Private Legacies

[Tydeus of Tion]

Tydeus slipped through the crowded streets of one of Denon's skybridges, a massive structure spanning the distance between the tower spires scattered all across the city planet. He made his way through, aware that his presence in the Force might be impossible to conceal even as he sought to keep eyes on his target. Suppressing his presence proved an extremely difficult task given the nature of his... affliction. A walking wound in the Force. Best he had ever achieved was to dampen it slightly, so that rather than a ragged scream in the Force he was more of a... muffled shout.

She ducked into some sort of restaurant with a neon Bantha sign flashing out front. He followed her in. Nondescript in his loose, baggy black trousers and a gray poncho, the boy did not stand out much - save the burn scars on his face maybe. One of the passing waiters pushed by. He looked at her. She seemed to wither, hurrying quickly on. The boy grit his teeth. He seemed to have that effect on people.

The smell of cooked meats came from the kitchen. Tydeus glanced at one of the holomenus. A smokehouse. Not the first time she had visited this place, but the first he'd managed to tail her there.

Ahead, he heard her talking to one of the staff. Something about brisket.

The boy let out a sigh through the nose. She probably felt him by now in the Force, given her lineage. She likely felt his presence much further back. Waiting or playing games would backfire, he was sure. Moreover, such was not his nature. As ever, he applied the direct approach.

" Tansu Treicolt "

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

Halfway through asking if the brisket came lean or fatty, a sourness prickled at her molars and she froze.

"Now that's funny," she said, voice low and steady, not fully turning around yet — "Don't recall wearin' a name tag today."

Brisket order momentarily forgotten, she turned around and found no greater clarity with her eyes than with the itch in her gut. The voice didn't match any face she recognized, and the boy standing there sure didn't look like someone who oughta know her name. Scarred, tired-looking, dressed like someone trying not to be noticed. But Force, something wrong rolled off him. Like the air got heavier just from him standin' in it. Like the lights dimmed around him without ever flickerin'.

She tilted her head, squinting a little — not suspicious, just curious. Maybe a touch concerned.

"But..that's me, alright," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "Sorry, stranger, have we met?"

There was something off. Not in a dangerous way, but in a blue-milk-a-week-past-expiry-date kinda way. She couldn't put her finger on it, but her skin seemed to buzz faintly. Might freaky.

Still, she stepped forward a little.

"Did someone send you? Or—" her smile faltered just a hair, "—you alright? You look like you've been through the ringer."

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Tydeus of Tion
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[Tydeus of Tion]

A frown drew the boy's raven brows together. Nothing but guileless curiosity in her sky blue gaze. He searched them still, his own eyes more akin to steel augurs, peeling away the layers of social niceties to delve deeper. Yet, for all his skepticism, she did not seem the hardened Jedi warrior, granddaughter to Grandmaster Grayson, whom he sought.

Instead, she seemed... kind. Something straightforward in the way she spoke. The way she held herself.

More in common with the fishermen of Tion, before the seas boiled and the boats burned and the fishermen too.

He snorted softly and shook his head, absently running a hand through dark hair shot through with streaks of gray.

"Perceptive. Apologies, I lost all my social graces sometime ago." Melted away by turbolaser fire and the months of incessant solitude, broken only by violence. "I am Tydeus. I've been looking for you. Well, really I was looking for your grandmother's holocron. The clues led me to you. I-" muscles in his jaw worked and he looked away, then back to her, "I need your help."

The boy looked beyond her to the smokehouse host, who was staring.

"Seats for two," the boy's lips thinned into a smile's ghostly resemblance.

Tansu Treicolt

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

Tansu's lips parted in soft surprise.

"Well," she said, after a beat, her voice lighter than the moment maybe deserved, and hands on her hips "—you sure got a non-dilly-dally way of introducin' yourself, Tydeus."

She glanced at the host, still gaping, and lifted a hand in a reassuring wave —just a few more seconds please — then back to Tydeus, head tilting to the side with the same curiosity that she'd opened with: "You're lookin' for grandma's holocron?" she repeated gently. "That's… mighty specific."

