Lana walked through the destroyed dock, nodding to a pair of saluting sith. They couldn't keep calling them that, she knew, not with the wide range of recruits they got, but that wasn't her call to make.
So she nodded, the healers moving on. Casualties had been monstrous, though the civilian population was mostly spared. Yet the militia, as zealous as they had been to defend their home, had not been proper soldiers. Had not been enhanced.
Tens of thousands of wounded. Some badly, some not, most needing fleshcrafting assistance. Their regular medical supplies were hit hard, an issue she was going to bring up with Zethix. Overly relying on Force healing was not a direction they wanted to go.
Six hours. Six hours since the end of the battle, an oddly peaceful looking Morgan demanding Imperial surrender or else. A sith Lord had refused, the most powerful one remaining, and according to Inara Morgan had just looked at the man.
Lana didn't know the Lord's name, didn't know his past achievements, but one moment he was fine and the next he was dead. Collapsing, Lana feeling his soul vanish as Star ate it whole.
Deducing what had happened wasn't hard, Morgan having dragged the man to his friend and told the Other it was an enemy, but it seemed she was the only one who figured that out. Her and Zethix, that was.
There had been others, of course. An Imperial colonel adamant the battle could be won. The major that had just broken into their supply of isotope-5, holding it hostage with bombs. The list went on.
Though keeping isotope-5 all in one place had been a mistake.
And every time someone refused to surrender, they died. Collapsed as their eyes went vacant. People started getting the hint pretty quickly.
Which left them with a large mob of Imperial loyalists, only a few willing to entertain the notion of defection. The overwhelming majority were true believers, the kind that Marr seemed to favor. Not a few here and there, keeping an eye on their fellows. Entire ships crewed by them. Whole platoons of men.
The stations didn't have a prison large enough for ninety thousand enemy souls, a mixture of soldiers and navy personnel, and a breakout attempt was all but guaranteed.
Lana shook her head, wondering how in the hell they were going to deal with it, and looked up. Found a small crowd watching one of the public-broadcast projections, the presenter clearing his throat.
"And next, a statement from Lord Caro. It was given only twenty minutes ago, and brought to you to assure the people of the Enosis that their safety is his primary concern. The Imperial troops who dared to breach the sanctity of our home have been artificially put to sleep, large air-tight containment hangers having been utilised for storage. Lord Caro assures they will not wake until he wishes them to, and that their metabolic rate has been greatly slowed. The Empire will not strike a last blow by consuming our foodstuffs. Details on their eventual fate are not yet known. We go now to Trish, who has just received the latest update on the list of unsafe districts. Trish?"
She tuned it out as the woman started speaking, resuming her walk. A squad of soldiers passed her without blinking an eye, a trio of kaleesh bowing as she passed. Low level privacy fields, the best of both worlds. She could move without being bothered, but those with the Force still saw her just fine. Or those she interacted with directly.
So the prisoner problem was solved, at least. Depending on the definition of 'greatly' they'd have weeks or even months to sort out the mess. And she was on her mandatory two hours break, anyway, so she'd trust others to be competent.
The Force brushed against her neck and Lana turned, grasping as a cable snapped. The damaged transport froze, just starting to tip over, and people scattered away. Lana set it down, shaking her head at the crew.
"Slow is smooth, smooth is fast." One of them muttered, scratching his chin. The foreman. "Sorry 'bout that. Thanks for the save."
Lana kept her own face blank. "Be careful."
"Course, course. Bad cable, is all. What'ya staring for? Back to work!"
That last part was at his gaping crew, who scrambled to obey. Lana shook her head again. "You seem awfully casual when speaking to a sith."
"Sith, jedi." The foreman waved his hand. "All the same. The Force is the Force, intent is everything, application matters more than ability."
"You are not able to use the Force."
The man barked out a laugh. "Nah. My sister does, the bitch. Helped her study for weeks to pass her exams, and what do I get? Scrap flung at my face, being overpowered by a hundred pound girl and an overly enthusiastic healer trying to fix all my bruises."
"I would think having a healer in the family is cause for celebration."
"She's a terror is what she is." The foreman looked back at his crew, frowning mightily. "'Scuse me, gotta cave someone's skull in. Marc, you imbecile. Over then through. You want that pile of scrap to fall again?!"
Lana shook her head, watching the man turn back to work.
People were starting to get used to Force users, even if the foreman was on the extreme end of the scale. But normalization was well underway, and the more people treated it like normal, like just another thing people could have, the less fear and prejudice could influence things.
That and Force users where held to a higher standard, not to mention the rumor that Lord Caro would visit you personally if you fucked up badly enough. Like attacking civilians, for example.
It was untrue, she knew for a fact he was too busy, but useful.
She moved on, walking from the shipyard to the docks to the commercial district. The damage was almost non-existent there, people moving freely even so soon after the battle.
An alley there contained a pair of dead Imperials, armor dented in a way that suggested they'd been running away, and Lana reasoned someone would find them.
A group of older men were gathered around a fallen statue, discussing ways to put it back up, and a pair of teenagers were talking about joining the military. A teacher was shepherding his class, directing them as tiny brooms sweeped the street.
Child labor. Lana grinned, knowing Morgan would probably have something to say about that, but it was just to keep them busy. To let their parents focus on what they needed to do without confused kids running amok.
But the thing she noticed most was the lack of fear. There was anger, grief and more, but no hesitant looks. No emergency rationing, not on any real scale, and no families closing ranks. Neighbors helped neighbours, shops were being cleaned and put to order, what soldiers patrolled the street where greeted instead of feared.
An ancient looking grandmother promised beer for after their shift, the sergeant barking at his stalling troops. A soldier was ambushed by a matronly looking woman, the man mocked relentlessly by his comrades after she made him promise to pick up groceries before coming home.
The private, mid forties by his soul, asked them if they were getting laid tonight. His squad fell silent, someone pushing him aside with a muttered insult. Lana felt nothing but glee from the man.
