towards the end of the alley. The deep red light radiating from his weapon cast sharp shadows on the narrow walls. The Inquisitor's eyes scanned the alley and fell on an unmistakable shape: pale blue lekkus, a sickly purple shade now, illuminated by the plasma emitting from his screaming kyber crystal.

Second Brother scoffed at the absolute cowardice in display right in front of him, hidden between garbage cans. Pathetic – though fitting for a fugitive, he surmised. With every step he took towards the traitor, he felt the fear swell within the Twi’lek, and yet he still had not moved a muscle. When the Inquisitor finally rounded the corner and his target came in full view, he was promptly served an explanation for it. The man looked half dead already – his breaths were ragged, his whole body – he looked astonishingly frail – was shaking. He could obviously sense the Inquisitor next to him, probably knew he was about to meet his end, but it seemed he was too weak to even look the harbinger of his death in the eyes.

Anger immediately overtook Second Brother. He had been sent to the edges of Huttspace, a moon full of smugglers, mercenaries and other scum, for this? Even the least talented Stormtrooper out there with the worst aim imaginable could have finished this insult to the force off.

“You’re a fucking disgrace!” His voice echoed through the alley and throughout the city block, the humming of his saber overshadowed by the sheer volume of his screaming, though it cleanly sliced through the Twi’lek’s torso all the same. Second Brother’s face had contorted to a disgusting snarl when he shut his saber off and realized the traitor did not even have a weapon of his own. He was going to return with empty hands again, this waste of space not even granting him a trophy.

The anger stoked the blazing flames within him to an inferno, and he kicked the coward’s corpse, letting out scream after scream, as the dark side wrapped its tendrils around him tightly, twisting at his shame and frustration. He kept kicking as the force snuck in every of his orifices that held pain, shame and injury, desperation, hatred and agony, letting it all out on the Twi’lek man who was fortunate enough not to have to live through it anymore, until the dark side finally did not feel like it suffocated the Inquisitor anymore. He kicked, ripped and tore for as long as it took for the force to cradle him again, now soothing the injuries it had stopped to poke at only moments ago.

The sentient before him was reduced to a disgusting pile of tissue, almost the same shade of purple his Lekku had been when they were illuminated by Second Brother’s red saber, only now it was a mixture of his pigmentation and blood.

The Inquisitor heaved, had to use both of his hands to support his weight by holding on to one of the garbage cans. He stood there for a while, until his breathing slowed and he was sufficiently swaddled by the force. Not looking back at what he had made of a sentient being, he took one last breath before turning around and leaving the alley.

For the first part of his journey back to the hangar, his head was blissfully empty, this time he did not even really feel the pull of any echoes around him, even if he knew that countless memories were vying for his attention – no one else could feel, much less live them, after all. He kept making his way back to the ship to finally get off this dreg heap relatively unbothered – at first.

It started building up in tiny increments and slowly in the beginning, so it took Second Brother a while to realize that with every step, the image of Bode Akuna became clearer and sharper in his mind, and with it his frustration at the time he had to waste on Nar Shaddaa and the lack of progress he had made towards capturing his Jedi.

The frustration stuck to him like old engine oil that spread even worse the harder you tried to rub it off, and it accompanied him all the way back to the hangar. When Second Brother stepped up the ship’s ramp, his frustration was rolling off him in mighty waves.

He took a deep, sighing breath and stopped in the middle of the ramp. Then he turned around, taking in the swarming of Nar Shaddaa. As he gazed in the distance, a grin started forming on his face that was so intense, not even his helmet could have fully concealed it, no matter that it covered his whole face, and he found his confidence again. His frustration evaporated in an instant, replaced by steeled conviction. He would fix this.

It had been easy, acquiring enough Intel on the Inquisitor’s next target– even if it was not much intel, the Inquisitorius tightly guarded any information on its bloodhounds and their movement, but it was more than enough for Bode. To a greater extent than the spartan equipment on the shuttle he now called his ship, though, it had been the ember relentlessly aglow in the back of his throat and the sickly-sweet embrace of the dark side that had pulled him here. His vengeance seemed to be the will of the force itself, which was fitting, in a way, for what cause could be more just than a father avenging his child? The Masters in the Order had always spoken about the importance of balance in the force, and maybe, after all the years and betrayals, he would do the dead Order, ripped from the galaxy so violently, one final favour and actually bring balance to the force. An eye for an eye. A tumultuous inferno for cradling rays of sunshine. Bode sighed as he dropped the binocs for a second to rub his eyes. Nar Shaddaa had always been an overwhelming place, and no matter how often he had been on the Smuggler’s Moon over the years, he had never quite gotten used to it. The bright neon lights only partially distracting from all the different forms of illegal businesses taking place in the sharp shadows they cast, the bustling on every level of its streets – even the force felt like a thick smog here.

The irony of the entire situation, as acidic as it burned through his tongue, was not lost on Bode: he would make a terrifying Inquisitor. It had only taken him a week of low-stakes clandestine stake-outs, eavesdrops and bribery to narrow the location of a force-sensitive fugitive down to a city block. And in this galaxy that rose from the ruins of the Galactic Republic, when there was the slimmest chance of a force sensitive being around, it was only a question of when, not if, the heavy, steel-soled Imperial Boot came down on it.

Bode had felt his mind fragment the moment he set foot on Nar Shaddaa. Somehow, there was still some righteousness left in him, some part of him that wanted to warn the force-sensitive fugitive of their impending doom, he could have even arranged it with his mission, taken their place to face the Inquisitor in their stead.

That would have made his vengeance an instinctive, impulsive act of raw emotion with way too many unknown variables he could not possibly account for. So, he was going to wait and take this as an opportunity to study the Inquisitor and plan his revenge. A shoddy, hastily thrown together plan had spelled Kata’s demise, his emotions getting the better of him robbed her of any chance of survival she might have had, had Bode not stuck his head in the sand on Nova Garron. The only thing that mattered anymore was vengeance. Nothing else. Least of all the life of some force-sensitive sentient stupid enough to believe they would be safe in Hutt Space. Bode would never again be faulted to stay in one place for too long, this galaxy simply did not allow for that anymore. He sighed once more and lifted the binoculars to his face again.

His eyes grew tired, scanning the same buildings, alleys and pathways again and again. His hips had grown stiff hours ago, but he would not abandon this post. Not now, when he felt the ember in the back of his throat begin to smoulder anew and the embrace of the dark side twist tighter and tighter with every passing moment.

As Bode reinforced his shields yet again, he mused over the central teaching of the Jedi Order: the force surrounds us. Bode understood better than anyone what it meant to always be surrounded by the force. He had long mastered the art of being able to manipulate the force around him in such a way, barring someone very perceptive and strong with the force knew exactly where to look for him, he was entirely imperceptible, a true shadow.

And so he stayed, hidden and anxious, a single ember in his vast oceans starting to slowly but surely intensify its glow, heating the seas within him, his vast waters hissing as they evaporated on contact. The Inquisitor must be close, Bode’s breaths grew heavier and more ragged, as the anger started building up within him. It took every ounce of his self-control not to drop from the roof he was situated on momentarily and start tearing through the streets until he garnered enough attention for the Inquisitor to face him – his anger would have to wait. He promised himself to make it worthwhile.

The slight drizzle that hung over the moon did not bother Bode, his fingers had gone slightly numb at this point, having held the binocs a bit too tightly for hours now, but he did not waver.

When Bode finally spotted the Inquisitor stalking through Nar Shaddaa’s streets, his heart either beat twenty-seven times in a single second or skipped at least as many beats.

His mouth clenched so tightly, he might as well have come down with a particularly horrific case of lockjaw. His throat was on fire. Bode watched the Inquisitor stop for a moment, the image of him standing in Nova Garron's hangar superimposed over his retinas. His head tilt, his hand stretching out towards Kata- he shook off the flashback as best he could, just in time for his eyes to keep following the Imperial Agent as he started to walk again.

Bode allowed himself a small breath of relief when he watched the other man enter an alley that was still in view from his vantage point, he did not trust himself enough to switch location without rushing towards the Inquisitor at this moment. His heart was racing, pounding against his ribcage so violently, it might burst through it altogether.

