The Force Always Says Yes [Star Wars]

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 29: I Know You Both Too Well​

Exiting from the Revanchist Temple into the cool, dry night air was fresh and exhilarating enough to slightly calm Nerim's shaking hands. The sky above was crystal clear and lit by billions of stars, and the dust beneath his feet made a satisfying crunch as he found himself entirely free of the dark, oppressive underground.

From here, of course, came the long and arduous climb back to the top of the mesa to reach their airspeeder. Jianno immediately jumped up, grabbed hold of a crevasse, and began climbing like someone at the top owed her money. Haaka Mahn and Chey-Linn shared a brief moment of eye contact, and then followed after.

Before Nerim could put hand to stone, Arwain grabbed his shoulder and leaned in. "Nerim, we should talk about what you just did."

His hands began trembling again. "Am I in trouble?"

She took time to think about the answer, which made him feel so much worse. "Listen carefully. That Temple wasn't exactly of the Sith, and what you tapped into wasn't exactly the Dark Side," she said slowly. "But these are nuances that are best explored with a much more solid foundation than you have at the moment. You don't need to be ashamed of it. But I ask that you refrain from tapping into that again, until much later in your development. It's dangerous for you to enter that state."

Nerim looked up at her serious expression, and swallowed. "Okay. I'm sorry."

She smiled apologetically at him. "No. Do not be sorry. You haven't done anything wrong, yet. And besides, I believe it is my doing. I think I've been influencing you more than I realized."

Nerim glanced up at the wall, Jianno already nearing the top. "...You said it's dangerous for me to enter that state. What state?"

Arwain quietly stared up into the sky in thought. Then, she spoke. "A more...holistic view of the Force," she said, jumping up and grabbing a handhold. "Like traversing the tall branches of a tree. There is nothing wrong with the tall branches, but they are dangerous to beings like us, and you have no climbing gear."

Nerim followed suit. "The Cathar seem to handle it just fine."

Arwain smiled. "They do."

"I don't have climbing gear now, and I'm still expected to scale this cliff," he huffed in exertion.

"You are," she chuckled.

"So what do I do if I end up somewhere in those tall branches of the Force, like I ended up climbing this cliff?"

She paused for a moment to look at him, and then she smiled again. "Exactly what you're doing now. You calm down, accept the moment, measure your distance, and do the best you can," she said reassuringly, and then began climbing again. "Also, you should try not to let me get you into these situations!"

"Easier said than done," Nerim grumbled.

Once they had reached the summit where things leveled out, Nerim saw Jianno was already starting up the airspeeder. He had no objections to letting her drive, and let himself collapse into the passenger seat with his weary limbs scattered haphazardly. He was light-headed from a lack of food and water, and emotionally exhausted from his experiences.

He let his eyes close for a moment, and he was seized by inaction, as if his body and senses had simply turned off. The sound of the engine grew distant, the conversation impossible to make out. His mind felt like it was running as fast as usual, but things kept dropping out of his grasp; words, actions, concepts themselves were slipping through his grasp. His mind was simply running, without access to the information needed to think.

All he could do in his own mind was run in circles, waiting for rare flashes of images and emotions to rise to the surface. They were just experiences; he didn't even have the capacity to process them in any way.

Images appeared before him of the Council, staring at him as if from atop towers, and disappeared into the darkness of his dreams. He felt the sensation of Kilnit beetles running across his skin as he slept in the Temple. A brief memory flashed of a Cathar missing his jump in the branches and falling, but there was no ground beneath him; he just kept falling, and falling, and falling, until landing in the shallow water off the shore of a great sea.

He felt the sudden concussive force and burn of blaster fire, he heard screams of terror and sobs of desperation. He felt fear, and sorrow, and rage—that indignant, righteous fury most of all. Then there was a sensation of great impotence, an inability to change fate. He saw the Lucky Worm flying away above him, disappearing into the distance, the scene morphing around him until he was once again in the freezer on Raxus Secundus, shivering, unable to save himself or anyone he cared about.

Then something struck him, a lack, something he wasn't experiencing: The presence he felt on Ilum. There was a great deprivation, something deeply missing from these scenes. It was if he realized at once that the thing he had felt in the crystal caves of Ilum was with him his whole life, and abandoned him somewhere in the dream, not even an echo of it to be found.

Suddenly his eyes opened, and he was being herded out of the craft and into the small nook in the City-Tree that served as an airspeeder garage. Jianno pulled him to his feet, and disorientated, he looked around, attempting to determine if he was still in a dream. For just a moment, his confidence wavered, and then he began to feel that something again, and a steadiness came to him. There was a firmness in the ground his feet were on, he was certain he was back to the waking world. The wordless, soundless voice from Ilum was back.

Arwain gave him a concerned look, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Nightmares?"

He shook his head. Not because it didn't feel like a nightmare, but because he was pretty sure he wasn't sleeping. He didn't quite have the energy to explain it, though, and he was shepherded through hallways and structures until he sat in some sort of conference room, where the helpful Cathar provided them with food and water, along with a place to work.

Nerim was about halfway through lethargically trying to figure out what exactly had been placed on a plate in front of him when Jianno spoke up. "Connected to the holonet. Analyzing..."

She placed the hair she had picked up into a small compartment in a datapad, and the logo of the Bounty Hunters Guild appeared on the screen, as it flashed data on the genetic databases it was accessing. Nerim's stomach rumbled, and he decided to take a bite of what appeared to be some sort of meat pie. It was one of the most delicious things he had ever tasted, although he wondered if that was just because he hadn't eaten in a little over three days.

As he scarfed down the food, he heard Jianno make a concerned hum, and repeatedly tap at the pad. Another moment passed and she leaned back in her chair and sighed. She exhaled out an expression in Mandalorian, which meant something like 'You've gotta be kidding', but with an extra word somewhere in there.

"Found something?" Arwain asked.

Jianno turned around the data pad and slid it across the polished wooden table to where everyone could easily see it. The writing was in Mandalorian, so only Nerim and Arwain could make out the name, but the picture made it clear enough to everyone.

"Aesha?" Nerim balked. He was suddenly much more alert.

"I had a feeling there was something odd about her," Arwain frowned. "But to think she navigated a Revanchist Temple on her own...?"

"Perhaps not on her own," Haaka said contemplatively. "I did not sense her to be a Force Sensitive, and the standard blood tests she took at birth would surely have revealed that anyways. I have a hard time believing she could have even found the Temple on her own."

"She's not an idiot," Nerim said defensively.

"It took the four of us quite some time to find it," Haaka responded calmly.

"Three of us," Chey-Linn mumbled. "I still don't know what he was doing while we were in the archives."

"Oh, I doubt that you were very much help in the library," Nerim responded with annoyance.

"Calm yourself, now." Haaka said firmly, though it was slightly unclear which Padawan he was responding to.

"One of us, really," Arwain pouted. "I did all the hard math."

Jianno raised her hands up. "So, did I never even enter consideration, or...?"

Nerim's brow furrowed in frustration. "For the love of—Look, everyone just shut up for a second. If we can be certain that the hair we found in the Temple belongs to Aesha, what's the next step? Just ask her about it or something? It's not like it's a crime."

"Finding it is not a crime, no," Arwain said, drumming her fingers on the table, "And neither is leaving it unreported, exactly. But if she's holding onto certain artifacts, that may well be a crime. If she found an ancient lightsaber, or a holocron, or some sort of texts connected to the Sith Order..."

Haaka Mahn nodded. "And we know such things have been circulating recently."

"I've been thinking about that, actually," Nerim said, placing his utensils down. "Darth Machina recorded his holocron somewhere around a thousand years ago. But the Revanchist Temple is nearly four thousand years old. Could it really have been sourced from there? How many times could that place be rediscovered and forgotten, really?"

Arwain nodded slowly. "I've considered that. It's unlikely. And like I said, that Temple wasn't exactly of the Sith in the first place. But there's no way to know for sure right now. We may have a bigger problem or we may not, but either way, we need to investigate more, and that starts with Aesha. Jianno, do you have any way of knowing how long ago that hair was left?"

Jianno tapped at her datapad in between shoveling mouthfuls of food. After a few moments, she swallowed. "Hard to say, but at the very least a couple of standard months. Maybe one or two years."

Nerim thought for a moment, and then straightened up. "The Vast Veldt is used as a place of testing and meditation for Cathar, right? They keep it unoccupied, but they use it for coming of age rituals and such. Aesha underwent one of those trials right after she returned to Cathar, after our Raxus mission. That would probably be the most likely time for her to be out there, unsupervised."

Arwain considered it for a moment and turned to Jianno, who nodded. "Sounds like a reasonable assumption," Arwain said in a curious tone.

"So then it couldn't have been her that unearthed Darth Machina," Nerim said. "There's no way it got all the way down the Hydian Way and hopped the Rimma Trade Route, from Galactic Far North to Galactic Far South, changing hands however many times it would need to in order to end up in the possession of an Utapauan cloner in the...what? Three months in between those two time periods, at best?"

Haaka Mahn shot Arwain a stern look, to which Arwain responded with an equally firm stare that said something along the lines of 'mind your own business.'

"What?" Nerim asked defensively.

Chey-Linn broke the silence. "You're putting a lot of mental effort into defending the Cathar princess."

"I've yet to see you put mental effort into anything but attacking me!" Nerim bit back.

"Okay," Arwain said, suddenly standing up from her seat, "We're not going to make any more progress sitting here pontificating about it. We need to approach Aesha's father, Jarroa, and ask him for permission to detain Aesha for questioning."

An expression of bewilderment crossed Chey-Linn's face. "That is unnecessary. Cathar is a world of the Republic, we have the right to detain citizens under reasonable suspicion."

Haaka threaded his fingers together and thought for a moment. "That is true. But the Cathar are a fiery people, and may not react well to us taking such drastic action without warning. Gaining Elder Jarroa's permission would be a significant boon in making the process go smoothly."

"Great," Arwain said tiredly, beginning to walk out of the room. "Glad you see reason. Nerim, come with us. Jianno—"

"I know," Jianno interrupted, raising her hands. "Diplomatic liability. I'll stay out of it. I haven't slept in twenty hours anyways."

Haaka Mahn stood up along with his Padawan, and nodded in affirmation of the plan. "Good idea. Chey-Linn, while we are petitioning Jarroa, I want you to track down Aesha's current whereabouts. Keep an eye on her, just in case she tries to run. Do not intervene, however."

"Yes, Master," Chey-Linn said calmly.

Arwain suddenly stopped, and slowly her eyes narrowed. "I have a bad feeling about this," she mumbled. Then she turned back. "Nerim, I changed my mind. You should find Aesha too."

Nerim blinked in surprise. Haaka seemed even more surprised. "Master Arwain," the Knight started, "is that really wise?"

"Dunno," Arwain said, continuing moving around the table towards the exit.

"I heavily suggest against it!" Haaka objected, moving to the exit at the same time as her, so that they both had to stop at the door. They both looked so exhausted, even more than Nerim was. "After the events of the Temple, he should be at rest, or at least under our supervision. He is unstable!"

Arwain rubbed her forehead in exasperation. "Your lack of faith is enervating."

"Faith? I have had nothing but faith in your approach, Arwain," he replied. "But you have been unconscionably reckless!"

Chey-Linn took the moment of argument to slip out through a side door. Nerim felt that sludgy, crawling sensation in his soul, stood up, and followed her. Jianno silently watched Nerim exit, giving him a nod of confidence as he did so.

He sped up as he left the room, jogging down the hallway until catching up with Chey-Linn, who shot a glare at him. "Why are you following me?" She asked with thinly veiled hostility.

"Actually, I'm passing you," Nerim said, continuing to jog. "Like always!" He added with some amount of vitriol.

He felt a sudden surge of annoyance, and heard Chey-Linn speed up to follow him. She was significantly smaller than him, and at least a year younger, but she somehow kept up just fine. "Hey! You're going to compromise the mission!"

"What mission?" Nerim asked, as she moved alongside him.

"To observe the target without her noticing!" Her voice nearly squeaked as she spoke loudly.

"Oh no," Nerim gave her a cruel smirk, "That's your mission. My Master never said anything about her not noticing me."

Chey-Linn's eyes widened. In surprise, she lagged behind for just a moment, before rushing to try and catch back up. "You—You half-witted, arrogant, laserbrained—"

"Real calm of you!"

"—fuckhead!"

Nerim slid to a stop in shock. "What'd you call me?"



_____________

Spoiler: A/N

If you're gonna break one rule of Star Wars...Then it's going to be to utilize the single f-bomb that Revenge Of The Sith was allowed but never used.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 30: ...Double The Fall

​

Chey-Linn slid to a stop along with Nerim. "Just listen for once in your life!"

Nerim crossed his arms and stared down at her. "Why is it that I constantly need to remind my fellow Jedi that listening is not a synonym for obeying?"

She ignored the comment. "If you interact with the target in any way, you could say something that leads to her fleeing or destroying evidence."

"First off, she's not a target," Nerim scowled, "And secondly, I don't think she's done anything wrong, that's you. I'm not gonna say anything that upsets her. We get along quite well."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Chey-Linn mumbled, beginning to move forward again at a walking pace. Nerim followed after her.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that it is painfully obvious your thoughts linger on your attachments more than your duties as a Jedi," she said in an icy tone. "In the time we spent in the Temple, I often felt your mind center on...unhealthy fixations."

Nerim's frustration dropped out from him for a moment, replaced with sudden fear. He knew there had to have been plenty of times he inadvertently thought of Tetha; she frequently appeared in his mind unbidden. "You what?"

Chey-Linn noticed his sudden apprehension, and restrained a smirk. "Yes, I imagine it was much more obvious to Arwain and Haaka Mahn."

He grit his teeth, feeling his face begin to flush. He didn't respond immediately, quietly becoming angry with himself for letting his thoughts slip. Becoming even angrier at the invasion of his privacy, of his own mind.

Chey-Linn pressed the attack. "Is that why you're so keen on protecting the Cathar princess?"

She had misstepped with that provocation, and Nerim ever-so-slightly relaxed, feeling some relief that she hadn't caught on to Tetha's identity even remotely. "You spend a lot of time thinking about me, don't you?" Nerim asked in a tone as acidic as hers was icy. "It would be kind of flattering, if it weren't coming from a mynock like you."

"You just make yourself hard to ignore," she grumbled.

"Not helping your case."

"The last thing I need is whatever you would define as help."

"And how else can I interpret this constant obsessive need you have to get into my head, huh?" Nerim prodded her in the shoulder, causing her to jump and step away. "Fixating on my fixations. Makes you sound like some sort of weird voyeur when you think about it."

Chey-Linn showed some sort of disgust and horror at the thought. "No! There's nothing in your head that I want to see!"

"It seems almost as if you are jealous," Nerim continued, feeling a sort of malicious satisfaction from how visibly uncomfortable he was making her. "Are you searching for yourself in my thoughts? Because I hate to disappoint you, but I didn't even remember your name until a couple of hours ago!"

"Ugh! It is not of the least interest to me personally!" She grimaced. "I only wish that there was a button to turn your brain off!"

"You're really gross, you know that?! I don't even want to imagine what you'd do if you could—" Nerim suddenly stopped. He felt some sort of strange sensation, like a tugging string tied to the back of his neck, urging him to redirect his attention. "—Wait, personally? Are you reading my thoughts on behalf of someone?"

He saw her eyes momentarily widen, but before she could reply, a familiar figure opened a door and walked out in front of them.

"Why are you shouting...?" Aesha asked, rubbing her eyes. She was visibly sleepy, given that it was still early morning. Somehow the two of them had unconsciously wandered directly outside her room.

The two Padawans replied simultaneously. "I'm not shouting!" and "Because she's always angry!" they both cried.

Aesha stared at them uncomfortably. "...Okay. I will not interrupt your mission—" She said, beginning to turn around and walk back the way she came.

"Wait!" They both shouted.

Aesha froze in place and then slowly turned around, sighing. "Am I to play mediator?"

Nerim and Chey-Linn shared a nervous glance, and then Nerim spoke up. "Uh, actually I was intending to ask you some questions. She just tagged along because she's jealous—"

"Liar!" Chey-Linn said venomously. "I was on my way before your lunatic Master even let you—" She suddenly stopped herself, realizing she was letting too much information slip.

Aesha blinked. "Jealous...? You were searching for me?" Her eyes narrowed slowly, as if she recognized something about this behavior. "Lady Jedi...I am flattered, but..."

"For the love of—" Chey-Linn tugged on her hair. "What is wrong with you imbeciles?!"

Nerim put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Chey-Linn. It can't always work out," he said, as seriously as he could manage.

He had never seen a Jedi more visibly restraining themselves from getting violent.

Aesha crossed her arms with slight discomfort. "Err, you should know that Nerim and I aren't—"

"From the bottom of my heart I beg you," Chey-Linn said through grit teeth, "Please just stop talking."

"I just want to be clear that I am not arm candy!" Aesha replied indignantly. "I am so tired of people acting as though the most interesting facet of me is my marriageability!"

"I am entirely uninterested in every facet about you, least of all your marriageability!" Chey-Linn said in a tone that was somehow both pleading and furious at the same time.