Which was also when she noticed him. Morgan, sitting on a chair on the upper balcony of some cafe. Sipping a drink, ignored by everyone else around him. Her own perception was infused with intent, her battle with Nox having been a crash-course on its application, but she doubted there was anyone else who could see him.
Not until Zethix returned from overseeing the fleet. And even then the man would have to be on the lookout for him, just like she was.
So she jumped up two stories to join him, feeling his privacy field envelop her as her feet landed on the balcony. She dropped her own, receiving a single nod in greeting. She also noticed a drink waiting for her, hidden as it had been by the railing. Hot herbs soaked in milk. Spices covered the foam, making her snatch it up.
A rare treat.
"You know." She began, forcing herself not to down it immediately. "This future sight thing you have is more useful than anticipated."
"Easy for you to say. I ordered a drink based on feeling, and it's been sitting there for half an hour, mocking me."
Lana snorted, watching the street below. A hundred races, some more prominent than others, but so very little disunity. No groups were divided by species, with the exclusion of the kaleesh, and even then that was a culture thing more than a I-hate-aliens thing.
"Are we going to talk about it?" She asked, honestly curious. "I'm fine with not."
"About what? The fact I could and should have killed Marr had I not gotten distracted? How he should not have lived once we destroyed his brain, yet did? How I stripped Nox of her power like disciplining an unruly child? Perhaps about the peace I felt, that utter tranquility that made me want to spend an age tracing the stars? Or were you referring to Star, the Other who has congratulated me on my first, if accidental, taste of transcendence? Because frankly, Lady Beniko, I don't know anything."
"No?"
"No." Morgan repeated, sighing. "It just happened. I've tried to get back into it, of course I have, but nothing. I remember what I did during, but repeating those feats? It will have to be my ace in the hole, to be pulled out the moment I am in real danger. Gods, that would be nice."
His tone was joking, but her mind flashed back to her fight with Nox. Struggling against the overwhelming power, every attack shielded against or ignored. Unable to outlast the girl, avoiding the attacks growing steadily more difficult.
Then him, appearing from nowhere. No warning, no tremors in the Force. Just there, looking at the Darth curiously as he set the souls free. Lana didn't dwell on how utterly invisible he had been, the absolute authority the Force moved with. How he had ignored raging, long dead Force users, who themselves dissipated not long after.
He could have killed her. Nox. Yet he did nothing, just staring at something Lana could not see. The same had happened with Marr, apparently. The greater his power, the less focussed he was.
"Well, let's not get too comfortable." She replied, having covered her thoughts with a sip of milk. "I doubt it will be that reliable, or we could just go straight for Dromund Kaas."
Morgan sighed deeply. "We need to go there anyway. With Marr's fleet gone we can't let them rebuild, can't let this war drag on for years and years. We need a few weeks to get back on our feet, then a few months more to prepare, but then we're carving a path straight towards the Imperial Capital."
And he wasn't asking for her opinion, either. Lana didn't object, though the reason why took her a moment. It was sound logic, but that wasn't it. No, she knew the reason.
Despite her growing fondness of Zethix, despite her increasingly neutral view of the Force, she was trained on Korriban. She was sith, maybe forever, and sith respected power. Bowed to it.
It helped that he was her friend. It helped that the logic was sound. But any lingering hope that she could catch up, that they could be true equals, was dead.
And she was surprisingly all right with that.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
He hated travelling as a soul. It felt horrid, to see and be seen by the things that delved deep in the Force, and he had no time to perform his protective rituals. No warding shield against the creatures, no homing beacon should he get lost.
Just him moving steadily closer to Korriban. His cloning facility was still compromised, damn Baras and the problems he caused even in death, so he couldn't go there. Not in the weakened state of fresh possession.
And clones offered the closest possible match between body and soul, and so took the least amount of time to mould. Fresh possession would have to be enough, and there lay the other problem.
Because even if he did hate travelling as a soul, he had done so before. But never with a scared, mostly powerless child lashing out at the slightest provocation.
Marr pulled Nox away from what he now knew to be an Elder, his capture and interrogation of an Other as enlightening as it had been horrible. Nox shied away, both from him and the thing she had been gravitating towards, and Marr resisted the urge to sigh.
He needed her now more than ever, but without her captured souls she was weak. Caro had done something, Nox utterly refused to talk about it, and now she was lashing out. Would continue to lash out until she replaced her soul-batteries.
Not that he could blame her fear. His own had been carefully leashed and mastered over decades, yet he had felt it all the same. That thing Caro became, displaying clear signs of possession just before the man shattered his arm.
Possessed, then freed. Or made himself free. Marr had gotten a good, close-up view yet barely understood what happened. The closest he knew for certain was that an Elder had left something behind, triggering a mental change before letting itself be destroyed.
Marr grunted to himself, pointing the way so Nox could follow. Possession would have been bad, very bad, but this was worse. This was someone with resolve discovering they had the power to make their wish reality. Someone who would not stop, not ever, until their righteous mission was complete.
It was vexing to be opposed to someone like Caro. Leave the man alone, he grows in followers. In ships and sith and preparation. But take the fight to him, capture and interrogate and kill, the man would grow stronger from it anyway. Adapt and self-actualize. There was no good answer except to bring overwhelming force to bear.
And the one time that had succeeded, possibly the only time it would ever succeed, Marr had been too busy viewing him as an answer instead of a threat.
Time slipped by as he guided Nox to Korriban, souls starting to appear in his vision. No Dark Council member was present, which was good if expected, and Lords would make for excellent hosts. Yet Nox wasn't familiar with the technique, and the last thing he needed was for her to get killed.
So he moved them towards an out of the way tomb, a dozen rejects cowering inside. They had an almost endless stream of those, slaves too afraid to report failure to their Overseers, and the actually promising acolytes could sharpen their skills against them.