He watched two red blades ignite, still unable to make out the Inquisitor’s target. Squinting his eyes, as if that would have made a difference when he was watching the scene through binocs from quite a distance, he barely caught a glimpse of cool-toned skin before a flash of red, followed by a scream he saw more in the Inquisitor’s body language than heard. The red light vanished, but the screaming did not stop as Bode watched the Inquisitor in horror, unable to peel his gaze away, absolutely desecrate the corpse of a person that had barely drawn their last breath. Still, he did not look away. A small pinch of guilt – he could have saved the fugitive, after all – grasped at his insides but Bode was hardly able to feel it over the smouldering in his throat.

He did not look away, devoted to commit the scene to his memory, to let it fuel his anger and conviction, promising a small portion of his vengeance to the person he chose not to save. To all the others he could have never saved from the Inquisitor’s vile fury, his eyes starting to burn from his reluctance to blink. He only allowed himself to do so when the Inquisitor had already stood still for quite a while.

Bode’s gaze followed him again as he made his way back through Nar Shaddaa’s streets, with the Inquisitor’s mission surely over at that point, anger started to swell within Bode again, opportunity whispering sweet promises of revenge in his ears. He could get the drop on the Imperial dog, with surprise firmly by his side, he was primed to give the bastard the rude awakening he deserved – still, he swallowed it all down in a big gulp. No more hasty decisions, he had already committed himself to conceive of a plan that made his waiting worthwhile.

Bode was about to lower the binocs, contemplate what he had witnessed and assess his next course of action as he watched the Inquisitor step onto his ship – and then suddenly stop. He furrowed his brows in confusion that quickly turned into shock when the Imperial agent, hundreds of metres away from him, lifted his head to stare right at him. Bode’s brain kicked into overdrive as he tried to make sense of the situation. The Inquisitor could not see him, it was impossible. He had already been able to sneak up on his own Master when he was still a Padawan, the force bending everyone's perception right around him, directing their attention to anything except him. It had been the reason why he was made a shadow – and excelled at it. His ability to hide through the force paramount for his own survival during the Purge.

The binocs had started shaking – when had his hands started shaking? Cold sweat coated his forehead already and it was about to get much, much worse. 

The Inquisitor slowly lifted his hand and waved at him.

Shock turned into panic.

Bode did not register the sound of the binocs breaking when they hit the ground, he felt like coughing and vomiting, his entire throat alight in flame, the air tasting like ash and soot. He suddenly realized his breaths had become heavy and ragged again, still staring at the Inquisitor, unable to really make him out anymore without the binocs, he forced himself to focus his breathing.

If it was the will of the force that he enacted his revenge now, he would let its dark, oozing energy flow through him as he carried out his vengeance. Bode started walking towards the edge of the roof, not breaking his stride when he crossed the boundary. Not looking down but keeping his gaze fixed in the direction of the Inquisitor, he firmly and safely landed on the ground, bolstered by the force.

There was a near infinite concoction of emotions inside him, crashing against one another like waves, some jointly amplifying in the process, others crashing and bursting against each other. And yet, he could not really identify or even feel any of them. All he knew in this moment was the all-encompassing cloud of wrath that guided his stride towards the Inquisitor’s shuttle.

Chapter Text

The force had wrapped its tendrils around both of them, weaving through Nar Shaddaa’s alleys, it yanked. Like moths to flame, they were irrevocably drawn to each other. Force willing, Bode Akuna and Second Brother approached each other, the rest of the galaxy thoroughly muted.

Set alight by his anticipation, Second Brother had barely managed to bark an order towards the troopers not to follow him or else, as he gave himself to the strongest pull in the force he had ever witnessed. It had been that same pull stopping him in his tracks shortly before getting on his ship. The force was a curious thing, he mused, as his fingers started to tingle and go numb in anticipation. All his prior frustration had evaporated, he could barely contain his thrill at the prospect of properly witnessing Bode Akuna’s rage. Second Brother was equally filled with wrath at the fact that this fugitive embodied his weakness and failure, as he was mesmerised by the man and the fact that, for the first time in a very long time, the Inquisitor had no idea in which of two ways this encounter was going to end. Either he was going to capture Bode Akuna and get to witness him turn into a formidable Inquisitor, or he would die at the other man’s hands. He swallowed his anxiety at the latter scenario, burying it beneath his all-encompassing compulsion: Hold the line. Hold the line. Hold the line. And he would. The Inquisitor tilted his head to inject a stim at his neck as he had done many times before. The substance started soothing his anxieties and sharpening his focus before the empty vial even hit the ground. With the taste of duracrete stuck in his throat, he readied himself.

The tension in the force was unbearable, like steel cables aching beneath weight beyond their load-bearing capacity, when Second Brother set foot in a rather abandoned part of the spaceport. The crimson light of a bled lightsaber steadily approaching bathed the scenery in a red glow as Second Brother held his breath in anticipation. With a shaky exhale, the Inquisitor switched his own weapon on, yet elected to stay put, watching the other man approach. The former ISB agent walked towards him in a steady and fast pace, eyes entirely focused on him, filled with all-encompassing rage, wrath rolling off him in a seemingly endless stream. The force pulsed through the air, storm-surging waves crashing against an inferno, smoke and vapor erupting where their force signatures met, extinguishing fire and evaporating water with a deafening hiss.

“Who gave the order?” Bode’s voice was agitated and raw as his shouting echoed through the force. With every step he took, dust and pebbles swirled up into the air, entrapped by his storming presence in the force. Utterly mesmerized, Second Brother stood completely still apart from a slight tilt of his head. “Marvelous…” “Who. gave. the. order?!” Bode spoke with a thousand voices now, layered in grief, pain and hatred. Dust and pebbles were joined by pieces of duracrete, ripped out of ill-maintained pathways. Second Brother could almost feel Bode’s force pull at the bitter taste in his throat, too.

Pace quickening, he was closing in on the Inquisitor now, only a few meters of space remaining between the two men. Second Brother brought his lightsaber up, both blades ignited, every muscle in his body tensed. His voice was still rather quiet and coated in astonishment “You will make the finest Inquisitor.”

Bode let out an anguished battlecry, those same words echoing in his mind from when Second Brother had spoken to him once before, talking about Kata. The tension in the force finally snapped and Bode sent all the debris that had formed a funnel around him flying towards Second Brother. The Inquisitor must have underestimated him, a lazy flick of his hand only diverting part of the projectiles hurdling towards him, the remnants ripping his uniform, slashing his skin. And yet, he did not even react to the pain, immediately sprinting towards Bode.

As they clashed sabers, the joint song of their bled kyber crystals alit the force, a chant of flame and waves ricocheting between them as they both held their ground with gritted teeth. The force vibrated around them, their signatures crashing against one another just like their weapons did. Tons upon tons of water extinguished any fire they came across, just for the inferno to evaporate entire oceans. The dark side sang in awe of their mutual destruction. Second Brother could not help but find himself on the backfoot, not for lack of prowess in lightsaber combat, rather he was utterly enamoured by not only Bode Akuna’s wrath, but by the absolute control he exercised over it. His motions were fluid yet steeled, every strike calculated and precise. The Inquisitor held his ground, met every attack and, selfishly, sent up a quick prayer to the force, wanting this fight to last forever, to never feel anything but their joint extermination in blazing inferno and storm surge.

Sabers crossed, none of them willing to give an inch to the other, their eyes met, breathing heavily. “You will give me answers, and then you’ll fucking pay!” “So much rage, so much power. Y-“ The force shrieked a warning that gave Second Brother just enough time to dodge out of the way, the blaster bolt narrowly missing his shoulder. Only slightly thrown off, he looked up to Bode, saber now in reverse-grip in his right hand, a blaster in his left.

“Enough! I’ve heard enough of you Imperial dogs!” Bode threw his lightsaber and Second Brother was so taken aback by the speed and brutality of it, he could only throw his own saber in response, parrying Bode’s blow. In an attempt at recovery, he raised his hand to recall his weapon immediately, expecting a blaster shot or another attack with the lightsaber, so he was completely taken by surprise when the other man tackled him to the ground. Gasping for air, the Inquisitor lost his grip on the force and hit the duracrete hard. His vision went from red to black for a second. When he looked up through his visor, it cracked with his vision as Bode started to rain down punches on him, bolstered by the force.

Second Brother tried to kick him off, though it came out as more of a flail. Their abilities in lightsaber combat and the force might have been a near even match, physically though, he was completely outmatched by the other man. It had not escaped Second Brother’s notice how much taller, broader and more muscular than him Bode Akuna was. An elbow to his ribcage made it crack, punching the air from his lungs, pulling him from his thoughts. The Inquisitor gasped, his heartrate picking up. Hold the line. Hold the line. Hold the line. Punches were indiscriminately raining down on him and he used the pain to strengthen his movement with the force, lunging upwards towards Bode, sending both of them flying against a pillar.

