#generally i think that their bond is something unshakable and fated but at the same time riddled with sadness and anger

[t-u-i-t-c]

"You'll triumph someday, as long as you never yield. I'll take you on any time." "You never fail to piss me off, Geats."

[hotheadhero]

Reconcile

“Perhaps you should go to the Goddess Tower and seek her council. Oh, don’t look at me like that! Yes, rumors abound about that place, but it’s also the most private place connected to your goddess here.”

Even as he stands before the entrance of the Goddess Tower with Celica’s advice still fresh on his mind, he can’t bring himself to climb those storied steps and seek divine counsel. For everyone else the tower represents joy, bears witness to fateful promises that will last a lifetime. He has nothing of the sort to make tonight; it would be something like heresy to climb up now. And so he remains at the foot of it, blankly staring up at its peak trying to listen for something he’s never sought out in his life before... and finding, to some distress, nothing at all.

Now, as ever, it would seem he has to muddle through things on his own.

For one normally so hyper, he stands almost statuesque, hand frozen in midair mere inches from the gilded knob. Minutes pass, hours, eons, before he heaves a sigh and, clenching fingers once into a fist, turns away. Exactly what he’d hoped to find here, he doesn’t know... It was stupid of him to even try. Perhaps he’d be better served hunting Linhardt down and apologizing tomorrow. It’s getting late, anyway. Neither of them should be up much longer; and coupling his friend’s general distaste for balls with his own epic (and public) outburst midway through one, chances were just as high the mage had already fled and turned in.

But of course, the goddess still loves her games and whiles. As he trudges back down the short flight of stairs across the cathedral bridge towards his dorm room, who should he find along the way but the very person he wanted most and could least avoid. He looks up precisely when Linhardt does. Their eyes meet. His composure breaks.

Seeing Linhardt again after what feels like ages tears a fresh hole into his psyche. He finds now that all he’s done tonight is delude himself, slap band-aids over his wounds without really assessing their depth. He’s never had any aptitude for healing his physical wounds; whatever made Caspar think he could handle his emotional ones any better? He’s run away from his problems as he always has, never confronting them unless forced; and how it shows when the matter involves someone he can’t run away from, his dear best friend, his fellow student and other half on this same goddess-forsaken campus! The injury is still there, fresh as if he’d torn it now rather than hours prior. It suffocates him, chokes out his power for speech. But speak he must! for he feels the weight of those incredulous accusing eyes on his, near withers under that ocean-ice gaze. Linhardt’s stare is almost frightening when not at their usual half-mast; it pins him like a vampire to the stake. How dare you renounce everything we had? those eyes demand. How dare you go and pretend as if all of this is normal?

“Linhardt, I—”

A wave of emotion crashes over him and drags him under with those two words, as if he’s opened a dam without first seeing how much water it held back. His perfectly rehearsed apology dies in his mouth. He wants to flee but finds himself rooted to drown under the weight of all their past memories. Acceptance. Laughter. Harmless exasperation at Linhardt’s many capricious antics; countless adventures with the other boy in tow. Innumerable times escaping Gilead’s wrath or even Lord Hevring’s. All underscored by an unshakable faith that no matter what he did, Linhardt would always have his back just as Caspar did his. Because they were best friends, brothers from another mother, and they’d never have to fight it out. Because theirs was an unbreakable bond… Up until the moment Linhardt broke it, and everything burned.

(Or was it he who had broken it from the start, and thus he who deserved all the blame? For hadn’t it been Linhardt who’d always had faith in him when even his brother and father did not? Who’d always helped him get back on his feet every time a fight or argument knocked him down? Who’d convinced him he had any shot at any of this when the whole of Enbarr seemed to believe otherwise?)

And he’s my friend besides. He would never lie to me without good reason… Right?

Words fail him as they never do; and Caspar is the first to divert his gaze. His eyes writhe with equal parts anger, guilt, and sorrow. He isn’t blind to the damage he’s done tonight, not at all. He simply doesn’t know how best to make amends.

I can’t deal with this right now.

Then when?

At least you still have the ability to talk to him now. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

(It is Lloyd’s words that finally rouse him to action, his spiritual older brother with the wise haggard eyes. He can’t allow himself to go the way of Linus, to see Linhardt or himself part ways forever without ever learning the truth.)

“… Why?” he manages at last. It’s a loaded question, far weightier than its one syllable deserves. Why did you lie to me? Why did you break our promise?

Why did you go and leave me behind?

Narrow fingers clench tighter in his palms ‘til they blanche. It's a pain and atonement far too small, he thinks. Pathetic, something hisses inside. Seething with thoughts unvoiced, you dig your own grave even deeper. Did you ever think you deserved such a friend? Dare you think you deserve any at all, after what you yourself did to your best and first most faithful friend?

“I don’t understand.” Not you, not myself. He addresses the air, not his friend’s face; his words drag forth from him, quiet and ragged for what he fears he’s about to hear. ”I thought you wanted me to stay away from you. Grow up, since I haven’t with you always close by. Isn’t that why you left the Eagles for the Deer? Because I’ve done something seriously wrong?”

How it hurts to admit that aloud; but that’s the only thing that can explain all this. Why else would Linhardt dodge his questions and accuse him like that when all he’d done was listen to what he thought he wanted? Ten long years they’ve been friends; he’d thought by now he knew Linhardt’s mind like the back of his hand. Clearly he was in the wrong—and if he’d been wrong about that, what else had he been wrong about? Had he ever really known Linhardt at all?

“I…” Caspar sighs. Head unmoving, his eyes flick up towards the other’s face; but this position makes the back of his eyes ache and so he forces himself to properly meet the mage’s eyes. ”I still don’t think you gave me an honest answer back there, so tell me now. Obviously you didn’t leave the ball early like all the other ones back in Enbarr, so why are you here? Come to tell me off? Go on; I can take it.” Yet his gaze slips sideways again. ”It’s probably nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Oh, but can he? His own words conjure up all manner of past demons – just as they had with Celica, but worse. A formless beast, bearing at times his brother’s face, at others his father’s, appears in his mind’s eye, sinister, venomous. Spiteful. Even Linhardt’s face appears there once, he thinks; and that possibility terrifies him. Julian was right, you know, it whispered, words sinking into his mind like the poisoned claws sinking deep to his bones. You weak, stupid, reckless, irrational cunt. Unworthy of the peerage, let alone of your family’s coveted title. You will never make anything of yourself other than an abject mess. To convince yourself otherwise is the highest of follies. Desist, now. Everyone will be happier with you out of the way.

