Before the Darkness

[Srina Talon]

Srina felt a shiver run down her back that had very little to do with the coolness of the vibroblades that ran along the length of her spine. They were veiled by a three-quarter sleeve jacket that did very little to hide her delicate figure. Why was she here? Why had she returned to Coruscant? It was a mistake. It was bad enough that she found herself incredibly relieved that the WeatherNet had basically assured that, while it would rain that evening, it wouldn’t be acidic. That was a joy. Acid. Rain. This planet was a cesspool. A dangerous, terrifying, parasitic society that seemed to keep most of its citizens trapped in perpetual twilight.

She hadn’t faired so well after her last trip to the ecumenopolis. What made her think that this would go any better? Part of her wondered if she was suffering early onset of some sort of dementia. She’d been having problems ever since she broke the atmosphere of Eshan. She’d begun to see things. Unexplainable, unimaginable things. People that she had never met. Places that she had never been.

Srina couldn’t tell if it was a blessing or a curse.

She felt anxious—despite her attempts to push emotion down. Something ineffable and arcane had forcibly pulled her back to this grey travesty. She’d been flying the Loronar E-9 all over the galaxy. There had been adventure after adventure, mostly against her will, but she’d never once felt something wrench her so strongly back to a place that she wholly despised. If she closed her eyes long enough she could almost envision a bright streak running from herself through the skyscrapers and clouldcutters to some mysterious destination unknown.

Srina found herself wandering between tall buildings that arced monstrously overhead for more than half the evening. She turned in slow circles as she tried to get her bearings, the bustling sounds of night, of people, completely lost to her. If ever there was mouse caught in a maze—she was it. She felt as if she were being stalked by more than just her Echani brethren. There was a darkness, a heaviness to everything, in a way that felt smothering. Choking.

It had taken her a long time to accept what that feeling was...And it had been equally horrifying to realize that the unimaginable forces she felt all around her were people. Not things. Not a ship, or a device, or spell. She’d noticed it first with a mercenary she hired, then again with a bounty hunter, with a thief…All of these people were so strong. Their presence made her feel so very, very small, in such a vast galaxy. She could sense some of these people when they got close enough. It felt like ice water running along her nerves. The more it froze her the closer they were.

The silver-eyed woman found her mind slipping through the cracks of reality. One moment she was looking at a storefront and the next she was standing beneath some great winged statue. The rain that the WeatherNet had promised had finally come. The neon city lights didn’t do anything to help her discern the strange man’s features but every time her mind fell beneath an invisible ocean she found something new. Skin the color of tang bark. Eyes, so dark. She couldn’t stay forever. Not without drowning.

By the time she came up for air she was already somewhere new. Her feet led her of their own accord and she was none the wiser. A pale hand rose to her forehead to check for signs of fever. It was rare for an Echani to take ill but it wasn’t impossible that she’d come across some sort of toxin in her travels. What else could explain this? Her wanderlust, and the visions? It didn’t make any sense.

Her actions were only placing innocent people in danger. Her cousins didn’t care about collateral damage. Yet, she couldn’t be so cavalier. It was not merely her own life that she risked by staying to fight her family. For the sake of many others she had to delay what felt like the inevitable for as long as possible. That alone was reason enough to flee…But she couldn’t. She physically could not, turn around, and head back toward her ship.

Forward was the only way through. She couldn’t go back.

A swell of something that couldn’t be described poured through her. Run. Not for the first time her instincts told her to run. Screamed, for her to run. So she did. Ever in the direction that her visions bade her. She reached a lift—a clear transparisteel tube—and stepped in. Nothing happened. Delicate lips, tinted pink, edged in primrose, fell into a frown. The charge in the repulsor plates had depleted over centuries without maintenance or use. Some lift tubes worked. Some didn’t. Fortunately, she wasn’t dependent on technology to make the turbolift work.

It was said among the Priestesses of Eshan that everyone experienced the gift she’d somehow acquired as a child in different ways. For some of the Elders it was like a storm in which they were the cynosure, secure in the calm eye while commanding its tempests. For others it was a fog, a mist, the vaporous tendrils of which it could be manipulated, or incandescence with which to illuminate or inflame. These were adequate approximations, feeble attempts to describe, in terms of the five ordinary senses, that which was indescribable.

Lately, Srina had been feeling it all.

She made a slight, focused, uplifting gesture. The surety of the movement felt strange to her. But the action, the actual effect, was like sinking into warm water. It soothed her. Calmed her—before some form of invisible power spilled up from the ground like a geyser. It easily raised her the length of the tube and she hopped out gracefully just before she would have become one with the ceiling.

The striking silvery woman broke into a run as soon as her feet touched the ground. She was light on her feet and little more than a ghostly wraith to those who saw her. Srina would be hard to follow, moving erratically, following a map, and fleeing from an enemy that only she could see.

‘Where are you?’, she mentally called to the dark-skinned man from her lucid dreaming. It was a rhetorical thought of which she didn’t expect an actual answer. Nothing else mattered. It didn’t matter who he was or why he appeared to her like a specter. He was real—and it was his absence that pushed her. In a city of billions of people built on top of a veritable necropolis…How was she to find one man?

More accurately…How was she to find him before the darkness found her?

[member="Atlas Kane"] | [member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Peace is a Lie...

Decades ago, when the Sith was yet young, these words were beaten into his skull. As he learned at the feet of his Master, the nature of the Galaxy was made plain. No matter how much one dreamed of Utopia, there would always be another to raze it to the ground. Yet... Darth Metus had to learn the hard way. He accepted the tutelage, of course. He walked the walk, talked the talk, yet he did not believe the wisdom of the Code. A small part of him believed that his people, the progeny of Mandalore, were above the base reality of existence. He believed that, if nothing else, the Mandalorians could know peace within themselves. Utopia within themselves.

Peace is a Lie. Absently, Darth Metus rotated his wrist in a half circle, swirling about the contents of his beverage. The Amber liquor yet retained its frigid temperature, sustained by the cubes that floated within. Below, the former heart of the Galaxy lay beating. Coruscant. The metropolis sprawled out as far as the Sith could see. Buildings scraped the heavens, speeders raced through aerial cosways...yet even with a sight as marvellous as this before him, Darth Metus yet mulled over the affairs of his former home. Peace was a Lie, and it was only a matter of time before Mandalore was burned yet again. Now, a Civil War raged...yet what would come after? Raids? Conquest?

Peace is a Lie. A heavy sigh formed and fell from the Sith's lips as he set his beverage down upon his desk. Staring off into the skyline was not exactly...productive. In fact, he had barely touched the documents which laid scattered upon his desk. His focus was elsewhere. He fretted when the truth was laid bare. To think his people were different...to think his efforts meant anything was a delusion. But where did that leave him? Was the Confederacy doomed to a similar fate? Would they also be sucked into the perpetual cycle of conflict? Would there ever be Peace? Peace is a Lie. Darth Metus rested his fingertips upon his temples, inhaling deeply.

"I need air." he said. An excuse to buy more time. A means of evading the truth which laid before him. Peace is a Lie. And if he were only to accept it...then the way forward would not be so difficult to navigate. In short order did the Sith arise from his seat and depart from within the confines of his office. Rapid descent gripped him thus as the turbolift bore him from above to below. Curt nods and half-grunts were all that he afforded those he passed, for they were but obstacles in the way out of the lobby. And then, he was free. Here, the air was not nearly as cold or as "fresh." Here, there was a thickness...a symptom of overpopulation and the filth of the lower levels.

Yet, it was real. Genuine. Darth Metus could think here.

Sliding one hand into the pocket of his slacks, the Sith began to stride down the pavement. At a glance, he did not appear as one who had the might of the Dark Side within; nor did he flaunt it on this particular world. Coruscant was a gem of the Galactic Alliance and was not one to be trifled with. And, despite his internal crisis, Darth Metus was not one to throw all care to the wind. Thus did he walk and think; and think and walk. He thought of the recent events...of how his beloved nation was growing. He thought of his decisions - questioning whether he was making the right calls in all regards. Was it weakness that inspired their stance on slavery? Would it hasten the inevitable if they continued along this path?

Where are you?​

Darth Metus stopped dead in his tracks.

The ruminations of an old man over philosophical truths came to a winding halt. Something...primal struck his very mind. His first response was to recoil against the unwelcome sensation...yet there was something so raw about it that the Sith couldn't help but be inquisitive. Unrefined. Sudden. As if someone or something had bled their emotions through the Force. As if sheer exasperation had been ferried some distance to reach the Sith. He did not dare respond at once. But rather, he rolled up the cuffs of his button-down and became keenly aware of the saber in his pocket. Then, he fed the emotion a clue. A simple nudge that would be akin to seeing a light in one's periphery - a compass pointing to the metaphorical north.

Whoever or whatever it was that felt this way would feel where to turn.

Whoever it was would learn that Peace is a Lie.

[member="Srina Talon"], [member="Atlas Kane"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Her muscles burned, her feet ached, and her head swam with things that weren’t tangible. She had finally determined that her visions were real, not hallucinations, but echoes layered on top of reality. A silvery blue streak she wove through alleyways and cityscape without really looking where she was going. One wrong move could lead her right off the edge of a level and into a terrifying dead drop that would no doubt result in her death. Somehow, she knew when to stop, she knew when to turn, when to jump, when to wait. Despite the fear that held firm around her heart, grasping it cruelly, like wickedly curved witch-fingers, there was also a sense of calm.