The Inquisitor immediately reached his hand out towards his lightsaber again- but Bode recovered too quickly. Second Brother felt a hand and the force wrap around his neck, he lost his grip on the weapon, still scattered on the ground, once again as he gasped for air. “Who gave the order?!” Bode was so close to him now, droplets of his spit hit his visor and seeped into the cracks. In a twisted reversal of roles, the Inquisitor could just gasp for air, not being given an opportunity to answer – not that he would have. Bode’s other hand was still locked tightly around the blaster, he smashed the weapon through Second Brother’s visor, fully shattering it, embedding shards of red glass in the pale skin surrounding sunken eyes, tinted yellow and red by pain and hatred. “I will get my answers!” The Inquisitor was still gasping for air when the barrel of the blaster pressed deep into his forehead and his surroundings faded away.

His hands jitter in his lap. They used to always be in a steel-tight grip around his weapon. But that was before. Everything had changed. His hands are shaking now, and instead of his lightsaber, he has a blaster. He misses the soft hum of his kyber crystal Now, though, it would probably scream in discontent and horror, anyways. Just like the force. He knows the sounds the blaster makes because of the frantic motions of his hands are almost imperceivable, and still, they echo deafeningly in his ears. He almost does not want to blink, keeps his heavy, tired eyes glued to the door, his weapon pointed towards it. He still does not know what happened, how the Order was seemingly eradicated in a matter of hours. How he survived. The sudden sound of his blaster hitting the ground almost makes him jerk in the force. When did he fall asleep? He can’t fall asleep. They will come for him like they came for all the other Jedi. He forces himself to tear his eyes open. His grip around the blaster tightens.

He is cleaning his blaster. This time, it’s not just out of habit but thoroughly needed. Grime had snuck its way into the weapon’s cervices from lack of use. He meticulously turns the weapon in his hand, letting the light catch all of its nooks and edges, so no speck of dust remains unnoticed. He is deeply entranced in the process but suddenly snapped out of it when he hears a soft chuckle. As he lifts his head his heart leaps and Tayala softy shakes her head. “Old habits die hard, hm?” Her voice is mostly teasing, but there is something else buried beneath the humor. His eyes follow her as she walks over to sit next to him, putting one of her hands on his, interrupting the motions of muscle memory. He looks down for a moment, then his gaze is guided towards her by a soft touch to his cheek. She smells like a grove of citrus trees dancing in a salty breeze. His eyes meet hers and he can’t help but smile. “You don’t need to be that person anymore.” The corners of his mouth drop for a second, so he closes his eyes for a moment, finds his smile again. “What did I do to deserve you?” His stomach still erupts in butterflies as they kiss for the thousandth time.

His thumb softly strokes the barrel. So much has changed since the immediate aftermath of the purge, when he hadn’t let go of his blaster, ever. He hasn’t used it in forever, now. He’s been occasionally cleaning it, maintaining it. Just in case. No more than that though. Soft babbling and heartfelt laughter peel his eyes away from the weapon as he looks through the doorframe, into the other room. Tayala, still tired and exhausted, is gushing over Kata. Their Kata. His heart jumps in joy. He peels his gaze from his family, lays the blaster in a box and locks it. He puts it in a cupboard for now, will stash it next to his other weapon later. Then he goes to join his family, heart filled to the brim with soft love.

His hands shake again as he reaches for the blaster, grabbing it from the small metal box. His hands shake again because he still can’t escape the Empire. His hands shake again because it has ripped his family from him again. He ignores the other metal box containing his lightsaber. He can’t deal with that right now. So, he takes his blaster out of the box. His hands still shake. His eyes are stinging with the threat of tears. “Papa, what are we going to do? Where are we going to go?” He swallows hard, presses his eyes shut tightly for a few moments, brings himself under control. He swallows all the grief, anger and self-hatred, drowns it in his vast oceans. He is still a father and protecting Kata is the only thing that matters. He opens his eyes, grabbing the blaster and sheathing it in his holster, he turns around to face his little girl. He lays a still hand on her tiny shoulder. “Come on, Kata. We’re going to visit an old friend.”

He has gone over the blaster four times. It’s been clean since the second time. He still cleans it a fifth time. He tells himself it’s because Denvik has finally managed to instil in him the importance of Imperial Excellence. He scoffs, not even believing his own lie for a single second. It’s because he’s wasting time. Deliberately. He has already gone on so many missions for the ISB, it should be routine by now. And it mostly is. But this time, he just can’t help but stare at his blaster, to clean it again and again and again and again and again. No matter how spotless it already is. Because if he doesn’t look at his blaster, he has to look at the holo of his mark, and he can’t do that. She reminds him too much of Kata. The part of him he thought had died alongside Tayala whispers questions he can’t afford to ask himself. How can he put Kata’s safety above the safety of a child just like her? There’s a small twitch in his index finger.

Bode removed his hand from the Inquisitor’s neck, though that did not seem to change anything. The other man’s flailing and desperate gasps for air had suddenly stopped, and as he fell backwards to the floor, he went completely limb. Anger still fresh within him, storm surging and the force crying out for vengeance, Bode still could not help but realize that, with his eyes closed, lacking the wild stare tinted in yellow and red, the Inquisitor looked- young. And broken. An enormous lightning patterned scar stretched from his forehead across his face, disappearing beneath the helmet, now interrupted by a myriad of fresh small wounds containing shards of glass that had embedded themselves in his skin when the visor of his helmet broke. As Bode looked closer, he saw- “Freckles…” The softness of his own voice made his entire body cringe. Ripping his gaze from the Inquisitor’s too young, too fragile face, his hands, still gripping the blaster tightly, started to shake again.

Bode walked a few paces away, the anger making his entire body tremble. The dark was sprouting from his fury, wrapping its tendrils around his stomach, making him nauseous. The sweet whisper of revenge returned once more as the dark grabbed his heart, squeezed. The Inquisitor lay before him, completely defenseless. Just like Kata had been. Before she died.

An eye for an eye. A tumultuous inferno for cradling rays of sunshine. He clenched his jaw, his eyes stinging with the promise of tears. The formerly tumultuous inferno had regressed to a campfire, the warmth radiating from it not entirely dissimilar to sunshine. The comparison – or was it the similarity – sent bile up his throat, stopped only by the tight clench of his jaw, then hastily swallowed down again. Bode took the deepest breath he could manage – he needed time to think. Looking over to the Inquisitor again, who was still completely limb, he tried to quell his rage, to calm down. He needed time to think.

The blaster in his hand was still shaking when Bode pulled the trigger. The stun bolt momentarily made Second Brother convulse before he went still again. Repressing a sob – a cry, a scream? Bode really could not tell anymore – desperately trying to break through his surface, he called the Inquisitor’s lightsaber to his own hand and clipped it to his belt before throwing the surprisingly lightweight man over his shoulder. Taking another deep breath, he centered himself best he could. He would get his answers.

Second Brother’s senses returned to him all at once. It was an overwhelming experience, but before he could dissect all of the pain he was feeling and trace it to its origins, or make sense of his surroundings, he was enveloped in a deep sense of shame. He had failed. Again. He had been weak. Again. Shame enclosed his head, sunk into his cheeks, reddening them, then manifested as rage when it dropped to his stomach. Bode had bested him and then not bothered to put him out of his misery, condemning him to become one with his shame.

When the Inquisitor clenched his fist in anger, he noticed some resistance against his wrists. So, he had been captured. Again. With his arms raised above himself and chained to – something, he gritted his teeth and threw his body forwards in a desperate attempt at centering himself with more pain. His weight pushing down on his knees made the bad one throb in pain, the pulling on his restrained wrists caused the cuffs to cut into his flesh. Second Brother focused on all the sensations, the stinging on his forehead, still covered in glass. Then the dull pressure where shrapnel had lodged itself into his skin at his elbow, his thigh, his shoulder and side. There was also the stabbing of his broken ribs, every inhale feeling like glass had also found its way into his throat. With every glassed inhale, followed by a strained exhale, he buried his shame beneath his anger, wrought his wrath under control. His fuel, never his fire.

