Private Homecoming

[Darth Prazutis]

Unknown Space, Kainate Armada, Malsheem, High Palace, Halls of the Supreme Being

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It stood as holy ground.

While wholly apart of the gargantuan worldcraft over eighty kilometers in size, it may as well have been on a different plane of existence. A towering, wide bulb over two kilometers across stood apart from the remainder of the station. There were two dozen layers of security between the titanic structure and the rest of the station, perpetually guarded by a full garrison of Blackblade Guard on its perimeter. They stood at the farthest positions until they were replaced by the towering Imperial Crownguard who demanded sole authority here. To all blessed to live productive lives aboard Malsheem, to all who swore allegiance to the Kainate knew it as the High Palace, Residence of the Sith Dyarchy and Home of House Zambrano. No ground was more sacred than that of the High Palace and many lived their lives aspiring to greatness with hopes to one day receive an invitation to walk such hallowed halls.​

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It was a massive labyrinth of rooms, hallways, corridors designed specifically to provide the ruling family with everything they would need all in one place. Every wall was made from carved obsidian marble run through with seams of gold. Each surface was a delicate masterpiece by the greatest artists depicting beautiful mosaics of Sith and Zambrano origin, busts and tapestries covered other surfaces dedicated to curated ancestors of House Zambrano beside Dark Lords of the Sith. The luxury displayed within such halls could bankrupt entire planets, putting the greatest kings and emperors to utter shame with its majesty, outfitted with bleeding edge technology nothing compared to it. Deep within the Sith Dyarchy possessed all the tools necessary to reign over their shadowy empire, coordinating vast networks that allowed them to pull the strings of galactic politics.​

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The Dark Lord of the Kainate, the Shadow Hand Darth Prazutis sat atop his massive throne. Behind the dominant throne on either side stood a pair of Sith Statues, behind it still a large ceraglass viewport. The immense throne was levitating above the cavernous chamber on a qabbrat, suspended over a massive coreshaft and separated from the remainder of the room via one large, steep flight of stairs flanked by Crownguard. A t shaped walkway dominated the room with three separate blast doors, one in the center and two on either side of the room. All who walked into the room were forced to gaze upwards at the individual who sat atop the throne. The Dark Lord wore an elegant outfit of black and crimson zeyd cloth held together by shining silver crafted to depict the Eye of Solomon. A dark amulet sat around his neck its crimson gem blazing brightly, while he wore dark leather boots rising up halfway towards the knee. The throne glowed crimson at its base, its holographic system projecting a swarm of viewscreens in the air all around the immense throne.​

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It was from here that the Mortarch saw everything. The great web arrayed before him he stood over it like a great spider, weaving its strands. Each monitor held different bits of information, intelligence flowing from various directions, planets, people, things he was keeping track of. All at once he processed dozens of streams of information from varying subjects, the constant status of Malsheem and its positioning and heading, the status of Kainate interests on various worlds, the state of the Sith Empire and its conflict and expansionary interests, the Sepulchral, and so much more. It dominated his attention completely at times holograms of individuals were called before him, communications passed, and orders given, at other times his mind stretched outwards. The dark oracles were always able to reach him to pass their prophecies. The Dark Lord didn't even look when the blazing eye of AQUILA appeared before him. "Supreme Excellency, your daughter has returned." Six words. The AI spoke just six words, and it threw his world into disarray. That was something he didn't expect or foresee. Amara. How long had it been since she left on her own? How many conversations had it been before with Braith before he was convinced not to send the best of the Kainate to retrieve her, to give her space. After the loss of Vesta, it had become nearly an impossible task to let the daughter who finally walked on her own go. ​

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"Where is she?"​

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"The residence, supreme excellency." The Shadow Hand dismissed the screens immediately and stood without a word descending the stairs to move to the rooms exit.​

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Amara Zambrano ​

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[Amara Zambrano]

coming of age​

I wasn't meant to come back home.

That thought, the unvoiced words that echoed in the back of my mind, weren't quite fair but they weren't entirely untrue either - moving backwards wasn't something she'd been willing to do for her entire life, or at least as much life she'd lived up until this point. Returning to visit or something as insignificant had always been on the table, however unlikely, but strictly coming back was something she hadn't wanted and didn't still. A jacket hung loosely from her fingers, gingerly removed a few minutes ago with an effortless shrug of her shoulders, and she considered tossing it over the made bed that she'd never slept in but knew had been meant for her.