"Hm," Nerim hummed thoughtfully, placing a hand to his chin and trying his best to keep a straight face. "Then the common denominator is that you're interested in my relationships. I wonder why."

Chey-Linn's face began to take a red hue out of anger, which only made the scene more suspect to Aesha, who was feeling more and more awkward. "Err," The Cathar princess started, "My knowledge of the Jedi Order is quite lacking, but is not that kind of affection forbidden, Lady Jedi?"

Chey-Linn took a sudden deep breath. "This must be a Trial of Flesh," she said, referring to the feared test of a Padawan's tolerance to pain and loss. It was not unheard of for Padawans seeking to become knights to suffer lifelong injuries from the test. Some even died.

Aesha's eyes widened. She crossed her arms over her chest as if covering herself from lecherous stares. "F-flesh?! Calm yourself, Lady Jedi! We are in public!"

Chey-Linn screamed, her voice briefly cracking. "Aah! Just shut up! Just shut the hell up, you cretins!"

Nerim doubled over laughing in sadistic glee. Even compared to his use of telekinesis earlier, he had never felt so powerful. He wasn't quite able to read her thoughts, but he took a greatly un-Jedilike pleasure in scrambling them up. It was almost intoxicating; once he started, it was very difficult to stop.

Fully losing her temper, Chey-Linn pointed at Aesha. "Look, you will escort me to your room and—"

Aesha grimaced and reared back.

"—AND REFRAIN FROM INTERFERING in our SEARCH for CONTRABAND!" Chey-Linn loudly added.

Nerim stopped laughing, and raised his head up in surprise. After all that, she gave the game away?

Aesha seemed similarly surprised. "Excuse me, contraband? What could you possibly—"

"Under article five section A of the Sith Containment Act, you are being detained!" Chey-Linn said forcefully, drawing her lightsaber hilt.

"Whoa!" Nerim raised his hands. He was shocked by the speed of escalation. That sludgy, crawling sensation only grew stronger. There was something thick in the air.

"Move!" Chey-Linn said to Aesha, gesturing her to move back into her room. Aesha kept her hands up and nervously walked backwards.

Nerim quickly fished his communicator out of his utility belt and pressed down on the button. "Master...?" He began, before realizing it wasn't on. He cursed. The battery had run out abnormally quickly while they were trapped in the Temple, and he hadn't had the time to recharge it since they returned. The others might have in the airspeeder ride back, but he passed out before he could plug anything in.

He was faced with the decision to run and inform the senior Jedi and leave Aesha alone with an angry Chey-Linn, and quickly realized it was no decision at all. He swiftly followed the two. "Calm yourself down, Chey-Linn!"

"Quiet!" She barked at him. "And stay back! You're obviously no help at all, at best! Do not interfere!"

He bit the inside of his cheek. He had really pushed her too far this time. "This is even against Haaka Mahn's orders!"

"Those orders were given before you were sent to sabotage me!" She replied. She stepped into Aesha's room, and Nerim swiftly followed before she could shut the door on him. Chey-Linn closed her eyes for a moment. "I sense something Dark in this room."

Nerim tried his best to reach out, and was surprised to find he felt something too—albeit not what he would describe as Dark in nature. It was a small trickle of that same waterfall-like feeling he had in the Revanchist Temple. Aesha nervously swallowed, but did not respond.

Chey-Linn's eyes moved towards Aesha's desk, a large, opulent workspace set next to a tall stained glass window which streamed with early morning light. She moved forward and began ransacking the drawers in Aesha's desk, keeping one eye on the Cathar.

"Hold on, be reasonable," Nerim said as he attempted to remember back to his studies, to pinpoint what law she was referring to. He was made to study it prior to the mission as well. "You don't need to toss all of her belongings. I'm not sure that's even legal!" He objected, desperately trying to buy time to just think.

Chey-Linn pulled out a book and slammed it on the desk with triumphant glee. It was obviously ancient, made of some sort of heavily treated material that gleamed as if dipped in resin. The text on the front was archaic, but Galactic Basic was a highly standardized language, and even four thousand years would not render it unreadable. Even if it did, though, the indented picture on the front would leave little to the imagination. It was, without a doubt, a manuscript of the lightsaber Forms.

Nerim balked, staring blankly at it and then raising his gaze to Aesha. "You...took a manuscript from the Temple?"

Aesha frowned with desperation. "Nerim, it is as I said on Raxus! I...I wish to be in tune with the Force! To be a Knight, like you!"

"Finally," Chey-Linn said with pleasure, smirking confidently and keeping her hilt raised towards Aesha. "We have everything we need. We have the contraband, the genetic evidence at the Temple, and we have a confession. Just think about how much easier this all could have been if you weren't actively sabotaging me."

"Nerim..." Aesha pleaded.

"Hold on!" Nerim said, pushing Chey-Linn to the side to get a better look at the book. His mind was racing for the memorized information he was seeking. "This is...This isn't a Sith text! The Sith Containment Act only allows us to detain or penalize citizens for holding specifically Sith texts, not just any alternative view of the Force!"

Chey-Linn looked at him, clearly unimpressed, still riding high off of her vindication. The morning light streamed through the glass over her face, covering it in a cascade of bright colors that almost hid her facial features, as if she were a floating pair of eyes in a sea of stained glass, marred by dark rings of fatigue. "It's from a Sith Temple! It is obviously a Sith text."

"It is NOT!" Aesha loudly objected. "It is from a Revanchist Temple! Revan was a Jedi!"

"Darth Revan was a Sith Lord!"

"You watch your tongue!" Aesha hissed. "Revan is a hero to my people!"

"Your primitive superstitions are not my concern!"

Aesha's pupils narrowed into menacing slits. "You get one more chance, offworlder."

Nerim felt that electric sensation stronger than he ever had, like a lightning bolt striking his spine. Aesha began to growl, and Nerim jumped into the conversation again. "Just wait a moment! Master Arwain has repeatedly told us that they were not Sith at the time of the Temple's founding!"

"Arwain's insanity is of even less value to me!" Chey-Linn sneered at him.

"She's a Master!" He tried to reason. "Can you recall if there is any case law of artifacts of a pre-Sith people falling under this restriction? Because I have no idea if this is legal or not! Just call Haa—"

"Why are you defending her?!" Chey-Linn said, her triumph transmuting back into fury at his obstruction. "Re-examine your priorities! This is a matter of existential importance! Our utmost priority is to prevent the return of the Sith!"

Nerim stared her down. "That is where we disagree."

"Then you are lost! Just as lost as these Sith-worshipping cat—"

Aesha broke into a sprint, running the short distance between herself and Chey-Linn, jumping in the air, and then kicking both of her heels into the Padawan's chest. With a great shattering, Chey-Linn was sent flying through the tall window beside the desk, and disappeared below the edge of it, while Aesha dropped to the floor.

Nerim ran to the window and looked down in horror, to see Chey-Linn tumble to a stop on an airspeeder landing pad two stories down. The fall looked harsh, but not fatal—especially not for someone as acrobatic as her. After a moment, she got up and ran into the hangar out of sight. "Aesha, you madwoman!" He sighed in, well, not relief, but at least a release of the immediate panic of death. "I mean, I understand, but that was nearly a murder!"

He turned to see Aesha already standing again, holding a short tube of metal. It was polished to a sheen with new parts, and had a button on the handle. No matter how he looked at it, it was definitely a lightsaber.

"Aww, that is illegal!" Nerim whined. "Why can't you just make things easy on me?"

"It's a replica!" She quickly explained. "I made it. It is nonfunctional."

He breathed a sigh of actual relief this time. Replicas were legal, as long as they didn't produce a blade. "Okay, good. So—" She tossed him the hilt, and he grabbed it, immediately feeling a calming rumble from the inside, that rightness and balance he would expect from a lightsaber, only, just slightly off. Like his before he could use the Force to align it. He blinked. "You made it with real parts?! Is there a crystal in here?"

"I have tried many times to make it a real lightsaber," She admitted to him, with both desperation and resolve. "I give it to you as a sign of trust. And also as a plea. I am...I am not a real Jedi. If she tries to kill us, I cannot protect us. You are my only hope."

"That's ridiculous. She won't try to kill us."

"What would you do if you were convinced beyond reason I was a Sith?"

He thought for a moment, and decided not to answer it honestly. He grabbed her wrist. "Come on, we need to get to my Master."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 31: Could Use A Little More Training​

Nerim rushed out of the room with Aesha in tow. A concerned maid stuck her head out from a doorway, and Nerim pointed at her. "Call the guards!" He shouted, then ran down the hall back towards where he had come from. He only vaguely remembered the twists and turns they had taken to get here, and even then he realized after a few moments of running that the Jedi wouldn't even be where they had left them.

"Damn," he said sharply, turning to Aesha as they ran. "Where's your father?"

She thought for a moment. "He should be two levels up from here, in his study! He always—"

They slid to a stop as two guards rounded the corner, saw them, and drew their blasters. "There he is!" One said, leveling his pistol at Nerim. "Step away from the princess!"

"Whoa, whoa!" He raised his hands.

Aesha stepped in front of him. "Hold your fire!"

The guards, one a younger man and one quite a bit older, glanced at each other. "Excuse me, your highness, we were alerted to a kidnapping by a Dark Jedi—"

"Wait! I'm not the Dark Jedi!" Nerim whined. "I don't even think she is!"

"He's helping me, not kidnapping me!" Aesha spoke over him. "Arrest the Human Lady Jedi!"

The younger one had an expression of utter confusion on his face, but the older one kept it together. "That's quite the conflicting report with what the Lady Jedi said. If you are what you say you are, relinquish her to our custody—"

"Okay!" Nerim said happily, while simultaneously Aesha glared at the guard and shouted "I am not a thing to be relinquished!"

"Priorities, Aesha!" Nerim snapped at her, as they heard another pair of footsteps rush up a set of stairs.

Chey-Linn, with impressive alacrity—especially given her bruises—bounded to the top of the stairs at the end of the hallway. The two guards stood between the Jedi, and while the younger one was skittish and jumped to point his blaster at Chey-Linn, the older one kept steadily pointed towards Nerim.

Chey-Linn limped forward, defiant of the silent threat pointed at her. "Stand down. In the name of the Republic, the princess is under arrest."

The young guard blinked. "Under arrest?" He turned his head slightly, keeping his eyes on Chey-Linn, and spoke to the older guard. "I thought it was—"

She drew her lightsaber hilt and pointed it at Nerim. "That one is also defying the law. Who knows where he's taking her."

Nerim frowned. "From my point of view—"

Aesha stamped her foot. "Stop gawking and arrest her!"

The younger guard nervously began to lower his gun, and then raise it again, unsure of his next action. "W-what do we do? She's a Jedi. They have the right to..."

The older one spoke in a level voice. "We're loyal to the chieftain. Both of you, drop your swords. We'll handle this like civilized people when order is restored."

"Okay," Nerim said as Chey-Linn simultaneously said "No."

Chey-Linn continued. "You have no authority to demand that. I am acting as a representative of the central body of the Republic, and you must yield."

Nerim began to sense something, a rumbling in the room, a great anger emanating from Chey-Linn. A deep, roiling disquiet that was beginning to boil over. He felt flashes of rage and resentment, words rising to the back of his head unbidden, as if from another mental voice. Unfair, it growled. A quick mental checklist flashed in his mind, a list of laws and procedures, checked boxes. No, worse. Insubordinate. Illegal.

He placed a hand to the side of his head at the sudden shock of the alien thoughts. It's crystal clear, the voice snarled, Done everything right. Savages. He felt the pain of joints and bruises. Even attacked me. Cannot happen. Cannot be allowed. Cannot stand. Can't. Can't. Can't.

It was all too much. There was something else, too, some sort of...writhing. Retching, even. Something was deeply wrong in a way he couldn't account for, even beyond the energy she was putting off. Nerim cast his eyes down for a moment, and then raised them. "I can't give you my lightsaber if she gets to keep hers."

Chey-Linn ignited her lightsaber, a cold blue glow engulfing the hallway. "This will be settled in a high court, not in this tree by a bunch of palace guards in the Outer Rim. I will consider any further resistance a form of insurrection."

"Sir..." The young guard said nervously.

The older one flicked a switch on his blaster. "Set to stun. We have to ensure Aesha's safety."

He felt it again, that sudden flicker of vindication turning into rage at being denied. That sensation of victory being snatched out from under you, that burning fury of deserving something and having that thing taken away. Chey-Linn began running forwards.

Nerim suddenly felt a sensation actually meant for him, that electric tugging, and ignited his lightsaber just in time to see the stun ring flying towards him. He deflected it sideways, searing a circle into the wall next to him. A split second later the younger one fired at Chey-Linn, who deflected it directly back at him. The guard was tossed into the back of his older companion, sending them both to the floor.

Aesha grabbed the back of Nerim's collar and pulled. "Follow me!"

Nerim began to run with her towards the edge of the tree's structure, throwing a quick glance behind to see Chey-Linn momentarily distracted by dealing with the guards, swinging her lightsaber down and cutting the younger's blaster in half. He then looked back to Aesha and kept running with her. "Where are we going?!"

"High gardens! We'll climb up the branches to the next floor!"

He stayed a step behind her until they ran right through a pair of glass doors that were, mercifully, already open. The exterior platform was almost like the gigantic half-circle balconies on Utapau, and were absolutely covered in flowers and vegetation of all sorts. A series of strong branches, varying in width from about that of his leg to about that of their airspeeder snaked through the gardens and above them, where he could see another smaller balcony that, hopefully, would lead to his Master.

Aesha wasted no time jumping from one branch to another, clearly already practiced in this shortcut. He scrambled after her, wasting precious seconds having to either strain himself to follow her steps or plan out alternative routes more suited to his skill set. He tried to focus on Chey-Linn's energy, sense where she was in relation to him, but distance and distraction made it grow faint. He cycled his mind through every different facet, hoping to lock on to her anger, or her train of thought, but each individual attempt failed.

Except...he still felt that retching. Now that he focused on it, he felt it all around him, in every direction. It was ill and draining, repulsive and enervating. It made him want to stop reaching out with the Force, it made using it feel as if he were trying to climb a ladder with a pair of broken arms. Could...everyone feel that? Is that why, he wondered, neither Haaka Mahn or Arwain had sensed this turmoil?

They had only managed to make it about a third of the way there when Chey-Linn ran into the gardens with them. She began climbing after them with great alacrity, and Nerim immediately realized he wouldn't be able to make it before she caught up. She was just faster than the two of them. He landed on a relatively wide and flat branch, and ignited his lightsaber.

Chey-Linn jumped up and landed to his left, about a dozen feet away, and ignited her own blade. The branch was wide enough to properly stand on, but not enough for two people to walk by one another. It was perpendicular to the City-Tree, and Chey-Linn stood between him and the tree. Behind him was only Aesha and a couple dozen more feet of branch before it widdled away to a few twigs hanging over the edge. Below him were a tangle of brambles that would drop him back down into the garden, if only just barely.

He felt that rage flowing through Chey-Linn again, like rapids pulling her forward. She pointed her blade at him. "I'm giving you one last chance to return to your duty!"

Nerim nervously raised his blade in front of himself. He really wasn't sure he could beat her if he had to. He agreed with almost everything that frustrated her; she was better than him. Stronger in the Force. Even when he could only intuit that fact from context clues he knew it, but now as they stood apart from each other, he could feel it, he could feel the difference in pressure. He considered surrender.

Refuse, he heard her echo. I have the advantage. The skill, the environment, the law, the Force. Refuse, and let me prove it.

Aesha shuddered behind him. "Nerim...?"

Her lightsaber was most certainly not set to training mode. Neither was Nerim's. He swallowed. "You've already assaulted multiple people. I can't let you hurt her. We need—"

Heat. He felt burning heat across his face, like he just looked in a furnace. "She attacked me!" Chey-Linn yelled.

"We need to contact our—"

She stepped forward, and Nerim stepped back in fear. "No more stalling, not after what you did the last time!" She shouted. "Drop it or I will make you!"

Nerim took a deep breath. He stood there, still for a moment, letting the wind pass over him. The words 'I surrender' hung in his throat, but then, between the anger and retching and fear, he felt something from behind him. Aesha's nervous energy, the shivering of her muscles, tenseness of her core. The same exact thing he felt from her in the freezer on Raxus Secundus. She needed him then, and she needed him now. He hadn't thought he could help her then, but he did. He wasn't sure he could help her now, but...

He kept his blade raised. There was nothing else to say.

Chey-Linn's face darkened. "Haaka was right about you. You were always a time bomb waiting to go off."

Nerim's eyes widened, but he didn't have time to respond in any way before she stepped forward and swung at him. He deflected the attack, careful not to let the momentum carry him to the side where he might fall. She was highly trained in Shii-Cho, the most fundamental form of lightsaber combat, well-suited to this clash on a limited tree branch. Meanwhile, Juyo was absurdly risky in this circumstance; Nerim thought that it was at best a coinflip—and worse, it would almost certainly end in a lethal blow.

He defaulted to the basics of Makashi, making quick swipes and jabs in response, shuffling backwards and forwards on their limited axis of movement. He did not know his style as well as she knew hers. Each clash favored her, leaving him primarily on the defensive. Her superior speed let her swing from a multitude of angles, and he had to keep his hands close to his core to make up for it, limiting his offensive options.