He could not really make sense of his surroundings – apart from the fact that he was in a hold, possibly on a ship, though if that was the case, he was definitely planet-side, for he could not discern any movement or engine noises. Nevertheless, he did not even know if he was still on Nar Shaddaa. Usually, echoes did not leave him unconscious for too long, but he had no way of knowing how much time had passed.

Taking a deep breath – glass, pain – he tried to extend his senses with the force. And then – waves upon waves came crashing down on him, suffocating and drowning. He retreated behind what remained of his shields, the waves a more distant storm now.

Second Brother frantically tried to keep calm, the utter loss of control making fear rise from his stomach like bile, slathering his insides in it. It wrapped its threads around his guts, the nausea a promise of vomit. It enveloped his heart, squeezing, urging it to quicken its pace, so the fear could sink into his very blood, course through his veins and claim Second Brother’s entire body as its own. He pulled harder at his restraints again, but it was of no use. He had become fear.

The sound of a lock disengaging startled the Inquisitor who immediately seized to pull against his restraints, instead pressing his body as tightly against the wall to his back as he could. Vision clear without the red tint of his helmet, he looked up to meet the gaze of his captor.

Bode’s voice was a deep rumble, feigning control he barely held onto. “I am going to ask you questions. And you will answer them.” Second Brother just stared at him with wide eyes.

This was going to be a process he was deeply familiar with. There were a few differences this time: he had not made the embarrassing mistake of being joyous or even grateful about still being alive, for now the Inquisitor knew that being kept alive usually had a reason, and that reason presumably entailed a fate worse than death. None of these first few questions would be of particular interest to Bode Akuna, their sole purpose was to test Second Brother, see if he would be the type of prisoner to immediately crack, whether he was trained to withstand questioning and torture, or if he would be the silent, stubborn type. There was no room for his pathetic fear to cloud his judgment. He pushed it down. Hold the line. There was no pain in this world or the next that the Inquisitor was unfamiliar with. Hold the line. Whatever this man asked or threatened of him did not matter. Hold the line. Second Brother had seized being a person with thoughts and opinions a long time ago. Hold the line. He wished he could still witness Bode Akuna’s rage and be enamoured instead of hurt by it. Hold the line.

Bode’s eyes were transfixed upon his as he stepped closer. Too close. “You’re Second Brother, right?” He was way too close.

Instead of an answer, he received a headbutt. Crying out in pain, Bode staggered back a few paces on instinct, his hand above the spot on his forehead Second Brother had hit. Recovering quickly, he closed the distance between them again, ripped the Inquisitors helmet off before landing a solid punch to his face. Blood erupted from Second Brother’s face, the true redness of it gave his ginger hair a washed-out appearance. His helmet unceremoniously clattered to the ground, reminding Second Brother of Second Sisters helmet. And her head.

“You stubborn fucking dog! Do you not get what kind of situation you’re in?!” His words would have carried enough gravitas without it, but he spit in the Inquisitor’s face to drive his point home, anyways.

Second Brother repressed any groan or reaction to the new addition to his list of pains, not even really taking note of the spit in his face, he restricted himself to swallow the blood that had dripped down from his nose, all the way down to where he had swallowed his fear, buried his anger and entombed his shame.

Bode’s heavy breaths reverberated through the force, his hand twitching towards his belt. Second Brother’s gaze followed the motion towards two lightsabers clipped to his belt. At the sight of his weapon as another’s trophy, shame attempted to crawl from its tomb, wrapping itself around his intentines.  “The Inquisitorius’ favourite pet, huh?” Bode’s voice was calmer again, though the restraint in it still audible. Second Brother’s eyes went empty for a second, there was no need to say anything in response, the question obviously having been rhetorical, no strategy to his words, but they left his mouth all the same. “A lapdog to the Empire and a bloodhound to her enemies” His voice was barely more than a whisper. When he finally found his countenance again, he just caught a last glance of something crossing Bode’s face before his expression evened out again.

“What do you know about me?” Second Brother almost scoffed. Bode Akuna had not the faintest idea how much he knew about him now, the question finally granting him back a small sliver of control. Still, he would not divulge the precious information immediately, so he opted for the obvious when he answered. “Traitor. Fugitive.”

This time, Second Brother attentively watched all the emotions cross Bode’s face in a split second, even felt remnants of them through the force. Fear, then anger, wiped clean off his face by a tremendous amount of shame and grief, just for all of them disappear again within a mere moment. Second Brother tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. “Force-users are traitors in the eyes of the Empire. So, (we’re, he thought but did not say) they’re either hunted to be killed or… convinced into usefulness.”

Bode did not even attempt to hide the disdain from his face that time. This is going nowhere remained unsaid. And if it continues to go nowhere, he’ll opt for just revenge in lieu of answers, Second Brother finished the thought. Bode’s hand twitched towards his belt again, but he resisted the urge, turned around. “You better have more satisfying answers than regurgitated Imperial propaganda tomorrow, dog.” The lock clicked into place again, leaving Second Brother with only fear, shame, pain and anger as companions. Hold the line.

Bode did not recognise the city – or the planet. The rain was torrential, the buildings shoddily thrown together, monumental shipwrecks formed a ragged skyline in the distance. None of the people hurrying through alleyways were paying attention to one another, no friendly faces to be found. A sound cut through the monotonous rainfall, the hair in the back of Bode’s neck stood up, grief wrapping itself tightly around him. The cries of a child. Though he trembled, his footing far less secure than it looked, Bode followed the sound. Certainty heavy on his conscious, he knew that for being unable to protect his family, he deserved every ounce of suffering every time she cried Why did I have to die?

He was close to the source of the sound now, hidden behind a heap of scraps. He knelt, extended a trembling hand- and froze mid-movement. The child’s skin was pale, ginger hair a mess, especially in the back, where one section of hair was shorter than the rest, strands of hair sticking to one another, coated with blood. The child turned to look at him, emerald green eyes meeting his gaze. Freckles adorning the pale skin. His eyes widened, and then he screamed in terror, struggling backwards like a cornered animal until his back hit the wall, heavy sobs making his entire small body tremble.

Bode just sprung to his feet and ran. The people around him still paid him no mind as he was stumbling through the streets. His heart was pounding as he kept running, the rain splashing against his face, blurring his vision. When he stumbled, his face kissed the mud. Bode was too distraught, could not make himself to get up, no matter how difficult breathing through the mud was. It also muffled his hearing, though he could still faintly make out voices near him. Only when he heard a certain phrase did he start paying attention, slightly lifting his head again. “… the treasonous Jedi Order. Failure to turn over this traitor will result in a charge of sedition. Turn yourself in or everyone present shall face summary execution.”

Bode’s heart pace quickened as he scrambled to his feet, his hand at his belt – until he realized the modulated voice was not addressing him – some distance from him was a group of people surrounded by Imperial troops and an Inquisitor. His heart was pounding, his throat on fire as he watched the scene before him.

The ignition of a red blade, plunged into an Abednedo, was swiftly met with the presence of a blue lightsaber. The face of its wielder – freckled. Older now, but undeniably still a boy, not a man. He was woefully outmatched by the Inquisitor who had met his desperate strike with ease. The boy struggled with all his might against her lazy attacks. “Who was your master, padawan? Did they care about you? Train you well? Your inaptness suggests they did not.” The boy cried out in desperation, threw his arms to his sides, and the Inquisitor froze momentarily. Just for a moment, he regarded her with wide eyes. Then he ran. Sprinting as fast as his feet would carry him, he almost stumbled over the body of the Abednedo the Inquisitor had just killed. She was quick to recover, laughing. “You have made this interesting now, little padawan.” The force pulsing with her sick amusement, she bent her knees, ignited her second blade and threw it after the fleeing Jedi. His scream was pure agony when it went through his right leg, right below the knee. Bode closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the boy hit the ground.

Only when the screams suddenly appeared right next to him did Bode open his eyes again – the boy was being dragged across durasteel floors, towards a chair. His right leg was completely limb, dangling off his knee where it was cut off, barely hanging on through a cauterized patch of skin.

Bile climbing his throat, Bode turned away from the screaming boy. He knew where this was, was aware of the function and purpose of a torture chair. Cold sweat covering his entire body, he covered his ears in a desperate and mostly failing attempt at blocking out the harrowing screaming. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

When the screaming stopped, he thought he had succeeded – for a moment. Opening his eyes and being met with darkness made him sigh in relief – until he realized it was total darkness. No control panels or emergency lights cutting through it. He stared into the void for a while, equal parts relieved at the lack of harrowing sensations and terrified of being left alone with his thoughts – until muffled sounds made him turn around.