Everywhere she looked was something pretty, affectual, picked as decor either out of wistful desire to pretend normalcy lives there couldn't be or through sentimentality in remembering a time that was likely just as much a facade. They were her family, her blood, but they hardly knew each other more than what was strictly necessary - not out of choice on either side, rather out of circumstance outside of anyone's real control. There was a sound of fabric and leather crumpling as she dropped her jacket along the bedside and moved over to a framed picture of some planet she'd never been to sitting atop a small nightstand she'd never used.

She hadn't told anyone she was coming home, not that she'd ever told her parents much of anything before now either, but the room looked quite a bit like someone had organized it in anticipation of her anyway - not that they had, though the thought wasn't quite as unwelcomed as she'd have liked it to be. Her hands brought the frame up to her chest, brownish-red eyes looking it over before she eventually set it back down to sit at the edge of her bed. It was firm, almost uncomfortably so, but that hardly mattered to her. It was hers, and she was home.

"Hi, dad." She said before she turned her head to see him come in.

Darth Prazutis

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Unknown Space, Kainate Armada, Malsheem, High Palace, Halls of the Supreme Being

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It was hard.

Most everything in his life was at his mercy. Everything from nearly everyone he encountered, the situations he walked into, even reality and fate itself. Almost everything except for his daughter that is. There was a part of him that would never be okay with her roaming the galaxy alone. Every possibility flashed through his mind, and it all led back to Vesta. The ghost of his fallen daughter still haunted his thoughts, and every moment he could hearken back to that day when he watched the light fade from her eyes. So little time was spent before she disappeared into the stars, ever since his return he was focused so intensely on the state of affairs and advancing their agenda, there wasn't really time. Now that she was back, he didn't know what to think, how to react. There was a part of him that was happy she came home, and another part that suggested taking steps so she couldn't leave again. But after the failings with Vesta, with the path that led her down to her own self destruction, it left him uncertain on which ones to take with Amara.​

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They were anything but normal.​

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The lives they lived were so far beyond the normal familial dynamic. Even standing before one another they couldn't have been different. The darkness lurched in the corners of the room growing deeper, coming alive in his very presence, the air itself growing heavier with the pressure of the uncontainable power, and the thoughts of his slain child drew them in stronger, deeper. The Mortarch did his best to push those memories down, suppress them as he struggled to figure out the words to respond with. Instead, he focused down on what was most important, she looked okay and for now? For now, that would be enough. "My child. Welcome home." The Dark Lord closed the gap between them placing a hand underneath her chin and looked deeply into her face, reading every line as if he could see through the past experiences she's had, as if he was trying to decipher some hidden message. Then? Then he pulled her into an embrace. ​

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It didn't matter what had happened. She was home now. She was in a place where he could keep her safe, protect her. Where the full might of his interstellar empire was at his beckon call. Anyone who crossed his child wouldn't find any respite from the fury he would unleash; the totality of their misery cannot be put into words if the mere thought crossed their minds "It's been too long. How was your journey?" He let her go then, taking a step back to get another look at her.​

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Amara Zambrano ​

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[Amara Zambrano]

She couldn't help but smile while Darth Prazutis held her chin, the almost clinical way he looked at her might've put someone else on edge but it was exactly what she remembered of him. "I missed you." She said when he pulled her into a hug, one that, despite mentally preparing herself for days, almost moved her to tears. It was hard not to be at least a little emotional about this given that the life she had with her family before leaving wasn't nearly as picturesque as even the norm, she could probably count the amount of times she'd been in a similar situation on one hand even. She'd never wanted to move back in, especially not like this, but now that she was actually facing that reality there wasn't any part of her that wanted to leave.

"It was.."

She grumbled something inaudible, her voice becoming small as she realized it wasn't really as simple as good or bad. She'd had wonderful times, moments that she'd wanted to last forever - several forevers with different people one after the other, even - and she'd had those terrible moments when it felt like she was entirely on her own with almost a sense of finality to it. Life had moved on, of course, and even though it had ended on a low note with the association between herself and Vesta by more and more people with each passing day, until even the people she'd last been staying with couldn't stomach having her around anymore, she wouldn't dare have done anything differently.