The words hung there while she watched his face for flinches or lies and found only raw fatigue and exhaustion. And a really sad excuse for a smile that made her flinch.

"I'll do what I can to help, seein' as you've already done some heavy lifting on the gene-ee-yology, but hold on, Tydeus — you can't just sit without ordering. You order up here. And I'm starvin'. If you're talkin' family tree, this could take a while, you should get somethin' to eat. I recommend the brisket, obviously, slow-roasted over coals, with a smoky bourbon glaze." Her pointer and thumb pinched together and she kissed the air in appreciation to the chef. "Or, if y'aint got an appetite, Krayt Jerky's just as good."

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Tydeus of Tion
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[Tydeus of Tion]

"I-" When was the last time he had had anything other than nutrient paste squeezed from a tube, or the tasteless styrofoam of a ration bar? After their failed raid, perhaps. His dinner with the Dark Lord, what felt like years ago.

Even when he had had the option, he typically turned down a cooked meal in favor of the expediency of paste. So much wasted time, eating. All he needed was the proper caloric intake to sustain his regimen. He did not give thought to the taste. It felt... wrong. Enjoying life, its finer things, after everything. He had his purpose. Any deviation felt like a betrayal of the lost.

Still.

This was not some act of hedonism, ordering a simple meal. Had he not suffered enough already?

"Fine. I'll have the brisket with the glaze," he nodded to the host. Ordering at the front. How peculiar. Tydeus supposed his depth of understanding was severely lacking in this area. He had grown up on personal chefs and the lavish establishments of the galactic elite, before it all came crashing down. Those days seemed so distant now. Summer dreams, just out of reach. He looked back to Tansu.

"You've heard of Tion?"

Tansu Treicolt

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

It was like she'd asked him to weight in on the morality of the Jedi doctrine based on the amount of time it took for him to make a choice on what to chew. She blinked at him once or twice, as if the non-verbal cue would hurry him up a bit. Finally, he spoke.

​

"Excellent choice," she nodded and signalled her fingers into a 'v' to the host who submitted their order. Swiftly, to defer any argument, she passed the credits over the table and pocketed her receipt and table number. They'd bring the orders to table six.

"And table six'll be our table for two," she pointed in the direction of a labelled area and nearly shoo'ed him along.

"I haven't, no," she admitted. "But I feel like I'm about to. Please tell me about Tion." She took a seat and pat the spot across from her to indicate a space for him to squat. "And I'm assumin' this'll also tie back to my grandma? Not to rush you, I'm just..I'm listenin', don't'cha worry, just mighty curious how this is all gonna tie together."

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Tydeus of Tion
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[Tydeus of Tion]

He watched the credits slide across and fought down the desire to protest, herded by her to a table, where he took his seat and paused to assemble his thoughts. Elbows on the table, hands laced beneath his chin, just covering his lips, he looked at her - evaluating. He had thought this would be simple. One warrior speaking to another. An exchange of information against a common foe. Perhaps it would be still, but... there was something about her. Wild, but not in the way of a lurking shark. More akin to a state of nature, some far off meadow. Unloading his trauma on her seemed wrong, the same way it would be wrong to trample through the meadow.

It did not matter. He would speak what he must, tell his story, and trust that her kindness did not serve the double to naivete.

The boy lowered his arms to the table.

"Tion was my homeworld. Was. The Kainate blew apart its moons, autoclaved the planet," he took a shuddering breath, struggling to suppress the surge of memories that welled from within whenever he spoke of this. To forget the feel of that skin cracking like parchment at his touch. Of the ashes that never seemed to wash off his hands. He blinked quickly, gray eyes stinging. "Millions dead," he finished hoarsely, trying to speak around the lump in his throat.

"They did it on the orders of Kaine Zambrano, Darth Carnifex, whatever you want to call him." He stabbed a finger into the table, "It was on his command that I lost everything," he hissed these words now, long-dwelling rage stirring, stoked embers. "But he is immortal, or close enough. I've watched hundreds of hours of combat footage, read testimonies, dug up records. Only a handful have beaten him, ever. And only one has killed him."

Tydeus nodded to her.

"Grandmaster Kiskla Grayson. Your grandmother."