The Inquisitor was lying on the ground before him, smothered and gagged by a black ooze protruding from the ground. Wide eyes, now tinted yellow and red, were staring at Bode as he was slowly being pulled deeper and deeper into the black mass. He held his gaze for a while until he felt something at his feet. When Bode looked down, he realized the ground he was stood upon was made up of the same black substance, and it had started slowly slithering up his legs. He frantically started stomping, trying to rid himself of it, then looked towards the Inquisitor again. Second Brother was struggling hard against his restraints, whipping his head so fast, Bode almost expected his neck to snap, the Inquisitor at least freed his face from the substance. His voice strained and frantic, he screamed as loud as his lungs, in a ribcage crushed by black ooze, allowed him to. “GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Bode gasped as his eyes flew open. For a long time, he just laid there, breathing heavily, staring at a control panel and looking for even more answers.

Chapter Text

There was no need for Bode to clean his blaster. He could attempt to lie to himself, convince himself that he was not letting precious time slip through his fingers, could pretend he was planning, actually. But after Nova Garron, Bode would never lie to himself again. The reality of the situation was that he was pacing up and down the hallway because he did not know what to do.

He had not returned to the hold in a while, the vivid dreams keeping him from the Inquisitor as if they were magnets facing each other head on, the distance no matter how short impossible to close. His mind was being pulled in a dozen directions at once, the storm of emotions within him impossible to overcome. Mindlessly turning his blaster in his hands again, Bode was desperate to regain the overwhelming anger that had kept him going for weeks. Being angry had been easy with anger overshadowing any other feelings. It was a sharp thing, giving him focus, no matter how exhausting and destructive.

Now, though, it was just one of a myriad of feelings vying for his attention. The grief, shame and self-hatred he could have dealt with: it was the pity that made him sick to his stomach, Tayala’s voice yet again whispering questions he did not want to hear, much less answer. Does this man really deserve his wrath? Will killing an Inquisitor tortured into complacency truly satisfy his lust for vengeance? Or would it just result in Bode letting the Empire do the same to him, drag him into the dark through the suffering it had caused him? Until nothing was left of himself but wrath?

Tightening his grip around his weapon, he clenched his teeth. What did it even matter? She was dead. Killed by an Inquisitor. Maybe even the one mere meters away from him.

Finally, frustration and anger took over – he was supposed to be in charge, this situation was supposed to be under his control and yet Bode felt like he was crumbling under the pressure. As if the black ooze of his dreams was sticking to him even now, constricting his movement, clogging his thoughts.

Jaw locked once again, he let his agitation guide him towards the hold.

“Who were you before becoming this?”

Second Brother was slumped over, kneeling on the ground with the restraints pulling harshly on his wrists. The Inquisitor’s eyes seemed somewhat hazy as he looked up to Bode, remaining silent.

“I asked you a question” Bode’s words were accompanied by a kick into Second Brother’s side. The Inquisitor did not make a sound. “Answer!” The second kick was harder than the first. It was so difficult to restrain himself, so jarring to look at the Inquisitor. The wet crack after Kata’s fall echoed through his mind. The image of Tayala’s dead body seared into his retinas. The sudden anguish felt through the force, Jedi after Jedi perishing, engraved into his essence.

“Scrapper. On Bracca.” Bode scoffed, shaking his head. What was he doing? This had nothing to do with setting things right, and yet, the image of a lost padawan on a rainy planet practically made of scrap piles tore at him. “Sure, and the Empire has recruiting events for hateful force-sensitives on Bracca?” Now it was Second Brother who scoffed. “I had been a traitor with the Jedi Order. They made me understand that.” There was a minute movement as his right thigh muscle contracted. Bode did not miss it.

Without thinking - he seemingly had given up on the very concept of planning - he took his vibroknife from its sheath and in one swift motion cut open the fabric on Second Brother’s right leg. Bode felt the tip of his knife scrape along metal. The realization giving him vertigo, he did not even look at the cybernetic leg he had just exposed. He caught himself on the wall with his arm, panting heavily. The frightened child, bloody mess where his padawan braid used to be. A boy screaming in pain, severed leg dangling off him. The Inquisitor in chains next to him.

“What do you know about pain, Bode Akuna?” Second Brother’s voice seemed so distant. “You know loss. Grief. Shame. It surrounds you, has been your companion since the Purge, stayed with you when you came crawling back to the very people who took her from you. You know desperation, and oh, you know fear. But pain, real pain, you have never known. Because if you did, you would understand. We are the same to the Empire, to her we will always be traitors. But if you embrace the pain, it will grant more power than you would have ever thought possible.”

Flinching as if he had been burned, Bode turned around. He grabbed the Inquisitor’s shoulder and shoved him into the wall. “How do you know this? Did Denvik tell you, did he set all of this up?” The storm surge returned in full force, waves crashing against Second Brother, keeping him locked against the wall tighter than any physical force ever could. “Was it you? Did you kill her?”

Bode had become a storm of anger, tons upon tons of water threatening to crush Second Brother beneath their violence. It was breathtaking.

The Inquisitor would have shrugged had he had the range of motion. “When a traitor is located, I hunt them.”

Bode’s grip around his shoulder tightened, bolstered through his escalating presence in the force. Second Brother could swear the durasteel wall behind him was starting to bend.

“An unarmed woman! A fucking child! No child could be a traitor!”

Second Brother flared up in an instant, barely a bonfire a second ago, he was all raging inferno now, his flames pushing against the thundering water, surrounding them both in in steam and smoke. The force vibrated with their shared agony.

“Liar!” Voice hoarse and raw as if he had been screaming for hours, the Inquisitor lunged as close to him as Bode’s iron grip on his shoulder would allow, their faces only a hair’s breadth apart now.  Second Brother was breathing heavily, his blazing wildfire burning through his own shields, eating away the final remnants of his composure. He had experienced firsthand how much of a traitor a child could be, and how unforgivable of a crime treason was.

Wild yellow-red eyes were staring directly at Bode with a look he had not seen before: it was not the anger of an Inquisitor, but raw, infantile fear. Being this close to Second Brother, Bode took note of scar tissue spreading from his forehead like lighting, all the way down to his neck, some as thin as a hair, others thick like they had expanded with the Inquisitor’s skin during a final growth spurt. Then a scar right above his eye, cutting through the Inquisitor’s eyebrow. Then another, right over the bridge of his nose. And another, spread across his jawline. The longer he looked, the more he realized Second Brother’s face was covered in scars, cutting through the patterns his freckles drew on it. He was missing the lower part of an ear, the skin beneath it on his neck a horrid mass of scarification. Even his lips, exposing clenched teeth, had a scar right through the middle of it.

Something so opposite to the hatred, anger and grief that had piloted his actions until now bloomed in Bode’s chest, manifesting as a promise of vomit on its way up. Hand covering his mouth, he tore himself from the Inquisitor and stormed out of the hold.

Breathing heavily and staring on the puddle of vomit he had just left on the floor of the hallway, Bode Akuna did not want any answers anymore.

Though he had not even remotely recovered from the interaction earlier, Second Brother mindlessly stared at his helmet, scattered on the other side of the hold. His vision swam, the helmet briefly turning into two before conjoining again. Though he was still reeling from what had happened, the memory of it was already a distant thing. No matter how hard he tried, he could not fully grasp it, though the emotions and irritation the conversation had caused remained, a wound left to fester instead of healing ripped wide open again.

The Inquisitor wished he had his helmet, wished the fabric would cover his cybernetic leg again. He had never taken off the helmet in the presence of any other sentient being, not even a gonk droid, as long as he could avoid it. As long as the Grand Inquisitor let him avoid it. Being this exposed made him feel weak. The restraints, while humiliating and really painful, he could deal with. Being exposed instead of fully covered, he could not.

Exhaustion weighed heavy on his eyelids, still sleep would not come for him, he knew. The last bit of tranquillity had long left his system, agitation now coursing through his veins, so loud and restless, it seemed an impossible task to focus on anything else. The helmet split in two again and no matter how hard Second Brother tried, he could not concentrate enough to make it whole again in his vision. Frustration stirred within him, heat rose to his cheeks, a stinging in his eyes. The Inquisitor clenched his teeth – he was losing it. Rapidly. 