The ocean that swept her mind away every time she focused on the man with the sulfuric eyes was unforgiving. It took her somewhere new on Coruscant, showed her permacrete walkways, and dark boots walking at a steady pace. It gave glimpses of dankness, of pallid light, of—

Srina stopped abruptly as a speeder blew by her in a skylane, the driver leaning heavily on the horn. She wavered on the edge for a moment before she caught her balance. Gray eyes searched the evening sky and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out where the daylight had gone. The soft pitter-patter of rainfall caught her attention as the predictions from the WeatherNet came true. Rain. Just water. It didn’t burn her eyes or skin but it did make her surroundings look different. Surreal. She began to move forward slowly once more and her white-gold hair darkened as it took on liquid. Her clothing felt heavier. Boots, squishy. It was unpleasant but she scarcely noticed.

If she was frustrated enough to cry the world would never know. Srina was spared that indecency by the unfortunate weather, but she felt so weighted, so lost, that her visions left her feeling like a shell. As if they hollowed out everything she had ever been. Her head ached so badly that it felt like the bones in her skull were constantly sliding forward. Obeying the esoteric force that pulled her deeper and deeper into the necropolis-esque planet was the only way to keep some small semblance of control. She found herself staring into the reflective surface of an apartment building. There he was again. In every square, in every tile. ‘I can’t find you…’, she wordlessly lamented.

As if the specter in the glass could hear her. Even if he could—why would he care?

Srina stilled as she felt something she didn’t know how to process. She squinted as she watched the figure that stood near her reflection, cold, waterlogged fingers reaching for the polycarbonate glass. The moment she touched it the man faded away in whispers of smoke and fading light. She unfroze after a few moments and let herself fall into what she didn’t understand. The difference, when she didn’t fight it, was palpable. The line of hazy light she’d been following all this time grew brighter. Clearer.

She didn’t run. It was a far more nonviolent path, that of a call being answered, versus being pulled against her will. Time slowed and stretched for her in a way that felt unbearable. Coruscant was so massive. How would she ever find her way?

Moving block after city block, roaming, searching…Srina was exhausted. Whatever it was that lay ahead was something, or someone, that she needed to find. What lay behind her was growing closer with every breath. It was blackness. Dark and terrible. Like Jairus Starvald. Her heart skipped multiple beats when she felt a ripple in the air that denoted danger. Couldn’t these would-be assassins let her live in peace for more than a minute? Every time she stepped foot from her E-9 it was the same thing. Run. Fight. Run. The slender Echani woman was starting to unravel in ways that only a prisoner would understand.

Just when she thought to try and fight the pull, to take a detour, and disappear back to her ship—the lead stopped. The feeling that told her what direction to go in had dulled. Srina stood still, noting that she was in the lower levels once more, and turned slowly. She turned down a path that could barely be called a road and found herself staring at the large winged statue from her visions. Water poured in its greenish-gray hands from the world above. It was old, forgotten, and crumbling around the base.

Beyond that, she saw the man again. He stood on the street. Staring, as he always did. Soundless.

“What do you want from me?”, she demanded suddenly, almost bitter. Her arms crossed over her chest as if to protect herself…But what was the use in hiding from a ghost? “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I’ve come back to this wretched planet and I’ve tried to find you…I just can’t. Coruscant is too big and I’m not strong enough—“

Her dual-toned voice died in her throat when she realized that this man did not disappear like the others. Srina approached him curiously, cautiously, and breathed in deeply when she realized she could feel his presence. He was solid. Flesh and bone. In the darkness of the lower levels, she knew him. The fear that had gripped her so tightly ebbed away with every step she took. She shivered, not just from the cold, and stopped about a foot away from the dark-skinned stranger.

“…I couldn’t find you. I thought I was losing my mind…”, she whispered, her downtrodden expression slowly clearing, like sunshine breaking the cloud cover after a heavy storm. The small Echani took one more step, peering up at him with a touch of astonishment. Srina was still trying to reassure herself that he was actually present and not just a figment of her imagination... “I’ve never met you. Not really... But you've been haunting me. I don't know how, or why, but I know your face. Somehow—I know you.”

The silver woman didn’t understand. Confusion wove itself through her lovely countenance and she began to withdraw. She did not feel that this man was a danger to her, quite the contrary, she felt like a danger to herself. He felt something like Starvald, with a dark gravity that was old, and encompassing. Who had visions that came true? Who dreamed of someone, awake, and asleep—only for him to appear from nothing? How strange her ramblings must be to him… A pale hand came to her forehead as she tried to focus. Everything felt so jagged and broken. Pieces...She felt as if she'd been torn to pieces by these visions.

She'd gone crazy. It was the only answer. Living in space and running from man shaped monsters had clearly left her stark raving mad.

“Verd.”, she breathed out suddenly, gray eyes seeming ghostly as they focused on nothing and everything. She snapped back and his names fell from her lips like leaves from a dying tree… “Isley…Metus.”

[member="Darth Metus"] | [member="Atlas Kane"]

 

[Malok]

The air became...thick.

Although his mind was set upon martial things, Darth Metus had hoped to find a reprieve in the open air of Coruscant. He knew that the traffic above would only serve to muddy the atmosphere. He knew that "fresh" was hardly a label that could be applied to the stench invading his nostrils. Yet, there was something different now. As he moved ever further away from his office, the Sith felt as though he was wading through water. It was a surreal sensation: one that only caused his guard to raise all the more. With each step, the sensation grew in strength. With each step, Darth Metus felt his grip...slipping.

With a huff, he relented.

His journey came to an abrupt end, only a block's voyage away from the entrance of his building. There, in the shadow of the structure did he attempt to steady himself. His bait had to be remedied, firstly - and thus would [member="Srina Talon"] find her guidance removed from the waking world. Although threatened, the Sith had to ensure that he was able to face down whatever it was that was seeking him out. Raising his offhand, Darth Metus rested the side of his palm against his brow - attempting to shrug the sensation off. He could not put it to words...but even stopping his advance was not making his situation better. What was going on?

Was this a trap? Some sort of plot laid by the Alliance to bring him into custody? A new tool devised by the Mandalorians, even?

The Sith snarled, shaking his head. The sudden motion jerked his locks about, sending the rainwater that had soaked them scattering about. His eyes lulled to a close for just a moment. A deep breath filled his lungs. Darth Metus did everything in his power to quell the assault upon his mind...but upon opening his eyes, an apparition stood before him. It was not the alabaster girl who was lost in the rain. No. His sulfuric gaze now burned into the face of one who was lost. Long deceased. A child, no more than twelve years of age. She had...his eyes. The deep brown that was once devoid of the Dark Side.

She had his smile.

She was his lost child.

She asked him what he wanted with her. She lamented...her sorrow rippled off her in such a way that the Sith's heart began to ache. That was his baby, standing in the storm. Lost. Confused. Adela. And then her eyes found his own. She was transfixed, as if she could not believe what was standing before her. Darth Metus took an eager step forward, propelled by the instinct of seeing his child lost and afraid. Caution was thrown to the wind - if this was a trap he did not care. She needed him. She was crying out. She was -

Haunting...Somehow, I know you...Metus.

The Echani's words tore through the vision like a hot knife. As she approached, the Sith's gaze became clear. The apparition contoured and grew - manifesting into the porcelain woman who had been seeking him out. Darth Metus' eyes widened - his breath caught as the veil was pulled away from his eyes. Heat rushed to his core: wrath at the sight of a trick deployed by the woman before him. He wanted to...He wanted to cut her down. To rend her apart. How dare she reach into his very soul and prance about as his child?! How dare sh-

He parted his lips, his face contorting with rage.

He wanted to roar. To condemn.

But.

He felt her. That primal, raw emotion that was seeking him...it was now before him in earnest. That meek flame. That gentle breeze. That untempered blade. His gaze swept up and down her person, briefly inspecting for trinkets. Nothing. No obvious boons born of Alchemy. No jewelry born of sacrifice and blood. She was simply as she was...a lost child. A lost child that was seeking him desperately. One that...Was this the will of something greater? Was what he saw a trick...or was it providence? Silence ruled him for but another moment as he looked her in the eye.

And a question buzzed in the back of his mind.

Why end the charade now?

Why reveal that she was not Adela. Why come within arm's reach of his might as she was? Why risk everything for such a ruse? No one was that daft...certainly...then...

Can Death stop you?

The heat ebbed.

"I saw. I..." he began, fumbling over his words. He then paused. Pinching the edge of his jacket, he set about removing his outermost garment before fluttering it over her head. Compared to her drenched clothes, his attire was only just getting damp - and this would shield her from the downpour for the moment. "I felt you calling out to me. And then, when you came, I saw..." He broke off. "Come with me. Let's get off the street."

Although the rage was gone, the walls were yet raised. The Sith returned his dominant hand to his pocket, gingerly touching his fingertips upon the hilt of his saber. He made no moves for it yet, but rather guided the young woman forward with his offhand. Together, he would attempt to move them in the direction of his office and into the main lobby. At that point, she would be on his playing field.

Then, and only then, would he truly attempt to make heads or tails of what was going on.

"Who are you?"