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

Tansu didn't speak right away. In fact, for once, she didn't speak at all. Her breath caught in the soft of her throat from the ache in his voice, and the simmer behind each syllable. She managed to listen unflinchingly through his anger, and not recoil from the jagged way he pointed at the table. Instead, she just… listened with a kind of reverence that tread the line of pity.

His words were heavy, emphasized with gestures and a firm point to what was stable between them, articulating a loss that had a shape and weight. It's like she could see it, and better understand the sour feeling that had itched her molars when he'd surprised her just moments ago. It was the kind of loss that clung to a person — she'd seen it before on Talsin. And right now, it was curling around Tydeus like smoke off a ruin.

She had a better understanding why he looked so tired now. Tansu sat back, took a deep, shuddering breath, and maintained her silence.

Nausea haunted the back of her throat.

When he said your grandmother, her expression shifted, softened. Something like guilt flashed across her eyes. She didn't really know her grandma. She'd died long before she'd been even a twinkle in her pa's eyes; but her mother had inherited Kiskla's power when she'd passed. But did that...pass to Tansu? Or Talin?

Is that the help he said he'd needed from her? She hated the idea of adding more disappointment to his heap of upset.

Without thinking, she reached across the table, gentle, steady, and laid her hand on his forearm. "I'm real sorry, Tydeus," she said softly. "For your people. For your home. Ain't no words tender enough for that kind of hurt."

She bit her lip and pulled her hand back to twiddle her thumbs uncomfortably on her lap. Best not to waste his time. He sounded like he was out for revenge, didn't he? And..she and her grandmother shared no actual information between one another.

"I've heard the story, of course. My Ma used to tell it 'round campfires back home—" it felt callous to speak of her mother and home so readily when she'd chosen to leave to seek adventure; a stark contrast to Tydeus who'd had no choice. "Can I ask somethin' bold?" She did not pause for permission:" Are you all....are you the only survivor? Are you Tion now?"

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Tydeus of Tion
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​

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

He stiffened at the touch of her hand on his arm. He'd made his mind a place of iron. Hard, yes, but brittle too. If he lowered his guard, even a little, even at all, he feared he might shatter all to pieces.

Am I Tion now?

Some survived. Some even tried to rebuild. He did not know how many in total. They did not carry this weight with them, the naked anguish of the millions dead hung around his neck like a loadstone.

But Tydeus? The Tionese boy? He had not survived.

"No, there are others," he rasped, fingers curling to fists. "I am just the echo of its death."

His purpose was not to rebuild Tion, but to avenge it. He did not need her sympathy. Her kindness. Her warmth. What use do the walking dead have for the living? He just needed the information she possessed.

"I need to know how she did it. Killed Kaine."

Tansu Treicolt

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

That sour, prickling feeling that had itched at her molars when he first walked in she hadn't known what to call. It was damp and hollow. She hadn't realized until now that it wasn't just around him, it was him. The shape of something vast and terrible carved into the Force. It felt draining, the longer she let herself lean toward it. Like the space between them pulled at her edges, leeching some small shimmer of light she hadn't known she carried until she felt it flicker.

And yet, the wound wasn't gaping. It was bound up in bone and scar and exhaustion. A cage he carried with him, sealed tight and pressed so deep he probably didn't feel where it ended and he began.

She clamped her mouth shut tight and wrinkled her nose, all her freckles pulling taut.

"Hmm." Breathed out through her nose and she flattened her hands on the table, studying the back of her hands rather than looking at him while she considered the gravity of his question.

"…You ain't just some echo," she said, brows pulling together. "Y'seem more like what's left after the echo fades. The quiet part. The part folks try not to sit with too long." Like her not wanting to sit here much longer. He made her uncomfortable. But she paused, thumb brushing her palm absently like she was trying to rub away the Force-tingle still lingering under her skin. "I ain't never felt nothin' like what you carry. It's heavy. Hollow. Like the Force looks at you and don't quite know what to do."

Her eyes lifted to meet his — steady, but softer than before.

"But I gotta ask... why's it matter so much? How she did it. Killin' Kaine." A beat. "You look like someone who already knows what he wants to do. So what is it? You hopin' to do it the same? Or do it worse?"