“If everything you’ve ever done for me was from some misguided sense of pity, then stop. I’m not worth it. Maybe I’ve never been. Not like you.” (Goddess damn it, his hands are shaking; but he can bear it all; he must!) “Just tell it to me straight whether you want me to leave or stay, because whatever we’re not telling each other definitely isn’t helping.”

Honestly, even contemplating the possibility that he could lose his decade-long friend, could already have lost him with his own foolishness, pains him terribly, but maybe things would be better that way. Even if the closure he so desires is spit in his face like his brother’s slander (and Linhardt would be justified in such after what he’s starting to think was an unjustified rant), surely it will be enough to let him move on. Caspar’s sure he can bounce back; he always has… But it will be a damn sight harder without his old friend at his side.

(He’s still not looking at him. He’s too afraid to see what's surely there.)

@linhcrdt

[renegade-skywalker]

Out of the Abyss, Chapter 6

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2  / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6: Recon

After years in exile, ex-Jedi General, Eden Valen continues to clean up after Revan and Malak's mess of a war, only to find herself forever cursed with their unfinished business. As an ill-fated lead brings her to Tatooine, Eden finds that Revan's mysterious plans go beyond the Republic, beyond the Outer Rim, and into the utter unknown. (A novelization of The Sith Lords and beyond)

Chapter Summary: Vale and her salvage crew discuss the aftermath of the Jedi Civil War and the Mandalorian Wars, delving into some of the mysteries surrounding the conflicts that inspired their inception in the first place.

3951 BBY, Tatooine

The sandcrawler sat unnervingly quiet as they neared it again, and there was no wind upon the surrounding sands. The twin suns beat down on them from above, leaving no room for shadows or shade, but Vale still felt cold.

Despite the unease taking root in the pit of her stomach and the unshakable feeling of being watched, she couldn’t keep her eyes from Glitch’s pack. Her fingers tingled still, as if she had just touched a damp hand to an active battery. It had been nine years since she last felt the Force. Nine years. The ancient holocron feeders had nothing to feed off of her, and yet somehow being in their presence offered her a taste. But now, she was mute to it once more, so the crystals should have no effect on her since she had no Force to give them - though that didn't mean they couldn't goad her by feeding her promises laced with nightmares. They would be safe, for now, in the munitions pack. It worked before.

She wondered how the others felt. Back on Dxun, none of them were immune. Asra, Darek, Orex and Glitch must be exhausted, though Glitch, the smallest of them, looked all the worse for it. Vale had no awareness of time as it passed in the cavern, so she had no idea how long the crystals fed off her crew before she was able to secure them.

When they found the other artifacts on Dxun years ago, a mere touch of the crystal had sent her reeling through what felt like time and space – just as it had now, only worse, feeding off her ability to channel the Force. Her troops had all felt it too, seen and heard things they could not explain. A few of her soldiers hadn’t made it, offering up their raw life force to the unseen demands of the crystals at Freedon Nadd’s temple in exchange for the information it promised. She felt that same sensation back then as well, that same out-of-body deliverance and suspension of disbelief, but she broke the spell and gathered the crystals without corruption. Malak said it was because of her Force Bond ability, but Vale was never certain.

But still, those ancient holocrons sent a ghost of the Force trickling through her before retracting today, as if whatever energies hungered in those crystals sensed the wound within her, tasting the lingering death that remained, and decided to leave her be. But she had felt it again, the Force, for just a moment. Fleeting and unsettling.

As before, a gentle hand on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts, and Vale found Asra at her side. The hurt was evident in her eyes, but there was also concern.

“You’ll tell me, I know.” Asra smiled softly, the corners of her mouth barely turning upward as she predicted her thoughts somewhat bitterly. Vale would explain everything on the crawler, once they got moving.

Vale’s mind raced. She barely remembered putting her gear away or staring out at the sand dunes until the treads were up and running again. They would be back in Anchorhead in a few days, sooner if they hurried. Vale thought Orex might be growing restless.

At the thought of what would happen next to the holocrons, crystals, whatever the hell they really were, Vale made her way to the makeshift kitchen to fix herself a drink. Orex was already there.

“Going by Vale these days, huh?”

Orex was sitting at the improvised kitchen table, a tumbler of clear liquid held firmly in his hand. Vale wondered if the man ever ate. Another glass was set out on the table, next to a bottle of what Vale often overheard Asra consider “the good stuff”.

“Only lately.”

Vale sidled up across from him and looked him square in the face.

“Comes with the territory,” he said.

“What sort of territory are we talking about here, exactly?”

“You know you’re not the only one. So many of us were, uh, displaced after the war,” Orex chose his words carefully, ruminating on a great many things. Vale hadn’t figured he was a man for talking. The evidence was imminent.

“Homes destroyed and conveniently unrestored, unfavorable leaders not worth following, take your pick.”

Vale watched him as she poured herself a drink. Was he talking about her, specifically, or the lot of them? She knew she wasn’t the only one, but it was unnerving to have spent so much time with someone she no longer recognized, especially since Orex had apparently known her from the start.

“You can say that again.”

Orex lifted his half-drunk cup, and Vale toasted before downing her entire glass.

“Do you remember it at all, Serroco?” Orex asked.

“The place or the battle?” Vale inquired, feeling the fire of alcohol in every wisp of her exhaling breath as she spoke.

Orex chuckled, the lines in his face growing light as the underlying muscles pulled them taut. Vale wondered whether he was at Malachor, boots on the ground and all, but figured the man might need a few more drinks before broaching that subject, speaking from experience.

"Before the war, I mean," he clarified, an unusual softness still apparent in his features.

“It’s cute that you remember, really,” Vale started, sincere, “I still remember my mother, the home she had there. That was back when the Council wasn’t such a hardass about keeping emotional ties. Hell, they still let families attend knighting ceremonies back then. But my mother… she was there when we first arrived. She was the first friendly face I had seen in a long, long while.”