Marr sent Nox to go first, having explained the process during their journey. The target screamed as Nox's vastly denser soul supplanted her own, putting up instinctive but futile resistance, and then it was over.
For about three seconds.
Then the Darth's new body exploded, blood and guts painting the wall red, and Nox reappeared in the deep Force. Marr shook his head and told her to try again, and to not force the adaptation process this time. Something he'd told her before, yet she had apparently elected to ignore.
The next victim, who had been running away, didn't explode. Marr observed, the process far smoother this time, and shook his head. He could understand why prodigies tended to get killed.
They were annoying to watch. Annoying to see them accomplish in seconds what took you yourself days or weeks to do.
But now it benefitted him, Nox's new vessel standing with jerky movements. Marr took one himself, a mid-twenties man that froze when his allies ran. Waved his hand after he took over, collecting the runaways and snapping their necks.
No need to leave witnesses for the Other Dark Council members to interrogate. He would get a proper vessel later, after this one burned out. He couldn't leave Nox unattended, especially not now.
None had gotten far, anyway, though his new body tired him more than it should. Nox was inspecting her own, its skin seeming to ripple, and Marr shook his head. He had a ritual that would shape his vessel to the design in his soul, though it would take a few days.
Maybe more, if he had to do it in stages. This body felt weaker than anticipated.
But being back in reality felt good, and he picked up a fallen datapad. Twenty hours since the battle, it told him. That shortcut Nox had found seemed to have worked.
It had sounded like madness, but it worked.
Cursed prodigies.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Satele Shan held up a hand, stopping the aide from rushing to her side. The man paused, uncertain, and she let go of the Force. Let it calm as the future faded from sight, increasingly chaotic thought it was.
Another blind spot. A true one, obscuring everything around it from sight. Satele had spent many years studying them, learning and practising the art of foresight, but never had she found a way around it.
Once a Force user became strong enough, precognition became a shield. A ward against anyone trying to divine their future, and in some cases, those around them. The Emperor was one such being, and now it seemed Caro was another.
It did nothing to help them in a fight, where precognition functioned only as instinct and short-term advantages, but it blocked strategy. Long term planning.
She had hoped it would die, wavering after whatever had happened to Caro vanished, but it appeared she was out of luck. Now most, if not all, of the Enosis was invisible to her, and she had to rely on regular spies to get her information.
Fortunately, she knew someone in SIS.
The aide approached after she nodded to the man, a short summary of the battle presented to her. What they knew of it, which wasn't much. Forty eight hours was enough for the news to spread, but details were sparse. Yet one message was clear.
The Empire had come for the Enosis. The Empire had failed.
It would bring them from a well-armed pseudo-nation to a galactic power, of that she was sure. Population size mattered, of course, but less so than reputation and the political might it brought.
And their fleet was effective because they favored raids, carefully picking their battles, but no one could accuse them of avoiding battle. Not anymore. They couldn't hope to match the production capabilities of either the Empire or the Republic, of course, and that hadn't changed.
For now.
But reputation was important, and that of the Enosis was one of strength. So fewer people would hesitate to defect, defect to a place that was kind to defectors, and companies would hesitate less to work for them. To produce ships and supplies, weapons and droids.
Taris, it would seem, wasn't quite the short-lived acquisition everyone assumed it was.
And that wasn't even the worst of it. The leader of the new major syndicate, someone who was putting a torch to the galactic underworld, had vanished from soul-sight as well, indicating a strong link between them and the Enosis. Whoever was in charge was good, the SIS hadn't managed to confirm their identity, and this just made it worse.
But now here she was, meeting with the new Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. Dorian Janarus was killed in circumstances that had nothing to do with either Caro nor the Imperial civil war, and now someone new sat on the seat.
Someone who wanted to flaunt their power by summoning her here. She had almost refused on principle, having both more important things to do and to remind the new Chancellor she was the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, but reason prevailed.
She was still irritated, and she was not in the habit of feeding her every emotion to the Force. So she threw the door open before being announced, the new Chancellor regarding her calmly. A Chancellor that was sitting behind a desk Satele cared nothing about, wondering how this was more important than dealing with everything else that was going on.
The Revanites. The increasingly desperate Empire. The Enosis, the sudden collapse of the Cartel, the strain on the hyperspace communications network. A growing list of problems, and here she was, having to assure a politician that her jedi wouldn't cause any trouble.
Sometimes, Satele thought, she preferred war. It came with many horrors, but at least the constant fear mongering died down. Or shifted away from the jedi, at least.
Leontyne Saresh. A politician through and through, and an aggressive one at that. The Taris resettlement had been one of her projects before she became Chancellor, and it must have stung for a sith to be given all the credit.
"Grand Master." The woman began, nodding politely. Satele returned the gesture. "There are several pressing matters we must discuss, though I do apologise about the abrupt summons."
A lie. The Chancellor was reminding Satele that it was her office that was superior. That didn't bode well for their future relationship, lying this early.
"Of course, Chancellor. I am a faithful servant of the Republic."
The woman nodded, recognizing the platitude for what it was. Pointless. There was exactly one person capable of keeping Satele in check though combat prowess alone, if she limited the criteria to within her Order, and the Barsen'Thor was more concerned with the Force than politics. Not that power through violence was a viable way for her to rule.
"I'm glad to hear that, and I shall cut right to the heart of the matter. My predecessor, may his soul rest in peace, preferred a hands-off approach concerning the Imperial civil war. I disagree. This Enosis is seemingly trying to do good, and I am glad to see Taris restored at Caro's hand, but the Empire will not fall to them. And once their war is over, as you yourself have warned, the sith may be stronger than ever, regardless who has actually won it. A protracted civil war serves us, serves the Republic, best."