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Tydeus of Tion
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[Tydeus of Tion]

"I want to make it permanent," he hissed, leaning forward. "I-"

A waiter arrived with food and Tydeus leaned back, muscles in his jaw writhing with lingering anger, though he eyed the food suspiciously in the basket before him. The aroma wafting from the meat was... his mouth watered. Tydeus' brows drew tightly together.

"This smells nice," he muttered, an unwilling concession.

He picked up a utensil and prodded at the brisket. Shockingly, the cooked meat pushed at his poke, peeling away. Huh. He stabbed a piece and put it in his mouth. Chewed.

The flavors overwhelmed him. The tenderness of the meat, basically melting in his mouth, the hint of bourbon in the glaze. He swallowed.

"It's... It's good," he said sheepishly, feeling foolish as the anger began to ebb. He thought more about her words.

"Being around me. Just talking with me. It's draining you isn't it."

Physically. Emotionally. A literal sapping of her essence. As she grew weaker, he grew stronger.

She will leave soon. I am alone. I will always be alone.

"I am sorry."

Tydeus bit the inside of his cheek and looked away from her even as his eyes stung again. He bored a hole in the far corner of their booth with a stare. Some part of him - some part that had not realized he was dead - ached for companionship. For company. For peace.

But there would be no peace for him.

I can rest when I'm dead.

Tansu Treicolt

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

Permanent. Even if she could help, and share what her grandmother had managed, Carnifex had still somehow undone the deed enough to destroy Tion. She thought about this while their plates set in front of them, and stared at the steaming meat. Her thoughts cut short when Tydeus made an observation that didn't seem seeped in despair and she flicked her eyes back up.

"It tastes even better," she encouraged.

Normally, she dove in thoughtlessly, eating as though it was her first meal in days (which was never the case), but today she picked at it and watched her companion across the table with muted curiosity. "Toldja." She beamed triumph, and poked at her first slice, taking her own first satisfactory bite.

"I dunno about what people say about revenge being served cold. I feel like warm is always better."

"Being around me. Just talking with me. It's draining you isn't it."

"I am sorry."

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and after she swallowed, she nodded slowly.

"Yeah, but it's alright.

Nothin' to apologize for. It's only been a few minutes and realistikully, we're just sitting here. Not like I need a bunch'o energy on a battlefield right now or anythin'. You can't help it. Yer probably supressin' what you're usually dealing with too, aint'cha? So thanks for that."

Her fork set down and she leaned forward on her elbows, running her fingers around the brim of the basket shyly.

"Look, Tydeus, I wanna help you. You look like you could use some help. And you obviously put a lotta thought into finding me so I don't want that to be a dead end.

I'll tell you what I know, but I gotta be forthright. I ain't super up and up on the Jedi stuff lately. The last few years my sister and I have been a little more run amuck than anythin', and Denon ain't a place my grandmama frequented. Her Holocron is on Coruscant probably. And she's a ghost in The Force now. Maybe could contact her directly?" She shivered at the thought. Something about speaking to the dead seemed so eerie.

"I ain't super sure how we'd go about that, but worth tryin'."

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Tydeus of Tion
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[Tydeus of Tion]

A few minutes. Yes of course. Anyone could spend a few minutes talking with him.

Any longer though...

He had seen the faces of the others. Kyric. Bernard. The subtle twitches of their lips when he stood in a room for too long. Too much.

The rest of what she said gave him further pause and he took a moment to stab another hunk of meat and chew, before saying, "You want me to contact your grandmother's ghost?"

To be honest, he had never put much weight in the religious aspect of the Force that so many seemed to hold. He viewed it as a tool and a destination. Not necessarily a way of life.

"I could retrieve the holocron from Coruscant." He suspected the Jedi held it. They may not take lightly to him... acquiring it. But he preferred the tangible option to raising up the dead. It felt too much like something Carnifex might do. But did Tydeus not need every advantage? "And maybe afterward I will speak to the Grandmaster's ghost."

The boy frowned at her.