Vale’s skin prickled at the memory of her mother. After living in the Outer Rim, Naara Valen had returned to her homeplanet of Serroco once Vale and her twin brother were taken to the Jedi on Dantooine. Without her children, Naara returned to support her own struggling parents. She remembered receiving the holo her mother had sent when they both passed away during the early days of the war, and how Aiden had cried at the news. Aiden. The war was already raging, and her mother joined the ragtag effort keeping the Mandalorians at bay. She remembered seeing her out on the field and how they ran towards one another once their eyes had met, seeking each other out as if they already knew the other was there. The warmth of her mother stayed her and reminded her that her decision to go against the Council’s wishes was well worth it. Naara had asked about Aiden, asked whether her son was alright. Vale hadn’t the heart to tell her that he did not support the Jedi involvement in the conflict, nor did he support her leaving. She didn’t tell her mother that he’d rather study ancient holocrons in a quiet library behind safe, secure walls instead, living in an alternate reality where pain and suffering could be closed out by an indomitable will to simply ignore it. Vale still wondered how he could even call himself a Jedi, but he hadn't been the only one…

Vale hadn’t thought about her family in a long while. Orex must not have felt much different, nor anyone else displaced out on the Rim, looking for somewhere else to belong. Those were the kinds of memories that you kept hidden but somehow knew kept you going, even if they were difficult to think back on.

“I grew up on Telos,” Orex admitted, “but it’s not the same. I’ve been to Citadel Station a couple of times, for credits mostly, but… there’s something about being out here that makes more sense to me. I figure the same goes for you.”

Vale nodded, “Though, I have to admit, it’s not like I had a choice.”

She tapped her empty tumbler pointedly on the workbench-turned-table, watching as the final rays of daylight played against the rough of her glass.

“I heard about what happened. About what the Jedi did to you. It was hard not to, since Darth-“ Orex stopped himself, took a sip, and course corrected in reference to a slightly different iteration of the same man, “It was hard not to hear about you, working under Captain Malak.”

“Oh?”

Vale took it upon herself to pour another drink. If Orex wanted to talk about Malak, she’d need to take the edge off – and that’s not to say that there wasn’t enough of an edge to her mood already.

“Sore subject,” Orex observed, watching her pour. Vale responded without words, lifting her eyebrows as she let out a long breath. There were few things that set her on edge these days, but being reminded of Malak, and her disloyal brother Aiden, were two of them.

“I didn’t follow him for very long. I hadn’t chosen to, either. I was loyal to you. To Revan.”

“She’s a tough act to follow,” Vale muttered in agreement, hoping the alcohol would quickly calm her nerves. As shaken as she was about what had just transpired, talk of Malak never sat well with her more than most things and she was eager to change the subject.

“How much do you know?” Orex asked, his voice gruff like a rough whisper.

“About?”

“What happened after.”

Vale shook her head, recounting the facts in silence before speaking evenly.

“When I left the Order, I left Republic Space. As much as I wanted to disappear, it was hard not to get swept up in the chaos, the aftermath. I helped in the forgotten relief efforts, but talk of the Sith Lords was on everyone’s mouths,” Vale responded almost mockingly, “I heard about Malak’s betrayal, about Revan saving the Republic or whatever the hell it was she did, but I was always fuzzy on those details.”

Orex grunted again.

“I don’t think you’re alone in that. I don’t buy whatever bull the Republic said about that ordeal, or the Jedi. It all seemed too… convenient,” Orex savored the word, enunciating slowly as if deliberating the sound of each syllable.

Vale nodded in agreement. Nothing aligned with what she knew of Revan, even despite the rumors of her Jedi persuasion, however that happened.

“They thought I was a threat. The Jedi.” Vale almost laughed, her eyes losing their focus as her mind drifted faraway for a moment, contemplating the contents of her glass. “I warned them about Malak, about Revan, after Malachor. But all they felt was death. They didn’t care about what I had to say.”

Orex’s good eye narrowed as he took in her words.

“How could they know, they weren’t there,” he said in an aggravated breath.

“Ironic, though.” Vale sighed before taking another sip. “So, what made you leave?”

Orex downed the contents of his cup and sat back, examining his empty glass.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Orex said, referring to Malak she guessed.

He watched her for a breath, taking in her expression and thinking something over in his mind before speaking again. “I’m not sure how much you hear these days, whether by choice or otherwise, but she’s gone. A few years now, I think.”

“Revan?”

There were always whispers of Revan, so overhearing a conversation peppered with her name was nothing new. Vale’s subconscious learned to filter out the sound of her name, and her ears no longer perked up at the mention – at least, not nearly as much as they used to. In the aftermath of Malak’s betrayal, rumors were abound as to the fate of the Dark Lord. Many doubted she could be bested so easily, whereas others applauded Malak’s swift action. Despite their admiration, many still hoped it was the beginning of the end, a telling turn of events that predicted Malak’s eventual self-destruction – which, in a way, it had been. Then their whole Sith charade would be done with. Vale was always curious, but second-hand opinions grew tiresome, especially when so many of the spacers she overheard got it all wrong. Very few were on-the-nose, specifically the opinions of those who worked under either Jedi at one point, whether they were Outer Rim recruits, Republic soldiers without homes to return to, or disgruntled deserting Sith. But even hearing those stories left a bad taste in her mouth.

Revan going rogue wasn’t unexpected.

“The question is, what haven’t I heard,” Vale laughed darkly. Orex nodded in understanding.

“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of Revan?”

Vale steadied herself, nodding, and took a moment to choose her words.

“I feel Revan everywhere, it's like I'm chasing her damn ghost," Vale laughed, "But I knew there was more to it. None of what I heard about Revan made any sense. If Revan disappeared, it’s because she forgot something, or had some unfinished business. I don’t know what happened with the Jedi, exactly, but I don’t think they were privy to what she was up to, either.”

“Revan was here. I know it. But something kept her from coming back,” Orex said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “There were others, you know, other holocrons, other artifacts. All Sith. All ancient. On Malachor.”

“On Malachor?”