"I see, and I shall be blunt in turn, Chancellor." Satele replied, steeping her fingers on the desk. "If you provoke the Enosis, which has several close ties within the Republic, and force the jedi into war, I will not support it. His strength is dangerous, yes, but his reputation is worse. Many jedi have already abandoned the Order, seeing their lax stance on relationships and the Force as progress. This will only become worse in a direct fight."
Left unsaid was that Satele herself agreed with most of what the Enosis was doing. She didn't have the support to change the Order, though with the increased unrest within jedi ranks that might soon change, but still. It would take much of his allure away if she could.
"The jedi would love him more whilst he is killing their fellow members?" Chancellor Saresh asked. "I find that hard to believe."
Satele sighed. "He won't kill them. He will fight them, and then he will let them live. He will talk with them, explain himself, demonstrate how his power can be used for good. He will liken himself to the Je'daii, to a time Dark and Light where much more nebulous concepts. He has been doing it the entire war, again and again, yet so few seem able to see it."
"I will not do nothing." The Chancellor replied, steel to her tone. "He will come for us if he succeeds in his mad quest, yet I am not foolish. Waiting until one side wins is an agreeable compromise, which hopefully won't happen for many years, but I want the SIS and jedi to increase their surveillance. I want to know his limits, his resources and manpower. Contingencies, countermeasures, everything."
"The Strategic Information Service is yours to command, not mine."
The Chancellor scoffed. "Your son is not as secret as you wish, nor his hatred for you as deep as whispered about. Theron Shan is one of our top agents, and his reputation carries influence. I will not have this operation fail because you asked him to sabotage it."
Satele stiffened, the whole room growing cold. Some alarm went off, distant yet incessant, and the door blasted open. Then they shut again, the security swarming inside pushed out. The Force calmed as Satele did, and the Chancellor remained admirably composed.
"One day." Grand Master Satele said, voice low. "One day it might be Caro sitting here in front of you. One day you might encounter someone who has as great a grasp on the Force as I do. When that day comes, Chancellor, I advise you to never threaten someone he loves."
She stood and left, keeping the security exactly where they were. Saresh cleared her throat. "I do not have your answer, Grand Master."
"My jedi will monitor the situation, and they will answer to me and me alone. The SIS is yours."
The door shut and Satele fed her anger to the Force, not a single soul opposing her exit of the building.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Jaesa, after some minutes, concluded that ceremonies were not her thing. Arriving early, being shown where to stand and what to say, waiting endlessly for hundreds more to go through the exact same thing. All of it dragged on, though sensing their loyalty was one way to pass the time.
She didn't expect to find a traitor, of course. But if she did, black bagging someone would be one way to liven up the evening.
But, as expected, it was not to be. These were the Enosis' most loyal, officers and Force users and bureaucrats, and security was tight.
Six days since the battle. The wounded had been healed, some by her Master himself, and all critical damage had been repaired. Most non-critical reconstruction was still being worked on, but morale was high.
Everyone liked winning, even if so many had died. But all the anger and grief was turned against the Empire, towards the invaders, and unity within the Enosis was higher than ever.
It was inevitable for fast growing organisations to become disjoined, she knew. For factions to form and true loyalty to be rare. People simply didn't get attached to someone they only served with briefly, reassigned when yet another ship needed more experienced crew.
For civilians to have too little time to settle in, moving from place to place. To know their neighbors, find a favorite restaurant, make friends and settle into their job. That was what loyalty meant, for them. Not a flag or a leader. Home.
Yet the attack had done exactly that. Created a home. Given people a rallying point, forged them together through suffering and shared victory. And Jaesa had felt it. Not all of it, but most. The birth of a nation.
Every loss was a trial by fire. Every victory a unifying totem. The Enosis might change, might be renamed or overshadowed when they ruled the Empire, but it had been born as a galactic power.
With all the expectations that brought.
She herself had been spending days vetting diplomats and representatives, ship after ship leaving to promote their cause or broker deals. To spend money by the hundreds of millions, a new initiative from some smart healer increasing profit tenfold.
Rich people, he had reasoned, didn't like going places. So why not send the healers to them?
Arranging security for that had been a nightmare, though fortunately she was only partly involved. Yet their client base had skyrocketed, roving groups of Enosis fleshcrafters earning money from anything between beauty treatments to life-extending surgery.
A lot of money. It was one of the most well-paid positions in the Enosis, and their treasury still made a disgusting amount off it after paying the operational costs.
Inara had asked, once, how much they got paid. Her Master had just kind of looked at them, scratching his head. "Nothing". He had said. "Just request what money you need."
He'd asked if they wanted a salary, Inara shrugging, and that had been that. Not like the three of them couldn't make millions themselves.
A hush fell over the crowd, making Jaesa pay attention, and she saw her Master take the stage. It had been built low, just high enough so everyone could see, and it looked surprisingly rustic. A lone microphone stood at its center, no other decorations adoring it aside from the bare essentials.
"I am not one for speeches." He began, Jaesa withholding a snort. That probably meant he'd tried to pawn this off to someone else and failed. "And to be frank, there are more important things we could be doing. Yet two issues require my attention, and I hope to lay them to rest here and now."
This part she already knew about. The second she did not, he'd just smiled at her when she had asked. It probably wouldn't be too horrible. Probably.
"Once upon a time, before sith and jedi, there were the Je'daii. They gathered on Tython to study the Force, to learn and meditate and understand without expectations. Balance was their creed, balance between Dark and Light. Their system was flawed, as are all mortal attempts to truly understand the Force, but they got close. Closer than most."
His eyes went distant, as if in memory. He continued speaking anyway. "There are many Force users in the Enosis. Sith and jedi, voss and those without any previous training at all. Not all wield lightsabers, not all delve deeply into the Force, but every soul is united in the journey for balance. To accept the Force as it is, and not how we wish to use it."
Jaesa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Technically true, but some took that balance more seriously than others. Many, especially soldiers, didn't really meditate at all. Not traditionally. They practised a set number of techniques, be that body enhancement or basic telekinesis, and that was that.