He immediately felt that oppressive anticipation of failure, that knowing that he was going to lose. There was nothing to exploit here, no environment, no time to pull any tricks, no distractions. The time it would take him to draw his blaster would be suicide, and all of his other gimmicks were either something she knew about, or something that required lateral movement that was impossible on the narrow branch.

Nerim felt the crawling of electricity on his back, a tug towards Aesha. He somehow knew she was about to try something. "No!" He called back to her, a mere moment before she attempted to jump to another branch to circle around. "Don't fight her! You'll only get hurt! Even if she defeats me," he huffed, batting the blue lightsaber away with a clash of yellow sparks, "Even if she kills me, surrender immediately!"

Aesha hesitated, as Chey-Linn moved in and chopped her lightsaber down towards Nerim's waiting guard. He intercepted it, clashing with her blade. They moved and shifted in the bind, pulling and pushing each other, trying to get to some sort of advantageous position as the plasma fields of their blades slid in jumps and starts, intertwining and sticking together.

Nerim leveraged his strength and pushed, trying to get their bind in a position where he could safely deliver a kick to his opponent, but Chey-Linn pushed back with surprising strength, empowered by the Force. Nerim grit his teeth. "Are you really...trying to kill me?"

Chey-Linn looked him in the eye, her face alternating in color rapidly as their blades discharged golden light against one another. "I will do what I must."

"Mar'e," Nerim grimaced. They broke from the bind, and three short clashes followed. Nerim knocked their blades off of the center of battle, and attempted to use the opportunity to ram into Chey-Linn with his shoulder, hoping to begin the process of knocking her off the branch. He miscalculated, as she used her lower center of gravity to duck underneath him, causing him to stumble over her and nearly fall himself.

He twisted his body to stay on the branch as they nearly traded places. His desperate attempts at balancing were brought short when Chey-Linn slashed at him. His awkward positioning made him rely solely on his left hand to defend, and it wasn't enough. She broke right through his guard and cut into his bicep, and Nerim felt the searing blade pass through his flesh as if it wasn't even there—and then he realized, it wasn't, not anymore. A deep, primal animal panic took hold of him as he recognized the inch-deep gash in his flesh, almost to the bone. The edges of the tunic it had cut through were burning, and he involuntarily let loose a scream of pain and terror. He vaguely recognized that, at the same time, Aesha screamed out his name.

Chey-Linn took the space in the center of the branch he had been standing on, and planted her heel in his stomach, kicking him off. He felt smaller branches batter his body as he fell between them, some snapping around him and others buffeting him off in another direction. He attempted to reach out with his left hand and grab a passing branch to stop his fall, only to realize his arm didn't respond properly, half of the muscles he was attempting to use were simply not there.

He tumbled to a stop in a net of vines, hanging precariously over the long drop to ground level, and looked back up. His lightsaber had slid to a stop on the branch they were fighting on, precariously balanced, and Chey-Linn looked down at him, an expression of relief and triumph on her face. He could feel, she was not only glad that she won, she was relieved that it was easy.

His heart jumped to his throat as he saw Aesha bend down to pick up his lightsaber and ignite it, taking a battle stance. Chey-Linn's smile dropped and her eyes widened, her pupils shrunk to a pinprick, and she slowly turned her head to the Cathar princess. "So...You are training in the Sith arts. You are a meager, savage imitation of their evil."

Aesha held up Nerim's lightsaber, bathing her face in its yellow-green glow. "I may be just a fake," she said with a wavering voice, "But I am a fake Jedi."

Chey-Linn sneered at her. "We are NOT the same," she said, and then began to march towards Aesha.

Nerim's heart pounded faster and faster as he scrambled amid the branches, grappling for anything he could get a hold of and scrambling upwards as fast as he physically could with his left arm only partially functional. Maybe even faster. "No, no, no, no, no..." he muttered to himself, feeling a pit in his stomach, as if the sludge in his soul had coalesced into a black hole. Fatigue, searing pain, and most of all panic swirled and crashed in his mind, his weary limbs dragging himself up bit by bit, as he heard the first clashes.

Chey-Linn engaged Aesha cautiously, attempting to tease out any hidden tricks or skill she had. Aesha engaged heartily and bravely, casting her fear aside and pressing the attack. She was almost as fast as Chey-Linn, and even though her movements were stiff and she overcommitted to her swings more often than not, she was much stronger, and her range was much greater. Even with her nearly-nonexistent skills at lightsaber combat, she was dangerous.

Nerim was still desperately climbing as he felt as sudden foreign pang of fear. He glanced up to see Aesha bring down a formidable diagonal swipe, which Chey-Linn only barely leaned back and dodged in time. The Padawan's breath caught as she realized the sudden danger, her mind focused on what she perceived to be a threat—a Dark Sider in training, what she was sworn to destroy. In her mind, there was no room to hold back.

Aesha tried to catch her on the backswing, pulling the blade in a horizontal slash at Chey-Linn's shoulder height. It was a terrible mistake, made only more terrible by the fact Nerim could see exactly where it would lead a moment before it did. Chey-Linn quickly dodged underneath it, dropping to one knee while rushing forward and letting loose her own horizontal slash.

Chey-Linn's blue blade sliced directly through Aesha's legs, just above the knee, burning through her flesh with an electric hum and a hiss. He could almost swear he heard the bubbling and popping of her flesh at the point of contact, as the Cathar Princess let out a silent, shocked breath and fell to the branch beneath her with a sickening thud. Nerim's lightsaber slipped out of her hands and deactivated, beginning a long fall down the hundreds of stories to the savanna floor.

"NO!" Nerim screamed. He summoned all the strength he was capable of and made the final jump, soaring onto the branch a small distance from the two of them. Aesha was silent in shock, her eyes aimlessly staring forward at the branch beneath her as she struggled to breathe and Chey-Linn slowly turned to face him.

He pulled Aesha's uncompleted lightsaber from his belt and sent a surge of power down his arm, through his hand and into the hilt. He heard several sharp clicks, and then pressed the button, igniting a blade just as brilliantly blue as Chey-Linn's was cold. He glared forward at her, feeling a swirling in the air, an upwelling of power from somewhere within him. All of his fear had transformed into fury.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 32: Going To Get Us Both Killed​

Nerim stepped backwards, inviting Chey-Linn to step forwards and away from Aesha as she silently writhed on the branch, trying to move legs that were no longer connected to her. Chey-Linn took the opportunity, swiftly advancing, raising her lightsaber with a short flourish.

"Are you looking for a repeat?" She said, without a hint of mirth or a smile. Whatever ability he had to read her mind was gone now, drowned out by the thumping of his heart in his ears, the clench of his teeth and the speed of his breath.

Nerim pointed his blade at her, his left hand noticeably shaky in its grip, mostly relying on his right. "Are you?"

He saw her tense up, and then rush forward with the intent to attack. Nerim decided he was ready for a coinflip. He ran directly at her, surprising her with his aggressiveness, and put his momentum into a vicious slash from below to cut diagonally across her body upwards. She blocked it without much effort, but the inertia carried their blades upwards, giving him a clear shot to kick her directly in the gut.

Her center of gravity tilted backwards, making her have to pull one foot behind herself to stop from falling on her rear. He was ready for it, and slashed at the leg that remained forward, catching her in an awkward position where she couldn't move her leg out of the way without falling forward. She relied on her strength to block his blow, turning her wide stance into an advantage, evenly distributing the force across her entire body in a way that was almost impossible to overpower.

However, Nerim could easily improvise with that. The horse stance, though it has powerful benefits when blocking, effectively cripples your range—somewhere she already suffered compared to him. He was safe from any counter-attack, and let his blade deactivate, swapping the hilt to his crippled left hand. Chey-Linn's lightsaber wildly swung to the side and she leaned forward off-balance, surprised by the sudden move.

Nerim grabbed her sword-hand with his right arm and pushed it outwards away from him, and moved in. He placed Aesha's lightsaber hilt under Chey-Linn's chin, and pressed the button. In the minuscule delay between pressing the button and the blade extending, he saw her eyes turn wild with fear, and in an incredible burst of speed she threw herself backwards. The blue blade singed her bangs as she fell back, tossing herself off the branch entirely at the mercy of gravity.

Nerim was unable to keep hold of her with his other hand, but any attempt she could have made at a counterattack was rendered moot as she fell. They broke apart, and found that luck was on her side; a quite small branch had found itself directly below her, and she landed on it unsteadily with both of her feet, rapidly attempting to regain her balance. She looked up at him, her expression having entirely changed to one of shock. The ease at which she was fighting earlier had entirely disappeared, replaced with the horrible realization; she could die here.

He paced impatiently, swapping Aesha's lightsaber back to his right hand and letting it trail along side him, humming as it cut the air. It briefly occurred to him, too, that he had just tried to kill her. The thought trembled in his head, as if it were a nervous child raising its hand in question. Something else in his brain, a snarling creature, snapped back at it, and it quietly retracted its objection. The lightsaber buzzed in his hand, eager to return to battle.

From below on the garden floor, a group of palace guards arrived, pointing their blasters upwards and squinting through the occluding sunlight to make out the two Jedi. From their position, Aesha wasn't visible, and so they confusedly began speaking into their communicators asking for instruction. He realized that at this rate, Jarroa either was or would quickly be informed, and by extension, so would their Masters. It wouldn't take them more than a minute or two to arrive.

Suddenly, he realized something poking at the edge of his consciousness, a brief glimpse into Chey-Linn's mind. In her, he found the exact opposite thought; her hands trembled as she came to the conclusion that she was truly, deeply alone. He felt...a flicker of what he had experienced in his nightmare, somewhere within her.

It was entirely irrational, but she was somehow convinced that she was never going to see Haaka Mahn again. Her senses had fooled her in some way, as if she had vertigo, like her inner ear was convinced she was spinning and falling even though she was still, and she could not help but heed the visceral sensation over cold rationalism.

Chey-Linn steeled herself, and crouched onto the branch, letting it drop with her weight and then spring back up with her leap. She soared through the air and flipped above him, landing on her feet on the side farther from the City-Tree. He moved forward and swung his saber with both arms, clashing with her. She breathed in sharply as she mustered her strength, attempting to push his blade back into himself.

He stared her in the eye, trying his best not to lose control, when he suddenly saw over her shoulder; Aesha's body, now unconscious—or worse—limp on the tree branch. Both of her legs scattered behind her. Suddenly, he felt that waterfall sensation from the Temple again, that white-water current now pushing him forwards. He didn't shy away from the conflict, putting his full weight into it. Chey-Linn's eyes widened as she felt him begin to overpower her in the bind, and she broke out of it, stepping backwards and then forward again for a quick counterattack.

She slashed at him several times in rapid succession, pushing him backwards, utilizing every ounce of her strength and speed. In one last maneuver, quicker than the eye could see in a well-practiced motion, she moved to one side and then the other, spinning to slash at him. It was faster than he could possibly respond, faster than Arwain had ever gone against him. And her slash went completely wide, as she over stepped and her foot slid halfway off the branch, throwing her balance off completely. He didn't even have to defend against it. For a brief moment, suspended in motion, he saw her eyes flatten with recognition, and her confidence leave her.

With half as much supernatural speed, Nerim responded by lunging forward, keeping his blade between himself and hers, and stomping on her foot. She grit her teeth in pain, but maintained control, readjusting her footing and trying to wind her lightsaber behind his defenses. He took advantage of his closeness and stepped in between her feet, twisting to place his back to her as he did so. He blocked her lightsaber with the blade in his right hand, and then used his left hand to grab the hilt of her lightsaber between her own two hands. He then began to push with both arms, away from the both of them.

Somehow, his crippled arm was outputting just as much—no, more force than he normally could muster with either arm in perfect health. Chey-Linn began to panic, attempting to knee or kick him, but his closeness ensured she couldn't get any proper leverage. Both of her hands were firmly trying to hold the lightsaber hilt, and she was unable to circle around due to the narrow branch. If he were in her position, he would've bit his crippled arm at the lightsaber wound, but the thought apparently either didn't occur or didn't appeal to her.

Instead, Chey-Linn suddenly let go of her lightsaber, and kicked him forward. Before he could turn around, he felt a familiar wave of strong pressure, and slid even further forwards, threatening to fall over entirely. He whipped around to see her thrusting both her hands out, and the air rumbled around him in a way that he felt more than heard. Suddenly it reversed, and Chey-Linn's lightsaber writhed out of his hand, beginning to fly back towards her.

"No." He reached his arm out, and the lightsaber froze in mid-air, shuddering back and forth. He realized a moment later that the voice had come from him. That sensation was growing stronger, and stronger still. He realized what it was, what his Master had described in the Temple: Righteous fury.

Chey-Linn was obviously surprised by the resistance, and the lightsaber slid in the air towards Nerim, before she regained her form and redoubled her efforts. Nerim stepped forward, pulling harder. Chey-Linn's voice escaped her throat in a strained groan as she used every last drop of her strength, but perhaps she was fatigued from overuse of the Force, or perhaps that righteous fury was stronger than either of them had realized. He stepped forward again, and it jiggled yet closer, until it was close enough.

Nerim slashed the hilt in half, splitting Chey-Linn's lightsaber down the middle. There was a brief explosion of blue energy as Aesha's blade passed through Chey-Linn's crystal, small arcs of azure plasma jetting in opposite directions out the top and bottom of it like a quasar, thoroughly melting all the components. The crystal fell to the branch superheated but unharmed, bouncing off and somewhere into the garden below. Nerim huffed in exertion, deactivating Aesha's saber and continuing to move forwards.

Chey-Linn's face paled. "My bla—"

She was cut off as Nerim's fist found its way into her jaw. He heard a crack as she dropped to her back on the branch. "We are not even CLOSE to done, chakaar!" He shouted, sitting with one knee on either side of her, his fist raised threateningly.

She coughed, sputtering and choking until a tooth was expelled from her throat and drooled out onto the tree in a mix of saliva and blood. His left hand shot out and wrapped around her throat, his right fist, still holding the deactivated hilt of Aesha's blade, ready to punch her directly into the branch below. That animal in his head snarled again. Cripple her, it growled. She deserves to lose something too.

His left arm, still shivering with pain and alien in its operation to him, missing some of its structure and relying on the Force to remain functional, pressed into her throat, cutting off her air. It squeezed as tight as it could, and her face began to turn red from the pressure.

But somehow, his right hand hesitated. He realized something felt wrong in his palm. The crystal of Aesha's blade was humming dissonantly. It...disapproved. Somehow, as he focused on it, he heard it speak in Aesha's voice in his head. Not me. Don't use me for this. I am a tool of a Jedi.

Nerim's mind snapped back into place, and he broke out of the stream. The righteous fury still swarmed around him, pouring down from the sky directly onto Chey-Linn, as if the world itself were trying to pummel her. But it broke around him, splashing off of his skin instead of flowing through him.

His left arm relaxed, at first voluntarily, and then very much not as whatever vitality he had been pressing into it left him. It hung limply at his side, throbbing with pain exceeding almost anything he had felt before. He leaned back on his heels and exhaled sharply at the sensation, while Chey-Linn warily looked up at him.

Suddenly, he felt a flare of anxiety behind and above him. "Chey-Linn!" He heard Haaka Mahn's gurgling voice shout, and then a series of flexing branches as the Knight jumped through the foliage down towards them. It was followed by a series of steps that were lighter, but no less quick.

Nerim climbed off of Chey-Linn and then fell backwards, his weary knees giving out and rolling him onto his back, his legs still resting on top of hers. He clenched his teeth in pain and closed his eyes, and when they opened, the blurry image of Haaka Mahn stood above him, the Knight's blue lightsaber active and pointed downwards.

"Get...Aesha...bacta," Nerim huffed.

"What did you do?!" The Knight asked, his tone clearly accusatory.

Arwain rushed up behind him, poking her head over his shoulder like a curious parrot that just so happened to have a sword at the ready. "This is rather bad. All three of them need medical—Nerim, whose lightsaber is that?"

"Arwain. Priorities." Nerim said through grit teeth.

"Right," she said. "Haaka, you grab Aesha. I'll—"

Nerim didn't hear the rest, as he was suddenly preoccupied with a ringing in his ears and a feeling of his peripheral vision blurring and then turning black. For a moment he felt like he was falling, and then he was unconscious.


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


Nerim had awoken from his dreamless sleep with his left arm in a hefty, bacta-packed cast, and immediately stood up and got out of bed before he had even realized he was in a bed. Arwain, who had been sitting on a chair next to him, immediately shoved him back down into the bed.

"Whoa there. You need to take it easy," Arwain said cautiously. She looked him over while he twisted his head to try and get an impression of where they were. It was a hospital room of some sort, small but private. It was afternoon outside. He must've been out for at least several hours.

"Huh," he said. "I'm not in jail. Or..." He glanced to Arwain. "You're in jail with me."

She lightly exhaled in amusement, but didn't smile. "Good instinct, but no. We're...I hesitate to say 'okay', but we're not in immediate danger right now. The—"

Nerim bolted upright in the bed again, his heart racing. "Where's Aesha? Is she okay?"