Vision swimming, he gave up on trying to focus his sight again and let reality slowly slip through his fingers. The sobs his body so desperately wanted to let surface got entombed in his stomach, pushing down on his intestines they manifested as nausea instead. It, too, was damned not to ever surface, acidic bile running through his veins alongside the agitation, his entire being becoming sickness manifest.

Still, he could not fully surrender. He had to hold the line.

Clenching his hands into fists, breathing growing shallow and irate, Second Brother shut his eyes tightly and prayed something, anything would give.

There was a presence with him now. In front of him, slightly to the left, right where his helmet had been morphing from one into two and back again. It was not the raging seas he had started getting used to, but a lush forest, calmly breathing in and out, a deep green. Second Brother did not want to open his eyes, for he knew. He never could forget, after all, retaining the memories and presence of every single force-sensitive he had slain.

His eyes were shut so tighly, the stinging pressure would have been distracting had he not been hurting all over for days now. When the presence suddenly manifested right in front of him, so close he felt leaves rustle against his shields, the Inquisitor recoiled and threw his eyes open.

Second Brother could not see, his vision a blur of greys, he could not make out anything in his vicinity – apart from a faint, blue glow. As foggy as his vision might have been, the memory was still sharp and clear: a voice trembling yet filled with conviction, then a blood curdling scream, cauterized tissue and boiling blood where an eye used to be.

Hyperventilating instead of breathing, metal scraped on metal as the Inquisitor pushed himself as far back into the wall as what little strength he had left in his legs allowed. Cold, sharp edges hugging his back, panic rose within him as his mind raced omnidirectionally in a desperate attempt to make sense of any of this. The only straws it could grasp, though, was that something horrible had happened to her. He had happened to her.

“No- No… I couldn’t… I-“

Flashes of light, red ricocheting off the wooden walls, then sparks of blue, the lazy embrace of sleep so suddenly and violently replaced by primal fear spreading through the force, a young padawan does not recall waking up when she finds herself standing before her bed, lightsaber in her trembling hand. “Go! Take Buzz, Seven and Half with you. Get on the shuttle and don’t wait for me. I will come find you, Tahlia.” The soles of her feet are sore from running before she gets to stop. Dirt in her mouth, leaves in her hair as she scrambles back up on her feet. Fire sears itself onto her retinas as she watches it all burn. The heat of it never truly leaves her as she cries until her master’s sleeves start dripping from all the tears she sheds. She doesn’t remember what it felt like when she was happy to leave the temple just weeks ago.

A flash of red, the force wailing in agony, it burns. It burns like it hasn’t since the raid on the village. She knows she’s going to die a coward.

“No, it’s-… you’re not-….” Second Brothers vision swam with flashes of blue, then red, so much red, like lightning. “Nothing you could have done…. You were just a child. I’m sorry.” The words spilled from his mouth without him noticing. His senses were alight with myriads of pains, swirling around him like thick black smoke, filling his lungs, stinging in his eyes, a heavy cover of soot seeping into every crevice of his brain. And then, peeking through the smoke, sunshine on the first day of spring.

The Inquisitor did not notice the sweat pooling on his forehead, beads of it trickling down from his hairline until they hugged the shards of glass still embedded in his skin, he was all blistering agony, the warmth of the sunny rays burning on his skin like a lightsaber held too close as he had to face his cardinal sin. The sunshine snuck through Second Brother’s shields, though it could not have taken much effort, its remains nothing but a damp, moldy towel stretched impossibly thin through years of desperate usage and beneath it was such agonizing pain, it screamed in a thousand voices, mourning a thousand lives prematurely and brutally ended with the unyielding stomp of an imperial boot, completely laid bare and illuminated by the warm light.

“I’m sorry I- I was too weak.”

Now, there was nothing keeping him from finally facing a truth about Nova Garron so at odds with everything the Inquisitor had been forced to stand for, the dark side of the force had vigorously shielded the memory from him. An act in defiance of Imperial conditioning, a spontaneous and inexplicable flicker of empathy had pushed Second Brother to enact his will over the flow of time itself when he felt young Kata slip through his grasp, hurdling towards the abyss. He had not dwelt on it, said Imperial Conditioning doing the second-best thing it could – the best thing would have been keeping him from acting compassionately in the first place – and forced the memory of it deep down, beneath kilometers of fire, soot and ashes. Just for the withradawal to mercilessly rip all of it out of its cavity now, dragging it to the surface.

It had all been for naught, anyways. Unconsciousness had severed his grip on time and Kata plummeted to her death, a young star snuffed out before getting a chance to spread its warmth. Even though he should not, Second Brother still knew children could not be traitors.

“I tried- I tried. I’m sorry I couldn’t- I couldn’t catch you.” The words were barely a raspy whisper and all he could get out before the sobs he had tried to keep at bay for so long finally broke through the surface, his entire body shaking violently, Second Brother lost himself to the pain.

The Inquisitor had not noticed Bode standing in the doorframe, had not noticed how tension had made its home in every part of him, his skin feeling like it was stretched to its limits, every muscle tensed to the point of soreness. Second Brother had no way of knowing how heavy his admission weighed on Bode, or that his sobbed apologies split him open, right through the middle.

Second Brother could not distinguish the echoes from the memories from his feelings from reality when Bode turned around to leave, and he did not see him return. When Bode knelt down next to him, the Inquisitor, ever so faintly through the haze, expected to feel like drowning as he felt the tide rise. Bode’s waves enclosed him, not quite in an embrace, certainly not without dark storm clouds hanging heavy above them, but there was a gentleness to this storm. Only when Second Brother heard glass hit the ground did he let the current carry him back to reality. It was by no means a firm grasp he held on to, but by the time Bode dislodged the last shard from his forehead, the Inquisitor had an idea where he was and who sat close to him. It should have been too close – somehow, it was not.

Bode grabbed Second Brother’s chin, forcing the Inquisitor to look at him, a weird gentleness to the action. “Did you try to save her? Did you try to save my daughter?” In a monumental effort, Bode’s voice was calm when he asked the question, though not without effort. There was no violence following it this time, and no expectation of defiance.

Second Brother tried to find deep brown eyes through the haze, wished he could focus on Bode’s face to see slivers of emotions crossing it, and even though he could not, despite the tension in the force as palpable as it had ever been, and most of all not regarding the fact that he, an Imperial Inquisitor, should never admit to an act of compassion, much less even consider acting compassionately, he answered Bode anyways.

Second Brother’s voice was so strained from the sobbing, no sound escaped him as he mouthed an affirmation. The words his lips formed were understood all the same, the connection through the force too close for their sincerity to be doubted.

The gentleness of the waves turning violent again, there was a hand grabbing his collar, Bode’s face so close to him now, it was almost too close again. “Then why didn’t you? Why did you even come for us? If you hadn’t been there, there would not have been anything to save her from!” Pain coated his voice, the force around him trembling with agony.

Second Brother’s mind was too frayed to grasp for words, and, muted as it might be through the haze of his symptoms, the dark still had a grip on him, no matter how distant at this moment, part of the Inquisitor was still adamant about holding the line. Most of him did not exactly know what that meant anymore, though. So there was only one phrase for him to hold onto.

“I am a lapdog to the Empire and-“ A slap in his face interrupted the mantra. “Will you shut up with this bantashit? I can’t fucking take it anymore. One second, you’re a broken padawan, tortured and hurt, twisted into this by the Empire but still trying to save my little girl.” There was a new kind of pain in Bode’s voice that had not been there before. “Then you speak like a broken record regurgitating Imperial Propaganda, you’re who Kata needed saving from in the first place, she’s dead because of you, you’re a fire burning in the force so recklessly it destroys everything in its path!”

Now it was Bode’s voice that sounded like he had been screaming for hours. Second Brother still could not focus on his face too well, so he only realized Bode was crying when he felt the tears drop on his cybernetic leg. The Empire obviously had not been merciful enough to abstain from installing cybernetic nerves, too. Mostly for the pain receptors.

Through the haze, the Inquisitor still tried focusing on Bode’s face as best he could. When he spoke, his voice was shattering in a thousand pieces.

“Extinguish me then.”

There was no tremble in his voice.

“Please.”

Bode almost felt the anger overtake him again, Second Brother’s words feeling like a taunt. Almost. When the anger left his stomach, it just started to hurt again, the ache not manifesting in a killing blow but as more tears in his eyes, wetness on his cheeks and a soft pitter-patter where the tears hit the Inquisitor’s metal leg.