"More than what I expected, I guess." She said, finally, when he stepped back.

She looked around, eyes wandering everywhere but no where in particular. "You know I thought I'd hate this." Amara said matter-of-factly, like she expected him to understand what she meant by that even though she certainly didn't. "Ran away from home without really saying anything, wanted to be my own woman and live life for me and no one else, and showed up just like I left but with my tail between my legs." She explained, inching towards the much-needed context with a hint of bitterness. "I guess I'm sorry?" It was posed as a question to at least try to save face but it was obvious that was exactly what she was.

"Part of me wanted to be like her, Vesta - little bit jealous of her, honestly."

It was an understatement, every fiber of her being was conflicted between hating everything about the strandcast or admiring her, but she didn't need her parents thinking she'd resented them for what was effectively a replacement for her. It wasn't their fault - she shouldn't even be here right now, given the state she was born in - but the silver lining was the thing keeping her out of a bacta tank was the same thing that'd been in that strandcast's chest. It was almost ironic when she thought about it, her genetic material was what gave Vesta life and the crystal that woman had, at some point, replaced her heart with was what gave Amara her own shot at living free.

"Sorry," She said, repeating herself but this time she meant it earnestly. "I shouldn't talk about her like that."

It was insensitive of her, she knew her dad had thought of her as just as much a daughter as she was - as if they were actually sisters, not an original and what was essentially a modified attempt at cloning - and there wasn't any part of her that wanted to take that away from him. Especially not since she was dead. "How're you? I was expecting to see you but.. not so suddenly, I guess." She was expecting moreso detached, something closer to being treated like the way he'd almost stared her down when he held her by the chin, not.. not him behaving like an actual dad. It made her feel bad for expecting something else.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Despite everything he was, the very image He displayed of the stoic, apathetic, unreadable conqueror to all, this was different. When He stood in this chamber there were no expectations of submission or reverence, no displays, no manipulations designed to push her in one direction or another. She was just His daughter - His true biological daughter and she had come home. When she began to speak, He merely stood back and listened to every word, while unintentional they did strike chords within Him. They hearkened back to what happened with her sister. It was during that turbulent period before she unexpectedly left, there was so much that drew his attention as the Kainate grew and jockeyed for position, focused on its continued rise and the foes inside and outside of the Sith Order. In a way He could understand why she wanted to leave after being confined for so long, to finally seize control of her life. To boldly go out and forge a life for herself among the stars. It hearkened back to His own youth when His family in their madness cast Him out, forced Him away. While He was determined to succeed it led down a path that He never expected.

When she apologized, He shook His head in refusal. "You don't need to apologize. I get it. I had the same determination once, except I was robbed of the choice." He paused, stepping over to sit down on the large bed in the room, gesturing for her to sit down beside Him. "When I was your age on our home-Panatha things were different. I was the product of your great grandfather, Solomon the Greats experimentation on our bloodline. It was his efforts to take a pureblooded Zambrano Epicanthix and make it into something greater, genes you inherited. But things were different then. It was customary for those of our line to have two children, one male and one female to perpetuate the bloodline and keep us pure. I was unexpectedly born at the same time as my brother and sister, breaking tradition. It was our way for one to be the prime inheritor. Despite everything I had done in my youth I was still different from them, and madness had already begun to take our family. So, I was cast out amongst the stars from the only home I'd ever known. I thought I was ready to survive despite it all, to forge my own path. I nearly died drifting in space until the Yog-Suuli Kajidic found me. They saved my life and in return I was condemned to slavery, I was reduced from royalty to a mere slave destined to fight in their wars." The Dark Lord paused, staring off into the distance as memories flooded His mind of the Trade Wars, back when things were so much simpler.

"I thought it to be the end. So, I did what I had been taught, what was expected of me my entire life, I fought. If I was going to die, I was going to make them pay for it in the Trade War the Kajidic was fighting. Instead of dying they gave me my freedom and put me on a transport to where my true life would begin, Maena. As you go through life it's not always going to turn out how you expect, and you're going to get knocked down. Every step of the way especially then I was knocked down at every turn, written off because I came from the far east and to them all easterners are weak. Nothing is ever easy. Things didn't turn out how you wanted. So, you get right back up and you keep moving forward." Even then He was nearly killed on the very first day there, in the first fight He was in. If it weren't for Rat showing up He wouldn't be here now.