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

The dim lighting of the lower levels didn’t do the moorish visage of her constant apparition any justice. Soft silver eyes could make out a strong frame, tall, and formidable. She watched apprehension drain from his body the way poison drained from a wound and found herself at a loss for words. The way he watched her, approached her, made her both curious and panicky. The snow-kissed woman was skittish in the same way that a small wounded animal would be. She’d essentially wandered into the cave of a hungry predator. She was just too cold, too tired, and too achy from her visions to care.

Srina felt something atypical when she noticed that this Sith seemed to know her. His expression was wrought with a certain level of familiarity and tenderness that she had done nothing to deserve. There was affection, longing, and something that spoke of deliverance. She swallowed hard when she realized that his sulfuric eyes didn’t see her at all. The blurry sea of painted images and sentiment that had led her to him hadn’t only chosen her for its victim. Something had him too. He didn’t see her—He saw through her.

He saw something he loved. Something he cherished. A flash of insight that she had no control over dotted her mind with the form of a child. She was cheerful, dusky-skinned, and held eyes the perfect shade of honeyed sable. The ache in her heart that did not belong to her told her that the little girl was long gone—ushered far away from an unforgiving living world. As Srina found herself speaking his names, feeling as if the sky itself had parted to deliver them, she wished more than anything for the mind games to stop. This invisible bond, whatever it was, seemed almost as if it was designed to hurt them both.

‘I’m not her.’, she thought desperately, not knowing how to shatter his hope, even if she wanted to. The ocean of lucid dreams seemed to sweep over anything involved with a vengeance. It drove the recipient to swim, fight, or drown. They were both in over their heads. ‘…Forgive me... But I’m not her.’

A sudden clarity, like a bolt of lightning, flashed through the stranger. His rugged face was so expressive that she found herself reading it like a favorite old book. Anger flared and his power flickered to life like a flame born of nothing. She felt it, suddenly, and his fury rolled vengefully through the space between them. It swept over her like a scalding wave and left unbidden tears burning in eyes that held the consistency of storm clouds. Even as his face became that which she no longer recognized, twisted with some dark intention, Srina couldn’t find fear in her heart.

She blinked, once, and twin tears rolled down her cheeks against her will. His visual inspection had left her feeling bare no matter the layers of clothing she had on. It was as if he suddenly knew all of her secrets, all of her thoughts, and all without lifting a finger. By the time his eyes found her own she’d managed to cobble together something that could pass for composure. The redness on the edges of her eyes betrayed her, but beneath tempestuous pools of liquid mercury lay defiance bound in steel.

Even if she held the countenance of a small drowned rat… She was strong. Srina would stand before him, she would not crumble, or break, while his rage threatened to boil over. She forced herself into unnatural stillness while she waited for the stranger to figure out the truth. The air felt charged and alive as raw power crawled across her skin like little lines of insects marching. And then, all at once, the fire disappeared and Srina instantly began to shiver, keenly aware of the rain, and the chill that bore straight into her bones.

The mysterious, powerful stranger spoke, and his voice was entirely familiar. As if she’d heard him speak before. Shoulders and arms that had tightened defensively seemed to loosen a little when he tripped over what he wanted to say. She didn’t flinch or run when he removed his jacket to wrap it around her shoulders. Had she been so obvious? It was an odd action for someone that not moments prior had seemed like he might revel in burning her to ash. “What you saw…Calling you…”, Srina paused, licking dry lips as she breathed inward, trying to gauge his reaction, “I didn’t do that.”

“At least I don’t think I did. You’ve been the one appearing to me...”

The silver-haired woman didn’t even know what he meant. Not exactly. She didn’t understand what had transpired, a shared vision, or some sort of illusion…She just knew it wasn’t real. Srina also didn’t understand how she possibly could have called to him. It was he who arrived like a ghost. In the pale light of day or the dead of night, she had heard his soundless demands. He had such power. She felt utterly insignificant beside it. Just as she had with all of the other special and strange people she had come across. Even Cassius held power, with all of his morals and truths, where she did not.

She was so small, so far beneath this man, that the notion of her being a threat was absolutely laughable. After all, an ant has no quarrel with a boot.

He suggested, moreso ordered, that they get off the street and her feet remained rooted for several long heartbeats. The stranger wasn’t angry anymore but she couldn’t read him as easily as she had before. She didn’t like the change in him. Srina tensed when he reached for her and she eyed his hand as if it were a live viper. Curious, cautious, she reached for his shoulder with frozen digits and briefly tested his person for solidity. She was floored by the sense of relief that returned. A quiet sense of safety bade her to step forward then and she let the Sith guide her wherever he wanted. No, she decided. He would not harm her. It was an irrational assumption but somehow she knew it to be true.

The man asked who she was after a moment and her gaze fell to the ground. Anonymity was her last line of defense…But she trusted him. He reminded her of something she couldn’t put her finger on. Everything about him felt familiar. Almost comforting. “Srina…My name is Srina Talon.”

“Are you Isley Verd…”, she trailed off gently, innocence threading her question, “Or Darth Metus?”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

At a glance...

The woman who stood within the lobby was the furthest thing from menacing. The primal, raw emotion that she exhumed was such that Darth Metus hardly thought her to be a practiced wielder of the Force. Obviously Sensitive - but she was no Rave Merrill by a long shot. However. Despite the signs unfolding before the Sith...Despite the fogginess that was attempting to push their paths together, there was still the careful man who had been stung one too many times. There was still the man who had lowered his guard once before, costing him everything.

And for Adela, the sweet child lost to flame, to appear as this woman...it made his walls raise all the more.

He had been on the run once before, ran out of his home and holdings due to the actions of one man. A supposed friend. A supposed ally. Overnight his family was scattered upon the winds, with many never seeing the light of day again. And, although he himself evaded demise, Darth Metus could never truly lower his guard again. He had to suspect everything, he had to rebel against feelings no matter how right they felt. And right now, whilst standing in the lobby of his corporation, it felt so natural.

It felt so natural to look upon this girl, this total stranger, and feel concern.

It felt so natural to look upon this lost woman and to feel moved by the tears on her cheeks.

It felt so natural to feel what he had long since buried.

And that alone terrified the Sith.

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm skeptical." he said - once again rebelling against his feelings. "I've lived a long time...and in those years, things like this...seeing things like this...end horrendously." As the words formed and fell from his lips, his fingertips coiled cautiously about the hilt of his saber. He did not remove it from his pocket just yet, nor did he make any indication of taking action. But he armed himself, just in case...

Srina. Srina Talon.

The name...meant nothing to him. He had never encountered anyone by that name. No organization bearing the title either. The only semblance the woman had to anyone in his life was racial alone: for her alabaster complexion vividly reminded him of [member="Ahani Najwa"]. But even from her end of the Galaxy, the name Srina Talon was never mentioned. He knew of his former beloved's son, Manu. He had a vague recollection of the names associated with their troubled past. But never once did the name Talon come up.

But she knew him.

He question caused an icy chill to race down his spine. How much did she know. Darth Metus turned on his heel, facing the woman once more. "I am Isley Verd. I am Darth Metus." he began, advancing with a single, bold step. His dominant hand reached out...and the Darkness was upon him. He called upon the old pains. He called upon his fears, his agonies, his suffering. He called upon all the malice that yet clung to his soul. With this plea did the Force succumb to his will. His hand, now raised only mere inches away from Srina's person, acted as a beacon to the works of his mind.

He would F O R C E the truth out of her.

Srina would feel similarly to the fog that had led her to the Sith, only now the affect was compulsory. Darth Metus asked a question, and it would take all the resistance in the world not to answer. Truthfully.

"Are you here to harm me, or what is mine?"

The inquiry was simple, but the Sith had to be sure. His scars demanded this. His anxieties demanded this. He could not be led by his feelings without knowing, with absolute certainty, the intentions of the woman before them. Perhaps then, when his fears were silenced, the truth of the Force's providence would dawn on him. Perhaps then, he would do something for the lost Srina Talon.

 

[Srina Talon]

Despite his self-erected defensive walls, Srina could still see the indecision in him. Rather, she could feel the tips of his emotions as they spilled over the top. Waxing and waning like the tide. There was so much pain in him that the little Echani had difficulty breathing. Slowly but surely he seemed to shut her out. Bit by bit she could feel less and less. The shivering woman didn’t know if that was better or worse. Now, she felt alone. Cold. With something that may or may not want her head on a plate for something she either didn’t do or had no control over.

“I didn’t do this.”, she repeated firmly when the dark-skinned man claimed skepticism, the words hissed through chattering, clenched teeth. “I don’t even know what this is.”

He kept one hand in his pocket. Echani eyes did not miss things like that easily but nothing prepared her for the almost painful vision that followed her realization. She flinched as it found her, feeling almost as if she’d metaphysically run headfirst into a wall. The moving picture appeared first as smoke that began to take shape the longer she followed it down into the blackness. Srina could feel the cold metal, taste the parts it was made of, she could sense the purpose, and she found herself staring. It wouldn’t take much to realize that silver eyes were locked onto his pocket like tractor beams. She felt numb through and through.

“If you’re planning on using that lightstick—just do it. I can’t take this anymore. It’s too much.”, she mumbled, dual-tones barely audible among the shattering raindrops, and the deafening noises of the lower level. “It’s too much.”