He grabbed his blaster from the holster anyways, pressing it deep into the skin beneath Second Brother’s chin, who promptly closed his eyes and slowly tilted his head back until it rested against the metal wall.

Finger on the trigger, Bode’s hand was trembling again.

When Second Brother’s body went limp, Bode threw the blaster to the side as if it had burned him. Tears still streamed down his face when he looked at the bruise already forming on Second Brother’s temple where he had just knocked him unconscious with the grip of the weapon.  

He could not do it.

Chapter Text

When Second Brother woke again, he was unsure whether it was from restless sleep or unconsciousness. The memories of what had transpired between him and Bode had already begun to fade, though the emotions lingered. Sticky, like resin, they had wrapped themselves around his heart. He felt as if covered in oil, a dark gelatinous substance. It dragged him back under again.

The Inquisitor drifted in and out of consciousness – or was it sleep, after all? – a few more times. How many, he could not be sure. There was a prickle in the air. Even through the delirium, he could feel it. Something had changed. Before he was able to wrap his head around it, the realization was swiftly washed away again by the hot need coursing through his veins.

Second Brother grimaced, squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the Inquisitor almost jumped. Bode Akuna stood a few paces from him, and he had no recollection of the man entering his hold. Had he not been in withdrawal’s vice grip, the Inquisitor might have noticed the tension in the other man’s jaw. Somewhere in the distance, he could feel raging seas.

“You have a fever. It’s withdrawal, I’m assuming? Eat. Drink.” Bode gestures towards the floor where he had placed a waterbottle and two rationbars. The Inquisitor warily regarded the offerings in front of him. He really should be weighing his options carefully, what captor would ever be above poisoning their prisoner? A single swallow caused pain to radiate through his entire body, his lips were chapped, his throat sore. They were aching for moisture, almost as much as his entire being was aching for stims, for relief. Not having the energy to resist the temptations any longer, the Inquisitor greedily took what was offered, busying himself with huge gulps and greedy bites.

“What’s your name?” It took Second Brother so long to process the question, Bode had already given up on receiving an answer. First, the Inquisitor simply shook his head, which just caused Bode Akuna to radiate irritation and confusion, so he added “I don’t have one.” Anymore, he thought but could never say.

“Alright…” Bode paused for a long moment, hesitating. “… Freckles.” Second Brother lifted his head, weary eyes trying to fixate on the man in front of him to the best of his abilities. He had a thousand questions, all of them aching in their urgency to be answered. A simple “… Huh?” was all he could muster.

Bode’s voice was deep and rumbling when he answered. “I’m not calling you the ‘name’ they gave you.” With that, he turned around and left Second Brother to his agony again.

The recollection of the new nickname left him quickly, too. Second Brother was staring at the durasteel walls. His brain was hotwired, lashing out under the pressure of withdrawal. It did the only thing it could in lieu of properly storing new memories: replaying the past down to the last, most minute details.

“Padawan, something terrible is happening. We need to get off this ship, quickly.” Master Tapal’s voice was drenched in concern. The only thing that kept it from drowning in panic was the utmost urgency of their situation. Second Brother knew what was happening, though he still did not understand. What had they done to deserve this fate? Why would all the clones, the entire republic, turn on them? How could he have betrayed them? He was only a child.

“They are coming.” There was a faint tremble in his Master’s voice, now.

The Inquisitor’s breathing became erratic. They were stuck on a ship with thousands of troopers about to hunt them down. Death looming in the blasters held in each of their hands as they would point them indiscriminately towards them. Yet, it supposedly was his Master and him who were the traitors.

Then, a dreadful understanding flared up within him: He could not move. He was supposed to be able to move, to run, to- within mere moments, Second Brother was overtaken by horror. The restraints encasing his wrists were trapping him on this ship. It was all wrong. This was not how it was supposed to play out.

“Move, Padawan. We have to leave now!” Jaro Tapal had become erratic. Second Brother, entirely encompassed by fear, started thrashing against his restraints. Pain soon joined his fear, and all his senses were alit in blank terror. The Albedo Brave’s alarms were so loud in his ears, his eardrums might have ruptured. The Inquisitor desperately reached for the dark side. It enveloped him, cradled him in its arms for just a moment. Then, it combusted – and Second Brother immolated with it. He almost started running before the restraints fully shattered. Ripping the door to shreds, he made his way through the ship, panting.

Second Brother had not been running for long, when something yanked at his feet. The Inquisitor stumbled but still managed to catch himself before falling. When he turned around, the one thing he could focus on was a blaster barrel, death looming behind it. Maybe something was being said, too, but the alarms were too loud for Second Brother to make anything out.

“We have to leave now!” His Master’s voice pulled him from the moment. He knew what was about to happen next, but he would not allow it. Not this time. Breathing raggedly, Second Brother clang on to the dark for one more moment to feel its power course through him. He was not weak, not anymore. There was no room for failure, not again.

So, in one fiery explosion, he pushed the force outwards, exerting his own will over the flow of time, freezing it. Commanding space to move to his liking, shattering glass and steel.

Second Brother knew he could not afford even a second to take in the aftermath – so, he bolted.

Reality nothing but a blur around him, he raced until his feet found familiar ground. He sank down to his knees. Sweat dyed red by the gashes on his forehead was dripping on his cybernetic leg. Something was wrong, still. His leg was supposed to be flesh and blood. Before Second Brother could examine it any further, he heard his Master’s voice again.

“This war is not over, my Padawan.” No. It could not be. “Hold the line.” He had been faster, this time. Jaro Tapal had died because of his weakness, but he had fixed it. The Inquisitor had succeeded where the Padawan had failed. Or so he thought, because his Master lay dying, regardless, leaving him alone once more. Left behind to hold the line. Hold the line. Hold the line. Hold the line. Hold the line. Holdtheline. Holdtheline. Holdtheline.Holdtheline.HoldthelineHoldthelineHoldthelineHoldthelineHoldthelineHoldthelineHoldthelineHoldthelineHoldthelineHoldthelin-

 “Second Brother, Sir!” The Inquisitor’s head snapped up, a blaster dangling from a trooper’s belt right at his eyeline. In an instant, he was back on his feet, towering over the trooper for only a moment before lifting them up above. The force pressed tightly against the trooper’s neck, their words almost intelligible. “We- We’ve arrived …. o-on Nur.” With that, his greedy need took over, dragging him back to reality enough to commandeer his body towards relief.

Another corpse left in his wake, Second Brother stormed off the shuttle, entirely oblivious to the alarm of everyone around him. Had he been the least bit aware of his surroundings or in control of his actions, the situation he found himself in would have filled him to the brim with dread. Panting, sweating and bleeding while running through the fortress, his battered face and cybernetic leg bare for all to see. But burning up inside from the need as he was, the only thing that mattered was his craving for relief.

When he finally found himself in the medbay, Second Brother pushed beds and equipment towards the wall, only having eyes for the cabinets filled with medical supplies. Frantic in his hunger, he ripped them all apart, watching countless stim canisters fall to the ground. The Inquisitor raised a trembling hand, using the force to call one of the canisters to him. Inches from his fingertips, it suddenly stopped in mid-air.

“Well, this certainly is a surprise. Albeit I am yet to decide whether it’s a welcome… or an unwelcome one.” Eyes glued to the stim canister, Second Brother watched it land firmly in the Grand Inquisitor’s grasp. Instinct commanded him to sink to one knee; exhaustion forced him to crash down on both.

“Whatever have you done to yourself.” Second Brother felt hands at his chin, long nails digging into his jaw as his maker forced his creation’s eyes to meet his own. “Surely, you are aware that how you choose to carry yourself reflects back on the Empire, yes?” His grip tightened, painfully so. “Tell me, Second Brother, do you believe that how you have conducted yourself upon your arrival is in line with Imperial Merit?” The Pau’an was pulling his face upwards now, uncaring eyes studying the Inquisitor’s face. Distantly, Second Brother knew this was his moment to apologize, to beg for forgiveness and vow rectification. Presently, he was not even able to suppress his shudders. The Grand Inquisitor let go of his face with a sigh, causing him to crash to the ground unceremoniously. “Well, it seems to me that some re-evaluation might be in order. A true tragedy that it has come to this. But rest assured, quality control is very near to my heart, and I promise you this: I will not let you succumb to weakness.”