His Master stared at him for a moment. "I...hesitate to say 'okay.' But she's stable. She actually woke up a few moments after you passed out. Thanks to her swift testimony, you're not currently under arrest. I'm not sure if she's awake right now, she may still be suspended in a bacta tank. I don't think they'll be able to reattach her legs."

Nerim took a deep breath, and tried to relax again. His left arm was entirely numb, so the pain was mostly gone from his body. He stared at the ceiling, not sure what to make of it all.

Arwain continued. "Aesha said that Chey-Linn went crazy and attacked the two of you. Is that true?"

He uncomfortably shifted position. "It's...Not exactly. Aesha threw the first blow. The first physical one, anyways."

Arwain looked at him, her expression neutral, examining him closely as he continued the story from the beginning. He told her how they had argued on the way, admitted he was needling her as best he could. He explained their difference in legal opinion, to which Arwain offered no commentary even when Nerim prompted her with a short silence. Then he continued, describing how Aesha lost patience with the insults, and a fight broke out.

His hands—or well, his one hand that was free—trembled as he finished the description of the fight. "I disarmed her using the Force, and pinned her to the ground. Master, I...I wanted to cripple her. I think I wanted to kill her."

His Master slowly blinked, leaned forward and studying his expression. "And?"

"I—I don't think I would've stopped myself," he admitted weakly. "I didn't stop because I wanted to. I stopped because...Something like a voice told me to. If Aesha's crystal wasn't there, I don't know if..."

He trailed off. For the first time in seemingly so long, Arwain smiled, and placed her hand on his head comfortingly. "Nerim. Remember what I told you, on Raxus Secundus? A Jedi draws strength from the world around him. Don't think yourself deficient because you regained control of yourself from listening to an outside source. Take confidence in the fact that you can listen, even when you don't want to."

Nerim looked up at her, feeling his throat contract. Tears started falling from his eyes, and he tried not to sob. "Master, what's happening?" He asked, not even entirely sure what he was referring to.

She gently rubbed the top of his head. "I don't know, my Apprentice. There is something...wrong in the Force. Not just here, but everywhere. It is as if..." she trailed off, and then shook her head. "I have become aware of a great Darkness, somewhere. But I cannot pinpoint it. I will have to bring this to the attention of the Council."

Arwain's expression suddenly became pained. "Ugh," she sighed, "The Council. Master Fae is going to kill both of us."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 33: Always Two​

After another hour of Arwain grilling him for every detail he could remember about the altercation, Nerim wiped away the last remnants of his tears. "Where are Haaka and Chey-Linn?"

"Chey-Linn is in holding, currently. Her wounds weren't that bad," Arwain leaned back in her chair. "I imagine Jarroa will want some form of justice, which will probably mean transporting her back to Coruscant to hold a trial in a high court, to determine if there was any actual wrongdoing."

Nerim looked down at his cast solemnly. "...Master, was I in the wrong? Legally speaking?"

She took a deep breath. "I actually don't know. I searched for an answer while you were unconscious. I don't think that a piece of Mandalorian Wars-era Revanchist literature has been recovered by a non-Jedi since the Ruusan Reformation. There may well be no precedent as to whether or not this counts as a Sith artifact. There will have to be an in-depth study into the author, as well as every other facet of the Temple. The trial, even if expedited, will probably take years."

Arwain tapped her foot for a moment and continued. "If it does end up being considered a Sith Artifact, then you were in the wrong for defending Aesha, and she was in the wrong for possessing and defending it. If it ends up being recognized as something else...Aesha is still probably in trouble for starting a physical altercation, but it may get dismissed because of Chey-Linn's behavior."

Nerim stared at the cast, and then looked up to his Master. "Well then, I hope it's not a Sith artifact."

She chuckled. "It's not. They were still recognized members of the Jedi Order at that time, as anxiety-inducing as the current Order finds that statement. But who knows? Regardless, I don't think you were wrong for defending Aesha. Although, I wish you could've found a more peaceful solution..."

"Me too," Nerim said, quickly and bitterly. He reached down and held the hilt of Aesha's lightsaber in his lap.

"You underestimate your power, young Padawan," she said, standing up. "You have the ability to greatly affect others. For good, or for ill. Chey-Linn may very well have acted drastically without your antagonism, but that is hard to say. A little easier is that I don't think Aesha would have pursued Jedi artifacts so vigorously if she wasn't so impressed with you."

"So..." Nerim frowned. "You're saying this is all my fault."

She thought for a moment. "It would be easy to make that case. For any of us, really. You, for affecting people in the way you did. Chey-Linn, for her lack of self control. Myself, most certainly, for putting the pieces in position for us to make these mistakes. What's important now is for everyone to reexamine themselves and correct our own mistakes. And also..."

She was interrupted as the door opened. A protocol droid waddled in, stiffly bowing to the two. "Excuse me, Lady Jedi, Master Jedi. Your presence has been requested by the royal family. If, that is, you are well enough to attend?"


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


Nerim awkwardly entered the large antechamber, just outside of an operating room. Inside the smooth white room, stacked with medical equipment and several droids and sentient doctors alike, laying back on a thin medical bed was Aesha. Or at least, most of her. Her legs were cleanly amputated just above the knee, bandaged up for now.

She looked dreadfully tired, and her fur was slick and slimey with bacta residue. Her eyes were red, and her pupils were flat and lifeless. Jarroa stood over her, holding her hand in his, his face etched with deep worry. Nerim briefly noticed, set out on the table next to them were two cybernetic legs, currently being worked on by a medical droid with what seemed to be a dozen small arms.

He slowly moved up to the two Cathar, as if expecting to be attacked, and Arwain somberly followed behind. When Aesha noticed them, her ears slightly perked up. "Nerim!" She called, not quite enthusiastic, but moreso relieved.

Nerim made small, demure steps up to her. "Aesha. I'm so, so sorry. I failed you."

She gave him a weary smile, which quickly faded. "It is okay. The doctors told me that compared to the past, cybernetics have progressed much recently. This is a good time to lose some limbs."

"Tomorrow would always be better," Nerim sullenly quipped. Aesha's smile reignited again for a moment, and she chuckled.

"You did all you could," she reassured him. "It is not as if you got away unscathed."

He looked down at the cast, knowing that his arm would heal and be good as new in a couple months. Unable to meet her eyes, he looked sideways to the table next to her bed. A datapad displaying a readout of her medical charts sat there, automatically scrolling through readouts of her various vitals. His eyes suddenly focused on one particular line.

Aesha's midi-chlorian concentration. It was just about 7% lower than his. He was just above the cutoff for a Jedi recruiter to begin the process of analyzing him for Force Sensitivity, and she was just below it. Midi-chlorians fed off of the Force, and where it was in abundance, they would multiply in reaction. It was no guarantee of true sensitivity, let alone suitability for the Order, but it was a marker. Infants with higher counts than him had been judged unsuitable and passed by before. He couldn't help but wonder...

He turned to Arwain. "Master, her midi—"

"That's not our job, Nerim," Arwain immediately replied, placing a hand on his shoulder and winking at him. She looked up to Jarroa, and nodded. "I apologize on behalf of the Order, Elder Jarroa. Nerim did his best, but we have failed you."

"Yes. You have." He nodded gruffly. "We will see to it that justice is done."

"I'm pleasantly surprised you did not execute Chey-Linn on the spot," Arwain said, placing her hands on her hips. "She would not have been so lucky on most Outer Rim worlds."

Aesha lifted the stumps of her legs experimentally, cringing in pain. "We are no stranger to this concept. One of our greatest cultural heroes, Juhani, was once a Jedi who fell to the Dark. But Revan refused to kill her," she said, looking at Nerim and smiling—this time a real, genuine smile of admiration. "Just like you."

"Um," Nerim's eyes darted to the side and back. "I'm not sure how to feel about that comparison," he admitted. Then something important occurred to him. "Oh, right!"

He pulled out Aesha's lightsaber, and held it in his hands for a moment. Aesha's eyes widened, and she began to reach out for it. Nerim quickly pulled it back.

"Uh, you know I can't give it to you in working order, right?" He said apologetically. He called upon the Force, and it clicked sharply out of alignment. It was utterly bizarre how that process had become second nature to him. Then he handed it over.

She laughed quietly and took it. "I know. But now it is a real weapon of the Jedi."

Jarroa looked down at the lightsaber, and then sternly at his daughter. "You regularly invite disaster on yourself and our house, child," he said, holding her hand tighter.

She gave him a toothy grin.

The group talked for a time, until Arwain crossed her arms. "I believe we best leave now. The Council is more than anxious to hear our report in person, I'm sure. Thank you dearly for your hospitality, Elder."

Jarroa nodded stoically. Nerim placed a gentle hand on Aesha's shoulder. "Goodbye, Aesha. Until we meet again."

She nodded, leaning back into her bed, letting the fatigue return. "Last time, you said we probably wouldn't ever meet again. Don't be wrong again, this time."

He smiled, and turned to walk out with his Master. As they exited the medical suite and began to make the trek down, he sensed something...familiar approaching them.

"Master Jedi! Master Jedi!" A familiar young voice called out. The two turned, to see a young Cathar flanked on either side by guards run towards him. It was one of the kids Nerim had hung out with on his first day, when Aesha was showing him around. "Master Jediii!" he called out excitedly.

He sheepishly approached. Arwain had told him repeatedly to just accept that laypersons would refer to any Jedi as 'master', but it still felt so wrong to hear. He was one of the ones that fell from the branches quite often. "Hello there!" He greeted.

The Cathar was holding something in his hand, which Nerim quite suddenly realized with a shock was the source of that familiar energy—his lightsaber hilt. "I have your sword!" The Cathar said, presenting it to him on both palms upturned like some sort of holy relic. "I found it in the tall grass!"

Nerim carefully took it from the Cathar, and grinned. "Thank you so much! That makes things a lot easier."

The young Cathar beamed with pride, swaying forward and back on his heels and toes excitedly. One of the guards smiled somewhat apologetically to Arwain. "The young lad alerted us right away, but he wanted to return it himself."

Arwain grinned at Nerim, as if to say 'See? Sending you on a wild bantha chase was a good idea', and pat the Cathar on the head. "Well done! We should get you a medal for this."

The child's eyes sparkled with glee.


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


The trip back to Coruscant was mostly quiet. It seemed that Haaka Mahn and Chey-Linn had actually arrived half a day earlier, expedited as quickly as possible thanks to the dispute. Arwain seemed rather tense as they landed at the Temple in the Coruscant night, and Jianno ditched the two of them as quickly as she could, before she could get wrapped up in another Council meeting.

It was a smart move. As soon as the Jedi walked into the Temple, they were already being requested to ride up to the High Council chambers. Seeing no reason (or viable excuse) to refuse, they sucked it up and began the long elevator ride.

Nerim looked out the thin glass window that let in the moonlight as the lift whirred. "They have to produce faster elevators than this."

Arwain nodded. "They do."

"So why don't we use them?"

"Perhaps the point is to wait. It's a meditative technique."

"It's also an interrogation technique!"

She laughed softly. She hadn't told him what to expect, but it was clear she was anxious. After a few more moments, they reached the top, and the door silently slid open. They exited into the center of the High Council chamber, to find it completely empty...save one figure.

Grand Master Fae Coven stood in front of a large window, her hands clasped behind her back. Three of Coruscant's moons hung in the air around her, still catching sunlight even as the planet's surface around them was a mixture of dark gunmetal gray and beaming electric lights. Her stance appeared almost military to his eyes, entirely unlike anything he had ever seen from her.

"I have read your preliminary reports," Fae said evenly, without turning to them, "And I have already spoken with Haaka Mahn and Chey-Linn."

Neither Nerim or Arwain spoke. Something about the situation felt like they didn't quite have permission to. The silence hung ominously in the air.

Fae quietly sighed. "I trust you understand how gravely serious it is for two Jedi to cross blades?"

"Yes, Master," both Nerim and Arwain answered simultaneously.

"Arwain. Why did you send Nerim along with Chey-Linn?" Fae's voice was not quite icy—she was incapable of such a thing—but there was definitely a cold ring to it.

"A failure of foresight," Arwain said simply. "I sensed danger. I failed to imagine that the danger would come in the form of conflict between the two. I believe our time immersed in the Revanchist Temple is a partial explanation, but—"

"In due time," Fae interrupted. "Nerim. Why did you engage in combat with Chey-Linn?"

Nerim thought about the answer for a few moments. Because she drew a blade on him? On Aesha? Because she was maybe breaking the law? What was the core reason? "Because I...I sensed she wanted to harm someone. I felt it was my duty."

Fae continued looking out into the field of moons, stars, and skyscrapers. "...In the time when I was a Knight, your behavior would have gotten you promoted, Nerim. You displayed bravery, skill, and you resisted temptation to fall to the Dark Side."

He dully realized she was referring to the Trials, of Courage, Skill, and Spirit, that one would have to pass on their way to Knighthood. She slowly turned around, looking Nerim in the eye. Her gaze was steely, but pained. Perhaps pain wasn't the right word. It was more like a pain that once was: Her eyes were weathered.

"You would have been inducted into the Army of Light," she said wistfully. "A few millennia earlier, into the Revanchist crusade, no doubt. There wouldn't be a Knight alive at that time that did not see you as a prime example of what a young Padawan needs to be."

He swallowed. It didn't feel like praise.

"It cannot be accepted in the modern era," Fae said with finality. "What you've done is a gamble we cannot—ever—afford to lose. By crossing blades with another Jedi, you run the risk of sowing the seeds for another Schism. But it can be worse than a Schism. For eight hundred years, the servants of Dark have had no place in the Galaxy. For eight hundred years, the only grand threat the Republic has faced has been from within. From us."

She strode up towards Nerim. They were practically the same height, now. He had always remembered her being taller. She stopped a few steps away from him, and he felt the great weight of her presence press further around him, as if the Force itself were telling him to take heed of everything she said.

"Nerim," she said softly, "The Jedi Order as it is today, is the greatest threat the Galaxy has ever known. We alone hold all knowledge, power, and control of the Force. If we were to fall, there would be nobody to stop us. We would be a greater scourge than any attempted Sith Empire ever was. Understand?"

He slowly nodded. He had never seen her this serious before.

"It is because of that, that I have spent my life teaching the Jedi Order to obliterate its self before venturing into meddling with the Galaxy."

A sudden memory appeared in Nerim's mind. Darth Machina's holocron. The Jedi Order deliberately holds its students back, teaches them to handicap themselves at every opportunity.

Fae nodded along to the rhythm of the words as they played out in his memory. "Yes, yes, the Sith can unintentionally give us insight from time to time."

He jumped in place. She could read his thoughts?! He immediately began the Litany of the Formless. How deep did his memory go? Did she know about Tetha—

"Nerim," she said wearily, "Please do not insult me. Of course I know. I'll get to it in due time."

His heart dropped and, internally defeated, he silently waited for her to continue.

"It has always been my belief that it is the place of the Order not to steward the Galaxy, but rather to prevent such domination entirely. The Galaxy is quite capable of providing for itself, but it is our solemn duty alone to oppose any and all conscious, malicious manipulation of the Force. And in an era where there are no Sith, that can only mean that our enemy is the Jedi."

Nerim struggled to move on from the morose realization that his mind had betrayed Tetha, but Fae had a way of speaking that just made him want to listen. He had never once gotten the impression that she was giving him now. If anything, the Jedi Temple seemed to be one gigantic monument to patting themselves on the back. It was certainly not as opulent as the palaces of secular royalty, but there was always a certain...pride in their humility.

Fae snorted derisively. "This is a lesson I have failed to consciously imprint on the vast majority of my students. I can't entirely blame them. It is a bizarre and contradictory one. But it is deeply necessary. Each and every one of my reforms has been centered around it. I have passed up on immeasurable goods, just in order to ensure an absence of evils. I've reassigned ten thousand well-intentioned Jedi just like yourself, to prevent a single Fall. I've exiled fewer, but upon learning of your actions—of tapping into the Revanchist nexus, and battling your fellow Padawan, I put it into consideration."

His pulse quickened, and he nervously swallowed, readying himself for the worst.

"There are three reasons that I am not immediately exiling you," she said sternly. "The first is that you pulled back from the Dark Side. The second is that you have a very stupid Master, who irresponsibly lead you into this situation."

Nerim's expression hardened. "Arwain is not stupid," he firmly rebuked, instantly, before he even had time to think about if it was a good idea. Arwain's eyes widened in surprise, but she remained motionless otherwise.

There was a brief, tense pressure between their eyes. Then, Fae reached up and stroked her whiskers, slightly smiling. "The third is that I like your guts."

He blinked. "Huu—um, what?"

Fae laughed like the old woman she was, turning and pacing across the room. "Nerim, in you, I see two possibilities. In one, you are a troubled kid, who is a trouble student, and finds himself both in trouble and causing trouble for other people. You refuse to gel with the Order, because in your strife, you are compelled to fall to the Dark. You are exactly what I fear."

Nerim shuddered. Not at her disapproval, at the thought that Grand Master Fae Coven could fear something. That she could even not know.

"In the other," Fae said, turning and pacing in the other direction, "All of that is still true, except the last bit. You refuse to gel with the Order, because in your strife, you are compelled to rise to the Light, and you are more committed to it than to us. I would be remiss not to note, you don't get along well with us in either version!" She giggled playfully. "You see, Nerim, you are far too much like young Arwain."