Darth Metus, Isley Verd, rounded on her faster than her eyes could follow when Srina again inquired about his names. It felt important. Mirrored eyes couldn’t place the significance. There was a change in the air, different than his raw anger, and her heart froze in her chest. “No…”, she began to back away, for some reason, feeling invaded, through means that could not be taken back. Srina didn’t even know what she was denying him. She just knew it didn’t belong. “…please.”

He held his hand out toward her and the pale woman pulled on every shred of strength she had. It was just like Jairus Starvald. HE was just like Jairus Starvald. She’d felt his mind before, felt him try to break her down into nothing, with little more than his voice. This was the same. It was an ocean of darkness to which she had no protection. The more she tried to fight the compulsion the more the invisible black water collapsed on her being. She could feel it inside, not out, crawling beneath her skin and scalding every nerve ending as it flowed without mercy. It thought to coax her through suffering to give in to the Sith Lords demands. It, he, thought she had something to hide. She had nothing. Didn't he know?

In the end, it was not the question she fought with everything she had—But the control. Srina didn’t want to get lost in the primordial black. Feeling as if her mind was not her own more often than not left her terrified. That fear, determination, and perhaps even just a little bit of her own natural strength let her hold out longer than some. Mere seconds longer, but longer than most. Within her, it felt like an eternity. When she finally fell apart and gave in she wept openly and without shame. Her small body shook, pained, and disconsolate. Why was he doing this? What had she done?

This was not the man from her visions. She had never feared him. Not once. The man that she had seen over and over had not harmed her. Once, she’d even seen him smile. He’d been a ghostly friend if only because the apparition had been a constant since her first trip to Coruscant.

And now…

Silver eyes, crawling with fog and confusion met his, her knees barely able to hold her meager weight as her arms wrapped around her tiny figure. Her normally sweet voice came from her body slowly, as if poisoned, fragmented, and destroyed. It was if her words were being torn from her chest as her control was finally wrestled away. “No.”, her reply was hoarse, watery, and almost incredulous that he would ask. There was a sense of betrayal. Utter and complete.

“Never. Never. NEVER!”

That was when distant eyes, buried behind pain, dilated and erased the gray save for a thin circle. Pain. So much pain and fear in an already overtaxed mind. As her pupils blew to the size of a small discus a wave of something wild and unchecked filled the lobby. The windows were the first to go, shattering as if they were nothing. The lights were destroyed, popping one by one, the walls became dented inward, and everything that wasn’t nailed down was thrown as if a hurricane had rolled through.

Yet nothing, not a piece of glass, not a wayward piece of metal—Nothing touched Darth Metus. He would not feel so much as a gust of wind. Exhausted, finally broken, Srina Talon dropped like a stone.

Unconsciousness claimed her and she knew nothing more. Nothing but the sweeter dark, the peaceful nothing, the kind without power or fear. Nothing could harm her there.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

What had he done?

It was not the typhoon which had given the Sith Lord pause.

It was not the spontaneous eruption of power before him.

No...It was the cascade. The feelings which burned within the alabaster woman now clung to the air. The fatigue which clung to her bones. The anguish which gnawed at her spirit. The betrayal that stained her voice. And he was to blame. Her words...they were not of defiance against his will. They were not of a meager defense being put up between his desire for certainty and the secrets of her mind. No, they were the truth. And now, Darth Metus had sent the young woman over the edge.

The Lobby became a warzone.

Her power shattered the windows, whipping glass in a deadly cyclone about the space. Above, the lights exploded from the expression of power - and even the walls themselves bowed in. Yet, despite her outburst...there was no harm to be found for the Sith. Even in that moment of pure betrayal, this stranger refused to so much as lay a finger upon him. Instead, her power ran its course...and in response her body gave way. She swayed and descent seized her form.

But he broke her fall.

Over the decades, Darth Metus had been guilty of countless sins. He had torn life away from so many. He had stepped into the darkest corners of the Force. He had abandoned so many of his own children, turned his back on his people...but all those faults he bore with head held high. All those faults, he faced feeling, at the very least, strong. Yet, as the Sith cradled the unconscious woman within his grasp, he had never felt so small. It was if he had taken a dove - a truly faultless creature - and twisted its wings until they broke.

And her words were true. He could feel no deceit in them. Nor malice...only the sting of being let down by someone she knew she could count on. Guilt labored his stomach. "I'm sorry." he breathed. "I'm sorry..."

***​

After such a dizzying display of power, [member="Srina Talon"] would come to upon something soft. A sofa, to be precise. Glancing around her surroundings would inform her of a few, key things. One, she was no longer in the lobby of the Sith's corporation, but somewhere else within the same building - as evidenced by the company logo being plastered upon the far wall. Two, someone had attended to her obvious needs. Immediately adjacent to the sofa was a glass of cold water, adorned with ice. Furthermore, her drenched attire had been replaced.

And lastly, she was not alone.

Before her stood a droid. An unremarkable attendant model who promptly bowed at the sight of the young woman coming to. "You're awake! Goodness me, the Master will be most pleased." she began, righting herself. "You'll find that your belongings have been untouched, save your garments. I took the liberty of having them dried while you rested. Fret not, I banished the Master away while you slept. But as you're awake, I'll let him in!"

Obviously the droid had not been present for the scene downstairs, else her tone might not have been as chipper. Regardless, simply waving towards the lounge door caused them to slide open. Somber strides then bore the Sith forward, and he stopped a few paces away from the sofa.

"I'm sorry. I should not have doubted you. I just..." he said, unable to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

 

[Srina Talon]

She awoke from a dark and blissfully dreamless sleep. Pale lashes fluttered against almost worryingly pale cheeks as she looked away from the light with a slight whimper. It was the muted sound of a small wounded creature, lost, and confused. She unconsciously tugged something warm and light tighter about her form and closed her eyes again, drifting almost dizzyingly away, before a chipper robotic voice caught her attention. Slowly but surely the exhausted woman sat up on the comfortable sofa and eyed the droid with a certain amount of curiosity. It started to babble immediately, almost too quickly for the groggy Echani to understand, and she could only stare blankly for several long moments.

“Where am I?”, she breathed softly, before taking notice of the logo on the wall. The confusion slowly cleared from her expression. Verd Industries. Apparently, she hadn’t gone far. Srina couldn’t quite remember what happened. Not exactly. It was probably for the best. Her nerve endings felt entirely raw and she could hear distant echoes of a male voice murmuring the softest of apologies in the back of her mind. The encounter in her mind’s eye was blurry, out of focus, and hard to see.

Her vibroblades and disruptor pistol were resting easily within reach on the low coffee table beside her. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t actually wearing her clothing, but something formless, with a throw blanket of sorts, draped over the rest of her. She could see her boots were unlaced and resting neatly on the floor near the foot of the couch. Curious, and a little embarrassed, she looked under the blanket to see that she was wearing a man’s tunic. To her eyes, it could have almost been a very boxy dress that was several sizes too large. The sleeves went down past her fingers, enough that she could have folded the material over at least once.

The machine seemed nearly twitterpated and spun off to alert its master that the white lady had finally returned to the waking world. “Wait, just a moment, I—Hey—“, she called out to the attendant, rather flustered, compared to her usual glacier composure. Srina stood quickly when the door slid open and the world seemed to tilt immediately on its axis. She was as unsteady on her feet, holding the blanket tightly around her, limbs functioning not unlike a child learning to walk. He head swam. Too much movement, much too fast.

Silvery eyes fell to the Sith Lord. The sight of him, his very being, caused the usually graceful fighter to stumble backward. The Echani promptly fell back down on her rear when the back of her calves hit the edge of the sofa. Both embarrassed and still feeling a deep seed of fear her eyes found his booted feet as he apologized. It felt genuine. Long, long lengths of white-gold hair spilled down her shoulders, partially obscuring her face from view, but she didn’t bother to correct it. She tried to wind down, think logically, and assess the situation for what it was.

“You should have.”

Her voice was quiet. Soft, like the twinkling crystals of handmade wind chimes. She shared an equal part of what felt like a near-catastrophic event. He shouldn’t bear that, not alone, not when he’d only been trying to discern whether she was an enemy or not. Many would have done worse. “You don’t know me. I could have been anyone. Anything.”

Srina couldn’t help the small mote of hurt that crept in. He didn’t know her. Not the way that she knew him. She snuck slowly to the edge of the couch and hesitantly held out her hand. If she reached, she could just barely grab the ends of his fingers, curling chilled digits around his. He asked if she was all right and her lips curved into a self-deprecating smile. “You don’t have to apologize for protecting yourself. Rest assured... I am physically unharmed. Please…Pardon me for being so…”

“Out of my mind.”

The Echani used the small grip she had to tug him nearer so that she could lessen the strain on her arm. Instead, she merely kept hold of him. The small woman asked for nothing more. Now that the visions weren’t ripping through her psyche like wet paper she felt more like herself. The anguish, the pain, and yes, even the small sense of betrayal was still there. Buried in the halls of unseen eyes. Now, it was merely manageable. She could lock it away. “Can you tell me what this is Isley Verd?”

