First Reply Remember That Time Fonder

[Efret Farr]

Not too terribly long ago, she would have done nearly anything to know what became of the artifacts that she had hidden deep in the steam tunnels of Fondor for safekeeping as the Dark Empire had threatened Coruscant. Her plan had technically been successful—it had kept the New Jedi Order's collections out of the hands of that particular faction—but was a great failure when considering its holistic intent. The Dark side worked in many more organizations than just the one that had been currently terrorizing the Core.

Though the historic and ancient objects which she had been charged with as Chief Curator of the NJO had been protected from destruction or abduction by Dark side Elites, they had fallen to Imperial and Sith Covenant agent not long after.

Rumors of what happened that had found their ways to her and the many potential fates that she herself imagined had filled her lonely days in Lake Country like an unwanted house guest. It had come to outstay its very abbreviated welcome, but she found just as quickly that she hadn't known how to compel it to leave.

She had never encountered this kind of communication barrier. Every time she asked it to leave, it drew closer. When she tried to make it comfortable, she grew more despondent.

For all the languages both spoken and signed that she was able to comprehend through the Force, understanding of that of the heavier of the emotions had eluded her. Ironic. And that lack had sucked like a black hole in her chest, a monster with a hunger to know not how to ask emotions like dread and regret to leave, but how to control them, to channel them into outwardly erosive forces that could help her get whatever it was that she wanted.

She closed her eyes. Her world plunged back into blackness. On the blank canvas of her eyelids, she could easily imagine a temple guard standing vigil over the vault door that stood wide open in front of her now. She had put them them there, just as she had put away a trove of artifacts originating from all over the known galaxy to keep that wealth of diversity away from those the NJO had deemed undeserving.

And what exactly was undeserving about the Sith?

Were they not galactic inhabitants too? Did they not have the same right to a sense of place, as grand or minutely local as they desired, as any other being regardless of what they believed or followed?

Had it been right to rip their living culture from them and collect the bits into dank, sterilized vaults, even under the supposed necessity of war?

No. Not even then.

The idea, which had proven to be true, that this horde had been hollowed out, its contents redistributed, had bothered her as recently as a few months ago. But now, she felt happy. Swelling pride. A sense that the tides shaping the galaxy had finally smoothed over her missteps. Whoever the new owners of its artifacts were certainly more deserving than their previous, collective owner: a well-meaning but misguided Jedi Master by the name of Efret Farr.

[ Open to one Sith Covenant writer ]​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Efret Farr​

Lysander was seated on a narrow ledge, spine stacked like ancient Sith obelisks of Korriban. In the beginning, each breath was drawn through clenched teeth. Nearby, there was the sound of dripping water and mechanical hums, but they no longer distracted him. They all filtered into the tapestry of his intense focus. Though everyone's journey different, his meditation bore absolutely no resemblance to Jedi serenity. Personally, it was about harnessing chaos, and manifesting personal ambitions into power. As always, he nurtured that familiar heat. This was the same core that first erupted when he'd uncovered the deception of his padawan training on Naboo.

For a time, he followed those patterns, until a disturbance sliced through his concentration.

This wasn't exactly someone else's vision invading him mind. This was.. what? He recognized the difference between truths and illusions, but the mind failed on grasping control here. Like being pulled into orbit as a moon caught by a planet's gravity. He inhaled once, sharply, the body recognizing something before the mind does. The disturbance had no direction The Force seemed to fold, warping reality until he existed in two places at once? Curiously, he felt no threat in this violation of natural law. There was nothing to fight here.. only something to understand.

The young Sith's consciousness leaned into that pressure. One metaphorical foot was placed down, testing the stability of whatever space this was. Gradually, the rest of him followed. Only then, from afar, did the silhouette materialize, standing before some vault that exhaled darkness.

Diplomatic instincts became inadequate. He navigated social minefields with ease, but there was no map for this encounter. "I sense neither of us expected company in this space, yet here we stand, two strangers witnessing the same.. pattern. Or whatever this design is. Maybe there's wisdom in sharing what we each perceive of this vault.. what calls to you might just illuminate what eludes me, and we might better understand why the Force has.. connected us here." The words were clumsy, and he was acutely aware of his own discomfort.