Orex smiled, but it was anything but kind. “You were there, but you weren’t really there. There was a structure on its surface, not far from where we were fighting, older than anything I’ve ever seen.” Orex flinched momentarily, making a face as if he had just swallowed something unpleasant. “I only saw it from a distance, but I felt it. The ocean.”

Vale felt her skin grow cold.

"That might be why I-" Vale started before stopping herself. At Malachor, the Force had begun to ebb away from her, as if it were fleeing, desperate to be rid of the death that surrounded her. If there were other dark artifacts housed on the moon's surface, who knows what consequences that could have? She shook her head, still unsure, and Orex continued.

“You knew there was more she wasn’t telling us, what she wasn’t telling you.”

Vale nodded, unable to speak.

“I don’t think Revan accounted for there to be as many survivors as there were from Malachor. My transport was mid-flight when it hit.”

“The Mass Shadow Generator,” Vale said, her voice hollow and ragged.

“Thanks to your warning, General, my squad was able to get away as far as we could.”

The memory of giving the order was almost like a dream, but at Orex’s words she briefly recalled a moment where she ordered her troops to fall back. It was already too late for most of them.

“So that’s where all this General business is coming from.”

Orex looked up and Vale swung around to find Asra in the doorway, her face solemn.

"I knew something was up about you," she continued, attempting to be lighthearted, "But I never figured you were a Jedi."

"Ex-Jedi."

"Is it ... more of a title? Or a state of being?" Coming out of anyone else's mouth, Vale might have accused them of being sarcastic, but she knew Asra was curious by the clumsy but careful way she chose her words.

"It's a bit of both. But Jedi or not, I can't command the Force. Not any more."

“I had no idea that was even a thing,” the Togruta muttered, not pushing the subject further. She shook her head slowly, her striped head-tails moving gently across her shoulders.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Vale started, “Not that-“

“I know,” Asra nodded, understanding, “I wouldn’t want to remember something like that, either.”

Asra snatched a rugged cup from the bench beside her and took a seat next to Vale, serving herself a drink before she spoke again.

“I didn’t think holocrons did that sort of thing, either,” Asra admitted. She must have been listening from the doorway for some time. “I thought they were just recordings.”

“They are, mostly,” Vale explained, “but Sith holocrons tend to have a corrupting nature, as well. The ones we found were, uh, particularly dark.”

Orex nodded in affirmation.

“These holocrons were not just meant to relay information, but to recondition anyone who might come across them. Bend them to their will.” Vale inhaled and looked at Orex straight in the eye as she continued. “Which is why I regret not destroying those holocrons in the first place.”

Orex regarded her, his eye narrowing.

“So why didn’t you destroy these?”

Vale didn’t have an answer, but after a moment she began speaking as she helped herself to another drink.

“I used to have this theory, that whatever we found on Dxun was responsible for-“ Vale almost choked on her own words, “For Revan and Malak’s change of heart, so to speak.”

Asra cocked an eyebrow, leaning closer, curious.

“I’m not as sure about Revan, but towards the end of the war, Malak changed. More than the rest of us.” Vale silently acknowledged the darkness that had crept into her in those days, with all the death and bloodshed, a feeling that Orex and other soldiers surely shared. “I couldn’t have been the only one who noticed how different they felt when they proposed their plan of attack, when they told us all about Malachor.”

“I always assumed you knew,” Orex admitted, “You were one of them.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too.” Vale said bitterly. “They told me nothing. They entrusted me with everything in their stead, but they never told me what it was they actually did out there.”

“Out there?” Asra asked.

“Towards the end of the war, Revan and Malak left for the Unknown Regions, presumably on a hunch to find some Mandalorian weakness. Or so they told me,” Vale said, and Orex nodded in concurrence. Vale must have been fed the same lie the rest of their soldiers had, dare she ever consider herself worthy of either Jedi’s trust. Pushing her bitterness aside, she continued.

“They took longer than expected, way longer. And Malak snapped at me when I asked about what happened.” Vale grimaced at the memory, “Revan told me not to worry, and she gave me a ship to shut me up.”

“The Ravager,” Orex said. Vale nodded.

“I thought that if we could end the war, here and now, that my questions wouldn’t matter. That it would all be over.”

“And here we are,” Orex said.

“Here we are,” Vale repeated, almost mockingly.

“I felt it, too.” Orex admitted, “I came here for a price on some deadbeat’s head, but I felt something the moment my transport landed in Anchorhead."

“Did you feel it on the descent?” Vale asked. Orex nodded. “This must have been it, this site. Whatever the hell that was, by the way.”

"Bandits used to bait hapless treasure hunters out there, knowing they wouldn't come back. But I had a bad feeling about it from the start."

“So you’re only slightly less clueless than I am?” Asra chimed in, sounding grim. “Have you seen anything else? In your, uh, travels, I mean?”

Vale and Orex shook their heads in unison, their eyes meeting briefly. As guilty as she felt for not recognizing him, she was glad he was here. Some part of her almost felt proud, that someone who once fought beside her was still on the same page as her, after all these years.

“I have.”

Another voice from the doorway garnered their attention. This time, Darek stood before them, having listened in until now.

Vale cocked an eyebrow, and before Darek could take a step further into the room, he replied, “Neo-Crusader.”

Vale exchanged looks with Asra before looking at Orex, wondering what a Republic refugee, a veteran, was doing hanging around an ex-Mandalorian.

“It wasn’t necessarily a choice I wanted to make, but I made it.” Darek said, knowing exactly what Vale was thinking.

The Mandalorians had burned the planet Iridonia to ash and enslaved their people, but like most other groups of unfortunates the Mandalorians terrorized, there was always room for promotion this time around. Once upon a time, only the Taung people were considered true Mandalorians, but something convinced Mandalore the Ultimate to rehash the Crusader traditions to potentially include conquered peoples who could be shaped to fight for the Mandalorian cause. Hence the existence of people like Darek.

Vale shook her head, watching his unsure expression, “I think I get it.”

“Do you?” Darek asked, almost amused. Like the rest of them, he poured himself a glass, but only after taking a swig straight from the bottle itself.  Vale nodded feebly, unable to find the right words. She didn’t quite understand, but she didn’t hold a grudge or anything, unable to articulate her thoughts on the matter.