His hand was rough. Strong. It felt familiar when it had no right to be. Everything about him gave her a sense of having known it before. The notion of fear was slowly dying—giving way to peace. Safety. It made no logical sense. She’d never met this man outside of lucid dreams and fever induced sightings. How could she know him so well? Part of her wondered if another Sith was playing a punishing trick. A cruel game, to drive her mad, so they could sweep her back to Eshan without a fight.

“In my family home there is a room. It’s quiet. The walls are lined with books, tomes, old weapons, and items of historical value. There is a fireplace that always burns in the winter. It smells of lavender and vanilla in the summer. As a little girl I would sit in one of the chairs, feet tucked beneath me, and sleep when imagined monsters kept me awake. No one without my blood could enter because it was a repository. It was the center of my home. It was safe.”, Srina whispered, her words a small song, a lullaby, among the smallest vestiges of pain and confusion. It was enough to break the strongest heart in two. “You…You feel like that room.”

“And I don’t know why.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Logic.

In most cases, that was the foundation of Darth Metus' decisions. It could be argued that, for the average adult, that was the same. With the exception of irrational love, most did not throw logic to the wind in the favor of rash decisions. What the Sith had done was the logical thing - to probe an enigma for truth and intentions. Yet, despite the Echani's agreeing with his words...it did not make Darth Metus feel any different. He still felt like a microscopic human being in that moment.

But then she took his hand. Her grip was...it was like a newborn clutching to the finger of their parent. So meek, yet the vibrance was there. So, too, was the instinct to guard the innocent life before him. A heavy exhale escaped him as he listened to her words. Her apology spoke volumes of the weight she carried upon her shoulders...this day, their introduction had been plagued by visions of the Force. Providence? Affliction? Whichever the origin, Darth Metus could not say for sure.

But...he had to wonder, just how long had she been carrying this burden? How long had she been the plaything of apparitions attempting to lead her to him? Why hadn't he been seeing the same?

Can you tell me what this is Isley Verd?

"Please. It's Darth Metus..." he began, wanting to say that name died on Mandalore. But he trailed off. Her quiet words painted a vibrant scene. Of a home...of safety. The image presented before his mind's eye was one of Home. Of Krant. Of the first place he had ever built by his own two hands. He had raised a family there - loved and been loved there. And before it was stolen away...he had that. That study. That place of safety. That place of comfort, complete with weapons above the fireplace.

He could feel his heart crack.

His fingers coiled around hers.

"I...I've never been a believer that the Force was much more than a tool..." he began. A lifetime of heritage on Mandalore had beaten that mantra into his skull. The Force was as any weapon. The Force was a Tool. But..."Yet here we are, pushed together by its Will. What you've seen...what you feel...what I feel...It can't be anything else but that..."

He paused.

"I think I'm meant to be that to you, Srina Talon. I think the Force is telling me to be your refuge."

His grip tightened ever so slightly. He would be just that. Her refuge.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

The former Seeker of the military of Eshan had not felt her mind quiet so soundly in what felt like an age. For the first time, since her narrow escape from Jairus Starvald, she wasn’t seeing flashes of things she didn’t truly understand. The calmed presence of the Sith Lord before her felt a balm to a very open wound. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to breathe without dreading what came next and the intense relief that ebbed from her being would have been enough to make a lesser being weep. Small fingers remained wrapped neatly around his. A little cold, soft, but edged with particular calluses that whispered of her past. The dark-skinned man, with the burning titian eyes, hadn’t pulled away yet so her gentle touch remained. Srina had very little desire to let go.

He corrected her usage of his name and she blinked in slight confusion but nodded her head slowly. Her visions had been very clear, loud, and specific. She would abide his wishes but her curiosity remained. Her voice was small when she spoke next, hesitant, as if she feared a response that might end in violence. Speaking his names the first time seemed to have set him off before. “Are you not both?”

Srina went on to describe the raw emotion that ran through her as clearly as she could. The repository, to this day, was one of her favorite places to be. Not only was it protected, but it was filled with things that held value for her, that she found interesting, or precious. All of that, years of sleeping safe and sound before a fireplace, seemed to have trickled down to become one man.

A flicker of a place she didn’t recognize passed through her. It was warm and nostalgic. A simple still image of multicolored trees in a burnished sunset. It was one of the first visions she’d had lately that hadn’t felt like it was pulling her apart. If filled her mind with one word. Home. Instinctively, she knew it to be his home. The small Echani didn’t speak, but remained still, to preserve the brief moment of understanding.

His fingers frightened around hers and she didn’t protest. Instead, she held on, giving him space to respond. Even with the Force tugging at her every which way; it was a lot to take in. Srina felt like she had an unfair advantage over the Sith Lord. She knew him, in many ways, like she knew the back of her hand. The dreadlocked man didn’t seem to know her at all and she’d utterly blindsided him in the dead of night. Even the most well-adjusted of individuals would need time to process.

Srina bit her lower lip softly when Darth Metus mentioned the Force. She’d had her suspicions since leaving Eshan but hadn’t had time to discover anything concrete. Not with people constantly showing up to either capture or behead her. At his realization of what he was to her, or perhaps, what the invisible power wanted of them—her heart stilled. And then beat. She didn’t know what feeling threaded through her for a long moment. It wasn’t gladness, nothing so specific, but it reminded her of hope crossed with a sense of belonging. “If you’re right…your Force is very persistent, Darth Metus.”

That was putting it mildly. It felt like a petulant child, pulling her this way and that, changing her destination simply by overwhelming her mind until she crumbled under the weight of it. "This seems so surreal, although, I do not think you are wrong. I have no words for what I have seen and even less for the things I’ve felt…I can taste the power of men like you. I can feel it as easily as I feel your hand in mine. It must be the Force.”

“I do not understand any of this—”, the white-haired woman admitted freely, but finally tilted her head up so that she could see him. Mirrored eyes were weary, inquisitive, and not entirely unafraid. Still, they were strong, and it seemed like a little bit of her spirit was returning. “—and I am a little cross. I feel as if we are at the mercy of an entity that I have no hope of comprehending. This is a game of which I don’t have any pieces. I can’t see my own hand. I don’t even know the rules!”

Srina stopped herself in a mid-frustrated rant. It was of no use to get worked up just when she started to feel normal again. The small woman slowly released Darth Metus’s hand and scooted over on the sofa. Instantly, she regretted the lack of contact and a delicate frown crossed primrose lips. She felt as if she had suddenly been made less. Wrong. “Sit with me…Please?”

“Just for a little while.”, she requested timidly, loathing how weak she felt, and how the more answers she found the more questions she had. They’d potentially figured out what he was to her. What was she to him? Just something weak and frail that needed protection? It was to her chagrin that she realized it was partially true. She’d been chased halfway across the galaxy and despite having slept for a little while she was still exhausted and reeling from implications.

When the Sith Lord obliged her request he would find a small platinum head resting on his shoulder almost instantly. Srina had given up on avoiding the draw to stay near and the immediate peace she felt in his proximity reaffirmed that Darth Metus was indeed correct. He was her refuge. Her new home.

“I’m sorry…”, she spoke through a well-hidden yawn as she drew her legs up, still tucked modestly beneath the blanket and heavy tunic, “About your lobby.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Are you not both?

A solemn exhale escaped from his nostrils. There was yet some small part of him that was proud of his heritage - proud of all the Mandalorians accomplished. Proud that he had contributed years to the uplifting of his people, like the Resol'nare demanded. But...the ember of his pride was dimming each and every day. The reason was simple: he could not go home. For no other reason than a circumstance of blood. A cult had arisen on Mandalore, a vicious group that expelled their own people simply for being blessed by the Force. Permanently exiled.

Hearing the name of his House and Clan yet tugged at the wound. He died, when Mandalore was consumed by fire, saving their people. He died that day whilst in the loyal service of their liege. And what became of it? What did his Oblivion mean? That a blind tyrant would rise up? A moment of frustration danced within him - not at the young woman of course, but at the realities of his own life.

"I was born Isley Verd and spent my life living up to the expectations of being born a Mandalorian. That name...bears all the service and all the years I've spent fighting to keep my people intact. But now they've forgotten their own - and it... he began. It hurts is what he wanted to say. But rather, he simply averted his gaze for a moment. "It's simply a matter of preference is all..."

His gaze returned when she began to put words to the feeling. And in silence did he listen. The place she described - the feeling of being safe yet surrounded by intrigue - spelled out a very clear message to the Sith. He was to be her refuge, yes, but that was merely scratching the surface. Her home was not a bare set of walls, there was intrigue and knowledge kept within pristine tomes. There were exotic realities that far contrasted the world outside. There was the potential of leaving better than when she came in.

"...It's because you're meant for something, Srina." came his reply. Darth Metus, admittedly, was not a large believer in destiny. He did not enjoy being manipulated or tugged by an unseen force anymore than the next man. But, he had lived through two instances of terrifying providence in his life - both assaults of the celestial Akala. In those days, the Galaxy was turned on its head by the Force itself. In those days, what the Force wanted, it got. "I have no clue what that something is, but it's very clear that it all begins here."

"The Force is not a fair creature. It is not transparent or kind in its ways. But. While it can manipulate the pieces of the game called life, we can still use it. We can still command it."

It felt so natural when he sat beside her.

