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[Malok]

Hanging Gardens
Sinner's Well, Ryloth

It was good to be back.

Although the last time that they had set foot here, the first wound to their Bond had been inflicted. A secret kept from the Apprentice by the Master had caused a fracture to form in their relationship. Where once the Echani and the Mandalorian were inseparable, there was a rift that only time overcame. Yet, even after the months had spanned since the secret was made known, Darth Metus and [member="Srina Talon"] had not returned "home." The mantle of Vicelord demanded that they act decisively against their enemies and that they forge as many strong ties as possible. Thus did they tarry across the stars, at times together and at times apart.

But now they had a moment to breathe.

Returning to the sand-swept Badlands of Ryloth caused relief to creep into the bones of Darth Metus. For the first time in what felt an eternity, he felt some modicum of peace. He was home. He was secure. He was...sore. The Sith had no doubt in his mind that Srina was experiencing something similar, as she had been on Tatooine alongside him. She had to have been just as aching, if not more from her first ride upon a Basilisk. So, for just this once, they would go easy on themselves. They would still train, of course, but they wouldn't demand of each other the same rigorous routine.

Srina would not push her Master to improve his abysmal hand-to-hand skills until his fists screamed.

Darth Metus would not push his Apprentice's mind beyond its breaking point.

Instead, the Sith had directed the alabaster woman to meet him in the Garden. This was an interior locale that the pair did not visit - together - on the regular. However, Metus knew that this was a place of quiet refuge for his Apprentice. When the ails of life began to creep in, she would sit amongst the greenery and the blossoms, listening to the rushing water of fountains nearby. She would find peace in the relative quiet, centering her mind and spirit in the way that only a Echani could. What she did here was immensely more healthy than what her Master did to cope with the realities of life. Meditation would trump exploring a bottle of Netra'gal any day.

And frankly, Metus was ready to try something different. On top of the war and the demands of his position, a weight rested upon his heart. He longed to go home - moreso now than any part of his life before. Maybe it was the fact that he simply could not that made him miss Mandalore so fiercely, but whatever the case the desolate world was always on his mind. It inspired the way he went into battle. It inspired the way he carried himself. It colored nearly every facet of his daily life. And while Srina, ever gracious as she was, certainly took notice, she never spoke directly about his state of mind. But she didn't have to.

He could always feel her concern as a gentle breeze within his mind.

He could always feel her quiet attempts to comfort him from afar, whispering through their Bond.

She was worried, he knew. So, at the very least, he could open the book that he had kept shut for so long with her. He could share this burden and confront it in the way that she knew best. That would be their "training" for the afternoon. As such, the Sith awaited his Apprentice. Seated upon a bench of sandstone hue did he watch the fountain before him. The structure itself was nothing too remarkable: just a series of basins which allowed water to overflow into the next one. But, the gentle sound of the water's movements was indeed relaxing. He leaned forward, almost transfixed for a moment.

Until he felt her coming.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Hanging Gardens
Sinner's Well, Ryloth

---

Darth Metus called, and as always, Srina would obey. They had arrived home together after the incident on Haseria. Technically, the young woman had only barely escaped house arrest, and was still participating in physical therapy to regain a full range of motion in her arm, but the ever-active woman had needed some sort of escape. Her latest two excursions had helped, somewhat, but she still didn’t quite feel like herself.

She could feel that her Master was relieved by the peace at hand—but it would not last. The nature of the universe meant that eventually, they would cross paths with the Empire again, and it would end just as Tatooine had. Bloody.

Despite the victory of their newly acquired member worlds, the small woman could feel that something was amiss within her Master. It was something severe, something poignant, that she could not correct with pretty words alone. Darth Metus held an unquenchable longing. A need for his home, his true home, and his people. Not Ryloth. The Echani couldn’t really describe how it made her feel but she remained ever concerned. She could relate, as the memory of Eshan ate at her soul, but she had long ago accepted that their situations were different.

He could not return to the Mandalorians due to the stringent prejudice found within the law. She could not return to the Echani because she was too weak to do what needed to be done. Ever was she tempted to reach out to the Eshan Queen, to see if her affiliation with the Confederacy would grant her an audience, but it felt like an abuse of power. An abuse, of the time, of someone so entirely important. What would she care for the plight of one, lowly soldier, whom had abandoned her duties?