"You truly know so little of her victory over the Dark Lord? I thought..." thought that there would be some family secret, passed down. A technique he might learn. An ability he could discover. "What did your mother say in those stories she told you?"

Tansu Treicolt

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

"Well, not really, but it's an option. That stuff kinda gives me the heebie jeebies, let the dead lie and all that." As he continued, it sounded as though that opinion were shared. The direct connection wasn't something either of them were keen to make. Plus, according to her Ma, her Grandmama had turned real prickly in her older age. Who knew how she'd react to being stirred from eternal slumber.

You truly know so little of her victory over the Dark Lord? I thought.."What did your mother say in those stories she told you?"

"I figured it was a how-to you were lookin' for, not a story." The girl said curtly, nettled by his brashness and the barely-there-insinuation that she wasn't able to provide the help he sought. She'd already drawn that conclusion herself, but to have him realize it put her on the defensive. She hmphed indignantly and shuffled her feet beneath the table.

"Honestly, since you already did enough to know who I am, you probably know the story is less a story but a direct memory." She rest an elbow on the table and her cheek in the crook of her palm. "When my grandmama died, she transferred the good, the bad, and the ugly directly into my Ma. It was messy. Wrecked up her psyche for a while, but effective I guess for downloadin' memories directly.

What she told us, she basically saw first hand. It was when my Grandmama was kidnapped from the battle of Manaan, and kept on Panatha for nearly a whole year, strung out, tortured. Vile stuff. Obsession-level chit." Her free hand waggled instead of going on, the topic made her uncomfortable — "Anyway, she broke out, basically a husk of what she was so brute strength wasn't gonna work in a final confrontation.

In the end, didn't really matter how physically strong she was, because apparently Carnifex, Vornskr at the time, wasn't so strong either. He'd grown co-dependent on the darkside, his body basically rotton, and she took advantage of that weakness. Turned his own body against him. Used Art of the Small to slip in the cracks, turn his blood to poison and boiled him from the inside out."

Her volume dropped as the story went on, her pace slower. Obviously uncomfortable. "Real dark stuff. My ma's real good at Art of the Small, she taught all us kids a thing or two, but nothin' so violent. Only the kinda thing that turns bad soil to something you can plant on."

She blinked slowly. "Nothin' that would help us kill a man with our bare hands."

Voice went tiny again, rail-thin: "I don't think I could live with myself after doin' somethin' like that. Bein' all up close like that, knowin' you're capable of somethin' so..." There wasn't a word she could find to describe the brutality.

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Tydeus of Tion
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[Tydeus of Tion]

Tydeus did not know about the memory transfer and wondered at it. It seemed... wrong, somehow, to thrust those memories on your own child. But he leaned closer as Tansu spoke, shifting forward, elbows on the table, the whole of his attention on her.

Art of the small. That was the technique. That was what he had been looking for this whole time. But he had never heard of it used in this manner. Turning blood to poison? Tydeus' mind raced as he thought through variables. He would need time, to learn, to understand. Hearing it from Tansu was not enough, he would have to find that holocron and hope that there was a deeper understanding the Grandmaster could impart.

He frowned as Tansu continued speaking. About not being able to live with herself after... after what?

"She killed the Dark Lord of the Sith. You couldn't -" the frown deepened, "You've never... Tansu... have you never killed before?"

The boy sat back, confusion warping his features. Neither had he, he supposed. Not until recently. It was not something that one should have to endure. But it was necessary. He could not believe this, though.

"Are you not a Jedi?"

This would upset her. He had already upset her. Where was all his etiquette training for court? All the social graces he had sought to develop only two years ago? Gone. Burnt up. What need have he for fine, gilded words. They failed when swords sang.

Tansu Treicolt

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

"She tried to redeem him countless times prior." Tansu asserted. "That's what she was remembered for most, wasn't she? Bein' The Redeemer. Not The Dark Lord slayer." She sniffed, pinching her hands together. Why was she getting so defensive over someone long dead? Who she barely had any emotional connection to whatsoever?

Her brow furrowed, lost in her own reaction for a moment. Was she projecting?

Probably.

Definitely.

"Are you not a Jedi?"