He slightly turned his head towards Arwain, keeping his eyes on Fae. "Master, what does she mean by that?"

A bead of sweat trailed down Arwain's brow. "Master, what do you mean by that?"

"You're utterly impossible!" Fae said, swinging her fist with the statement. "No matter what, you are a Bantha I simply cannot lead to water, no matter how much I try, no matter how much I'm right!" She turned and looked out the grand glass window, at the three moons, and smiled wistfully. "And especially when I'm wrong. I think, if I fell, I could take a great deal of the Council into the Dark with me. But not you two. I imagine Nerim would treat me much the same way he treated Chey-Linn..."

She turned back to them. "Nerim. Arwain. I've been wrong about a great many things. One of these great errors has revealed itself."

Nerim and Arwain shared an uncertain glance. "What is it?" The Master asked.

"You've already felt it. That which clouded your vision during your mission. It has revealed its nature to the Council."

Nerim looked to the floor. "That...retching?"

The Grand Master nodded solemnly. "I was wrong. The Jedi are not the only masters of the Force. Not anymore. Somewhere, somehow, a Wound has opened in the Force. This can mean only one thing. Somewhere, there are servants of the Dark which have attained deeply forbidden power."


______________________________________

Spoiler: A/N

And that wraps up Arc 4, Cathar. It was a little delayed because I've been mad busy, and was also difficult to write and edit, but I'm happy with how it's gone. There are some questions left unanswered, but I figure I got at least two more arcs left in me before this is over. As always, though, I'm not going to start uploading the next arc until I'm pretty certain of where it's going. Last time I said that, it took a week, and the time before that, it took a year, so I truly do not know when I will next upload. But I think I still have the bug, and I plan to start writing the next arc actively tomorrow morning, so I'd tentatively say I hope it'll be a lot closer to a week than a year.

I really appreciate any thoughts people can share, about anything really. Every comment I get is a lot of fun to read, and I think this story has quite a few things to notice and discuss or speculate on, and I quite like being able to give insight into the writing process--since for me, that's the really fun part! It's kinda like I'm a diabetic willy wonka. I just like making candy and showing people how I make the candy. I also like them eating it, of course!

 

[Hyenanon]

Spoiler: A/N

I've decided to meet my self-imposed deadline, I should actually start uploading right away. If I mess it up, may result in me running out of polished material and leaving you guys on a cliffhanger for a couple weeks before I can finish the rest of it. How embarrassing, how embarrassing...Anyways, I hope you enjoy Arc 4: [REDACTED]

Chapter 34: Sorry Master, Yes Master, I Know Master
​

In the silent, cold chamber of the High Council, Grand Master Fae Coven's pacing steps echoed softly. "I sense a battle in our future, small in scale but great in importance. Servants of the Dark Side not only exist, but thrive under our watch. They have made a careless blunder and revealed themselves, and we must take this opportunity to hunt them down immediately, or else they will disappear into the shadows again. Our actions over the next few months may determine a great deal about the future of the Order, and the Galaxy."

Nerim shared a glance with Arwain, who looked at him with some amount of concern. "Grand Master..." He began, "I understand why you would tell Arwain this. But why are you telling me this?"

Fae huffed in amusement. "Well for one, you can't seem to stop yourself from getting tangled up in it. Remember when I said in due time?"

Nerim swallowed nervously, and nodded.

"This...girl?" Fae asked, scanning his expression. So she didn't know everything? Nerim kept his face blank and emotionless, his mind as clear as he could. Fae shook her head and laughed softly. "The one you're trying to hide from me. The one who studied from the Sith Holocron. You understand this is a matter of grave importance, yes?"

"...No?" Nerim replied, unsure.

"No?" Fae repeated, stopping her pacing.

"I don't think it's gravely important, Grand Master." He said, fidgeting. "More like an interesting footnote, really."

Fae looked at him for a long, silent moment, and slowly smiled. "You don't trust me not to hurt her, is that it?"

Nerim didn't reply, but his silence was a plain answer.

"And yet you trust her not to hurt anyone else?" She pushed, her head tilted and her nose twitching. "You trust a Sith Acolyte more than the Grand Master of the Jedi Order? Does that not strike you as a little strange?"

"With all due respect," Nerim frowned, "A Sith has never tried to kill me. A Jedi has."

The feeling of Arwain's presence tightened in his mind. His eyes darted to her face. 'Bad comparison, Padawan', her expression said to him.

Fae stared at him, her smile fading into that weathered, tired look. "Count yourself lucky, then. The Sith are entirely different creatures than fallen Jedi."

"You have to understand my hesitation," Nerim continued. "Chey-Linn also thought that Aesha was a dangerous Sith Acolyte, and in the process she caused a great deal of damage. I will not be an accessory to another witch hunt."

"The difference being Aesha wasn't Force Sensitive, and didn't have a Sith holocron," The Grand Master replied flatly.

"I..." Nerim thought for a moment, "...I don't think that makes any difference, actually."

"...What?" Fae asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"If everything else were the same, and Aesha just happened to be Force Sensitive and in possession of a Sith holocron, I still think everything Chey-Linn did would be wrong," Nerim said, his eyes dropping and gazing aimlessly at the floor. "In fact...I think that is the case, sort of. I think Aesha is Force Sensitive. And I still feel the way I do."

Fae stood still in front of him, brow still raised. She glanced to Arwain, who silently looked back at her with similar curiosity.

Nerim continued, meeting her eyes again. "You're using reasoning that I just don't think is good enough. You're targeting factors around the Dark Side of the Force, but not the Dark Side itself. I'm worried you're going to hurt someone, if you keep going like this. Like Chey-Linn."

Fae closed her eyes and sighed. "Nerim, remember your lightsaber training. The core principle, of restraint? How a single bad action on behalf of a Jedi could ruin an entire planetary system's trust in the Order for decades. Chey-Linn has committed a great error, and she will be harshly corrected. But you must not allow her to rule your perception of the Order."

"But I don't know that she has committed a great error in your eyes, you see?" Nerim said, holding his hands tighter together behind his back. "At least, not the same ones that I see."

Fae opened her eyes, her expression still weathered. "She incorrectly identified a threat, improperly rushed to action, unnecessarily escalated the violence, crossed blades with a fellow Jedi, and committed the forbidden Mou Kei strike, maiming two limbs in one swing. The circumstances under which she acted were extraordinary, and I attribute much of her failings to the inattentiveness of her Master and of Arwain, along with your antagonizing. Her very status in the Order is contingent on the results of the trial, if that is what you're asking for."

"I don't care about her punishment whatsoever," Nerim sighed, "I'm just answering your question. No, I don't think it's strange that I distrust you with this information. You are...tempestuous on this subject. You're too focused on battle for a mission that should be about fostering. For all the same reasons that I should not have been sent with Chey-Linn after our experiences in the Revanchist Temple, I don't think you should be sent on this mission."

Fae stared at him. Her eyes dropped downwards, and then back up, towards the windows and the skyline. She smiled and shook her head again. "Tempestuous! Hah! Battle! Hah!" She began pacing again, laughing under her breath. "How can I blame you? How can I blame you for your inexperience with the Sith? It is what I fought for. How can I blame you for your bad experiences with my Order? It is my responsibility. How can I blame you for your good experiences with falling in love? What child can resist? What a pickle..."

Nerim's frown deepened. "I take it you think I'm being foolish."

"Very much so," Fae chuckled. "Goodness. I feel like it's my first year with Arwain all over again. You both have such a talent at defending your mistakes. The same mistakes, even!"

Arwain smiled and spoke up for the first time in quite a while. "Perhaps they're not mistakes, then."

"Pfeh. Need I remind you how much trouble chasing girls got you in?"

Arwain's lips pursed, her back becoming almost imperceptibly more rigid. Her eyes darted to Nerim for a split second, before going back to her Master. "T-that doesn't...doesn't count. It was completely different." She said quietly, visibly regretting her decision to involve herself in the conversation.

"What?" Nerim asked, eyebrows raised.

Fae paced up to Nerim and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, smiling at him. "Young Nerim, I truly mean no harm to this girl you are protecting from me. I understand your trepidation now. You are wise to distinguish between the dangerous, the Dark, and the people who simply walk between the two. But perhaps not so wise to leave her alone to her own devices. In my life I have killed hundreds of Sith, but never have I sought to kill the people who became Sith. In fact, I would rather do my utmost to avoid it. I promise you that I would never hurt her, except to defend the life of myself or others. That is the Jedi way, the way I have dedicated my long life to."

Nerim looked into her eyes for a moment, feeling the calmness and light radiating off of her, soothing yet still somewhat imposing, like the cool mist rolling in from a waterfall. "I still think we have somewhat diverging views, here."

"Yes, but I still trust you," Fae said. "Can't you trust me too? I truly believe this to be of great importance. Whatever we've felt, she has felt it, too. Perhaps even with great precision, given her training in the Dark Side. If she truly isn't fallen, we can be allies."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That feeling of a string pulling on him was there. There was indeed something very important to do with Tetha, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. There was a sense that he should say yes, but not so straightforwardly. He opened his eyes and looked to Arwain, who nodded in deference to him.

"...Okay," Nerim sighed, "I'll find her."

Fae's nose twitched. "You'll find her? I was going to have a Jedi Watchman do the finding once you revealed her identity."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Nerim said dismissively. "She'd reduce him to tears."

Fae slowly narrowed her eyes. "Is she that good of a duelist?"

"No. She's that bad of a driver."

"Heh. Interesting individual," Fae muttered, beginning to pace again. "It obviously wouldn't be a good idea to send you unsupervised to meet with her."

Arwain excitedly leaned forwards. "But..."

Fae shot her a glare. "I am still in the process of reconsidering your ability to act as supervision."

"You can tag along with us if you want, Master," Arwain grinned.

Fae exhaled through her twitching nose. "Are you so nostalgic? Cute, but it is impossible. Not happening."

Arwain shrugged. "Fine, then. I suppose I'll have to do."

"You are explicitly forbidden from leaving the Temple until I give you permission," Fae responded firmly. "I will meditate on how to go about this. Now, both of you get out."

The two Jedi turned and began walking towards the elevator, and then stopped as Fae whipped her head around. "And when I said get out," she added, "That was not permission to leave the Temple!"

Both Arwain and Nerim's shoulders drooped. "Yes, Master," they replied sullenly in unison.

"Disasters, every last one..." Fae muttered to herself as the elevator door closed.

They began the long, slow ride downwards, the elevator mostly dark aside from the glinting lights of the city traveling silently around them. They each let out a breath of relief, and Nerim leaned on the glass, crossing his arms. After a minute or two, he caught eyes with his Master, and they both began to break out into grins.

"Goodness," Arwain chuckled, "I haven't felt that scared in years."

"Really? You two seem to get along so well," he teased.

"She's intimidating!" Arwain defended herself, laughing.

"So what was that about chasing—"

"Please, my Apprentice, I'm an old woman now. That sort of thing is well behind me." Arwain chided as they reached the bottom, and the door slid open. Jianno stood at the exit, arms crossed with a duffel bag at her feet.

"Are we getting kicked out?" Jianno asked immediately, looking at Arwain in a way that made Nerim somewhat concerned that they had already had a conversation about the possibility of exile.

"Not yet," Arwain winked.

"Damn," Jianno sighed.

"We're actually grounded, in fact," Nerim added.

Jianno looked between each of them for a moment, and picked up her bag. "You're grounded. I'm out of here."

"Nooo," Arwain whined in a defeated tone, holding her arms out and pouting. "Jianno, don't leave me here..."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 35: Don't Center On Your Anxieties​

Nerim's ragged breaths echoed through the chamber as he stumbled backwards, lightsaber in hand. His wrists were shaking, causing a slight distortion in the hum of his blade. Sweat ran off of his body and dripped around him, a stray drop sizzling in the yellow-green plasma. "I can't keep up," he said between sharp breaths.

Arwain had broken a sweat, but wasn't quite breathing hard yet. "Willpower, my Padawan!" She grinned, flourishing her yellow blade. "This style requires stamina, but even more importantly, willpower. You will never be so strong that your muscles stop aching. You must learn how to charge regardless. Any hesitation will result in—"

She stopped as Nerim charged her. He swung several times in rapid succession, and she deftly parried him each time. After a moment, he miscalculated a step and tripped over his own foot, falling to the ground with a thud as his lightsaber deactivated. He laid there for a moment panting.

"Hmmm," she placed a finger to her chin, looking down at him. "You're making good progress, but you need to rely more on the Force. It would significantly help with your stamina issues if you let it flow through you more clearly."

He heaved himself onto his knees, but couldn't quite stand up. "Can we please...go back to practicing Huttese?"

She rolled her eyes and gestured for him to stand up. "You speak it as well as any native. Which is to say, poorly. If you got any better it would be counterproductive."

"How about," He gasped for air, "Astrogation?"

She considered it for a moment. "I feel that would be useful, but we would kind of need a ship, and we're grounded. C'mon, we have ten more minutes to drill," she said, threateningly waving her lightsaber in his direction.

"Master, I—" He started, shakily rising, "I'll read The Jedi Path!"

Arwain's jaw dropped. "You still haven't started? Fae is gonna kill—"

The doors to the training chamber slid open, and Fae unceremoniously walked in with her hands behind her back. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said, smiling softly.

"No, Master!" The two replied immediately, snapping to attention.

"It is good that you're practicing," Fae nodded, her kindly expression and playful tone belying her intentions, "After a great deal of meditation, I have decided to send you on the mission."

Nerim and Arwain shared a grin. "That's great!" Arwain replied. "Are we being chaperoned?"

"Yes, although I do hope it turns out differently for your chaperon than it did in your last mission," Fae said, turning and walking out. "Come, now, time is of the essence. We'll talk as we walk."

Nerim restrained a sigh and willed his weary legs to walk forward with her, buoyed by his excitement at possibly seeing Tetha again. They still had not traded letters since prior to the mission on Cathar, even though it had been a little over a week. They had both been very busy, and Nerim wasn't quite sure what to say to arrange a meetup yet.

As Fae lead them down the halls, they passed Master Gendi. She waved him over, and he changed course to walk with them. "Yes, Grand Master?" He asked.

Fae continued walking, eyes closed and smiling, leaving a trail of cool air in her wake. The halls became noticeably more serene with her presence, the lights almost seeming brighter. "Is The Wellspring ready?"

"Yes, Grand Master," Gendi nodded. Arwain and Nerim shared some surprise. The Wellspring was one of the most prized and ancient ships of the Order, having been donated to the Jedi by a loyal noble of Serenno in thanks to Fae Coven for liberating their world at the end of the New Sith Wars. It had been meticulously renovated in the proceeding 800 years to maintain technological relevance, having had practically every part replaced over the centuries. It boasted the fastest hyperdrive the Order possessed.

"Good," Fae nodded, "Please inform Masters Hrragra and Gi that the mission is underway. I trust that you can arrange a meeting with the girl, Nerim?" She fluidly switched focus to the Padawan, not turning or slowing as she walked. Nerim felt that fluttery feeling in his chest again at the thought.

"The girl...?" Gendi questioned, a cautious, bushy eyebrow raised towards Nerim.

"Yeah," Nerim said completely straight-faced, "I have a girlfriend. You wouldn't know her, she goes to another Order."

Arwain barked out a quick laugh. Fae turned her head slightly towards him, eyes still closed. "Pace yourself, Nerim, you are still on probation as far as I am concerned. Hop to it, Young Gendi," she said, and Gendi nodded deferentially and broke off from the group, still maintaining a close eye on Nerim for a moment afterwards. "The Council believes that the source of the wound in the Force is in the Mytaranor sector. The destination world is Saarkane, and that's where she will have to meet you, if at all."

"Short notice for such a specific place," Nerim replied hesitantly. "I've never heard of that world before."

"If it's meant to be, it will all work out," Fae said confidently.

"And if not, we'll improvise!" Arwain added, just as sure of herself.

"That's my student," Fae beamed. They exited out into one of the vehicle bays, where true to her word, The Wellspring stood.

The star yacht was large, sleek, and elegant, well fit for royalty. The polished green surface of the hull was split in the middle with a golden line, floral patterns extending from it as though the ship were in bloom. Its svelte wings were fitted with four large ion cannons, and the pointed nose of the craft glinted with the evening sunlight streaming in through the hangar doors. The entire craft whistled slightly as the Coruscanti winds rushed by it.

The three of them stood before it, and Nerim took a deep breath of the metallic air. He had a good feeling about this, but there was something else nagging at his mind. He turned to the Grand Master. "All this just for us?" He said half-jokingly, half-astonished.

"Of course. After eight hundred years, it's still my favorite," Fae sighed contently.

Arwain's expression became somewhat confused. "Wait, Master, surely you aren't...?"

There was a tapping noise as that small Jedi Master from the High Council emerged from behind a set of crates and walked through the hangar with a cane. He cast his eyes up with a quick glance to Fae. "Must you?" He asked bluntly, without stopping.

"Yes," Fae answered, nose twitching. "I believe I must."

"Great danger, I sense ahead," the Master grumbled, continuing to pass them by. "Agree with this, I do not."