There was no awkwardness. There was no feeling of boundaries being breached. When Srina made her quiet request, it felt as natural as sitting beside a dear friend. So, too, did it feel that way when her head came to rest upon his shoulder. "Ha. Don't fret about the lobby, it's insured for moments like these." Although said with humor, he was being honest. Residing on Coruscant always meant the potential of a Sith or Jedi crusade - Force User insurance was a must. In that moment, Darth Metus replayed the scene before his mind's eye.

A typhoon of power resided within the young woman. So raw. So unrefined. Yet, despite the lack of control, not a single scratch had befallen the Sith Lord.

She was mighty. She wa-

A scene unfolded before their eyes, born solely of the Force. An armored man, surrounded by Stormtroopers on all sides. A sneering Sith descending from on high to taunt his captive. Thud. The armored man crashed his fist into the Sith's jaw. Any Sith would have killed the armored man...but Srina and Darth Metus could feel the providence of the moment. The Force screamed at the Sith, demanding that he seize the raw power of the warrior and forge it into its final shape. A piece of Darth Metus had been laid bare.

He was the armored man.

And she was his.

His arm raised and gently wrapped about her, guiding her closer to him. Like her Refuge, he would protect. Like her Repository, he would teach.

"You are mine Srina. My apprentice. All that I know, and all that I have, will become yours."

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina was quiet when she listened to his explanation about his names. She could be slow to learn at times but at the end of the day she was capable of it. The fact that the name Isley Verd caused him emotional pain did not escape her. “My visions provide information. Context is lacking…”, the pale-skinned woman explained apologetically. Had she of known what it meant to him, or the implications with the current state of the Mandalorians, she would have refrained. Darth Metus it is.

He tried to impress upon her that she was meant for something, by nature, something greater than what she was now. Srina couldn’t help but exude a dry laugh. She wasn’t anything special, not really, not when the entirety of House of Eägon either wanted her dead or wed to Dalantus Eägon. She was a pawn, a piece to be moved, until the warmongering Echani could get what he wanted. He was an ambitious would be king that wanted more than his station provided. He wanted everything.

Destroying and absorbing her House was merely a stepping stone. It wasn’t even a footnote to him.

Darth Metus explained that the Force wasn’t fair, and that it could be cruel, with an agenda all its own. What piqued her interest was that there was a possibility of controlling it. “Can we really? Could I?”

“I’ve spent months trying to control this. The more I fought the more it pulled. At first I thought it was just left over manipulations from a fight I had with someone. A Sith. His mind tricks…”, she trailed off, tone growing distant, as if the mere memory brought her back to that place. To that moment. To a memory when she’d been chased by swarms of people with their minds locked in some kind of zombie-esque hypnosis. She could still remember the gold of his eyes. “They were strong. He was…”

To this day, she had no idea how she’d really escaped. She’d had help in the form of a Jedi but even he had admitted to being outclassed in the end. “He was in my head.”

The starlit woman had no way of knowing how deep the manipulations from Starvald went. She’d thought it to be temporary, a ruse, to trick her into obedience through fear and desolation.

Darth Metus took the seat that she offered and an all too brief smile fluttered over her lips when he forgave her for the damage to his business. She couldn’t remember every bit of what happened but she knew that the lobby would be worse for wear. His humor brought her own and she felt a small mote of warmth. That is, until a mutual vison swept over them, and her body unintentionally tensed. It was different than the others. Clear. “What was that…?”, she breathed out, dulcet tones little more than a childlike whisper. Somehow, she knew he’d seen it too.

His arm moving pulled her out of what felt like the remnants dark daydream and she sat up, thinking that she may have overstepped, before that same arm actually pulled her closer. Srina relaxed, all at once, and melted quietly into his side. The words that followed were intense, ringing in her ears, and filled with haunting truth.

Srina should have been appalled at being told that she belonged to someone. The notion of belonging to anyone, aside from herself, had terrified her on Eshan. For some reason, the words that Darth Metus spoke did not fill her with fear. Unintentionally, she curled closer, nodding her head in silent acceptance. “I am your apprentice then…What will I learn?”, she trailed off, trying to wrap her mind around it, without seeming completely inept. She did not understand the relationships between force users. “If I am also yours…What do I call you?”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Can we really? Can I?

[member="Srina Talon"] lowered a wall. Or perhaps, there was never one there in the first place. She shared of her difficulties wrestling with the visions...and beyond that, a recent bought with a fellow Mentalist. So rare were men like Starvald and Metus that, admittedly, the Sith couldn't estimate who it was that she fought by mention alone. But the concern was there, locked into his expression. Darth Metus parted his lips to elaborate - to give the young woman a modicum of hope that she would never face such things again.

But then the vision of his past played before their eyes.

And where Srina recoiled, Darth Metus relaxed. A light chuckle escaped him whilst he shook his head, jostling his dreadlocks ever so slightly.

"That...was how I met my first Mentor, Gregor Gideon." he began. "He showed me what I will eventually show you...but we will begin with quiet. You've struggled with these visions for so long, I will give you rest. And then, we will make your mind a bastion - one that cannot be breached or broken."

There was confidence in his tone. Confidence in his ability...and confidence in her potential.

"As far as what to call me, in public I am your Master. In private, Darth Metus will suffice."

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, the Sith had no intention of letting the young woman go just yet. And, it seemed, she had no intention of departing from his embrace either. He fully believed that they could have stayed like this for quite some time...but the attendant had other ideas. For a moment, the droid departed from their presence, only to return with a bundle of clothing in her arm.

"I'm afraid I must exile you again, Vicelord. Our guest's clothes have been dried per your command. Please vacate so she can be dressed."

The Sith nodded and rose to his feet. His arm escaped his embrace, yet his fingers lingered in her hand for a moment. "I'll be right outside. Come find me when you're finished."

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

“I don’t have to hit you in the face do I?”

Her questioned was equal parts serious and an attempt at quiet humor. Her heart felt too heavy, too raw, to stay so sad for so long. She caught herself almost nestling her face against the Sith Lord’s shoulder, but she stopped herself, choosing to remain still—but only barely. He felt warm, soothing to both her chilled skin and aching mind. Were he not speaking of something terribly important she could have fallen asleep to the tenor of his voice right then and there.

She had been running from her visions for months and running from her people longer still. This was the first time she could remember that she wasn’t plagued with either fear or the will of the Force. The muted colors of the room, combined with the vaguely stiff sofa, was more comforting than any inn or hotel she had stayed in. A small smile crossed her lips when the sable-skinned man claimed that he would give her quiet and rest. That he would make her mind unbreakable. “I like the sound of that. All of that.”, Srina murmured delicately, her sweet inflection a bare whisper, dual tones echoing distantly within themselves. “Especially the chance rest…”

“I know I just woke up but…I feel like I could sleep for a week and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Something about his confidence in what they discussed, in himself and in her, left her feeling a little bit of it herself. She didn’t want to be on the run anymore. She didn’t want to be made less, to be made to feel as if she were less, because of an insignificant fool. If she could protect herself, if she could fight back the way force users did, perhaps her enemies would not be so bold. Srina focused when the dread-locked man explained how she ought to address him. It would feel strange—but she would oblige him anything he desired. Even if it was against her nature to refer to anyone as her master. “As you wish…”, she breathed out, stifling a tiny, girlish yawn. “So will it be.”

That seemed to be the end of the conversation for the moment. The newly minted apprentice let her eyes fall closed, clutching the edge of the blanket in one hand, and his hand in the other. She was so close to slipping off into dreams that when the droid attendant returned Srina tensed, clearly a little startled. Mirrored eyes, swirling with sudden storm clouds, fixated deeply on the robot. The table slid forward and the droid would find itself shoved at least a foot back as a shudder ran through the room. The very walls seemed to groan with her displeasure before they settled.

She didn’t like the machine telling Darth Metus to leave her. Alone. It didn’t even register that it was merely an act dictated by what seemed to be a built-in need for propriety. Srina felt colder without him, weaker, and his lingering touch was not enough to correct the sudden loss.

Eventually, her gaze softened, and she nodded her head. He wouldn’t be far. “All right. I will.”

And so she did. The droid seemed a little perturbed, muttering about city-quakes, while helping her with her things once her modesty could be preserved. The windows darkened and Srina dressed as quickly as she could. She did her best to straighten out her long hair with the comb the droid brought and wound up simply braiding moonlit lengths over her shoulder.

She didn’t feel perfect, not as she tried to be, but as she adjusted the collar of her jacket she felt a little more like herself. The tunic had gone all the way down to her knees but it wasn’t the same as wearing pants. The Echani waited on buckling the harness for her swords yet around her torso and merely held them in her hands for now. Srina wasn’t sure if she would need them or not but her body almost felt too sore for it regardless.

Once she approached the door it slid open with a motion sensor. Srina stepped forward, finding the Sith Lord without trying, and crossed the line into his personal space. Her white-gold head rest softly against his inner shoulder, just to the side of his chin, and her small form relaxed with her arms hanging at her sides. Just like that, as she breathed him in, she found that she could breathe again. When her lungs had stopped working she didn't know...But they had.“And this…How do I get used to this?”

Perhaps the need for closeness would fade with time. For practical reasons, it would have to. It just seemed like one more thing she needed to learn to control.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

I don't have to hit you in the face, do I?