The question came like a cold slap. She blinked once, twice, mouth dropping half-open. This question overruled the impact of the other one. She'd been ready to admit that no, she hadn't killed anyone before. There'd never been a reason to kill.

In fact, she was likely the only Treicolt who hadn't taken a life. The only one that managed to shed the instinctual drive to be merciless in favour of protecting loved ones. She'd watched her sister pull a trigger on an unarmed man, and she'd seen her brother bisect a guard with no hesitation.

But the question of being a Jedi. That was far more gravitas. On a checklist, she had great strength in The Force, a natural affinity for even the most complex uses. She had a lightsaber (stolen from her mom, but still), and she'd had Gabriel Pryce as her Master for some time... and what else. What made a Jedi?

"Are you?" She pointedly flipped it back on him to stall her existential crisis.

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Tydeus of Tion
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[Tydeus of Tion]

"No," he said immediately, stiffly. "I do not ascribe to their tenets. Whatever they are these days. I suspect they would not ascribe to mine."

She seemed bothered by the question. Defensive. She had not answered the original question, of whether or not she was a killer. Tydeus prodded at his food, moving it around the plate, but not taking another bite. As much as he might wish to. Other thoughts consumed him.

"I spoke too hastily. I am sorry. I did not mean to imply..." he sighed through the nose. Locks of raven hair, some strands bled to gray, swayed as he shook his head. Thoughts strayed to all of the lives he had taken in pursuit of vengeance. How many of them were innocents? More than he cared to dwell on. Sacrifices on Tion's altar.

"I thought that you would be different. Daughter of a great warrior line. Hard and calloused and ruthless." Like me. "Instead," his eyes met hers, held them. The sharp edge had left his stare, but not the intensity. "Instead, I found someone kind. Someone who cares about others - unless you are quite a skilled actress. But taking a life... it eats away at you, turns warmth to cold. I would not wish that on you."

His lips quirked up in an alarming attempt at a smile that just left him looking incredibly tired.

"Furthest from it."

Tansu Treicolt

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

Well his answer sure came swifter than her non-answer. She mmmhymm'd in response. Half-agreement, but mostly understanding.

"That's okay. I get it. You came with a need and I ain't meetin' it." Her shrug appeared unbothered, light, easy. But the question still nagged at her, chewing away at the base of her brain because she couldn't answer so completely. She didn't have qualm with traditional Jedi code. Her qualms were superficial, frustration with persons rather than principles.

He continued, traipsing into lines that seemed uncomfortable for him to deliver. Politely, she listened, and felt her expression soften. Brows sloped upward and together and the bottom corner of her lip ticked inward. She felt a little charmed by the honesty, enough to not shrink back from the way his eyes bore into hers with pulse-spiking intensity.

"Well gee, thanks."

Everything he said about taking a life confirmed her suspicions. Clearly, he was speaking from a place of experience. Not only had he lost so much, he had taken so much — and in turn, that seemed to sap him. This Tydeus seemed trapped in a horribly vicious, exhausting, unhappy cycle. Did she pity him?

In a way, yes, but in another, he was clear in purpose and definition. She lacked his focus and self definition in the way he lacked her warmth.

Notably, she hadn't touched her meal since the first bite. All the talk of death, killing, Jedi, and his harrowing Force presence, had minimized her appetite. In fact, she tested a look at the sizzling saucy brisket and felt her guts tighten involuntarily. She pushed it a little to the side and rest her elbows on the table.

"Your question wasn't the problem, and it wouldn't have been two years ago. I'd'a happily shown you my lightsaber and proclaimed I'm probably one of the best Jedi you've never heard of yet. But.." her eyes sliced down and she chewed the inside of her cheek in consideration. He had so many problems and by comparison, she had none really. No point in belabouring her own insecurities. "I dunno. Weird time in life and all that." Her wrist rolled off to the side, the intergalactic non-verbal demonstration of yadda yadda yadda.

"But, I know some Art of the Small, enough to help you probably skip any initial tutorials that might come from the holocron."

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Tydeus of Tion
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[Tydeus of Tion]

The lack of appetite did not go unnoticed.