It was maddening, frustrating, but the young woman kept everything about it bottled up inside where it belonged. Darth Metus would be hard pressed to find that pain, when she allowed him to feel the physical, in order to mask the emotional.

Regardless…Failing at something so simple, so plebian, as bringing him joy, made her feel inadequate. How many times she’d seem him in his study, brooding in the firelight, with a bottle of Netra’gal? How many times, had she let it go, and said nothing? Too many to count.

Despite her thoughts on the situation, the Garden was a place that she did not mind being summoned to. The pale beauty often found herself lost amongst the flora and fauna, drawing strength from nature, and meditation. She wandered through the rows of low bushes, letting her fingertips trail along the leaves, while the artificial lights turned moonlit hair to spun white-gold. The snow-kissed apprentice wore a soft linen dress of pale blue that swept across the ground behind her, heedless, of the notion that the hem may become dirty. “Master…”, she greeted Darth Metus, once he was within her sight, silver eyes flickering over his hunched form.

“Is everything all right? Do your wounds trouble you?”

Her concern was valid. In Haseria the young ward of Katrine had mistaken the Sith Lord for an enemy. While her confusion made sense now, at the time, the pale apprentice had been hard pressed not to slice her to ribbons. If she was old enough to carry a knife, she was old enough, to die by a blade. A soft and ghostly smile swept over typically withdrawn features, and she reached carefully to touch his face, turning it toward her versus the fountain. “Speak, Metus. I can feel there is something you wish to discuss. I know that the visons Muad Dib shared with you were jarring—but I swear it. You can trust me. I am always here.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Is everything all right? Do your wounds trouble you?

What had been wounded more was the Sith Lord’s pride.

Ever since he had clawed his way back from Undeath, Darth Metus had forgotten what it had meant to fear an untimely demise. Despite his lofty position within the Confederacy, he, more often than not, personally led the charge on any and all battlefields. He put himself into harm’s way more times than he could count...and had begun to let his guard down more and more. The man of the present was not the cautious, battle-hardened Mandalorian of decades past. And Haseria had taught him a valuable lesson. Even when his back was turned to supposed allies, his guard had to be raised at all times.

Even when he had cheated death, it did not make him immune to dying.

”All is well my Srini.” came his response. Though he was weighed mightily by the affairs of Mandalore and his own vulnerability on Haseria, Darth Metus’ own mood was always brightened by the presence of his Apprentice. Yes, he did find solace in the bottom of a bottle now more than ever - but there was never any doubt that she could always make him smile without the slightest effort. Now, seeing her up and walking when she was practically dead in a tank? Well...his relief was so palpable that she would be able to feel it as she drew closer.

”I’m a little sore, as is to be expected, but I am healing up quite well. Katrine dug up a few of my Mother’s remedies and they are working spectacularly.”

He left out the part where being infected by an obnoxious spirit for thirty minutes caused him to puke. Everywhere.

”What of you Nin mír? [My Precious] How goes your recovery?”

Of course, bringing up her own recovery was a deflection of sorts. The Sith did have ears and heard the second part of her question...It went without saying that he trusted her, intimately. That much she didn’t need to say aloud...though he would not deny that it felt good when she did. But. There were many things bothering him. Mandalore, chiefly. And Muad’s own vision. He sighed.

”I miss my home.” he said simply, referring to the desert world of Mandalore. ”I miss my people. I miss my culture. I miss the Resol’nare...I miss the pride that came when I put on my beskar’gam in the morning. I miss bring a Mandalorian.” His head hung low. ”And I’m worried. Those visions...those possible futures...there weren’t many outcomes that were favorable. Is my life doomed to such failures? Why is the chance of a...happy, successful end so slim and the chance of utter ruin so vast?”

He paused, lifting his head so that he could see her.

”You know me. And you saw the Vision, same as I. Are you fearful of what I might do?”

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Hanging Gardens
Sinner's Well, Ryloth

---

The pale woman waited quietly for her Master to respond to her inquiries. Even after Tatooine, though distinctly changed, her silver eyes were quiet, patient, and touched with an unearthly calm. The dreadlocked man assured her that everything was fine and she eventually let her hand fall away from him. There was something else bothering him. Although, he had referred to her by his favored, horrid nickname, so she at least knew that she hadn’t done anything wrong. His mood lifted in her presence, and in that alone, she found confirmation of her assumptions.

Though, truth be told, the Vicelord rarely scolded her or even disagreed. She would have been even more alarmed had that been the case.