The humor was not lost on the Sith, no matter how grave the actual scene had turned out to be. He stifled a small chuckle with his offhand, shuddering against her side for but a moment - for the thought of the young Echani cleaning his clock was amusing. Would he do the same as his Master at that point? Would he levitate [member="Srina Talon"] out of the airlock until she submitted? Good times. he thought, shaking his mass of dreadlocks ever so slightly. "No," he breathed, "knocking me into next week is not required."

While the Sith found himself smiling from humor, the young Echani did the same - due to satisfaction. The thought of rest appealed to her considerably, and Darth Metus couldn't blame her. If her visions occurred at the frequency they did this day, he scarcely could believe that she was yet functioning. To have memories and thoughts play before her eyes so rapidly...that would exhaust any full fledged Master, let alone a novice in the Force. "You'll have a chance to rest for at least three days. The trip will take about that long."

Assuming they didn't have to take any Hyperspace "back roads."

It was not intentional that the Sith left out where he was taking her. In fact, the thought had honestly escaped him as the trek from business to Vicelord was so routine at this point. A few days on Coruscant would transition into a few weeks on Geonosis. Business rolled into Politics. Such was the riveting life that Darth Metus currently lead. But...He could foresee some changes occuring to the frequency of his travels now. Now, he had something vastly important to attend to. Or rather, a someone.

Grrrrroooooan.

When the Droid entered the room, the entire office seemed to scream in protest. This, of course, was but another flex of the young Echani's latent abilities. In but mere hours, she had displayed telekinetics to an impressive degree. With time...she could destroy lobbies on a whim. But first, he would cultivate her mind. Whilst the beginnings of a training regimen began to form within his mind, the Droid boldly stated that it was time for Metus to vacate the premises. He could feel every fiber of his person being tugged by Srina - a quiet objection that radiated through her feelings. But. It was temporary. Momentary.

And as he waited in the hall, he felt cold. As if a cloak had been torn off his shoulders in the middle of winter.

The day had truly proven intense.

The day had certainly left both the Echani and the Sith changed.

But, when Srina emerged, the warmth was on him again. When her head pressed against the small of his shoulder, his arm instinctively found her waist and drew her in closer. As to her question, Darth Metus doubted that they would ever need to get used to the sensations of the day. The intensity would fade...else they would not be able to use the facilities without feeling as if the world had gone cold. But for now, there was no harm. "We stay close until the intensity ebbs. Come." he said, thrusting his chin in the direction of the turbolift. Mere yards behind them would the passage down be opened; and stepping within would cause the doors to slide closed with a solid hiss.

Once within, a light shudder would herald their descension deeper into the facility.

Soon, the stories of windows would bleed away, leaving only darkness to be seen through the lift's glass walls. However, artificial light soon filtered in as the massive expanse revealed itself to their eyes. Beneath the corporate office was a full-fledged hangar. And resting at dock was a treasure of the Sith's past: the Ferocity.

"Plenty of room aboard for you to rest." he said, gently releasing her waist in favor of ensnaring her fingers in between his own. With confident strides would he lead her out of the lift - his hand in hers as to maintain that precious warmth that covered his shoulders - until they reached and ascended the entry ramp onto the vessel. And it was here that Darth Metus came to a halt, beaming. This time, no memory forced its way into their minds, yet the picture was painted all the same. Pride colored his tone as he recounted the tale, briefly, of how he and his brother, Ember Rekali, had recovered the twin vessels years ago.

And now, the Ferocity ferried him everywhere he went.

"Now then, you can borrow my bed. I can command the ship from my quarters as is."

She could rest and not be robbed of his presence.

 

[Srina Talon]

The Sith Lord’s amusement reverberated and rolled through her like a wave. His pleasant chuckle tugged mercilessly at her heartstrings. She could almost feel the sway and vastness of open water, and for a moment, felt buried beneath everything that he was. “Good…”, she breathed slowly, marveling at the extent of how much she could feel from the man beside her. All without trying. It was as simple and as natural as the sensation of her heart beating in her chest. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even want to try.”

The thought of being able to rest, safely, for any length of time felt like dream. When Darth Metus explained that she would have at least three days to recuperate her eyes widened a little. Where were they going that it would take so long? She wanted to ask but found that it really didn’t matter, so long as he remained nearby. Far too soon, the droid attendant forced the dreadlocked man away so that she could get dressed, and both her body and mind vehemently disagreed. She felt a minor touch of panic when the door slid shut behind him and her pulse began to climb.

Slowly, she exhaled and tried to convince herself that it wasn’t the presence of a stranger that left her feeling whole or empty. It was confusing, unusual, but it also couldn’t be denied. She required Darth Metus the very same way a flower needed the sun to grow. The same way it needed rain and earth.

Srina couldn’t remember having gotten dressed quicker in her entire life. Typically, she never left her E9 without making sure that she was the epitome of perfection. Now, she simply needed to be decent enough that could claim she’d made some vague effort. The small Echani just couldn’t stand the distance. It was too much, too cold, and too wrong. When she ambled out into the hall she walked straight into her sulfuric eyed protector without thinking. His arm came around her waist and she sighed gently at the contact. It was hard not to get swept away when the relief rushed in. When the warmth came back, and when she felt whole again, she brought up her free hand to rest it over his heart.

Never had she been so close to anyone else, unless they were sparring, or she was trying to kill them. She had expected it would feel awkward. Instead, it felt natural. As if she had been made one small part of something much greater. Her cheek nestled against him and the line of their bodies momentarily blurred. Srina nodded her head slowly when he explained that the intensity of their innate connection would fade. Part of her felt relieved. The rest of her…She wasn’t sure how to feel. How should she feel about such completeness disappearing?

It was a question for another day. Another time.

Srina let the Sith Lord lead her into the turbolift and she could feel her stomach bottom out in a way that signaled they were going down. She didn’t so much watch the windows disappear, as she did curl into him, until the doors opened. The pale-skinned creature blinked almost owlishly when light flooded the small compartment and a looming construct of dark metals in the distance caught her attention. Curiosity caused her to look up so she could see better, but before she could question it, Darth Metus took her hand and assured her rest would soon come.

Elegant and soundless footsteps followed her new mentor easily as he led her across the hangar. Her fingers moved, twisting, so that they could thread through his. Palms met, and she could finally focus on the magnificent frigate the dreadlocked man had stashed away. Srina could feel his smile at first, versus merely seeing it, and she found the edges of her own lips tilt upwards. She listened as he recounted how he had come to possess the Ferocity and his pride echoed in her chest. “She…Can I say she?”

“She is beautiful.”, Srina intoned when he finished, the multi-faceted quality of her voice resounding from the high ceilings. She took a moment to admire the starship but feeling Darth Metus tug on her arm caused her to follow along, silver eyes lingering on sleek lines and aerodynamically sound angles, before they disappeared inside. She bit her lower lip for a moment when he mentioned her borrowing his bed. “I don’t want to be an inconvenience. Won’t you need to sleep as well?”

The white-gold haired woman couldn’t deny the allure of staying nearby but sleeping in the bed of a man, who for all intents and purposes was a stranger, should have raised a few red flags. It didn’t. Not in the way it should have. Mostly, she was just worried about his well-being.

“My ship is still at the spaceport. It’s only registered to the hangar for twenty-four hours…But it would be best to get it out of sight.”, Srina spoke up, remembering truly, for the first time since waking up that she was actually on the run. As they walked the gleaming halls of the Ferocity she tried to think of a way to explain. He’d accepted her without really knowing what he was getting into. “I’m having a dispute with a Clan on my home world. Some want to bring me home. Some don’t want me coming home at all. If they realize where I am…They will try and go through you.”

“If they can’t…They may try and hire someone who can.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

She is beautiful.

The awe which colored her voice was...quite literally the same he had all those years ago. Those days were apart of a much simpler time - when the Mandalorians, despite all their faults, were whole. When the Sith could focus on such leisurely things as "liberating" such a vessel from unworthy hands. When Ember was still alive. For but a moment, there was a miniscule twinge of moment within. Put into words...it was as if a vapor of sorrow and longing had escaped, only to dissipate into the open air. To say that the man missed his sibling was an understatement. "That she is. And she hits like a demon too." came his response.

He then paused when her concern was made vocal.

In truth, Darth Metus had not considered his own wellbeing when the suggestion was made. Perhaps it was the divine compulsions of the day, but all that mattered was seeing her made safe. Away from what made her frightened. Away from what had pursued her. Away to where he knew he could protect her. Train her. Yet, reality settled in briefly and the Sith was reminded that she was not kin. Nor his bedmate for that matter. He parted his lips, as if to say that he could sleep elsewhere and that it wouldn't be a problem. And typically, it wouldn't have. But today...He was suddenly very aware of how natural it felt to hold her hand in his.

A small huff escaped his nostrils. "You won't be - the room is plenty spacious. You'll see." he answered.

With that said, the two began their journey within the Ferocity. With just as much confidence as the tale, he introduced her to the corridors and byways of the Frigate. While it was no Star Destroyer, it was still large enough that it would take a few minutes to get from one end to the other. So, he gave her a very rough idea of how to navigate aboard. What made things easier were the presence of color-coded lines along the floor, with each corresponding to a major portion of the ship. At this moment, they followed the Green, which meant Personnel. Once they had blazed the trail to its conclusion - a set of stairs sandwiched between two turbolifts - Srina spoke up.