"If you are willing to teach, then I will learn," he replied, unable to hide the eagerness from his voice. No. Not quite an eagerness: a voracity, a hunger; weapons, information, techniques, anything to give him an edge against the Iron Tyrant.

Even simply walking him through the basics of this ability would be more than Tydeus had hoped for, having expected only to be pointed toward a holocron and sent on his way.

Tydeus pushed his own plate of food away.

"When can we get started?"

The boy's intensity focused down to this narrowed point. Something he understood, at last. Training. How many waking hours had he spent doing anything other than preparing for the confrontation? His upbringing gave him a baseline to work form - an education that Imperial cadets dreamed of - studying with Thyrsian weapon masters, a Miralukan Palawan monk, and a Sullustan admiral. It had been a tutelage meant for an heir of a great Tionese house.

Now there were hardly any left. No fleets to command. No soldiers to lead.

So he had fashioned his body into the weapon. Brutally. Unforgiving. Like a blacksmith beating iron into shape. And now? Now Tansu Treicolt might give him an edge.

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

Could she categorize his shift in demeanour as 'perked up'? Almost. He certainly seemed more focused than any other sentence exchanged thus far. No incomplete thought. No lingering questions.

​

She loft a brow at him. Was this all he had? He'd lost his entire planet, people, and he'd tracked her down on the belief that she might be able to connect him to an answer that would bring him a permanent result.

"Well," she blinked at him, and made an absent gesture to the waitstaff. "My afternoon's all free, sure, we could start now. My Aunt's got an enclave nearby."

A Gotal waiter shuffled over, one cone twitching warily toward Tydeus, the other subtly angling toward Tansu like it needed the balance. Without a word, the waiter slid two collapsible to-go containers across the table, glasteel bottoms with duraplast seals, and nodded toward the brisket. "Good thing y'ain't lettin' that go to waste. I never seen you eat so little."

"Thanks, Markot." Tansu flushed, embarrassed, as if her cover were entirely blown. Then the Gotal was gone, shoulders hunched like it wanted to escape the gravity pooling at their booth.

"AahTheydon'tknowwhatthey'retalkin''bouthaha.." Tansu chirped uneasily, hoping that Tydeus wouldn't find offence in her lost appetite. She shoved one of the boxes in his direction and filled her own, swiftly standing and motioned for him to follow her.

Outside, Denon greeted them with its usual chaos — steam vents exhaling from overhead ducts, shuttle traffic screaming between high rises, the air thick with grease, ozone, and the sharp sting of fried street food.

Stepping casually, she lead them onto a narrow skybridge, the duracrete beneath their boots thrumming faintly from passing freight beneath. Above them, the afternoon blinked in neon; Signs promising augments, stimcaf, spice blends, and synth-leather jackets danced across windowless towers. A two-headed Ithorian argued with a droid vendor nearby. Somewhere below, sirens wailed and no one paid them any mind. Down three more levels, past a flickering transit hub and into an older sector where the towers looked less polished, less corporate.

"There," she pointed to an unassuming storefront. The "shop" sat tucked between a noodle stand and a parts recycler. Its front was rusted through in patches, the faded sign above it reading MARN'S UNIT FIXIN' — ASTROMECHS TO AGGROS, CHEAP. One of the letters flickered, the rest were half-buried in grime. Tansu fiddled with something on the front door and it groaned open. She waited long enough for Tydeus to follow before sealing it behind them.

Inside, the place looked dead: old servos piled like bones in the corners, a counter that hadn't seen credits in weeks, and a limp curtain of carbon scoring on the back wall. Behind a busted BX commando droid, Tansu popped open a maintenance hatch, and knocked twice on the exposed conduit. The wall clicked, then moaaaaaned open with the reluctant drag of ancient hydraulics.

The space beyond was dim-lit, cleaner. Still smelled like ozone and oil, but the clutter gave way to order: training mats, sensor readouts, and a row of old helmets lining one shelf. It was a pocket carved out beneath the city's noise. From the initial room, three more hallways spread — as though they'd landed right in the nexus of the secret location.

"Ta-DAaaaaaa!"

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Tydeus of Tion
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