"Such a downer, always!" Fae shook her head. "Pessimism is the shadow of fear! Lighten up for once, Young Yoda! Take good care of the younglings while I'm gone."

"Heh! Lighten up!" They heard the Master mumble as he walked off. "The weights on my mind, you put, old woman!" He called back, before passing through a doorway.

Nerim blinked. "Wait, you're coming with us?"

Arwain almost bounced with excitement. "You said it was impossible!"

Fae shook her head. "All this time, and you still believe things can be 'impossible'!"

"You were the one who said it!" Arwain laughed.

"Oh, so now you listen to me?" The Grand Master snorted, walking up the ramp into the ship.

As she disappeared into the ship, Nerim grabbed Arwain's sleeve and tugged her down to his level. "Arwain, the Grand Master of the Jedi Order is tagging along with us!" He hissed through his teeth.

"I know!" She grinned. They held eye contact for a moment, and then her expression turned to shock. "Oh stars. This is a big deal, isn't it?"

"Yes!" Nerim grimaced.

"Well, then, be on your best behavior!" Arwain said, standing back up to her full height and boarding the ship. Nerim sighed, swallowed his reluctance, and followed after her. The ramp raised up after him, and shut with a hiss.

The interior of the ship was nothing less than beautiful. Somewhat surprisingly, almost the entirety of the interior was green with potted plants and vines growing throughout wooden grids on the walls. Light was emitted from angled panels all over the ceiling and even the walls, leaving everything well lit from every angle and casting dozens of faint shadows in a way that reminded him of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The furniture was minimalistic, mostly white and brown, with control panels that glowed a whitish-blue.

The main room was large and rounded, with three hallways and a hatch on the floor splitting off from it, leading to the cockpit, quarters, supply room, and engine room respectively. Nerim looked around the inside of the vessel, and couldn't help but smile. "Wow."

Fae turned and nodded to him. "Quite beautiful, isn't it? I've needed an excuse to get back in this for some time. The last time I used it was to greet the new Supreme Chancellor...whatever his name is."

Nerim sat down amid a number of vines. "Grand Master, why are we taking such a...visible ship?"

She shrugged. "We have no need to hide ourselves. Perhaps more to the point, it is untenable to hide ourselves. There's no way you can travel with the Grand Master of the Jedi Order and remain undercover. So, we might as well make this look official, rather than appear like sheepish plainclothes police officers under a spotlight."

"Well, I hope the locals are friendly to Jedi, then," Nerim remarked, pulling his datapad out. Fae and Arwain moved to the cockpit, and he thought for a while about what to tell Tetha.

Eventually, he settled on a short message explaining that his mission on Cathar had gone poorly, and that he and Arwain were moving on to Saarkane in their search. For a while he internally debated on whether to tell Tetha about Fae Coven's presence or not, but he eventually decided that he wanted to keep no secrets. He told her about the wound in the Force, and that Fae wanted to meet her. The short message rapidly became a long one, which he regretted somewhat, feeling somewhat embarrassed at the quality of his writing. He ended it by awkwardly wishing her well, and sent the message through the holonet.

He sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes and resting his head on the wooden wall behind him, worries stewing in his mind. He wouldn't blame her if she refused to get anywhere near the Mytaranor sector while Fae Coven was in it, let alone approach the woman herself. He hoped she wouldn't be mad at him for letting part of her identity slip. He wondered where she was now, what sorts of things she never put in her letters, the life she was living while he was entangled in a world that rapidly began to seem like Jedi nonsense.

What was he even doing here, on this mission? He knew nothing of the Dark Side, he had no great talent in investigation or information gathering, and despite what he was frequently told, he still did not believe he had talent in dueling. Why did he constantly get dragged along into situations he was completely unprepared for?

He looked down and saw an alert on his datapad, that he had received a message. He opened it, expecting to see Tetha's response, only to find a picture of Aesha standing on two prosthetic legs, her arms out to balance herself. Beneath it, she had written "Bet I could still beat you in a race, Jedi Boy."

He laughed.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 36: Be Mindful Of The Future...​

As the droid pilot made the snap to hyperspace, Arwain and Fae Coven re-entered the main area, both smiling. Now that he had a good look at them side by side, in fact, they had eerily similar resting smiles. Fae held her hands behind her back, dark brown eyes nearly closed, while Arwain excitedly tapped her foot, hands resting on her hips.

"I hope Jianno can catch up with us quickly enough," Arwain wondered out loud. "Nerim's friend, also. She could be anywhere in the Galaxy right now."

Fae very slightly raised an eyebrow. "Even you do not know where she is?"

"My student is entitled to his privacy."

"We both know you don't believe that," Fae chided.

Arwain laughed. "I am nosy, not obsessive."

"Surely you must know her name at least," the Grand Master asked curiously.

"Of course!" Arwain replied, grinning blankly at her. Fae stared back with her own small smile. They stared each other in the eye in silence for a long, stretching moment. Eventually Nerim realized they were both waiting until the other broke.

"Oh great," Nerim sighed and mumbled under his breath, "Now there are two of them."

The both of them lightly chuckled, and Arwain wagged a finger. "Now, now, my Padawan. There are three of us."

Nerim looked up at the two, brow furrowed. It was somewhat confusing, to think of himself as one of them. They were absolutely nothing alike. They were Masters of the Force, and on top of that, quite frustrating to be around.

"So what is her name?" Fae asked.

Nerim stared at her uncomfortably in silence for a long moment.

Fae's nose twitched. She remained staring at him.

"You're never gonna believe this," he started.

"Oh?"

"Her name's also Yoda," he replied with completely flat intonation. "Insane coincidence, right?"

"I'm starting to regret this already," Fae said softly, her expression still unchanged from that small saintly smile.

Arwain cracked up, throwing herself into a couch. "Okay, okay. Be serious, now!" She said, pointing to the two of them. "Why are we going to Saarkane specifically?"

Fae gently sat down upon a small chair, which fit her small frame perfectly. "Saarkane is a moderately populated planet which hosts a notorious shadowport. Unlike many Mytaranor Sector shadowports, Saarkane's criminal underworld is not primarily in the business of slave trading, largely due to a confluence of anti-Hutt criminal elements having taken power, and frequent space patrols by the Trade Federation and Wookiee systems in collaboration with local forces."

"Are we trying to avoid slavers?" Arwain asked, head tilted.

"No," Fae said, "But I think our suspects are."

"What, are our suspects victims of the slaver guilds?" She wondered.

"Good guess, but no. Rather, we believe that our suspects have picked Saarkane because they believe the criminal underworld here to be easier to...bully," Fae said, as a mouse droid rolled in with a tray on its head and three cups of tea. Fae took one. "If one were to be trying to pull off a large operation without kicking up much dust, picking a messy world in a troubled sector surrounded by bigger, badder worlds, where even the criminals don't have Hutt connections, is a good bet."

The droid rolled over to Arwain, and she picked up a cup absently. "Large operations...?" She asked, concerned. "These are users of the Dark Side we're talking about. How large scale of an operation can it be?"

"Our archivists have been attempting to ascertain as many examples as we can of what exactly might cause a wound in the Force like the one we felt. Most require death on a mass scale, beyond that of conventional warfare, let alone small scale blood sacrifices. It simply is not very likely that such a massacre occurred within this sector without our notice. And yet, the echoes emanate from somewhere around here."

The droid quietly rolled up to Nerim, and he took the cup, sipping from it. The tea was extremely subtle in taste, a light tone of earthy flavors. One might think Jedi would prefer flavorless water, but Fae had at one point explained to the class when he was a child that she found a serene enjoyment in the experience of having to focus to find the flavors. It was no carbonated soda, that was for sure.

Arwain still held her cup, obviously unaware it was even in her hands, deep in thought. "A wound in the Force is different from a nexus of Darkness. A wound is a place scoured of all Force. We can't look for the usual signs of Dark Side activity."

"Hold on," Nerim's brow furrowed, "Why would they even be trying to hide their activity? If they knew that doing it would alert all the Jedi in the Galaxy, they wouldn't have bothered trying to hide it. If they didn't know we would be alerted, why would they be hiding it?"

Fae hummed in amusement as she sipped her tea. "Well, first of all, you seem to be under a misapprehension, Young Nerim. It did not alert 'all Jedi'. Every Force Sensitive felt it, but it was identified by yourself, the Masters, and a handful of Knights."

Nerim blinked. "...I don't understand. I mean, to be clear, I didn't identify it. All I knew was that there was something wrong in the Force. Like, a sense of...distance. Loneliness. Separation from..." He trailed off, and it clicked. When he felt like he lost contact with that voice on Ilum, and everything became quiet, and stopped making sense. That was what a wound in the Force felt like.

"Most Padawans only managed a vague sense of pain and disorientation over the course of a few hours," Fae remarked. "Most Knights, even. You did not have the tools to contextualize what you felt, but you felt it with greater speed and precision than would be expected for someone your age."

Arwain nodded. "I suspect it has something to do with your feelings of distance from the Force that have followed you since childhood. Perhaps you have a natural separation, or this was a skill you unconsciously worked on constantly as a youngling. It happens with other Force powers on occasion. Most notably, some Jedi accidentally train in Battle Meditation from childhood, and they generally become the masters of the art."

"Wait," Nerim's eyes darted between the two of them, "W-what does this...y'know, mean? About me?"

Fae smiled. "There is an application of the Force known to our scholars as Force Immunity. It is an alteration of the natural 'bubble' all Force Users give off that allow them to resist other Users' manipulations of the Force. As you've been instructed, this 'bubble' can be broken by another User of sufficiently greater strength, allowing them to manipulate a Jedi's mind or body as if they were a normal sentient. Force Immunity, however, makes one intangible to the Force, allowing it to pass through their bubble, as well as their body and mind, without affecting them."

Arwain finally remembered she had a drink in her hands, and took a sip. "As you may already be intuiting, becoming intangible to the Force is very similar to being scoured of the Force. Force Immunity can be a dangerous technique, because it runs the risk of wounding the User's personal Force. Most Jedi are not skilled or powerful enough to actually sever themselves from the Force, but they can temporarily weaken themselves."

Nerim looked down at his hand, slightly flushed from holding the warm cup. "Are you saying I'm...I've been weakening myself my entire life?"

"Sort of..." Arwain reluctantly agreed, "But also, you have a unique talent at confronting Force Users of greater strength than yourself. It also helps you confront sites of dormant power, like the Revanchist Temple."

"Like the wound we are tracking," Fae added. "I agree with Arwain's assessment. This quirk of yours is not something to be ashamed or regretful of, but it ought to be understood and controlled at will, and I believe you have been making progress on this, even if unconsciously."

Nerim's head was spinning. "I don't understand. Is this a talent or a handicap?"

Arwain stood up and moved to Nerim, patting him on the head. "It depends on your point of view. It is a certain angle of attack, not a superior or inferior way of being. Don't overly fixate on it. If you want my advice, don't worry about changing what you are now, just expand the number of ways you can be," she said with a reassuring smile.

He slowly nodded, trying to take in the information, recontextualizing his entire life and finding that...nothing much changed. He had gone from having no recognizable talents in the eyes of the Jedi Order, to having one—but he had already abandoned the desire for recognition from his fellow Jedi. No, what was unsettling was to have been ignorant of such a large part of himself. He still didn't even know what it was he was doing to 'unconsciously train'.

Fae nodded in approval. "Earlier, you brought up an excellent point. Why would they be hiding? I suspect they were not trying to hide the wound from us. But that leaves us with too many questions as to what it is they are trying to hide."

He took a deep breath, and decided to continue with the mission at hand. "What is Saarkane like, exactly? What sort of players can we expect, here?"

Arwain fidgeted with the cup in her hands, her eyes cast up in reminiscence. "We visited it once a few decades ago, back when slavers still had a foothold on the planet. Most of the planet's population is in dense urban centers, with much of the planet still left wild. Saarkane itself is not very remarkable, although the system does contain an asteroid belt rich in rare minerals, so there are large business interests on the planet."

"There are also Republic-affiliated research stations, and a large medical industry," Fae added, "And the aforementioned independent criminal underworld, which is primarily concerned with corporate espionage, smuggling, and the drug trade."

Nerim put a hand to his chin. "None of these groups seem very likely to host a large group of powerful Dark Siders in secret. Where should we start, assuming my friend doesn't arrive right away?"

Fae thought for a moment. "Well, I am not a Sentinel, and I am not very well trained at utilizing mundane methods of investigation. We'll be engaging in niceties and hopefully cooperation with the local authorities, but as for where to start, I leave that decision to you, Arwain."

Arwain turned to Nerim. "I leave that to you, Nerim."

"What?!" He frowned. "Why me?"

"It's worked out every time I've done it, so far," she grinned. "You have a talent for getting caught up in Dark Side affairs."

"One would generally consider that a bad omen in a Padawan," Fae said calmly, sipping at her tea.

Nerim desperately hoped this was an 'Arwain subtly guiding him from afar while letting him take the lead' type thing, and not a 'Arwain getting in a police chase on Utapau' type thing.

___________________________________________________________________________________


Saarkane was a gloomy world. The soil was a dusty blue, and the entire planet was blanketed in constant fog, usually with overcast skies and a slight chill that wouldn't stop one from wearing summer clothing, but would occasionally make them very uncomfortable in a breeze. Its unique atmospheric conditions lead to an inverse of the "afternoon shower" phenomenon that many warm places experienced, where a predictable short thunderstorm would occur most nights.

The world only had a few hundred million inhabitants, but almost all of them were stuffed in dense urban centers filled with skyscrapers whose main color was onyx black, and whose trim wasn't so much golden as it was caution-tape-yellow. During the day, the glass was a reflective cloudy silver, and during the night they were often lit in a variety of hazy colors softly shining through the fog.

But it was mid-day when The Wellspring arrived, and rather than lightly roasted by atmospheric entry, the starship landed in the spaceport with a thin coat of condensation dripping from its descent. The three Jedi exited the starship to the astonishment of the dockworkers, who were all quickly abandoning their work to gawk at their appearance.

Before they had even made it to the security station to have their passports checked, a luxury landspeeder came to a quick stop just outside the gates, and a well-dressed Saarkanian exited and marched towards them with a retinue of bodyguards and assistants.

The Saarkanian species was humanoid in structure, covered in short fur of an unbelievably dark hue, which almost seemed to absorb more light than possible, to the point where it was hard to use one's depth perception on their bodies, as if a silhouette had stepped out of an artbook. Their large forward-facing eyes were suited for taking in as much light as possible on their dim, gloomy world, and their big triangular ears were just as keen. They stood a little shorter than humans on average, and according to Nerim's datapad, they were known for their introspective and melancholy natures, as well as their stunning bioluminescence.

And as if on cue, the Saarkanian in a smart suit approaching them began to flash with colors, stripes of blue and green expanding across his face as if his impossibly black fur was rippling water, giving brief impressions of depth on his features. He grinned, visible only by the sudden appearance of white teeth underneath his big yellow eyes. "My, my, this is quite a surprise!" He spoke in Basic, in a surprisingly deep voice for his size. "But a welcome one! The Grand Master Fae Coven herself!"

Fae stepped forward and shook his hand. They were almost the same height, Fae just an inch shorter. "It is good to meet you, Governor Irmat. I didn't expect you to arrive so quickly."

"I didn't expect you to arrive at all!" He replied, amused. "You could have landed at one of our private spaceports, if you had called!"

Nerim tilted his head slightly. The Governor was very friendly and forward, confident in his posture and obviously well adapted to the pressure of his job from just how he carried himself. According to his basic research, Irmat had been elected to office thirteen standard years earlier, and had won re-election every cycle on an anti-corruption campaign, emphasizing law and order and the contesting of the Mytaranor Sector senate seat, which had been monopolized by the Wookiees for centuries.

Something about the man rubbed Nerim the wrong way, but he wasn't quite sure what. He focused on the thought, reaching out with his feelings, until during their conversation it clicked. Irmat was excited. He wasn't nervous, or afraid, or in awe, or anything one might expect from suddenly coming face to face with the leader the Jedi Order. He had gotten over his surprise, and he was now positively anticipating something. Since when was it good news that several powerful Jedi arrived unannounced out of the blue?

The Governor cradled his hands together. "I must admit, I was shocked at the reports of your vessel entering the Saarkane System! What's the occasion?"

"Jedi business," Arwain jumped in. "Although, we were hoping you could help us out."

Irmat spread his hands, with a rippling flash of yellow light. "Say the word, and I'm at your service."

As they began to follow him to the luxury landspeeder, Nerim leaned in to whisper to Arwain. "Master? I think he already has a use in mind for us."

Her eyes narrowed. "I think you might be right, my Padawan."

As they reached the landspeeder, and its gull-wing doors began to open upwards, Irmat turned to the group of them, his eyes bouncing between Arwain and Nerim. "Oh! Allow me to introduce my wife! Mrs. Irmat, these are the Jedi!"

The doors fully opened to reveal another Saarkanian, a small woman only visible due to the bright white seat that her silhouette contrasted against, a slightly sparkling black dress draped around her. Her eyes opened, just as bright blue as her husband's were yellow. "Stars, I never imagined I would meet a Jedi, let alone three!" She giggled softly. "I am Shesha Irmat, First Lady, Vseyav here is my husband. And you?"