Like Orex, she understood both sides. Once escaping to the Outer Rim, there wasn’t room for animosity, especially since most veterans were deserting one side or another, though most called it “escaping”. And for the same reason too, mostly. Disillusionment, disappointment, depression. The war weighed heavily on all of them. The Outer Rim was unlike Republic Space, or so she heard. In the Core Worlds or among the Mandalorian clans, loyalty still ran thick, but out where the war really happened, the wounds were still festering. Mercenary crews were not unlike the ragtag group gathered before Vale now, a mixture of Republic, Mandalorian, and miscellaneous. It was not an unusual combination, but given what Vale and Orex both saw at Dxun, she wondered what Darek brought to the table. The only thing that made Mandalorians like Darek different was that there were fewer of them. For the most part, even converted Mandalorians were loyal for life or otherwise preferred death.

Darek shook his head, gritting his teeth against the sharp taste of the alcohol.

“Doesn’t matter, really, does it?” he laughed darkly.

Asra reached up and absently rubbed his elbow apologetically. Vale looked to Orex, but the man seemed unsurprised. Whatever softness lingered between the two was not news to him. They had been careful and subtle before, but given the conversation, though, Vale couldn’t blame them.

“Did you feel it, too?” she asked after a long moment, her voice softer than she intended.

Darek glanced appreciatively at Asra before nodding in Vale’s direction.

“Dxun, same as you.”

“What did the Mandalorians make of that place?”

“Mandalore the Ultimate made it his stronghold at the start of the war. No one questioned it, or dared not to, at least. But I overheard the few questions that some soldiers did ask.” Darek stared off into space, his focus fixed on some unknown point in the past, “That place was, I don’t know, dark. I thought it was just me, at first, a new recruit taken from a burning village afraid to forget his family and accept a new one. But it wasn’t just me. There were ghosts all over that damn moon. So many of the other new recruits feared the old stories of the Sith temple there, though the true Mandalorians feigned bravery. It was more evident when we weren’t all in full gear.”

Mandalorians were also notorious for their distinctive armor. It was rare to see a warrior unmasked, which was part of why Revan adopted the mutilated helmet of a defecting Mandalorian soldier as her own. To distort the symbol, twisting it to suit her needs.

“Ever heard of Rohlan Dyre?”

It took a moment for Vale to register his words, let alone the fact that it was a name at first.

“Rohlan Dyre, Rohlan Dyre,” Vale repeated, flashes of memory returning as she rolled the name around her tongue. It was near impossible to escape remnants of the war and instances that could inspire flashes of images, names, sounds, faces, half-forgotten recollections, but after years of putting bad memories aside it was still difficult dredging them up again.

“Infamous deserter?” she asked finally, recalling talk of a veteran who repeatedly tried leaving the Mandalorians but couldn’t. “He was at the Battle of Vanquo.”

Darek nodded in affirmation.

“Dyre was one of the older veterans, well-regarded for his skill and experience, but for his honor, mostly.” Darek replied, “And honor was something he found seldom amongst the Mandalorians in those days.”

“Did he know about the holocrons?”

Darek shook his head, though he did not seem entirely sure, “Dyre didn’t trust the war. He didn’t trust Mandalore. His motives went against tradition, it had no honor.”

Vale and Asra were both at attention. Vale hadn’t felt this interested in politics in practically forever.

“Mandalorians used to pick fights only when necessary. There was an honor system, a code. They only fought when provoked, or over land disputes, I’m not entirely sure. But picking on defenseless colonies on the Outer Rim? It was against everything they believed in.”

Darek’s face scrunched up, hesitant, as if he knew he weren’t the authority to demand answers of, but was trying his best regardless.

“Not only that, but they went about it all the wrong way. We were taught differently, the Neo-Crusaders, we were a new breed with no ties to tradition. Dyre probably believed that was the whole purpose behind the Neo-Crusader movement to begin with. As the older warriors put it, the Manda prefer a more direct approach. They were pragmatic, not treacherous. They wouldn’t go looking for a fight. They only accepted fights that they deemed worthy, that posed a real challenge.”

“And the Outer Rim colonies were no match for them, there was no challenge,” Vale said, wondering.

“Exactly.”

Vale shook her head, putting the pieces together. Her skin grew cold as the memories rushed back in fragments, arranging and rearranging into something that began to make sense.

“Revan knew there was more to this war, she saw it. Through the Force. She had a vision the day she found that mask, the day-“

The day I pledged myself to her cause.

She was just seventeen.  Malak was still known as Alek back then. He had heard about her, or her bad luck perhaps. After a string of Masters left her at the Academy, she had been assigned to work the archives with her brother and Master Atris. But in her spare time, she devoted every fiber of her being and every other waking moment to lightsaber training. It helped ease the tension, and it gave her an excuse to see Kavar before he was called to his seat on the Council. Everyone knew about Alek and Revan, had heard rumors of their adventures, and she was taken aback when she noticed Alek watching her practice from the back of the training hall. He was impossibly tall, and built like a brick wall to boot. He had hair back then, jet black, which made his icy blue eyes all the more piercing. He was impressed with her, but told her that Revan was even more so, and that she was interested in her infamous affinity for Force bonds, even if it felt more like a curse. He implored her to accompany him, to see the front lines for herself. “We could use a tenacious fighter like you,” he had said, smirking at her, “We ragtag group of misfits.” He laughed his charming laugh, convincing her that he understood, that the Council feared and distrusted him just as much as they did her. Finding only frustration with the Council, and finding herself a little weak-kneed in Alek’s presence, she agreed. She witnessed the genocide at Cathar, she felt those first wounds in the Force tearing through her and making itself comfortable - and she remembered Revan falling to her knees, her eyes rolling back in her head as she writhed in the shallow water of the ocean that swallowed the planets people, the mutilated Mandalorian mask held firmly in her hand as a sliver of the truth revealed itself to Revan and Revan alone.

Within the span of a moment, a whole lifetime replayed itself in her mind’s eye, but Vale snapped herself back to the present when she noticed the others were watching her expectantly.