When she began speaking about Vesta it touched on the raw wound He still had about her sister. Over time it had gotten easier, but the pain of losing a child wouldn't heal so easy. Back then no matter what they did it was expected that their true daughter wouldn't get to live a full life. Vesta became the next best thing at that life and when she finally walked, He fully embraced it. There were failures along the way, mistakes He made that He felt led the strandcast down the path she chose, that led to Him losing His daughter who had come so far. But when He finally returned from that death, it became clear that death was what gave Amara a chance at life. "You shouldn't think like that. Your sister made her own choices, you made yours. That doesn't make you any less. Even still...I failed her. I wasn't there when she needed me to be."

Despite His best efforts at keeping tabs on everything, her return had surprised Him. It wasn't until her immediate arrival that He became aware, distracted by what the Kainate required of Him, keeping tabs abroad and the future itself, so much required His attention. "How am I? I am good. Things are...good for us, all of us right now. The Kainate demands more and more of me. Our influence tightens over the Sith Order with every day. I have assumed full control over Dromund Kaas, and we have turned it into a bastion for our people. In truth your arrival caught me by surprise my child. Despite my desires to keep a firmer hand, greater tabs on you, I was cautioned against it. It wasn't my wish to push you further away. So I tasked no agents to track you. All I was told every so often was that you were alive, and unharmed, and that was enough."

Amara Zambrano​

 

[Amara Zambrano]

Choices - that was what it all came down to.

She had her own desires, motivations, but they weren't exactly the fuel and fire that kept her moving towards whatever sort of future it was that was laid out for her. He'd missed the point, she supposed, but as he regaled her with the brutal life he'd lived that had shaped him into the man he now was - the bundle of contradictions that every living being ended up as - she understood that the gist of her irritation didn't go unnoticed. She knew her mother a little more than she'd let on, a bit more than Darth Prazutis might've expected or even understood himself, but listening to him now and seeing the subtle changes in his face and the shifts in his posture - how he even breathed differently - as he remembered the moments in his life that changed, traumatized, and strengthened him, she couldn't help but think she hadn't known the woman at all if she was just now realizing why her parents had been together in the first place.

"It sounds like a bad dream."

She'd wanted it to ease the tension a little, offer a small tease that only a child could offer to their parent without immediate retaliation, but it came out more somber than she'd meant it to. Amara had already sat down next to him by then, but now she'd eased herself up against her dad like she'd always wanted to - just under different circumstances than she'd always dreamed. She held him, comforted him, when she'd always wanted it the other way around. He continued and she listened quietly, already accustomed to the lesson he was trying to give but a little more open to it now than she otherwise might've been.

She could look at him, the rough exterior and the somewhat coarse man underneath, and despite the similarities she saw between him and the woman her mother had been at the moment of her birth, Amara knew they were as alike as they were different. Not just Braith and Braxus, her mom and dad, but Amara and the two of them just as much. Everything was personal for him, both in the way he told her his story and in the way he lived even to today, and to an extent she was almost the same - but where she could see he wanted more and more of everything that inevitably struck his fancy or endangered his family, Amara yearned for something just a little more. To be the subject of everyone's desire, the center of everyone's attention, like a trophy she wanted others to see her as something to be won.

It was why she couldn't bring herself to sympathize with a dead sibling more than simple regret that the woman who'd donned her name and, to an extent, her likeness hadn't lived a life Amara would've considered worth living. Especially not as long as she seemed ever-present at the center of her dad's world. She could stomach her mother being on her father's mind, given the inextricable link she felt with her mother and the dreams she'd once been a part of, but she drew the line at another sibling taking his attention off of her - even if they were dead.

"You needed space." She said, not sure if it was exactly true - or if she even meant from herself, thinking maybe that her dad needed to be alone with his wife more than anything - but going with it anyways. "I don't think you would've opened up like this if I hadn't left." This was something she knew was true, and part of her suspected he'd argue otherwise, but the paradigm shift from father-in-absentia to galaxy's-greatest-dad that her showing up back home was evidence enough for her. "And I don't think I could've appreciated it if I hadn't, either."