"I'm glad you mentioned that. I'll have it brought to Geonosis promptly." His words gave away a clue of where they were headed, as this was the first he had mentioned their destination. For a young woman on the run, the Outer Rim name most likely beget images of desert and insectoids. But, to Darth Metus, the first thing which came to mind was the bustling Golbah City. It was, admittedly, much like Coruscant. Urban. Bustling. But, devoid of the underbelly that had taken centuries to cultivate.

But, Srina's words did not stop at the mention of her vessel alone. Although her tone was even, the concerns were evident. Darth Metus gave her hand a light squeeze - he knew all too well how it felt to be hunted. How it felt to not know if those who shared blood were friend or foe. "You're safe." he began. "Where we're going, there are armies who will die to protect you. Navies who will gun down any bold enough to hunt you. And above all." His lips formed a half-smile. "You have me. Let them come."

Death can't stop me.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he caught them promptly. Instead of divulging that minor detail, the Sith motioned towards the door at the apex of the stairs. Leading on, the mammoth passage gave way at the sight of them, revealing his personal Quarters. It was...very much so a man's room. At the center of the space laid his bed, oversized. For one who tossed and turned in his sleep, there was no better alternative to not falling onto the floor. A few pairs of boots were strewn about the floor. Crushgaunts here. A knife there. A blaster here. A datapad there. In truth, the only thing that seemed to be in order was the bed itself, for the maintenance droids demanded the ability to at least make that up in his absence.

All else was fair game. The room was lived in. It was Darth Metus to a tee - so much to juggle that things often got cluttered. "I...Uhh..." he began, once again feeling the sting of reality settle in. "I can have the droids straighten up a bit before you settle in. Didn't realize I had left it a bit...yeah."

Thank the gods brown didn't blush.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina smiled a little bit when Darth Metus spoke of the Ferocity and found herself lost in the sensation of his memories. Her eyes grew distant and she saw things she shouldn’t. The closer she was to him, the more his wayward thoughts spilled into her mind, like water pooling into a fountain. She wavered on her feet a little bit, but his fingers twined with her own and lent her strength, soothing away the lingering longing that didn’t belong. “I see…”, she murmured softly, sweetly, as gray eyes refocused. “She does hit like a demon.”

Her white-gold head dipped a little bit, hiding any sort of brief rouge to her cheeks, as she quietly accepted his words about sleeping arrangements. If he claimed that there was enough room she was inclined to believe him. What reason had he to lie? He was the one taking in a stranger, welcoming her into his home, into his life, on the whims of the Force.

Srina followed her new Master through the halls of his assault frigate with a certain sense of wonder. If she weren’t holding her weapons and her harness in her free hand she would have reached out to touch the walls as they went by. The little Echani was a tactile learner. Her culture was deeply rooted in combat, physicality, and, and by proxy touch. She memorized the colored lines and could almost picture droids walking the pathways to report to the Sith Lord.

It was about then that she remembered her own ship. The Ferocity was so stunning in comparison to her borrowed E9 that she almost felt a little bit embarrassed for worrying about it. Yet, it was not the ship she was truly concerned for, but mostly the precious items within. Keepsakes. “All of my clothing and extra weapons are on board. I didn’t know I wouldn’t be going back…I wasn’t really thinking straight.”

Or at all. The only thing the Force let her see after a point was the sable-skinned man beside her. Srina was still reeling from the fact that he was solid and real. Darth Metus mentioned Geonosis and her curiosity was peaked as she tried to imagine what he could possibly want with a glorified dust ball. It seemed like a good place to hide—but this man did not strike her as one that seemed determined to flee. He was a warrior and a fighter. “What’s on Geonosis?”

Her warning about her ship also came with a warning about the people pursuing her. He squeezed her hand and she unintentionally leaned into him. She didn’t want him getting hurt. She could feel that he was strong—but the Echani were a creative people. Silvered eyes swept the floor when he spoke, still concerned with her safety, her comfort, over his own. Her face turned back toward him when he mentioned that armies and navies that would die and kill to protect her. Confusion mottled her beautiful features, eyes glimmering under fluorescents, filled with questions. “Why?”

“Why would anyone die to protect me? To fight for me?”, she questioned earnestly, footsteps pausing for moment, as if the gravity of her inquiries made her forget how to move and talk at the same time. Soft eyelashes dusted effortlessly against pale cheeks as she bit her lower lip. It was a habit she had when she hesitated. When she felt anxious, nervous. “The Force may want you to keep me safe…But you shouldn’t feel obligated. I don’t want them coming for you. If I’m with you…They will. There will be casualties.”

For instance, when a Sith assassin encouraged innocent Courscant cellar dwellers to leap to their doom unless she obeyed him. It wasn’t just Darth Metus that was in danger. It was everyone that surrounded them. Everyone she touched, suffered.

Even still the Sith Lord ushered up to his personal quarters and for the first time, her new Master felt human. A small, nearly invisible quirk near the kiss of her mouth hid a smile, and she leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment. There was some sort of method to the madness of items in the room that she couldn’t find and she shook her head when he offered to have the droids come in and tidy up. “It’s fine…”, she murmured soothingly, thumb brushing against the back of his hand. She could feel invisible heat in his tone even if she couldn’t see it on his face. “It’s your space. I’m just a guest…There’s no need to change things just for me…”

“But…I could use a shower. The Coruscant rain might not have been acidic but I feel…”, Srina trailed off, trying to search for a word that would encompass the many reasons why she couldn’t just crawl into the giant bed. “Sticky. I feel sticky.”

“Could I borrow something to sleep in?”

Considering she’d just changed out of a tunic that had likely belonged to him, she felt silly for asking for another, but she hadn’t thought anything of it. Her clothes had been cleaned by the attendant droid but her hair felt awful. She reached out and set her weapons and harness down on an empty part of a desk nearest the door before she turned and wrapped her arm around his middle. Preparation. She would soon be without him again, even for a little while, and the prospect left her feeling a little miserable.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

I wasn't really thinking straight.

Darth Metus had to make a concerted effort to stifle a scoff. If they were being honest, the whole of the day's events clashed with common sense on an astronomical level. The Force, as it were, trumped all ability to think straight...but the Sith didn't mind in this case. The sensation of his fingertips laced between hers was such a comfort - so right - that the absurdity of letting a complete stranger into his world was absent from his mind. [member="Srina Talon"] left him reeling. The Force left him reeling. "Don't worry, your ship will meet us there. I promise."

Although he did not understand the sway of the Force, he did understand the important of the little things. Life as his Apprentice would not begin with sacrificing that which she held dear - he would make certain of that.

As they walked along, the young Echani inquired about Geonosis - and suddenly the man's Confederacy-centric view was challenged. His daily life consisted of making certain the worlds under his banner were well cared for; and as such it was out of the ordinary for him to consider that someone did not know of what laid on Geonosis. For a moment, he lofted a single brow inquisitively before answering. "Golbah City, the capital of the Confederacy. It's where I reside, primarily."

Why?

Her question gave the Sith pause. For a moment his footsteps came to a solemn halt whilst she laid her concerns bare. She bit her lip - hesitating before the whole of her worries reached her ears. Reaching, Darth Metus simply allowed the backs of his fingers to graze the side of her cheek. A measure of reassurance. "Because my will is their command." he began. "And my will is that you be safe. It doesn't matter who this Clan is and how many they send. I will not allow a single hair on your head to be harmed."

And who would of the Southern Systems would question his will? Who among the countless droid legions would rebel against an order to protect an innocent? Who among the Storm Fleet would deny guardianship of an innocent? At face value, the defense of his apprentice was selfish but he could easily justify throwing everything he was at the task. Srina would be safe at his side. And in time, he was confident that she would come to know that.

Once his fingers retreated from the warmth of her cheek, he then continued to lead the way inside his Quarters. Thankfully enough, the young Echani was kind in the face of his room. Her thumb gingerly brushed against the back of his hand, easing some of the heat which dared to plague his cheeks. For a moment, he stood quietly as she made her request, racking his mind whilst she briefly set aside her personal belongings. Her arm then wrapped around him and his body responded in turn.

His fingers left hers in favor of embrace - both arms ensnared her. He held her tight. He held her close. "The washroom is the door behind you, take your time freshing up." he said, grateful that she accepted his space...accepted him...just the way it was. "I'll dig something out that fits, it'll be waiting for when you're done." Darth Metus paused, his arms refusing to let go for a moment. "I'll be right here."

Although there'd be a door between them, he wouldn't be far at all. And when she would eventually step away and into the washroom, he'd fight the cold that crept in her absence. He'd set his mind to the task at hand, raiding his drawers until he found something fitting for his guest. In the end, when Srina would make her eventual return from the shower, she would find a crew neck shirt, black, that would come down to her thighs. It was simple enough that adding on a belt, doing up the hair, and adding a pair of pumps would result in a decent "sitting on my Master's ship" ensemble.

But, alas, Darth Metus didn't have a pair of pumps handy, so a shirt alone would have to do.

The shirt would be neatly folded and waiting on the bed for when she emerged. Metus, personally, would be seated at the far desk with his back turned to the washroom. This was done for the sake of her privacy - as not even their Bond would excuse stealing a glance. In his hands was one of the datapads scattered about and he busied himself plotting their course. Golbah City first, but then they could check on the construction on Ryloth. Decisions decisions.

[member="Srina Talon"]