“But they didn’t tell you,” Orex said, his voice dark with disappointment and something that sounded like sympathy.

Vale shook her head.

“I had my theories, but I knew nothing. I know nothing.”

Bitterness rose like bile in her throat again, and this time Asra’s hand found its way to her forearm, settling her.

“But Malachor-“

“If you don’t know where it is, then we’re just as lost as you are.”

Not that Vale ever expected to return. Malachor was a well-kept secret. Only a select few knew the coordinates, they were absolutely "need-to-know". The Republic wasn’t even supposed to know, none of them were. Revan was the only one allowed to give clearance, and she was the only one who sent the coordinates when needed. The Mandalorians knew, sure, but they were not quick to let the rest of the galaxy know what happened there or what Malachor meant to them. It was only afterward that Vale realized that Revan did not want to be followed either, that she did not want anyone rifling through the ruins and looking for evidence of her corruption, of what drew her to the Dark Side.

“I was honestly hoping you’d know what to do,” Orex admitted, “When I saw you on Anchorhead, I had to be sure. Malak painted some nasty pictures, but like the rest of them Jedi, I wasn’t sure what kind of ilk you’d become just yet.”

Vale laughed at the way the man said “ilk” but shuddered at the thought of what Malak might have said about her.

“You wanted to make sure I hadn’t gone rogue.”

“Malak and Revan were dark, but in different ways. You know that, but the rest of us could feel it, too. I had to be sure you weren’t one of them.”

“But you knew I had no connection to the Force?” Vale asked. Orex only laughed.

“I don’t know how that shit works, sister. Malak bragged about it, as if it made him stronger, somehow. But I knew how you were at the end of the war. How we all were.”

Vale had always blamed Dxun. Not only was the moon heavy with death already, but they inspired their own fair share of bloodshed well before they ever set foot there. That kind of brutal combat would change anyone, including Vale and her soldiers. After what she’d seen, she was thoroughly unsurprised to hear just how many had followed Revan and Malak into Darkness as obedient Sith. It would have made sense if she had, as well.

“And once you figured I was honest, you just hoped I knew what the hell to do,” Vale assumed.

“That was the idea,” Orex pursed his lips, examining his empty cup, ruminating.

“So Revan’s missing, the Jedi are nearly wiped out or in hiding… where does that leave us?” Vale probed hypothetically, not expecting an answer.

“Revan going missing can’t be a coincidence. At least I don’t think so,” Vale continued, thinking back to every thought that had run through her head over the last nine years. Everything felt so unfinished, so unresolved. Not only was she lacking closure with all those she once held dear, but the war never felt over. She always chalked it up to being an ex-soldier, but after hearing Orex say it she began to second-guess herself. She was swimming in a sea abundant with questions but lacking any real answers.

“That still doesn’t help us, any.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Orex replied.

“What happened to the Jedi?” Asra asked, her voice quiet and probing, almost afraid.

“I’ve only heard rumors. A gathering gone wrong,” Darek said.

“They called a conclave,” Vale began, recalling the first bit of information that had piqued her interest in years, at least since Revan’s disappearance, and it didn't bode well, “The Jedi were to gather on Katarr to discuss the future of the Order, but the entire planet was destroyed. Consumed, more rather. Nothing survived. Not just no one, nothing.”

Vale grimaced at the thought. She relied mostly on word-of-mouth, as unreliable as it was, since her exile. Despite her hacking skills, she stayed away from the holonet when she could afford to. At first, it was out of spite. She didn't want to hear about Revan and Malak terrorizing the galaxy after she had expressly warned the Jedi about them. And after, it was to save herself from the pain. Revan was one thing, but watching Malak descend further and further into madness was like reliving a nightmare in real-time. It felt like a dream when she heard he had defeated Revan, though Vale never believed it. She briefly followed the news detailing Malak's defeat, but his death still felt too faraway, too unreal. The man she knew had died long ago, but despite it all, nothing felt right. So she ignored reports about the Republic when she could. Best to spare herself the heartache by avoiding it. She heard rumors here and there, like when Revan went missing, but when she heard that the Jedi had been massacred... she didn't know what to do with herself.

Everyone she had ever known, looked up to, idolized once - gone. But not just that. They were very deliberately obliterated. This was not the end of the Jedi, but the beginning of something else, something far darker than she could imagine.

But what else could a non-Force user do? She continued aiding in relief efforts across the Outer Rim, but it wasn't until she landed in Anchorhead that she decided to stick around for a while. It was not long after the news, and the feeling that haunted her upon her arrival told her that something was about to happen, that everything was connected, that it would all make sense. She chalked it up to wishful thinking - the Force couldn't speak to her any more, she only had to answer to herself.

"Consumed?" Asra repeated, confused. "What sort of thing can do that?"

Her voice was soft, as if raising her question would draw the attention of the answer that awaited her. Orex and Vale exchanged glances.

"You don't think-?" she started, almost afraid of the words.

"The Mass Shadow Generator?" Orex asked, needing no clarification. He shook his head, uncertain.

"Another one perhaps, something similar," Vale pondered. "Something, or someone."

"You don't think it's the Sith, do you?" Darek asked.

Vale didn't know how to respond. The remains of Malak's Sith Empire must have had survivors, and what other group of fanatics would seek such revenge on the Jedi would go as far as to wipe them out?

Vale only had partial information to work with, and the back-and-forth of the conversation wasn't helping them reach any conclusions.

"There's something else at work here," Vale began, "Whether Sith or Jedi, both factions have always believed that there are no such thing as coincidences, the Force guides everything. With the war, Revan's turn and redemption, her disappearance, the destruction of the Jedi... I can't tell if Revan is behind it all or if she left in search of something having to do with it."

"And someone took her leaving as a cue to strike?" Orex asked.

"Maybe," Vale shook her head, unable to make sense of it all.

“There has to be someone left. Anyone,” she said again after a beat of silence. They all sat in contemplation for a while, muttering half-baked ideas and tossing unfounded theories to the wind as they all tried not to think of the contents of their cargo, before they noticed that the treads beneath them were slowing.

Asra was the first to stir, but before she could say anything, Glitch appeared at the doorway this time.

“We’re being flagged down.”