Mirrored eyes remained on his person for a long moment before her body slowly folded down. She was intensely graceful, even for an Echani, and soon enough her Master would find his Apprentice seated neatly at his feet. She didn’t mind the grass, or the ground, and merely leaned against his knee with her legs tucked beside her. Pale blue cloth spread around her, the ends of her hair curling naturally, sweeping her lower back. “Katrine is…made of magic.”, Srina surmised bluntly, both respectful, and vaguely affectionate.

She would always respect both Katrine Van-Derveld and the Grand Master of the Silver Jedi Order. They had pulled her back from the brink, settled her mind, settled heart, and healed her body. The Ichor that Katrine had used was a mystery to Srina. Yet, she found herself navigating the Force more easily than she had before, performing feats that she had no idea of, such as the Darkshear on Haseria. At the time she had assumed that it was simply a new ability learned from the experience of her Master.

Now, she wasn’t entirely sure. There were strange things happening. Whispers. Secrets, buried in the darkness, lost in shadows. The shared visions with Adron Malvern weren’t even the half of it.

Her Master asked of her recovery, the term of endearment not lost on her, and she could finally understand why most of his children despised her. Had he ever referred to them in such a way? Had he ever doted on them, the very same way, which he perpetually doted on her? “I breathe, Master. For that I am grateful.”

She would not mention the excruciating bouts of pain that came and went from the blood-poison. It was better, by far, but every once in a while it returned to make her nerve endings raw. Likely, he had felt her agony in the middle of the night, but she did her best to quell it. His dreams were disturbed enough without her influence. Besides, Srina knew when Metus was trying to change the topic. That would not work well with her. Not ever.

Finally, words tumbled from him, spoken true and from the heart. She preferred when he spoke to her that way, seeming to be more himself, than the distant Vicelord of the Confederacy. It was a draining mantle. Anyone with eyes could see it—but he wore it well. Proud. Strong. He was a warrior, through and through, and it was at least half of the reason she respected him so much. Srina remained silent throughout…Simply giving him time.

When he asked if she was worried about what he may one day do, her expression was soft, and clear. It would be hard to read simply because of her nature but he would feel the gentle compassion that ebbed from her being. The Ichor had altered several things about her—but not that.

“No. I will never fear you.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

No, I will never fear you.

Her response was so simple...yet oh so very true. Srina had proven this many times over, had she not? Did she not seek him out despite her experience with the rogue Sith? Did she not stand before him, trusting only in the visions that led her to Coruscant that day? Did she not trust in him each and every moment thereafter, following his lead in all they did? Was she not the one and only person in the entire Galaxy who held him when the nightmares grew too fierce? Darth Metus believed her, wholly and truly, when she said those words. And when they graced his ears, his lips twitched - it was hard for a shred of happiness not to bleed through to the surface.

But the truth remained...He had seen the visions. She had felt them. And more still, she had stood before the personification of those terrible futures in his dreams on Sullust. The most terrifying truth of the present was, despite being steeped in the Darkness for so long, Darth Metus had never struggled in this way before. Throughout his training and his youth, his mind was never plagued or burdened by such terrifying visions. Even when all he adored turned against him, he was able to steal some semblance of rest when he dreamed.

What was so different now?

Was it...Was it because…

”I...I’m glad that you’re unafraid Srina.” he breathed, gingerly placing his hand upon her knee. ”To hear that...it means more to me than words can even express.”

A labored breath escaped him as the pieces began to move together in his mind. Before he even expressed his thoughts next, the alabaster beauty would feel the confusion bubbling underneath the surface of his skin. And if she tried - even the slightest - glimpses of what came after would dance before her eyes. After the inferno of Mandalore. After his life had ended. After peace in the Manda had been stolen from him. She would begin to see a crimson sky that only wept blood. She would begin to see an earth that was flesh. She would begin to see The Blood Wastes of the Netherworld.

”I...I think something’s missing, Srina.”

His hand tensed ever so slightly upon her knee.

”I think I lost something when I came back. Something that makes all these damn visions possible. I’ve never been...a Monster. Am I an arsehole? Absolutely. Am I ambitious? Bold to a fault? Glory drunk on occasion? Absolutely. But...But to burn the Galaxy. Srini...”

”I think I know why I always feel like I’m slipping.”

”I think some part of me...is still in there.”

”Still in the Wastes.”

[member="Srina Talon"]