Fae turned to Arwain and Arwain turned to Nerim, so he quickly spoke up. "Um, my name is Nerim, Padawan learner. This is my Master and my Grand Master. Er—The Grand Master, that is, I mean—Ugh. She's Arwain, and she's Fae," he said, sighing and pointing with a thumb.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 37: No Civility, Only Politics​

Nerim sat down in the landspeeder beside Arwain, and they began to move, though the motion felt smooth and calm inside the cabin. The driver was behind a privacy wall, and the tinted windows lent a strange atmosphere to the cab, portraying only the vaguest foggy outlines of a city and pedestrians passing around them as they traveled. The inside of the cabin was well lit and relatively lavish, although somewhat small by his measure.

Vseyav Irmat reached down into an internal storage compartment and retrieved a bottle, pausing for a moment and then lifting it with a playful gesture. "Oh, I suppose Jedi don't drink?"

"That depends," Arwain said, "On whether it's rude to refuse or not."

"In that case, I would say that it is," the Governor winked. He retrieved some tall, thin glasses and poured the strange liquid into them. It was ultramarine blue, with golden flakes swirling around in it. "This is Spelska Nagram, one of our national treasures. We only produce a few million tons for export a standard year, it is highly sought by clubs and wealthy clients across the Mid and Outer Rims," he said, handing the five glasses out.

Nerim dully realized that this was exactly the type of boast a jaded Core Worlder would scoff at, and took the glass in his hand. Fae politely sipped at it with no sign of her approval or lack thereof, and Arwain swigged a mouthful and then almost imperceptibly cringed in discomfort. He cautiously took a sniff, and felt his pupils widen in surprise. It was nothing like he had ever smelled before, rather warm and full of spices.

He took an experimental sip, and felt a wash of sensations spill across his mouth, beginning with a gentle burning and sweet sensation that slowly became soft and warm, with a tone he could best approximate as some sort of estranged cousins to cinnamon and chocolate. He swallowed and felt the burning trail down his throat, and was surprised to feel a residual dust in his mouth, like a coating of extremely fine sand that slowly became more spicy over time, before melting away to nothing.

He licked his lips and took another sip, while the Irmat couple watched happily. "We welcome you with great appreciation for your visit, Jedi friends," Mrs. Irmat graciously dipped her head, her ears and forehead glowing with friendly bands of pink light. "I don't believe our planet has been visited by one of your kind since before I was born."

Arwain pursed her lips. "Well, doesn't that make me feel old."

"Tell me about it," Fae chortled.

The Governor puffed up. "I like to think that reflects well on us, as a world that can handle its own business. Any time the Republic shows up, it's always to deal with the damn Wookiees or Trandoshans. Or both. Usually both!" He took a swig.

"I sense some amount of resentment," Nerim noted.

He waved a hand, apologetic lime green dots flashing on his cheeks for a moment. "Bah, never mind it. Things are just a little too crowded in Mytaranor for anyone's liking. Same old, same old," he sighed.

"We would petition the Republic to redress the issue," the First Lady added, "If we had any representation!"

Nerim frowned. One of the most notorious aspects of Mytaranor was the extremely racialized elections it suffered. All of the native species more or less hated one another after millennia of banditry, slavery, and exploitation. For the last several centuries, Wookiees had managed to outnumber the others through sheer population, and so they held the sector's senate seat comfortably every election cycle, and used it to secure further colonization rights, cementing their dominance over the others.

Fae nodded impassively, her face betraying no emotion. "I understand this has been a difficult region as of late," she said, in a way that subtly reminded everyone she was nearly 900 years old.

"It would be tolerable if the Republic was ever consistent," the First Lady continued, somewhat frustrated. "The Wookiees are all one united front when it comes to financial aid and trade negotiations, but when it comes time to penalize them for their terrorism, every moon colony is held separately accountable!"

"Well..." the Governor attempted to redirect the conversation. His wife spoke over him.

"Did you know that just two years ago, the Kwookrrr colony government was found guilty of a bombing of a Trandoshan gas mining operation? They were sanctioned, and then earlier this year, the Kashyyyk representative used them as an example of the historic impoverishment of Wookiees, and demanded that all Wookiee systems receive economic aid as a result! Including Kwookrrr! And it worked!" She said angrily, her fur returning to a deep matte black, her only visible features being her narrowed eyes and tight grip on her glass.

As she finished her rant, Nerim's eyes felt drawn towards the window. Through the gloom, a large bright blue hologram displayed the words 'SECESSION NOW!' over a plaza, along with the symbol of some local political party. "This planet has a secessionist movement...?" He asked.

Arwain's eyes followed to where he was looking, and her brows raised in surprise as she glanced back at him.

"Ah, yes. A special election is being held, and our third largest party is campaigning on a secessionist platform," Vseyav shrugged, unbothered. "They have very limited support, they're in no danger of coming into power. Worry not, they're more of a thorn in our side locally than they'll ever be a danger to the Republic."

"With all this mistreatment from the Republic, you don't have any secessionist sympathies yourself?" Nerim asked, genuinely curious.

"Of course not," Vseyav said confidently.

"Well..." Shesha trailed off. Vseyav shot her a look, white rings appearing around his eyes, almost making them seem to grow half again in size. She shrugged. "Let's just say my husband here is the only one standing between us and a populist, secessionist coalition."

"This is not what the Jedi came to our planet for, darling," he sighed, before turning to the trio. Nerim could tell his eyebrow was raised only by the slight shrinking of the other glinting eye. "Or is it?"

"No," Fae confirmed, "Although it is interesting. But our primary goal here is to investigate a particular incident. We believe there may be users of the Dark Side of the Force in this or neighboring systems."

"Ah, now that's a reasonable explanation for the esteemed Fae Coven visiting us," he nodded. "Well, we are understandably not the most adept at locating Dark Jedi."

"That's fine, we have reason to believe their operations to be of relatively high scale and involve many non-Force Users," Fae said. She had looong since given up on convincing people to not refer to all Dark Siders as 'Dark Jedi'.

"In that case, I may be of some help," Vseyav winked. "What kind of activity are you on the lookout for?"

Arwain thought for a moment. "Any sort of recent influx of conspicuous foreign visitors would be a good place to start. Gang warfare, unsolved murders, unexplained traffic in the system, unexplained wealth or large land purchases without apparent purpose..."

"Damage to local wildlife or ecosystems," Fae added.

Vseyav snapped a finger, the sound somehow more of a dull thud from his heavily-furred hands. "In fact, we have noticed just such a couple discrepancies. There's been a recent buzz in the system of a number of...interesting unannounced meetings between members of the Techno Union and Commerce Guild, along with members of the Planetary Assembly. "

Somehow, Nerim got the feeling that Vseyav would have brought this up no matter how the Jedi had answered his questions. "I imagine said shady dealings are largely with members of the opposition?" He asked, half-sarcastically.

"Precisely!" Vseyav grinned. If he didn't catch the sarcasm, or just didn't care, Nerim couldn't tell. The landspeeder coasted to a stop, and the gull wing door opened up to reveal a large, old-looking stone building wreathed in fog. It was tan in color and venerable in age, with heavy wooden doors and ornate tall windows that rose up into the fog until it had turned into nothing but a vague silhouette of a dome far, far above.

"Welcome to the Old Temple!" Shesha cheerfully announced, stepping out of the vehicle along with Vseyav. "This is the seat of the Saarkane government, although I don't suppose you need an explanation!"

Nerim tilted his head, something oddly familiar about the structure. "Is this...A Jedi Temple?"

Arwain laughed. "Kind of—"

"No," Fae said with firm finality. "It was the palace of a 'Jedi Lord', and has since been relinquished in its entirety to the Saarkanian people."

"Well, yes," Shesha awkwardly said, "And we are eternally grateful for it."

"Don't be," Fae said, emerging from the vehicle along with the rest. "It never rightfully belonged to the Jedi. It was always yours."

Arwain looked at Fae with some amusement. "I forgot how touchy you are about this kind of thing."

"Mm," Fae hummed lowly, placing her arms behind her back and following the Saarkanian officials.

Nerim glanced around warily as a practical regiment of bodyguards formed a perimeter around the group, keeping away the press that had gathered outside. Ever since Tetha's father had told him about seeing the news of Raxus, he had become much more uncomfortable with the idea of his immortal image stamped across the holonet.

"Does our visit require so great a show of force?" Arwain asked pointedly as they passed a pair of Saarkanians in full-body armor, heavy blaster rifles in their arms.

"Oh, no, you assume too much!" Vseyav chuckled, "They are always around to keep the capitol safe. And no shifty off-world mercenaries here! They're all native-born Saarkanians, fully trained!" he bragged, as if full training was a very strenuous accomplishment. The more he spoke, the more Nerim felt like he was in the presence of the biggest guppy in the smallest pond he had ever touched toe into. He actually found it kind of cute.

Stars, it really was easy to tell he was from Coruscant, was it? At least it was a benevolent sort of bigotry he found himself holding.

They ascended the broad stone steps to the open front doors and walked in, blissfully free of the fog and into a crisp open marble chamber that served as the entrance hall, dotted with doors, elevators, spiral staircases, and kiosks for a multitude of government functions.

They began to approach a rather ornate elevator when an aide approached Vseyav and quickly asked him if he should send refreshments up to the meeting room. Vseyav briefly hesitated, glancing to the Jedi as if attempting to ascertain whether they would be bothered by the presence of more food and drink.

"I don't know about these two," Nerim said, nodding to the other Jedi, "But I would certainly appreciate it."

This time Arwain did a double-take at Nerim, her brow furrowed in confusion. He shrunk under her gaze. "W-what?" he asked nervously.

"My, my, my!" Vseyav grinned from ear to ear, "I am most impressed! I wouldn't have dreamed you to study our language for one little visit! Hats off, to you!"

"I wouldn't have expected it either," Arwain said ponderously.

Nerim looked between them, confused. He hadn't attempted to learn the language at all. And now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember the exact words the aide had said.

Fae chortled to herself. "Perhaps Nerim is not the only one who struggles to see his talents. I had wondered how you learned Mandalorian so quickly."

"And Huttese..." Arwain added quietly, staring at the floor as she thought about something. Then she turned to him. "And Cathar! Nerim, has anyone ever said anything in a language you didn't understand?"

He blinked. "Well, with Huttese, I only ever really get the...gist of it..." he trailed off, looking back at the curious Saarkanians. He remembered times where he was completely lost with language barriers, but ever since he had began training with Arwain, it had never happened to him.

"What a fool I must be," Fae grinned, walking smoothly into the elevator. "Fifteen years in my classes and I failed to bring any of this out of him. Maybe you're a better teacher than I give you credit for, Young Arwain."

"Huh...Yeah!" Arwain said, at first shocked and then delighted. "Maybe I am!" She said, as the rest of them followed into the elevator.

The doors closed and the elevator gently began rising, and Vseyav turned to the Jedi. "Now, these Commerce Guild types have really been rubbing everyone the wrong way. Saarkane has had a fruitful, if limited, partnership with the Techno Union for quite some time, but the Commerce Guild is one of their direct competitors. It's unclear to me entirely why they are both stepping up activity."

"Are they fighting over mining rights?" Arwain asked, leaning against the glass with her arms crossed.

"That's just it! The Techno Union has made no comments one way or the other. You would think they would be trying to pull strings to ensure the Commerce Guild negotiations are shut down," the Governor said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not only have they not complained to our business regulators, they are entirely mum on the matter, to us, to the press...everyone."

Nerim watched the marble columns pass around them like a waterfall as the elevator ascended. "You think they've come to some sort of private agreement with the Commerce Guild, regarding your system?"

"Possibly. But here's where it gets weird," Vseyav said conspiratorially, "It is not just the Techno Union and Commerce Guild that has taken an interest in Saarkane. They are the only ones contacting our government—that I know of—but executives from Plasma Dynamica and the Intergalactic Banking Clans have also been spotted by paparazzi entering certain exclusive areas. Even Czerka Arms!"

Arwain's eyes narrowed. "That is odd. A flurry of activity like that usually only occurs before a buying frenzy, or some sort of hostile takeover. The Saarkane system is rich in minerals, isn't it? Has some new lode been prospected?"

"Not that I know of," The Governor tapped his foot, "But it is possible that the corporations found one and are just keeping their findings secret. It would be fitting for them to all know before us."

"And how would this possibly be connected to the Dark Sider investigation...?" Fae asked, more directed towards the other Jedi than the Governor.

And still, the Governor decided to answer. "I may not know much about religion, but I at least know that Dark Siders are selfish, driven individuals. They stop at nothing to accrue as much power and wealth for themselves as possible, yes? If there were one in the Saarkanian system, how could they possibly miss out on such a frenzy? One could leech ten million credits from the mere middle managers of these corporations if they had the power, and a powerful Force User would be exactly the person to do so."

Nerim thought for a moment. It was a surprisingly well-argued point, even though it seemed obvious to him that Vseyav just wanted the Jedi to fix the biggest problem he personally faced. On a mildly xenophobic planet with isolationist tendencies, it most certainly couldn't have looked good for him that there was an apparent plan by Galactic megacorporations to move on the world, and nobody—not even he—had any idea why. Allying with the Jedi and ousting whatever secrets the megacorps held would be a massive boon for his popularity.

And yet, again, it was a well-argued point.

Fae turned to Arwain and Nerim. "Thoughts?" She asked in Mandalorian.

"He has no clue, typical politician," Arwain answered, "He just wants our help for his. This is a 'You scratch my back, I scratch yours' situation."

Nerim leaned forward. "That's called a symbiont circle, right?"

Fae shot a look at Arwain. "Never let Nerim enter politics."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 38: A Thousand Terrible Things Headed This Way​

Nerim rolled over in bed after a long day of political talks, preliminary police reports, meetings with secret agencies, and general attempts at finding some sort of orientation on this Mid Rim world. It was now deep into the night, and Nerim could hear the thunder and howling winds outside the windows of the Old Temple. They had briefly woken him up, and just as quickly lulled him back into a comfortable half-sleep.

He curled, trying to find some other sort of comfort which didn't clearly make itself apparent to him. His bed was warm and soft, and he felt safe and cocooned in a stone colossus that treated the thunderstorm more like an old friend than a threat. It was all very nice, and he was happy with it, he supposed.

Dreams began to return to him, seeming more real than his body laying in bed, until he mostly forgot about his body entirely. He wandered softly lit stone corridors in something he knew was an endless maze, although despite the anxiety the term might raise, he really didn't feel any desire to escape it. He just wanted to keep walking.

At one point he felt a tapping on his shoulder, and turned around. Several dozen feet down the corridor, he saw Tetha walking in the opposite direction. Just as quickly as he saw her, she turned a corner. He smiled and lightly jogged to catch up to her. He didn't call out to her; he never really spoke in his dreams, for whatever reason. But he was content to chase.

The chase seemed to go on for ages, catching brief glimpses of her hair or legs as she exited his sight in another direction, until eventually he rounded the corner and saw her standing right in front of him, staring back at him. Somehow, he suddenly felt a pang of fear that she might get away from him, ironically only now that they were face-to-face.

For whatever reason, she rarely spoke in his dreams, either. But this time, she did. "What do you want?" She asked, in a somewhat curious, somewhat accusatory tone.

It didn't occur to him to talk, so he just raised up his arms and reached out to her, offering a hug. The scene had transformed into savannas of Cathar, and Tetha looked out at the dry grasslands with some surprise, then amusement. "What's this?" She asked. He shrugged. He had no better idea of why they were on Cathar than she did—he didn't even know it was a dream by this point.

"Do you even have a plan?" She asked. She stood in the tall grass like a wary gazelle, ready to dart but curiously cocking her head in his direction. He pouted and lifted his arms a little, gesturing for the hug again. Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled at him sadly, as if he were asking for something completely impossible. "You're so dumb," she said softly. He pouted more. "And cute," she added. He tried not to smile.

She stepped forward and embraced him in a hug. He wasn't quite sure when it happened, but at some point they had transitioned to laying in the soft crunchy grass underneath the shade of a City-Tree, and he held her tighter, pressing his cheek into hers and closing his eyes. He slowly fell asleep, even in his dream.

When his eyes opened again, he awoke in Saarkane, in a room still dark as night with soft neon glows rising up from the city around him and peeking in through the foggy pane of glass. The room was an old barracks, apparently kept exactly how the Jedi Lord had told the Saarkanians nearly 900 years ago that Jedi liked to sleep in. Fae had taken the bed to the left of his, and Arwain slept on the right, where he was facing.

Arwain was curled up tightly in her bed lightly snoring, her face half-concealed by the covers she had pulled tightly around herself. He had always known her to sleep rather compact in colder climates. He felt a brief hope that she was also having good dreams, and rolled over again.

Fae Coven was laid perfectly on her back, one leg bent and crossed over the other and her hands threaded together over her stomach. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling, and her head slightly turned towards him. "I sense much anticipation in you, Padawan."

Nerim frowned slightly. "Don't wake up Master Arwain," he whispered.

"Hah! As if I could!" Fae laughed in her bed. "She's harder to wake up than a Rancor is to put to sleep!"

He thought back to punching her in the shoulder while she slept in the Revanchist Temple, and how she barely stirred. "Well...Still."