It allowed them to sharpen those techniques, admittedly, but still. They saw the Force as just another tool in their arsenal.
"The Je'daii are dead." Her Master continued. "They have been for a very long time, and we are not them. Nor should we wish to be. But it was their legacy that inspired the Enosis, even if we did not know it. So be you sith, jedi or voss; You are also Je'daii, for you value understanding over fear, unity over power, and for that you have my thanks. Now and always, if you embrace the Force seeking unity, you are under my aegis."
Thunderous applause was his answer, which Jaesa felt surprised him even if he kept his face perfectly normal. It would take many years, she mused, before it fully sank in how serious people took his words.
Her Master raised his hand and the crowd quieted, appearing like he hadn't been caught off guard. Her own time in command had shown her exactly how useful a skill like that was.
"Secondly, a promotion. The Battle of the Three Stations has cost us much, I will not deny it, but bleak times have the effect of making heroism shine ever more brightly. The Sith Order has their Lords, the Jedi Order has their Knights and Masters. Nine individuals have shown themselves on that same caliber, and their deeds will not be overlooked."
Names were called out, an officer reading them from a list. Vlaka Kishlav, the kaleesh rumored to be partially responsible for Marr's retreat. Ell Hebast, a twi'lek who had distinguished herself in the battles before. Prada Ulkish, becoming famous after a video was released showing her cutting through hundreds of soldiers.
Then helping a lost child away from battle while still covered in blood.
The names continued, and with a start Jaesa realised their own were among them. Inara and Alyssa seemed just as surprised, and as Jaesa looked at her Master she could see the faintest grin on his face.
She joined the six others, standing in a line behind the man. Her Master turned, seeming to appraise them. "Each of you have gained strength worthy of a Lordly title, and each of you have shown yourself capable of handling the responsibility that comes with it. I name you my Lords of War, to represent my strength in battle."
Jaesa knelt, because that's what he deserved for ambushing her like that, and it triggered a wave. All eight followed, but her revenge was derailed.
Because the bastard went with it. "Rise, my Lords, to never kneel before me again."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"Why do they all look terrified?" Inara whispered, Alyssa glaring at her. It really was fun to rile her up. "What?"
Inara grinned as Alyssa shook her head, leaning against her girlfriend's shoulder. The pureblood didn't shake her off, answering after a moment. "They shouldn't because there is nothing to be afraid of."
"Remember that time he ambushed us with Star in the middle of a spar?" Jaesa asked, tone innocent. The other six Lords of War didn't visibly react, though Inara could tell they were paying attention. "That was fun."
The door opened before Inara could find more ways to haze the newbies, their Master walking inside. This special training of theirs had been announced shortly after the ceremony, a very unnecessary if-you-have-time-we'll-do-it-now question attached to it, and here they were.
The six non-apprentice Lords had snapped to attention, Inara settling for a nod as they bowed. A slow nod, with perhaps a little more depth than usual, but definitely not a bow. She was past that, as were her fellow apprentices.
"Right, the lesson." Morgan said, clapping his hands together. "There will come a time where each of you will face a stronger opponent than yourself, hopefully with allies at your side. For now, you will fight against me. I will not hold back, though rest assured that your death is very unlikely. I would ask that you do not hold back either. Apprentices, care to start us off?"
Jaesa grabbed one of the training weapons on the wall and charged, Alyssa doing the same but throwing it at him. Inara primed their bond, that connection that allowed them to combine their will and more.
There was no fuckery with Fate, not this time, but it didn't matter. He had explained it, how infusing intent into basic techniques skyrocketed their effectiveness, but seeing it was different. Feeling it was different. His enhanced precognition alone meant nothing touched him, and Inara had asked when they could learn it.
He had shrugged and told her it wasn't taught. Only when her own understanding of the Force and the specific technique reached the proper level could it be combined.
Which wasn't particularly helpful, and Inara suddenly found herself on the floor. That's what she got for being too distracted by Jaesa's viewpoint instead of her own. They were improving, but small mistakes still happened.
And small mistakes where all it took. Her Master nodded, satisfied, and turned to the other six. "Three groups of three, six rounds. We'll change the composition between each round, since it's vital you get used to working with people you don't know. Prada, Ell and Alyssa, you're first."
Inara watched, time speeding up as her full focus was consumed. Trying to memorize every move, every technique and every failure. She'd write it all down later, go over it with Alyssa and Jaesa, but for now she watched.
It was, mostly, a one-sided beatdown. But as time moved on her Master started to limit himself, using only his physical strength instead of more arcane techniques. It was pushing him, which she supposed was the point.
But it was also making the newly christened Lords of War confident. Not arrogant, he slapped that down the moment he noticed, but self-assured. The training lasted for hours, and the only break her Master took was to give pointers.
Literal hours of fighting, and he never slowed down. That endurance alone was enviable, though she supposed precognition wasn't the only thing he could infuse with intent. Fleshcrafting had long been his most reliable tool, and he knew it well.
Speculation, of course, but Inara thought it likely.
He left after the last round, having gone far past the original six, and the newest Lords of War dragged themselves away. Inara scoffed, calling after them to practise their fleshcrafting, and grinned at Alyssa.
Only then, when it was just the three of them, did she slump. Alyssa joined her on the floor, Jaesa still staring at the door her Master had left through. Jaesa stumbled to the wall, taking a deep breath as she straightened.
"It happened again." Jaesa said, shaking her head. Sweat was pouring down her face, though it vanished after a moment. Hygiene, one of the most convenient facets of fleshcrafting. "A shadow of a moment, but it happened. His tranquil state."
Alyssa groaned, shaking her head. Viewpoint migraines sucked. "Really? I didn't feel it."
"My power short circuits when he does." Jaesa explained. "It was only a split-second. I don't think he even realised it himself, but it was there."
