Ba'slan shev'la.

[Turin Val Kur]

The Niathal-class shuttle moved along the hyperlanes, silent within save for the occasional beep from the ship's equipment. Mordecai looked up at Gilamar. The man they all thought was dead. Truthfully he would not truly know until he opened the tank. He placed a hand on the cold, transparent surface and sighed. Was it his place to open this tank here and now? Was it his place to keep Gilamar Skirata from his people?

No.

Sliding his hand from the glass to a palm reader the machine scanned his hand, recognizing it under some long number and the pod hissed as the hydraulics opened the pod slowly. Green fluid leaked onto the cargo bay floor and soon became a large puddle. Gilamar fell, his hair long and his beard unruly.

"Gotcha..." whispered Mordecai as he caught what would be...His biological father.

He was very soggy and reeked of kolcta.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

Blaster fire. Wind. Explosions.

He opened his eyes, the yellow eyes of Ordo staring back at him as the pair were locked in combat atop their bes'uliik. The giant of a man said something, his words taken by the wind.

Black.

Gilamar...

Gilamar...

"Gilamar!"

A voice snapped him into reality. His eyes snapped open, light flooding his pupils. Almost immediately he wretched and vomited over the side of the bed he was on. Kolcta. His head felt heavy, the worst hangover he'd ever had.

"W-where am I?" It all came rushing back to him. The war, the One Sith, his wife, his death. Everything. He screamed in agony, his vision went dark and then he could see again. Oh wait, he was just blinking.

"You've been dead for a long time old man." Gilamar looked up. A young man, early thirties. Spitting image of-His eyes darted around for a weapon anything. The young man caught on. "I know, you have a lot of questions. A lot is running through your head. Understandable, considering you've been clinically dead for five years." His heart sank. Five years? What had happened that he had been away for five years?

"Ne shab'rud'ni...Where the Hell am I?

 

[Turin Val Kur]

"Aboard my ship. We're on our way to Mandalore."

The old man didn't say anything after that. With a sigh Mordecai shifted on the container he had been sitting on and stared at the old man. Desolate, heartbroken. What he was about to tell him would break his heart even more.

And so he told him. Everything that had happened that he knew since his death. The ritual, about Mia Monroe, and especially Azrael. That last part brought a smile to the old man's face. But he could tell the damage was done. Mordecai left the old man in the room to sleep and think alone. Better that way...They were nearing Mandalore soon.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

Five years dead in a tank. And that....boy out there was his son? No. he was a creation, that crazy witch took his DNA and her own and applied some crazy space magic on him to make the thing that was outside. He still had Kadala back home.

Back home.

What was even there for him anymore? Getting up from his cot he made his way to the refresher and looked at himself in the mirror. Whatever Rave had put him in had kept him looking youthful, well, at least the same as he looked before. He didn't have a bit of recovery flab on him. But this hair...Well. it had to go.

Looking at himself in the mirror he gazed into his own eyes. He would have to step up and make a choice. Would he wallow in self pity and guilt like he did for forty years, or would he get up and do something with his life?

He picked up the shears.