 

[Efret Farr]

Only when his presence fully faded into this new reality that they both had come to inhabit did it occur to her: a certain coolness pricking at her dark peripheries. Someone who somehow wasn't quite someone, not here, was looking at her.

Such a sensation was typically warm, like gentle heat radiating from a sunbeam that one was standing just close enough to to feel, but not in directly.

Curiosity unshuttered her eyes. The Fondorian underground came back to her in the shades of tan characteristic to Force Sight. She turned, twisting her torso. The figure observing her shared the hue of his monochromatic background. Still, he didn't belong here, not physically. This wasn't a vision. If it was, he'd be cast in ethereal blue. This was a folded space, similar to the space she had unwittingly created and shared with Mercy.

As he spoke, silent understanding came over her.

When it was time to respond, her hands floated up from her sides.

"Strange occurrences like these are becoming commonplace for me."

Hennaed fingers moved in a series of precise movements. Sound came too, but not out of her mouth. It was tinny and monotoned like a feminine-programmed protocol droid's voice, produced by a round pendant hanging at her neck.

"The reasons elude me," she admitted, robotic speech following her signs. "I'm sorry to have brought you here. I'm sure you had better things to do." Though her vocabulator's tone was flat, and didn't imply anything about the intent of Efret's message, her facial expressions did. And in this moment, the way her brows were drawn together, gaze glossy with concern, communicated sincerity rather than sarcasm.

Then her brow smoothed as she tried to put her apology aside. "But I agree. It seems we're stuck together until whatever's happening ebbs. We might as well learn from this experience."

She untwisted at her waist to look back into the vault. To him, the passageway extending past the door grew exponentially darker as it reached further into the planet—browns turning to greys partially lit by the florescent lights outside the corridor, which deepened until they had fully transitioned to black. But to her, through Force Sight, saw the tube all the way through, unfettered by shadows. "I remember..." she began. Silence resonated as she grew still and her assistive technology had nothing to interpret. A small, silent sigh passed through her chest. "I remember how this place was once full of memories. Not mine. Historic. Ancient. From beings who lived through those times, from all around the galaxy."

She turned her head to him again, but did not look at him.

"Do you know who I am?"

Only a few moments after asking did she raise her eyes, seeking to meet his gaze. Her brow was knit again. Her presence in the Force kicked up like choppy waves during a storm at open sea. There was no arrogance in her face, and thus the question was free of it as well—just a hint of shame and a very hesitant curiosity.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Efret Farr​

With each breath, more of Lysander's vision sharpened. What was strange, was that he didn't hear the echoing of each footfall; some sounds seemed to die in this space. The scene was like.. a developing hologram. Outlines first, then texture. There was something damp that clung to his awareness. Was it emanating from the vault behind her, or from the very fabric of this connection? He really couldn't tell.

"I suppose my own occurrences are no less strange." The words grew from his chest. "This connection.. I didn't summon it, but neither does it frighten me." Oddly, he found himself comfortable within these currents. Nothing truly frightened him these days, a thought that sometimes frightened him most of all. "There is no need to apologize. I see no crime here. Maybe we're simply two travelers drawn together by what I can only describe as a wound.. or a doorway, in the Force." Beyond what was spoken, there was something more detected.. unease. A signature recognized immediately, because it was the same storm in his own heart since leaving the Mid Rim. "I've had years to transform my regret into something I can use," the blonde offered.

Lysander watched as hands moved with grace, weaving meaning into the air. It reminded him of Kirie , when they first met on Jutrand. Before the Covenant's name spread across the galaxy. "What calls to you in this vault? I would like to know your purpose here."

Lowering his gaze to the floor between them, he sank to a seated position. Strange, mayhaps, in a place like this.. but the gesture felt right. A position that was neutral and to show he bore no threat. Maybe it was selfish; he wanted this exchange, the clarity it might bring, and a chance to unravel something he barely understood. Distance held no importance.