That was where she knew her similarities with her mother were at their peak. An endless string of heartbreak and loneliness mended slowly with the warmth she felt coping with the situation in another's arms, night after night vividly experiencing life in the dreams that showed her how ideal she could make things with whoever she was in bed with that week only to wake up and intentionally do something to break apart whatever she'd been building with them towards. Unlike Braith, however, Amara was more interested in fulfilment. Her mother had wanted something ordinary as an escape from the extraordinary, something that was impossible with her father but what the two had worked towards regardless, and predictably Amara was entirely the opposite.

"I won't leave again, promise."

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The immediate silence that drowned out the room in the wake of her words was profound. Heavy, but it wasn't oppressive. It was a moment that hung suspended in time, where the very world had seemed to shrink down until there was just the two of them. He didn't move, didn't swiftly react to what occurred for one who so swiftly was used to commanding every conversation he walked into. Instead, all he did was watch her, studying every line of her face, the subtle shifts in the expressions unfolding on it. Subconsciously, the perceptive eyes of a Maenan began to peel away the layers to drink what was being spoken between the lines.

But it wasn't a look of scrutiny, nor the gaze of judgement, but it was only something deeper, something that dug deeper than the weight of his typical presence. For so many years, he stood as the immovable force in her life, a presence that simply loomed in the background seemingly so far away. He was distant but he was always there. A conqueror, a destroyer, a Dark Lord of the Sith. A king of kings. But now, in this very moment, he was simply her father, and she was simply his daughter. That simple fact alone was enough. The giant exhaled slowly and then, finally, he spoke. "Then stay." Just two words. Absolute. Binding. It was as if everything else ceased to exist the moment, her promise fell. But his response wasn't a command, it wasn't a demand. It was simply a statement of fact, as simple as the final rising of the stars themselves. He let the moment settle between them, let her feel the weight of her own decision hang in the air.

The Dark Lord wouldn't challenge it. He wouldn't question it. There was no need to do either. She had chosen to stay, and in doing so, she had affirmed what he had always known, what he always intended for her, her place was here. For a long moment, he said nothing. There was no rush, no urgency. This wasn't a battlefield. This was not war, some distant conflict beneath the ash choked skies of Mother Maena. This was something fragile, it was something that he couldn't force into existence through power or iron will. This was family. And family, no matter how fractured they were, no matter how restrained, had its very own gravity. But despite his acceptance of her return, something else lurked beneath the surface. A choice had been made, but it was only the first one. Darth Prazutis shifted then, his gaze steady, his voice dropped lower, but no less commanding. "But if you stay, you must decide what that means for you."

The words weren't spoken as a warning, they weren't a challenge. There wasn't anything veiled beneath them. It was simply an invitation for her. A path that was laid before her. "Will you simply exist in these halls? Or will you take your place among us?" A pause. It was not a test. It wasn't a demand. But it was a truth that couldn't be ignored. She had come home, his daughter came back to him. That much was certain. But home wasn't just the walls of metal and stone that encompassed the immensity of it all. Home was purpose. Home was belonging. And belonging here required more than just being present, it required will. "The Kainate is strong. Our enemies are many. And I will not waste the power within you." It wasn't a question of whether she was strong enough. He already knew the answer to that question. She was the child of Braith and Braxus Zambrano. What mattered now was whether or not she would claim the strength within her for herself and draw it out. Whether she would step forward, not as a wandering soul who was returning home, but as something more. As someone with purpose.


His voice softened, just ever so slightly, as he leaned forward, watching her carefully as he spoke. "You have always had a place here Amara. And you always will." This was not manipulation. It was not some grand, orchestrated move designed to bend her towards his will. It wasn't the touch of a puppet master who manipulated the galaxy, with so many caught within his web. It was simply the truth. The question was no longer whether Amara belonged here. But the question was what would she become now that she was here?

Amara Zambrano ​

 

[Amara Zambrano]

And just as the different man her dad had shown he could be appeared without warning, her father in all of his planning returned. It didn't bother her, it was what she had thought she was going to be talking with when she made the choice to come home in the first place, but it was still jarring to have a man ask her to stay home in nearly the same breath as he suggested her worth to her face. It wasn't intentional, she knew, and the bit of him that she'd called dad rather than father was very much still there and - she hoped, anyway - wasn't just a facade. It would have been asking too much of him if she'd asked him not to act like a proper head of household just to keep her ego intact.