“What? And you stopped for them?!” Orex stood abruptly, distressing the table as he hastily rose to his feet.

Glitch shrugged.

Vale rose and looked out the porthole, spying another sandcrawler beside them. How they failed to notice the looming shadow against the setting suns, she wasn’t sure. She knew none of them were actually afraid of Jawa, if they were inquiring as to where they got the crawler, but something told her there was something more to this, and that maybe some of their questions might be answered.

Or so she hoped.

"I have a bad feeling about this. About all of this," Asra groaned, placing her cup back on the table before picking it up again and fidgeting between taking sips and deciding what to do with herself.

Vale bit her lip and looked out at the desert again, almost hoping for ghosts to appear on the dunes, waiting for a whisper of the Force, something to bring her closer to any sort of certainty, anything. Vale had always known this wasn't over, but now she wondered just what kind of mess Revan left behind.

[agameofsouls]

✧ houses of the holy ✧

the ability to instill doubt in someone was a powerful weapon, one lucifer frequently relied upon to move things along. the one person he could never crack, however, was his dearest brother. he was nothing if not the loyal and faithful son he was created to be. their father’s guard dog and hit man, wrapped into one holy package and given a great flaming sword.

lucifer couldn’t remember a time when his brother had ever questioned their father’s orders, even when it exhausted him. even when the aftermath left him in a state of anguish over what he had done, he still bent the knee to their father and fulfilled his every command. he never strayed, never asked why. and for that, he hated michael.

fighting beside him for all those years to bring peace and order to a blood stained earth only filled him with questions. why were they forced to clean up their father’s mistakes? how could he, an infallible god, make mistakes to begin with if he could see and know all? why did he decimate legions of his own children for questioning his rule and his vision?

there was no honor in this. that was something he could see almost from the beginning, but michael was blind to any alternative other than remaining faithful and pure. but lucifer could see the truth and the light, and it didn’t come from god -- it came from himself. he was created to free his siblings from a fate such as this -- blind obedience, a lack of free will, an eternity of servitude to an angry and merciless god.

he was not the villain that he was made out to be. he was the savior, the one that would rid them all of their chains, if only they would see the truth. some of his siblings did, and they paid a price for it. when he was cast out, so were they. together, they fell from heaven, down to the earth below. he watched from his crater as they came crashing down, like shooting stars exploding in the night sky.

he cried for them and for himself. he wept for the ones that still remained. he screamed for the injustices he had faced, and he vowed his vengeance. and now, he was so close to it that he knew michael could sense it. change was coming, and he was just months away from what he had waited a millennia for.

yet still, before he would conquer heaven itself, he longed to save his brother -- if instilling doubt in him and causing him to fall meant saving. surely it did. michael would join the winning side, and he wouldn’t have to unnecessarily perish in his battle for the ultimate crown.

this was a small mercy he could grant him, despite everything that transpired. because, when it came down to it, they were just that -- brothers. they had been created together in the same breath. their father intended for them to be his best generals, the leaders of his host and the protectors of his human creations.

but didn’t he see everything that would transpire? was he so short sighted that he didn’t know that lucifer would rebel ad rise against him? or perhaps it was in his plan all along, and he was still following his father’s orders. in that case, didn’t that make him just as blameless as michael? it was a dizzying thought.

“ i can sense your weakness, brother.” his voice is chilling, and it coils around michael’s throat like an icy tendril. he can see him shift uncomfortably. it’s so slight that others would have missed it, but he knows his brother just as well as he knows himself. he knows exactly how to make him squirm. “ it consumes you.”

michael stood in silence at the accusation. this wasn’t the first time he would hear it, and it wouldn’t be the last. dark eyes remain focused on a fixed point, refusing to meet his brother’s golden stare. to his right, he can sense anger and frustration radiating off of gadiel, and he knows she’s itching to drive her blade through lucifer.

a single outstretched hand in her direction has her scoffing and stepping back three paces, but her eyes never leave lucifer’s face, as if challenging him to give her a reason to run him through. michael finally lifts his gaze to meet his brother’s and sighs.

he’s so tired, evident by the bags beginning to form under his eyes, and the light that had slowly been dimming around him. he wants peace, and he is so tired of fighting, but he didn’t think that made him weak. perhaps it did, to want to rest. every possible action and the consequences of them rushed through his mind, already weighing down overburdened shoulders. “ what do you want from me?”

“ you know exactly what i want.” lucifer paces to the left. gadiel moves in time with him, her hand never leaving the hilt of her blade. it’s amusing to him, that such a young angel would think herself strong or powerful enough to go up against him, but he could admire the fire within her spirit. “ fall with me. be free with me.”

michael knew this was a trick. he knew that lucifer was waiting for the opportunity to strike him down. this wasn’t a peace meeting. there would never be peace when it came to him. as cold and collected as he appeared, conflict burned hot as a star beneath his skin, and there was no calming him. there was no putting that out. “ i will not. ”

this refusal did not hurt the great serpent one bit. he had anticipated such a thing, and was prepared for it. so he asked again, taking one step closer.“ fall with me. be free with me.”

harsher, louder, this time,“ i will not.”

another step closer, closing the gap between the two of them. the hiss of gadiel’s sword being pulled from its sheath cuts through the silence as his hand rests on the back of michael’s neck, forcing his brother to meet his eyes.“ fall with me. be free with me.”

the prince of heaven remains firm. his faith is unshakable, as was always expected. the hesitation in his voice does not come from a place of doubt, but rather longing. begging. he wants his brother to return home, to be part of the host again. their bond had been legendary, but now their rivalry overshadowed it. he can see in his eyes that offering mercy would only result in the same standstill they were in now.

again, he refuses, “ i will not.”

three times asked, three times denied. such was the nature of these things. it mirrored the day he had been cast out. michael had tried three times to make him stay. three times lucifer denied, saying he would not. his punishment for such a crime had been severance from his family, from his home.

even before he was locked away, michael had offered him mercy -- a chance to come home, to be restored. but this was offered only once, and he had not accepted it. with a sigh, he lets go of michael and turns away, returning back to where he started. gadiel lowers her blade, and steps again to her commander’s side.