Inara shrugged. "So?"
"So it's proof that it wasn't a fluke."
"Morgan grows more powerful, everyone is aghast with surprise." Alyssa said dryly. "I repeat my love's question. So?"
"So." Jaesa sighed. "So he is already a Darth. What, exactly, do you suppose a spike in power would mean?"
"Being an Emperor?" Inara offered, confused. "I saw this coming months ago. After his escape from the time prison thing, really. Didn't you?"
"No. No I did not."
"Huh. Well, alright. Why is this a problem?"
"Because it doesn't work like this." Jaesa exploded, waving her arms. "You can't just realise you want power. That those you love are in danger, so here's some bullshit meditation high that makes you super powerful. What the fuck does that even mean?"
Alyssa clearly wanted nothing to do with that, so Inara spoke up instead. Kept her tone soothing, petting the floor. Jaesa sat, still fuming. "I think I see where the problem comes from."
"You do, do you?"
"I do." Inara confirmed, ignoring the sarcasm. "You were a jedi for a long while, indoctrinated and everything, then got an even more cult-like Master in Karr. Alyssa and me, we're from Balmorra. I don't think of it much, to tell the truth. My life is here, my love is here, I can do things I couldn't even dream of. A gift born from tragedy."
"What does that have to do with me being a jedi?"
"Because you've been told there are rules." Inara explained. "That there is a path you follow. Youngling, then a padawan, then a jedi. Become a Knight, become a Master, sit on the High Council. Become Grand Master, one day. And yes, I know. That's not what they told you, you don't believe that, whatever. It's how you were raised, there's no shame in it."
Jaesa crossed her arms. "So what?"
"So you don't take the plunge into the Force. Not as often as he does. And our dear Master? All he does is plunge. Sometimes with horrific consequences, but he doesn't care about titles or what should be. And yes, he's gifted or whatever word you wish to use, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter what other people expect, he just does. And with that comes a mental flexibility well-suited for Force breakthroughs."
"And that explains it how?"
"Oh, it doesn't." Inara waved her hand. "But it's the best I've got. Just take your good fortune and run with it, alright? I'm sure we'll catch up. Eventually. And if not, who cares? I am me, you are you, he is him. We all have our own path to follow."
Her friend let out a long, annoyed sigh before straightening. "You're right, of course. Meditation? Maybe we'll finally learn her name this time."
Inara shrugged, looking at Alyssa, and the pureblood nodded. Meditating with an Other was perilous at the best of times, let alone when exhausted, but that was the point. The Other, learning its gender had been an ordeal to start with, was curious. Sometimes a little too curious.
Pushy, too, though putting up enough resistance caused her to retreat. The three of them combined wasn't enough to stop her, necessarily, but they could make their opinion clear. And that was usually enough, assuming she wasn't annoyed.
An annoyed Other had the tendency to be a little rough, though their combined will in the deep Force did allow them to defend themselves. At least against her more undirected outbursts.
And the experience. That constant mental pressure - pressure that Inara was getting increasingly good at resisting, and the condensing effect on their souls. It did wonders, and she was starting to understand the mind and soul were but two sides of the same thing.
So they sat and linked their souls, a process that was getting increasingly complex. And increasingly easier, which was a contradiction Inara was only just getting used to. But she didn't spend much time inspecting it, not today, and power coiled around them tightly.
Three souls, two linked together closely with the third orbiting them. Inara felt her mind touch that of Alyssa, sending her fondness and love, and received the same in turn. Jaesa swirled around them, technically separate. Separate like the bond between atoms, which meant not separate at all.
One whole, three minds. Three souls, one expression of power. It was, their Master had said, their most powerful ability. He, Lana and Zethix had done terrifying things while working together, Inara knew, and she could hardly wait to see how far the three of them could go.
The Other arrived without warning or fanfare, the school of fish materializing from nothing. They shifted and rippled, colors changing as quickly as their formation. It was a type of beauty Inara was wholly capable of admiring for hours, even if they came here with a purpose.
Learning her name.
They'd tried before, but Other speech was still hard on them. Simple words they could manage to understand, if not speak, but a name? That was more than syllables. It was comprehension, the ability for the mind to accept something it was not meant to.
The fish spoke, Inara calmed her soul, and pain was followed by progress.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Gonn, general of the Republic and officer in charge of the Sixth Expedition Fleet, looked over at the jedi. Vesta, she had introduced herself as, and one of her entourage had later told him to refer to her as the Honorable Barsen'Thor. Or just Master jedi, if time was short.
He had told the Knight to go fuck himself.
Still, Vesta hadn't been a bad guest. Hadn't assumed command over the fleet, even if she technically could have, though he still made sure to take her suggestions seriously. And so far he'd had no reason to complain, no reason to disagree. So far.
"Taris has been claimed by the Enosis." Gonn warned, casting a look at where their hyperspace calculations were being prepared. "Going this close past their territory is unwise."
Vesta looked over, not seeming worried. "And this is why you are here. Your positive relations with the Darth known as Caro will ease potential conflict, and Taris is not our target."
"I am well aware of what our target is." He replied, his tone a warning. "And we do not need to go this close to Taris. Belkadan and its new King can be reached as easily through Republic territory."
The Barsen'Thor smiled at him. "Former Dark Council member Mortis is not going anywhere, general. Taris is undefended, and the happenings there are of interest to me."
"I will not start a war with the Enosis. Not without express orders from my superior, which you are most certainly not." And maybe not even then, if he didn't find their reasons convincing. One of her Knights turned to him, a snarl on his face. Gonn looked at the man. "What? Are you going to cut me down, jedi? See how far this fleet follows you without me to lead it."
Tension skyrocketed, soldiers tensing as the jedi rallied around Vesta. Who seemed to have spaced out, blinking as she focused again. "There will be no invasion. No attack. No Republic soldier will set foot on Taris, no ship will crowd their territory. I have explained myself badly. Yijack, there will be no bloodshed."