"The only thing I want," She said, sounding a little bit strained, as she moved to give him another hug. "Is to make my parents proud." That was very nearly a lie, a half-truth at best, but she wasn't exactly looking for an argument either. It'd be easy to win her mother over, Vesta had been so kind as to literally rebuild the woman from memory but careless enough not to let the woman know the shi'ido she'd effectively died to give life to. It made sense, though, from her own perspective: Braith wasn't Vesta's mother just like Amara wasn't her sister - she was, at most, her creator. She realized her jaw was clenched at the slight anger she'd been beginning to build in herself again when she broke off the hug. Darth Prazutis , though, she knew loved her in the way anyone who knew they were related to someone that hadn't exactly wronged them could express love out of principle - but he knew she loved the dead strandcast more.

"I.. haven't been the best daughter, and I hope you understand that I didn't exactly feel like I'd be getting a warm welcome home either, but I.. family matters to me. Real family. I spent a long time comatose in a bacta tank - I went out and saw the galaxy because when I woke up I was alone."

She hesitated, searching for words that would somehow make everything she'd already said sound a bit less critical of him or her mother even if she felt the language was justified given the way she'd interpreted his response prior.

"I just want you to understand that I don't resent you, or her," Amara said, gesturing towards the door to suggest she was talking about Braith, who was clearly not in the room with them right now. "I don't know what it means to be someone's child, I never had that chance, but I want to have the chance to know what it's like to have parents. I promise to you that I am going to be here, in whatever capacity I think I need to be, in order to make that happen."

Out of everyone in their family, Amara was certain, she was the only one without a lightsaber or any other kind of weapon at her disposal. She'd had a blaster on loan a few times while she'd been living abroad but those always found their way back to whoever she had been borrowing them from. "I have some paperwork to file, in person, so I can exist as a known person, as your daughter, in the Order and for work and travel purposes, and then I'm going to see your nephew on Dromund Kaas."

"I've always wanted to meet my cousin." Amara said, "And there's some stuff I thought I could do while I was there to show you that I will do anything for this family." She didn't elaborate on what, though it was clear she didn't intend to tell him given that she had nothing else to say on the matter.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The silence lingered. Not cold. not anymore. But heavy. Not from cruelty, but weight. It was the kind that only family could carry. From his place next to her, Prazutis studied his daughter. Not as a stranger returning from exile, nor as a subordinate seeking approval. But as something far rarer. A soul who chose to return. Someone who had made their own choices, chosen their own path. Prazutis said nothing at first. Only allowing the moment to stretch, to settle between them. When he did speak, it was quieter than most had ever heard him speak, his voice was no less deep, no less absolute, but stripped of the fury, the menace that usually accompanied it. "You speak with your own voice."

A pause. Not disappointment. "Not Vesta's. Not Braith's. Not mine." The giants gaze, those smoldering eyes beneath the shadow of his brow, never left hers. "That is what makes this real." He moved closer, the weight of his presence following him like a shroud. Yet, for the first time, it didn't suffocate. It settled, as if wrapping itself around her, not to bind, but to shield. "You didn't need to come back." he said. "You owed us nothing. Yet? you returned." Another pause. It was the kind that made words feel like they were tectonic shifts. "That matters more than you know." He didn't reach out for her. He didn't need to. Instead, he nodded once, barely perceptible, but absolute. "You want a chance to know what it means to be a daughter." he said.

"Then know this: you are not alone anymore." There was a faint glint of something in his voice. Not softness. But purpose. Once more he reached over placing his hand under her chin, the faintest glimpse of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips then. "Dromund Kaas will welcome you with open arms. All that I claim dominion over will welcome you. My realm will know your name. Any who question it...will answer to me." Prazutis's voice lowered now, not in threat, but in something far more personal.

"Whatever you choose to do…choose it for you. Not for ghosts. Not for shadows. For Amara." Then finally his eyes narrowed slightly. "But if you are going to Dromund Kaas, I'll see that your name is etched where it belongs, as my daughter."

A final beat of silence.

"You are seen."

Amara Zambrano ​