"Do you often have vivid dreams, Nerim?" She asked. His eyes narrowed. "And before you ask, no, I was not peeking, and I don't know what the dream was about. But I cannot help but notice when the Force flows through you strongly right next to me."

"I dream an average amount, or at least I think I do. I've never asked anyone else, really. They're just dreams."

"What did you dream about?" She asked curiously. He grumbled wordlessly. "Oh come on!" She pleaded half-seriously. "I asked nicely this time instead of peeking into your head, that has to count for something."

"I suppose it does," Nerim sighed. "But there's not much to tell. It was just a pleasant dream."

"Dreams are gateways, Young Nerim," she said cryptically. "They show you things your conscious mind doesn't allow itself to see. The past, the future, things which may be and things which never were. I'm sure you've seen such things during meditation as well."

Nerim closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep before she could lecture him more. Several seconds passed, and he opened them again. "Master Coven? Can you really see the future?"

"Don't you sense danger before it happens?"

"Before it arrives, but isn't a blaster bolt already happening once it is loosed? Once the shooter decided to fire, even?"

"Indeed," she smiled enigmatically up at the ceiling. "In that way, everything is already happening, always. We do not sense the future, per say, but rather the inertia of things. Of course, alterations can be made to the trajectory of things by living beings."

"Then how can prophecies be made millennia in advance?" Nerim asked, now mostly awake. "Isn't it a belief of the Jedi that prophecies have been made and completed over the course of centuries, if not thousands of years?"

"Sure," Fae nodded, "Although many of them are of a rather unhelpfully vague nature. Indeed there is little similarity between sensing where a blaster bolt might go and attempting to discern where the prophecy of the Chosen One, for example, might lead."

Nerim rubbed his face. Not the Chosen One. Anything but that. The whole reason he had been putting off reading The Jedi Path was because it began with an unbearably long treatise on the prophecy of the Chosen One. "Master, you really oughta rip those pages out of the book for the next edition," he mumbled.

She laughed. "Over my dead body. But my point is, you should never trust prophecies; that is not what they are there for. Prophecies are a primitive attempt at guidelines. They are what our forebears feared and hoped for, with the pertinent information they could pass on. They are not themselves what will happen, but they point our eyes towards objects of inertia and their trajectories."

"But that means they can become completely irrelevant if the objects are redirected, right? Never to be fulfilled?"

"That's the trick," Fae smiled beatifically, "We just say those ones weren't real prophecies."

"...Do you believe any of this crap?"

"My my, you really haven't read my book," Fae chortled. "How hurtful. And I gave it to you for free and everything."

Nerim began to respond, when he heard a groan from behind him.

"Masterrr..." Arwain whined, pulling the blanket over her head and mumbling, "It's too early for prophecies..."

Fae blinked in genuine surprise. "Have you become such a light sleeper in your old age?"

"I'm not old!" Arwain's head popped out of the blanket, her bleary eyes focusing in frustration.

"Hah! But we must hope that you're not correct about it being too early for the Chosen One."

"Oh, not this again..." Arwain sighed under her breath.

Nerim adjusted himself in his bed, sitting up. "What's the point of this prophecy in particular anyways? If it happens, it happens. It's millennia old and hasn't been important to anyone who's ever lived yet. Why would we be thinking about it?"

"That's just it," Fae said. "If it is true, it has great implications as to our current present, outside the scope of the prophecy itself."

"How so?" He asked.

Arwain practically sobbed into her pillow. "I can't believe you're doing this instead of reading the karking book. When I'm supposed to be sleeping..."

Fae answered his question with another question. "Do you remember the wording of the focal verse of the Chosen One prophecy?"

Nerim tried to will the words to his mind. "That...some special person will destroy all the Sith and bring balance to the Force?"

"Close enough," Fae nodded. "Now think about what that means."

He considered it. "I guess that means...The prophecy already happened?" The gears started turning in his head. "Wait, are you the Chosen One?"

"For the love of..." Fae closed her eyes. "No. I am certain that I am not."

"Then who was it? Lord Hoth?" He tilted his head, referencing the Grand Master of the Army Of Light.

"No. I am certain of that, too," she sighed. "I don't think it was anyone from my generation. Which means one of two things. Either the prophecy has been averted and rendered meaningless..."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Or the Sith aren't actually destroyed yet."

Fae gave him that weary, weathered smile. "Wouldn't that be something?"

Nerim breathed in deeply, and then sighed through his nose. "Okay, I think I have a better idea of why you're so obsessed with this prophecy."

"There's always a third option," Arwain's muffled voice came out from her face still buried in the pillow.

"That the prophecy could have been misread and mistranslated," Fae nodded in acknowledgment. "It is over 25,000 years old, and we do not have the original texts or a complete understanding of the original Tythonian dialect it was written in. I wouldn't bet on it, though. This has been the subject of study for hundreds of thousands of Jedi scholars, and there has been a broad consensus for quite some time."

"Or a fourth option," Arwain added, raising her head. "Which could be that Master Fae is just wrong."

"Oh, not this again..." Fae sighed under her breath.

Nerim raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How?"

"Maybe Fae is the Chosen One," Arwain shrugged. "Or maybe it was Lord Hoth. Or some random Jedi she never met. Or a Sith. Maybe it was a random civilian no one ever wrote anything about. The prophecy doesn't really say that the Chosen One is supposed to be a Jedi, or even anyone important, and it doesn't say anything about what happens after balance is brought to the Force."

Fae shook her head. "Many of the viable translations—the ones I give most credence to—say the Chosen One is a being born of the Force. I was born of two documented parents."

"It's all the Force," Arwain said, using her Master voice on Fae.

"Tch," Fae scoffed.

"Wait," Nerim placed his hands to his temples, a sudden recollection from his early studies in memorizing names and dates coming to him. "How could the prophecy mention the Sith if it's over 25,000 years old? The Sith Order only dates back to, what, 6,700 years ago?"

Fae and Arwain both answered tiredly in stereo around him. "It's a prophecy."

"No, that's stupid," Nerim said, rubbing his eyes. "If there was a famous prophecy that specifically foretold the destruction of the Sith, why wouldn't the Sith have named themselves something else, like the Blif or something?"

"That is such a childish view of prophecy," Fae sighed.

"He has a point," Arwain retorted sarcastically. "That's what I'd do, if I was a Sith Lord. Excuse me, a Blif Lord."

Nerim crossed his arms. "This is ridiculous. It must be a mistranslation. The prophecy is nonsense."

"I don't know about that, Padawan," Arwain said, placing her hands behind her head. "Personally, I think Fae is just too modest about being the Chosen One."

"It is not a mistranslation and I am not the Chosen One!" Fae frowned.

They sat in silence, each privately thinking to themselves that it must have been a miracle they ended up stuck together, seeing as they were nothing alike.

After a few minutes, Nerim threw his hands up in frustration. "Well, I'm awake now!"

Fae sighed and sat up. "As am I."

"Nnnnghhh..." Arwain grumbled, throwing the blanket back over her head in a futile gesture.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 39: Don't Worry, The Force Will Guide Us​

The three Jedi exited the Old Temple premises, feeling the inconstant rush of cold air turbulently whipping around them in the storm. The streets were lit by hazy holograms and neon, along with the occasional flash of lightning. Despite the hour, the streets still had a fair number of Saarkanians. Some were striding down the sidewalks, carrying transparent umbrellas with holographic patterns swirling across them. Others were simply squatting beneath overhangs, sheltering from the rain and smoking.

Fae and Arwain turned to Nerim. He grimaced. "You two really weren't joking about me taking the lead, were you?"

"Of course not," Arwain winked, "I have faith in you, my Padawan."

Fae deeply inhaled, savoring the sensation of the charged, stormy air. "If we are to find what we're looking for, we must listen to the Force."

Nerim closed his eyes and centered himself. If the Force were talking to him right now, what would it be saying? He wasn't sure. But he knew that his Master listened to the Force, and whenever he followed her instructions he usually ended up in trouble. So he just had to act like Arwain.

A streetcar rolled to a stop over the railing in the street, and the doors opened. Several Saarkanians boarded and disembarked, and without any particular reason, Nerim gestured for Fae to board it. "Grand Masters first," he said. Fae smiled, amused, and stepped into the streetcar. Nerim followed thereafter, and as Arwain placed her foot onto the first step, he put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her, pushing her back out.

She blinked. "What?"

Nerim grinned. "Good luck, Master! Listen to your instincts!"

The doors began to close, and Arwain's eyes widened. "Wait, wait, wait! You can't—! HEY!" She shouted, running alongside them as the streetcar began to move. "That's my move! That's an Arwain move, you can't...!" Arwain trailed off as she skid to a stop in the rain and watched them disappear behind traffic.

Nerim and Fae laughed as they found their seats, much to the bewilderment of the bleary-eyed early-morning Saarkanians on the streetcar. "I admit," Fae said, "I did not see that coming."

"Neither did I," Nerim shrugged. "Now to figure out where we're going..."

He looked up to the display on the streetcar, which showed a truly labyrinthine map composed of at least seventy different lines of very slightly varying shades of color. He cautiously, slowly moved his eyes to the text underneath, noting that it was in fact in Saarkanian, and he couldn't understand it or even make out where one character ended and the other began. He tried focusing on it, but nothing happened.

He fought the urge to ask Fae for guidance. He closed his eyes and reached out, focusing on his sense of hearing rather than vision. The streetcar made an odd warbling and chugging noise, the primitive wheels it was rolling on squeaking and crushing bits of loose change, bottle caps, and other detritus under the weight of the car. The rain pitter-pattered against the windows and made tiny dull thungs against the steel roof. He heard the sound of rustling cloth and low murmurs from the passengers, some no doubt speculating on the strange aliens that had loudly boarded.

The streetcar shuddered and squealed with each start and stop, of which there were many. There was a distant roar of thunder, and he heard one Saarkanian turn to another and ask if that was Fae Coven, to which another responded by asking what's a Fae Coven. There was a mother trying to keep her baby asleep, and a tired salaryman staring out the window at the trailing raindrops, internally betting on which would reach the bottom first.

He opened his eyes. He wasn't sure what the text said, but he knew what it meant, which was that the streetcar was going towards a commercial district, and from there into a grand park at the center of the city. He let go of his breath and turned to Fae, who watched him with muted, pleased curiosity.

"It doesn't come as naturally when I try to do it," he said sullenly, now somewhat embarrassed that the Grand Master was observing him.

"Oh, you're exactly wrong," Fae's nose twitched as she relaxed in her seat. "It comes to you easily when you try to do it. You fail when you try to try to use the Force."

"...What?" He asked, confused.

She grinned. "Be mindful of your intentions, Padawan. You can do anything you try to do. But when you set out to try to do something, that is exactly what you will do; you will try."

Nerim slowly nodded, trying the idea out in his head like he were rolling the Spelska Nagram in his mouth to test the taste. He decided that if he were to lead the Jedi in any useful direction—and by doing so, convince Fae that he and Arwain were not useless lunatics deserving of exile—he would have to put every lesson he learned to use at once. Including the ones he didn't like.

The first question was where to start the investigation. This was a decidedly impossible question. It was far too broad, and encompassed far too much to accomplish in any of the mundane ways he was accustomed to. There were practically infinite equally likely avenues he could travel down.

The streetcar came to a stop and a bell dinged, while the doors squeaked open. He felt the presence of his lightsaber crystal at his side. You can decide, and then you will know. He stood up and exited the streetcar, Fae following behind him. The rain swallowed them up, cold droplets peppering his face and splashing into his hair.

He found his eyes land on a particularly glittering skyscraper in front of him, and began walking. Fae deferentially followed him—quietly judging him, no doubt. His footsteps plodded along the sidewalk, passing by storefronts and restaurants, most still not open even as the sky began to take a slight silvery tone as the sun peeked over an invisible horizon.

"Sir Ma'am! Sir Ma'am!" He heard a high pitched voice call out, and stopped, looking around. He turned his eyes down and saw a young Saarkanian waving at him from a few feet away, standing next to a rack of umbrellas set up by a closed merchant kiosk. "Down here, down here!" She called again to him, speaking in heavily accented Basic, her ears lit up with friendly pink lines. "Would you like umbrella, Sir Ma'am? Will rain all day! Only twenty credits!"

He glanced at the price tag, which quite cleverly said 'Seven credits' in the Saarkanian script. She grinned up at him with a missing tooth. "It will keep you warm and style! This one is green, it suits you, Sir Ma'am!" She said, pulling out a small stick and pressing a button, causing it to extend and a translucent umbrella to open up with a thwump and an electric hum, then begin glowing a bluish green with a slight hum.

Nerim was somewhat amused by the resemblance to a lightsaber. He also figured he ought to have one; even if he didn't mind the rain, he would eventually mind the cold. Trying to remember what Arwain taught him about haggling, he folded his arms. "Cute, but you can't be serious. They don't look that durable, and they're not even properly sized for my species," he said, obviously around the same height as the adult Saarkanians passing by. It wasn't exactly a lie, he was just short for a Mirialan. "I'd settle for ten credits for a pair."

"Whaaaaat?" The Saarkanian girl's eyes widened, her fur flashing zig-zagging patterns of electric blue in surprise. "Sir Ma'am is too bold! Far too bold! These are more durable than they look, will stand up in gust winds! They look sleek for style, but still strong! Like Coruscant!" She said, winking. "But I cannot stand to see you stand around in the rain, too unbecoming of Saarkane! We are hospitable! I will sell you big discount, two for twenty five! That is almost half off!"

"Ridiculous, it's not even my preferred shade of green. And I doubt you have her color," he said, gesturing to Fae, who stood still as a statue with her very slight smile and hands behind her back. "Be reasonable, two for twelve. That's a twenty percent increase to what I would usually pay!"

She shook her head emphatically. "No no no no no, you wound me, Sir Ma'am! I offer you half off and you respond with a twenty percent? Twenty is not even half of fifty! How rude!"

"You were already overcharging me nearly triple! Fourteen is what you'd offer a Saarkanian," he countered with a smirk.

Her face went black in surprise, her features invisible except for two big blue eyes that stared at him. He looked down at the price tag, and she followed his eyes, and then looked back at him. A ripple of blue and red crossed over her, that combination of surprise and anger. "Since when do so many foreigners read Saarkanian?!" She cried in frustration.

Nerim blinked in surprise. "How many others have you met?" He asked.

She turned and banged on the kiosk, and the metal slats over the window opened up, revealing an adult Saarkanian in the middle of setting up various electronics and knickknacks. "What?" he asked in confusion to his daughter, before looking up and seeing the Jedi. "Offworlders! Welcome!" He said with a big smile. She frowned and began explaining the situation in Saarkanian to him. He tilted his head in confusion. "Again?" he asked "No offense, but where are you all coming from? Who are you?"

"We are Jedi, from Coruscant," Nerim answered, unsure.

"From where?!"

"From Coruscant," he repeated.

"Spast!" The Saarkanian man cursed, more out of surprise than anger. "They're coming from everywhere! Twi'lek from Sleheyron think she was some kinda Jedi yesterday!"

Nerim shot a glance to Fae, who was now listening quite intently. "She thought she was a Jedi?" Fae asked.

"Yeah, delusional!" He complained, before his daughter cut in.

"Not like Sir Ma'am!" She said, hands up apologetically.

The father's cheeks flashed lime green dots. "Of course! But she was waving her hands around and insisting she could get things for free! Like in the movies!"

Fae nodded, leaning to Nerim. "Saarkanians are resistant to mind tricks," she explained.

"Good to know...?" Nerim said, pursing his lips. "What did she buy?"

"Mm, wanted diatium power cell," he explained.

Any hint of Fae's normal saintly expression vanished, her brow furrowing and lips winding into a tight frown. "Diatium?"

"Yeah. I don't sell them!" He quickly explained, "But I use one in kiosk, ever since blackout two years ago. She wanted me to take it out of my radiator and give it to her. Weirdo! But she paid good for it."

Diatium power cells were rare in civilized space, mostly due to their relative cost and impracticality. They were expensive and finicky, but generated a nearly endless supply of power. Nearly useless for blasters and far more expensive than just recharging appliances every couple of weeks, Nerim only knew of a few uses for them, and about half of those were as lightsaber powercells.

Fae stepped forward, leveling her gaze at the Saarkanian. "Do you have any idea where she might be now?"

He shrugged. "She was uh...Secret? Secret airy? She work for Czerka. Don't know where she would be. Didn't even know Saarkane had a Czerka office."

The Grand Master fished out a datary from her robe and placed it on the counter top. The Saarkanian's eyes bulged as he examined the golden coin with a 100 engraved into its surface. "Thank you. We'll be taking two umbrellas."

The child jumped in place, her fur rippling with pink lines. "Yay! Thank you, Sir Ma'am! What color?"

Fae took a moment to smile as she saw the elation of the girl. "Any color is good." The girl grabbed a stick from the basket next to the rack and handed it to her, along with the green one for Nerim. The Jedi nodded and began quickly walking.

Nerim tilted the glowing umbrella so he could see Fae's face. "Do you think it could be a Dark Jedi?"

"If it isn't, we would be lucky," Fae said as she extended her own umbrella, shrouding herself in its crimson red glow. She adopted a perplexed expression, looking up at it. "Really...?"