The Knight relaxed, bowing his head towards the woman. Gonn flexed his fingers, signalling his men to stand down.
"That was fun." He said. "Perhaps you would explain in more detail?"
"If we go past the Taris system, contact will be made. A warning. Upon seeing it is you who commands the Republic fleet, and that it is armed for war, Morgan will be called. I wish to speak with him."
"And calling him yourself is out of the question?"
Vesta looked briefly amused. "No. But he knows who I am, or more accurately who I should be. He will not speak with me because I am not important to his plans. He wishes to avoid dragging me onto the stage."
Gonn nodded as if that made perfect sense. "The fleet is mine, but we will swing past Taris."
"The fleet is yours." Vesta agreed. "And I will speak with someone who should not be."
He opened his mouth, closed it, then turned away. That sounded well and truly above his paygrade, if he was being honest. He liked Morgan, he did, but he wasn't getting between two high-level Force users. No way.
And, perhaps even more concerningly, it happened exactly as she said it would. They got within two system length's of Taris, stopped for a new calculation, and got contacted by the Senior Captain of a small Enosis fleet. Apparently there to pick up recruits, though that came from Vesta and was unconfirmed.
Gonn told them his name, they got put on hold, and five minutes later Morgan's face appeared. The man looked the same, if somewhat hardened by the war. More confident, too. Vesta stepped up before Gonn could get a word out, Morgan's eyes snapping to her.
"The Barsen'Thor. Great. Nice to meet you, I suppose. Is it too much to hope this is just a coincidence?"
"Morgan." Vesta greeted, eyes not wavering for a second. Her Knight had explained she was divining the Force for truth when she seemed to space out, whatever that meant, but now her whole focus seemed to be on the present. "It is not a coincidence. I wish to give thanks."
"For what?"
The man sounded positively suspicious, which Gonn found surprising. Vesta didn't seem bothered. "The fortress recovered from Darth Baras is of great interest to the jedi, and I myself have studied several of its artifacts. You were wise not to take them."
"Didn't need them, and I wasn't going to sell borderline cursed stuff on the open market. I doubt you are here to give thanks alone."
"I am, and I am not. Mortis will be dead within the next eight days. The Enosis will wage war on the Empire, your reputation will continue to grow. The truth is in the nature of memory. Do you understand? Distraction will be the death of you."
Gonn had not the slighest clue what the fuck they where talking about, but Morgan nodded. "I know. Marr would be dead, Nox would be dead, a whole lot of pain would have been spared. But it was not to be, and the Eye chose a bad moment to be insistent."
"The Eye did nothing but spark the catalyst of change." Vesta replied. "The Elders will not be involved again. There are so few to talk with about this, do you know? And no, I am not from Beyond. I am from here, and my memory is from here. But your rise is weaving threads through Fate, and the past can be divined as accurately as the future."
"But the past is the past, and the future is the future. One is stone, the other water."
Vesta nodded, her face lighting up. "Yes. You understand. Thank you."
She cut the communication before Morgan could reply, Gonn tapping his pinky finger against his leg twice. Before the connection could be severed completely, an info packet was sent along. Recent intel acquired by the Republic concerning Imperial movement. If Vesta noticed, she said nothing.
Things returned to normal, as normal as things could be with Vesta around, and Gonn did his job. Contemplated on how Force users grew stranger the more power they acquired, though his guest seemed to be on her own level.
He wasn't surprised when Darth Mortis, former Dark Council member, died exactly eight days after Vesta said he would.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Timmns Aduli, jedi Master and killer of the Dread Masters, resisted the urge to swallow nervously. Eight years he'd been loyal, eight years his mission had been clear, and now it was stripped away like none of it had mattered.
"It's a trap." Darth Caro repeated, leaning forward. "A trap. I know Revan is out of his mind, I know he's terrified of his other half, I just don't care. The Emperor is baiting him, and once Revan is tricked into being whole, he'll be eaten. How is any of that not clear yet?"
Timmns shook his head. "I called you to discuss a possible arrangement between the Enosis and a group of break-away jedi. And to see an old friend, though we did not leave as such. I have nothing to do with the Revanites."
"Did you know we recently hired a team of slicers? Really good ones, at that? They're telling me your location is Yavin-4, which is where the Revanites are. You called me Morgan of Nowhere in your letter, which only the Master on Dromund Kaas has done, and let me just cut this short. You're a Revanite, Revan is being baited, I don't have time to deal with it."
The three other people, hidden from Caro's view, looked at him. It included that very Master he was referencing. "I really don't know wha-"
"Stop deflecting, I don't care. I literally feel her right now, looking at you and being judgemental. There's maybe seven people in your camp who stand a chance at detecting my perception, and none have managed. Which, I am saddened to find, includes Revan himself. He must really be out of his mind."
The Master shook her head, making Timmns frown in confusion, and Caro just sighed. Timmns spoke anyway. "If what you say is true, are you and Revan not allies? Two souls seeking the same end?"
"Revan is awesome." Morgan replied, and Timmns blinked. "He also got corrupted by the Star Forge, tortured by the Emperor, is currently in a very literal split-personality mindset and is doomed to fail. My advice, not-Revanite jedi Master. Run. But you won't listen, and neither will the Master, so this whole conversation is pointless."
Timmns was thoroughly losing control of the conversation, and Morgan hadn't been nearly this bad on Belsavis. It was confidence, he realised. Morgan believed that he knew better, and none of them were going to change his mind.
A shame. He would have been a worthy addition to their ranks.
"I'm sorry you feel that way." He replied, and ignored the warning look the Master sent him. "I hope we meet again, I truly do."
Morgan leaned forward, and suddenly all Timmns could see was Darth Caro. "And I hope Revan succeeds, Master Timmns. Really. But I don't think he will, and let me be perfectly clear. If I am forced to come over there to deal with it, I will. Permanently."