With a wave of his hand, the Pau’an commanded some troopers towards Second Brother, still sprawled on the medbay floor. When they grabbed his shoulders and dragged him out of the room, stim cannisters burst beneath their boots, thick green liquid smearing along the ground. The Inquisitor knew their destination before they even left the room. Ever so quietly, a part of him wept for not having been extinguished.

The echoes meeting him as he was clasped into the chair washed over him in grim familiarity. Though there were new ones, too. It was an amalgamation of suffering, clawing at his insides, begging for their pain to be re-lived as to not fade into obscurity. And yet, the Grand Inquisitor tethered him to reality through his will alone, keeping a firm grasp on Second Brother’s fractured mind. His voice was eerily calm as he strapped the Inquisitor in. “I have always made my expectations abundantly clear, yes?” The final clamp was set in place, digging into Second Brother’s wrists, ripping open the fresh scabbing. “And yet-“ The Pau’an momentarily paused as he unsheathed his blade, holding the crimson saber at the Inquisitor’s neck, firmly locked into place by the chair’s restraints. The Imperial cog on his shoulder eagerly absorbed the heat emitted from the blade. “You disappoint me, Second Brother.” His shoulder flared up, all heat and hot pain as the cog slowly started to match the lightsaber’s color, glowing. Bloodred sweat ran down the Inquisitor’s neck. “A more… permanent reminder might be in order.” A lazy flick of the Grand Inquisitor’s wrist sufficed to lift the cog, emitting feverish heat. Blisters had already formed on Second Brother’s shoulder. The glowing metal hovered in place for just a moment, stretched impossibly long in horrific anticipation.

It all snapped when the smell of burned flesh and the sound of agonising screams filled the space as the burning hot metal met Second Brother’s skin, right above his ear. His sweat-soaked hair went up in flames as the cog ate away at his skin. The tears in his eyes were never shad, evaporating under the intense heat.

The walls vibrated under the strain of Second Brother’s screams. First his hair burned to a crisp, then his skin, finally his muscle. The cog devoured it all until it hit pale bone. The Pau’an, silently watching, only flicked his wrist again when the Inquisitor’s very skull was branded with a charred black Imperial insignia. The agony was otherworldly, the screams echoing and ricocheting through the room gave the impression Second Brother’s very lung was being ripped from his ribs.  And then the Grand Inquisitor flipped the switch, activating the chair. Electricity coursed through the Inquisitor’s entire body, muscles cramping and spasming all at once. The anguish was so deafening, his maker must be using the force to plant his words directly into Second Brother’s very mind. “Remember what I made you.”

The pain did not stop for a long time.

Somehow, his heart was beating, still. The monotony of durasteel flooring was all Second Brother could see through half-lidded eyes as he was being dragged through the fortress. His tongue swollen, the taste of blood filling his mouth – he must have bit in it at some point during the torture he had endured. The bitterness on his tongue was even heavier than the blood when the Inquisitor realized they were dragging him towards a cell. Troopers he knew to be trembling from their fear of him threw him in quickly when they reached the threshold, activating the rayshield before hurrying away.
With his mind utterly fractured, he was unable to get a read on them. A bastardisation of a grin crossed the Inquisitor’s face. He had not even known there was anything left to break.

Movement was a luxury Second Brother could not afford at the moment, staying on the ground where the troopers had thrown him. The cool flooring at least granted a sliver of relief. The Inquisitor tried his hardest not to yearn for a stim as his entire body burned in pain. Instead, he begged for unconsciousness to finally come for him.

When he found himself on the endless junkfields of Bracca, Second Brother grimaced, for it must have been sleep that came for him instead of unconsciousness. The latter would have been a brief respite, whereas the former just lead to more torment through his nightmares.

It was an endless sea of scrapmetal, junk cluttered upon itself as far as the eye could see. Second Brother knew it well, he spent days wandering through these fields when he finally emerged from the escape pod, almost dying of thirst in the process.

Metal was already digging into his back, but he had no energy to sit upright. With no fight left within him, the Inquisitor just laid there waiting for the horrors to rear their ugly heads. Turning his own towards the sky, Second Brother looked up towards the clouds, feeling the cool rain on his skin. Moisture made its home in every crevice of him as he closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. A futile corruption of meditation.

“Where did you go?” The low rumble of Bode Akuna’s voice broke his concentration. Second Brother opened his eyes to see the man standing above him, trembling fists clenched at his sides. The Inquisitor gave no answer, simply waiting for the phantom to unleash its wrath upon him. “How did you even leave? You shouldn’t have been able to leave!” Second Brother closed his eyes again, a shaky exhale trembling through his entire body as he braced for the pain that would soon follow. “I’m fucking talking to you, Freckles!” The memory came back in an instant. A peace offering to a mortal enemy, a name for someone who had not been anything but Imperial property in a long time. Second Brother’s eyes flew open again, searching for Bode Akuna’s gaze. His jaw was clenched tightly and those dark brown eyes of his held so many emotions, Second Brother gasped. This was no figment of his subconsciousness.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then, finally, Second Brother spoke. “It’s you.” At the tone of the Inquisitor’s words, Bode almost effortlessly slipped back into years of training, immediately recognising someone on the cusp of confession.

“I thought I was running from…” Second Brother hesitated, searching for the right words. “-something else” was the best the Inquisitor could do. Tension pulling on all his muscles, Bode managed to give nothing but a small nod, choosing to wait out whether the other man would speak again.

“Did you come here for the answers you want or for the revenge you seek?” Second Brother fixated the man towering above him with his gaze, taking in not only the trembling fists or clenched jaws, but intently watching for the minute flickers of emotions crossing Bode Akuna’s face. To his dismay, Bode dragged his hand over his face as he sighed. “I don’t think I can hurt you in your dreams. Not in any way that’s meaningful to me, at least.” To the surprise of both of them, Second Brother snorted at that. The strange approximation to humour made him feel eerily human to Bode. With all of the worldly pains and rigidness stripped away in this dreamscape, the Inquisitor before him seemed more like an actual person than he ever had.

“So, you’re here for answers?” The Inquisitor had not moved, still laying on his back. His gaze was firmly in the clouds as he let the rain wash over him, ginger hair, none of it burned or charred in this dream of his, sticking to his forehead.

Second Brother did not turn his head when Bode sat down beside him. “I don’t know”, he said. Sighing again, Bode ran his hand through his hair before resting it briefly at his own nape. „I don’t know why I'm here. Must be some cruel punishment of the force.” He did not look at Second Brother who huffed in response. „Yeah. Yeah, that seems right.”

Bode took a cylinder off the ground to fiddle with it in his hands. A poor substitute for a blaster to calm his nerves. Then, he asked again: “How did you escape?”
“I don’t know.” Second Brother answered truthfully.  Bode could not help but laugh at the response, it was a cold thing, bereft of any humour or joy.

Second Brother propped himself up on his elbows. While he could still feel the pain radiate even detached from reality as he was, at least in this dream, it was manageable. Before he could think of what to say, Bode Akuna spoke again. “You expect me to believe that?” The cylinder dropped to rejoin the rest of the scrap, then Bode turned his sharp gaze on Second Brother who met dark eyes with his own yellow-red as he replied: “I expected you to drown me in tar or something, so.”

Something akin to a laugh was hanging over both of them, just out of reach.
“At least you make way better conversation in your dreams – without the withdrawal, being monstrously evil and all that.”

Second Brother swallowed the words down hard. They did not move through his body without resistance, slicing him open, revealing all the pain, shame and self-hatred he was trying so desperately to keep locked up within him.

An Inquisitor must never have any desires, any opinions or thoughts of their own. But in this moment, in the confines of his own dreamscape, Second Brother allowed himself to be selfish enough for a single request.

Lips quivering, red-yellow eyes still fixated on dark brown ones, he spoke. “Kill me. Please.”

Before Bode Akuna could answer, Second Brother was ripped from his dream, awoken by heavy boots. The pain immediately reclaimed him, as if it had never truly left, every inch of him pure agony. The rayshield dropped, he was grabbed at the armpits and dragged back to the chair. There were never any questions asked, for he had no answers to give. There was nothing he could do, no information he could give up to earn some relief, not even a brief respite. The pain remained a constant.

Second Brother did not dream with Bode Akuna again after the first session. He did not want to anymore after the fifth. And after the twelfth, the Inquisitor had all but forgotten about the other man.