“ if you are so loyal,” he turns slowly, regarding the two warriors with a curious head tilt, no longer wishing to hide his motivations behind civility. “ then why do you keep a rebel as your right hand?”

gadiel’s heart races at the accusation, and michael’s eyes close with a sigh. he had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, and he already knew exactly where this path would lead. it was more than an ache that he felt now -- it was a cold burn right in his soul, adding yet another burden to his already heavy load. shaking hands come to rest at his sides, and he waits for the other shoe to drop.

this reaction only makes the devil smirk. he had already won, and the both of them knew it. there was no turning back, no do overs. and he knew that this would be a most painful experience for his unwavering brother. “ not everyone knows you as well as i do. they would believe you to doubt father’s will because of your attachment to her. ”

“ what is he talking about?” panic is evident in gadiel’s voice as she directs her question to michael, who has yet to move, yet to open his eyes. her eyes flicker over to lucifer, regarding him with hatred and rage behind an expression almost as cold as his own. “ what are you talking about?”

“ your faith may be strong, but it is not in our father, is it?” his smirk widens and he steps forward. any moment now, his true reason for coming here would be revealed to the terrified angel, and his will would be done. “ you have strayed too far from the light.”

a shaky gasp passes from her lips and she rests a hand on michael’s shoulder. “ please, i do not understand.”

she is begging for an explanation, for guidance. anything, just to make him look at her, to tell her it would be alright and that they would fix it, hand in hand. this wasn’t the first time her faith had come under fire, but michael had always been there to defend her and to bring her back into the fold of heaven, and she had faith that he would now. wouldn’t he?

tears stream down michael’s face as he opens his eyes. you would make me do this? his expression says. yes, a thousand times, screams lucifer’s grin. michael turns to gadiel, silent tears still flowing, and he rests a hand on her shoulder. his voice is barely above a whisper as he says, “ i am so sorry.”

that’s when it hits her -- this was the end. there were no more chances. she had burned those bridges to ash in the past, and now there was nothing left to keep her from falling. hot, angry tears well up in her eyes and she shakes her head, unable to move from her brother’s powerful grip. “ no. no. do not do this because he tells you to! do not be manipulated. please.”

he knew very well that this was a manipulation, but he had been painted in the corner with no exit. this was the only choice left available to him, or else he would risk damning his own soul and tainting his own grace. but always with one wing dipped in blood, as the saying went. 

“ gadiel, ” sorrow is overshadowed by authority. “ guardian of the south wind gates. for your faithlessness, i cast you out.”

light radiates from his hand, growing brighter as gadiel screams. it becomes blinding, and he can hear the sizzling sound of her grace being burnt away, just enough to sever her connection to heaven. her anguished cries echo in his ears long after she is gone, and he is left standing there, bitterly alone and empty handed.

the first thing gadiel notices is the cold. never before had anything like that bothered her when the warmth of her father’s light was within her. there’s a soreness, too, in her entire body. she had crashed down to the earth below, bot with a bang but with a whisper, and stood in the crater that she had made.

she was as naked as the day she had been created, covered in ash and soot. every muscle burned to move it, and where michael had gripped her shoulder remained a blackened hand print -- a permanent reminder of her disgrace. upon her back were bright red scars, the charred remains of what had once been her wings. she feels off balance and uncomfortable without them to cover herself in, and instead wraps her arms around herself.

footsteps from behind make her jump nearly out of her burnt and bruised flesh. she turns her head and sees lucifer standing there. in one hand, he holds his sword, glistening and golden under the sunlight. in the other, a blood red cloak. he stares down at her, a curious look in his eyes. is this what he looked like? she wonders as silence sits between them.

“ i am truly sorry for what you have suffered,” he has no reason to lie. he knows far too well what this felt like. he had seen it happen to so many of his other siblings as well. it was never pleasant for him to witness, but she had to fulfill a purpose.

“ go back to hell,” gadiel practically spat at him. she resented him for this, and wished that she could have her blade back, if only to die fighting him. she had been humiliated in front of the eyes of god because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.  “ this is your fault! you made him do this.”

“ i did not make him do anything. our brother could have refused. who exists to stop him? you know just as well as i do that our father has abandoned us. you know just as well as michael does that he is in charge. yet he still cast you out. and for what? to appease someone who is not even listening? that hardly seems fair, does it?” he jumped down into the crater with her.

she took a step back, away from him. this had to be a trick. there was no way he was seriously here to apologize to her. he had never been sorry for anything, as far as michael had ever told her. but then again, every command she had ever been given had been from michael. that didn’t make sense if their father really was gone.

it was as if lucifer could sense her beginning to question things and he smiled, lowering his sword ever so slightly. “ i can promise you this, sister -- if you serve me, i will never lie to you. i will never hide my agenda from you. if you serve me, i will never cast you out or abandon you. you will always have a home with me. ”

his words made her eyes well up again. of course he knew exactly how she felt. he had once been in this exact place, but he had done it alone. there was no one to come greeting him and offering him a home. the feeling of being truly alone and severed from heaven was just now starting to hit, and a sob escaped.

he stepped closer again, leaving his sword stuck in the ground behind him. his eyes stayed fixed on her face as he wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. she grabbed it and held it firmly around her aching body, and felt warm again. with a single finger, lucifer reached out and dried her tears. “ will you serve me?”

silence hangs heavy in the air, but he knows he’s already won. her voice is as quiet as the south winds. “ yes.”

he fights a smile as he rests a hand on her shoulder, opposite from her humiliation, and asks again. “ will you serve me?”

this time, she is able to meet his eyes. her voice still shakes as she agrees again. “ yes.”

a soft kiss is pressed against her forehead, and he pulls her into an embrace. half of him is overjoyed to have won a decisive victory against michael. the other half is genuine in welcoming his sister into his army. but he must ask her one more time, if only to satisfy his own fall.“ will you serve me?”

she embraces him just as tightly as she used to embrace michael, and she suddenly feels more at home here than she ever did there. there’s a strange warmth in this devil’s frozen embrace that she never felt in heaven, and she begins to wonder exactly who the bad guy is. one final word seals the deal on her soul, and lucifer swears he can hear michael screaming in agony when she says it.

“ yes. ”