The line went dead, Timmns looking at the Master helplessly. The woman hummed.
"He speaks of things he should not know, but does. Revan must be warned and additional safeguards installed. I shall speak with Him."
And just like that he was left alone, a jedi Master yet nothing but a middle-ranked initiate in the Order. He looked at the communicator, frowning.
That could have gone better.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Zethix didn't react when the door to their private meeting was thrown open, a missile he vaguely recognized as twi'lek bounding across the room. It draped herself over Mad Mouse, ignoring everyone else to give one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy cuddles.
Truly, life was unfair. Where was his affectionate twi'lek?
"You are aware that I am aware that you're regularly sleeping with someone, right?" Mad Mouse asked, peering at him suspiciously. "Or are you jealous of Vette? I'm afraid I don't have a lap large enough for you to sit on."
Vette glared. "This is my lap. I'll stab anyone that tries to take it."
Zethix sighed. "And we were having such a productive meeting."
"You can still have your meeting." Vette waved, clearly uncaring. "I'll just be here, comforting my brave nigh-immortal boyfriend for almost ascending to godhood."
Mad Mouse shrugged. "What she said. I'm in need of comfort."
"I hate people in love." Zethix declared, tapping his datapad. "So I'm going to ignore you now. As I was saying, fleet strength. After the battle, and including a number of defecting captains who still need to be processed, the Enosis fields three hundred and twenty nine warships. Two dreadnoughts—Marr's old ship needs approximately seven months of repair and won't be ready for the duration of this war—and one hundred and eighteen are destroyers. The remainder is a combination of frigates and carriers."
"Losses from the Battle of the Three Stations?"
Zethix sighed. "Bad, but not as bad as it could have been. I'll spare both of us a reading of the exact numbers, the initial reports were accurate enough, but approximately eleven thousand defenders died. Another fifteen hundred from the combined First and Second fleet when reinforcing the battle. Seven ships were lost, three destroyers and four frigates, when you broke through Marr's defensive line."
"I see." Mad Mouse was clearly displeased, but there was no outburst of emotion. The man would never be happy to hear his own people die, Zethix knew, but he was hardening to the reality that soldiers die. "The good news?"
"The good news is that the Empire has lost yet another fleet. That makes three major victories for us, one for them. I'm counting Hoth as theirs, for clarification. Two simmering slave rebellions have already ignited, the latest report indicated that our rapid rebellion support teams have managed to assist both, and Taris is preparing to house them."
"They won't mind? Taris, I mean."
"Not after what you did with the Rakghouls. There is a rumor going around that you subjugated instead of eradicated, and it is making everyone very hesitant about trying to take it from us. The large amount of space, along with the already in-place foundations, means we're building training facilities as fast as recruits arrive. Quite a few slaves have fire in their blood, unsurprisingly, though it's strictly voluntary."
Vette appeared to not be listening, which suited Zethix fine, and Mad Mouse tilted his head. "Isn't that a risk? Taris is situated right between Imperial and Republic space, not to mention possessing poor planetary defenses. I know I've been meditating for a while instead of attending meetings, apologies if you have to defend your choices twice."
"That was what we agreed on you doing." Zethix dismissed. "And yes, it is a risk. But one I feel is worth it, because frankly, Taris is a treasure trove of building materials. A company called Recycle, Reuse, Rebuild was very enthusiastic about building there. They specialise in, well, building with rubble."
Mad Mouse nodded. "Fair enough. How goes it with the defectors?"
"Slow and steady. We've been trying to rely less on Jaesa, though we still employ her for any bridge officer. Generals Quinn and Octavian have the military well in hand, which allows Kala and Mirla to focus on the navy. Frankly, it's going better than we have any right to expect."
"Is it because Morgan beat Marr like he was a floundering drunk?" Vette piped up. "I bet it's that."
Zethix shrugged. "It helped, yes. Recruitment is up in all categories, we've had to redirect people to Taris since the Stations are pretty much full, and we're almost growing faster than we can handle. Almost. The defectors, ironically enough, are saving us. We would never have been able to build the Enosis military branches without them."
"I give Morgan all the credit based on no real evidence other than my say so."
"I'm so glad you're here." Zethix replied dryly. "But there's one more thing before you can drag him off to your lair. Initial exploration into the art of Mechu-deru, while slow, has finally shown results. Not many, but enough to imply that more experimentation is worthwhile. They've asked that you oversee their findings, something which I agree with."
Mad Mouse shrugged. "Of course. Oh, I meant to ask. How's Bundu? I heard he fought Marr, but I haven't seen him since. All I know is that he's not dead."
"He and a number of others went to slow the Darth down, yes. He's the only survivor. I asked him to train our more promising stealth-focussed je'daii as infiltrators and spies, see who has the right mentality for assassin work, that sort of thing."
"Makes sense." Mad Mouse nodded, moving to stand. "So now we begin one of the most exciting endeavours of war, logistics and the preparation of men."
"And women!" Vette corrected. "Just saying. Don't be sexist."
"And women."
Zethix sighed. "Logistics make or break wars. Now get out and be in love like the disgustingly happy couple you are."
Mad Mouse smiled at him serenely. Volryder had taught him that, Zethix was sure of it. He'd have to get some people on it.
His friend was annoying enough without that particular ability.
Afterword
As some of you might have already noticed, I have a new story up and running! Early days yet, but rest assured that Value Loyalty won't be slowed because of it. In fact, Value Loyalty has been completed. Now it's in the editing phase, so any danger of it going unfinished has well and truly passed.
The new story! I won't bore those who care only for star wars, which is very valid, and shall simply link it here for those curious. For now both stories will update, though, so you'd lose nothing by giving it an early like/follow/rating hint hint wink wink.
I hope to see you all there, and if not I'll see you next week for more star wars!
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