"Does it even matter whether I know your name? Or whether I know who you are.. or who you wish to become?"

I am not afraid of you nearly followed, but the words stuck in his throat. Was that entirely true? Or was it pride speaking?

"I won't judge you," came instead, "But I must decide whether you stand before me as a threat, an ally, or something else entirely."

And who was he to pass judgement, really? The thought surfaced. "I have built bridges between Sith who would have torn each other apart, out of necessity for my people. Does that make me a greater monster? Perspective, perhaps, but I choose to see it as an art, if you will. Understanding others' darkness to build something greater."

The synthetic tone may have lacked warmth, but her expression conveyed what technology could not. For all his reputation, he was the poorest of manipulators. "Truth isn't always gentle. But perhaps that is one lesson we already share."

 

[Efret Farr]

It took everything within to fight the urge to follow suit, to sit down beside him. But she felt his good intention behind the gesture, even if it also might have been self-serving, and that ultimately kept her upright. Still, it didn't comfort her exactly. To be placed in a physical position of power over who she assumed to be a Sith of some degree only added to her unsettledness.

She might have once been a Jedi Master, but she was nothing here—less that nothing, even, if her appointment and actions as Chief Curator of the NJO was common knowledge.

Maybe he was right in a way. Maybe on the whole it didn't matter if he or anyone knew her and what she had done or not. To her, though, it made all the difference.

Her soft gaze fixed onto a shape far in the vault. She wasn't sure what it was beyond a place to rest her eyes. It was only way that she would dare to challenge him. Doing so felt safe enough on one hand, but she also knew—no, had been taught—that the moods of a Sith were fickle. He might yet become threatening.

What would she do then?

Probably submit to death.

"It would help me feel more comfortable, whatever your answer," she explained hesitantly. "It's like a bantha standing behind me, following me wherever I go." Her next blink drew on a few moments as her mind drifted to Bepru. She hadn't been back to her home province on Lorrd for as long as she had been a Jedi, but she could still recall with great accuracy the marshy banks where the actual elephants grazed. Growing up around Gurrat or his herd, and in a culture where such majestic beasts held such spiritual significance had undoubtedly smoothed over any instinctual fear of large and powerful animals that most beings were born with. But now? It was as if that fear hadn't gone away at all, but been kept at bay, and now had caught up with her.

"And I'm scared that it will trample me."

She stopped signing again, this time to lay a hand partially over her collarbone. Her fingers rose up one side of her throat as her thumb gently supported the other. Lysander might have noticed the blockage glowing in her airway. Her unease. Her compunction. The feelings were energetically choking her.

Her fingertips began to massage in very small circles. The obstruction constricted just a little. Efret dropped her hand back to a signing position.

"But, if I ask my question and know either way, the bantha might shrink and disappear...and, for the length of our conversation, I'll be free."

A dry laugh resonated out of her nostrils as her closed lips drew into a bitter smile. "That seems the same as judgement," she commented on Lysander's semantics, "but it's necessary. I understand." A small sigh, which she let roll through her whole body, broke up her signing. "I intend to become one of the Covenant. Learn your ways."

There was a sincerity in the air. It became more and more curious the more one knew about Efret Farr: a recent Jedi, a former council member, a Deafblind woman. Just one of her identities would have made her transition from the Light side to the Dark difficult enough. Two would have made it especially dangerous. All three made it potentially impossible.

The Sith, or at least the Sith she thought she knew, lived and died by their law of survival of the fittest. And Efret was not nearly the fittest for more reasons than one.

She lightly drew her lower lip under her teeth and shook her head then. "Not that I expect you to just believe me. I plan to make amends however I can, for however long I need to, if I can."

Her gaze slowly drifted over and down. She still didn't want to look at him, but she had to to listen to him.

As he spoke of building bridges, her brows knit again. "Between who? The Covenant and Sith Order?" That was her best guess.

Then she hazared another question.

"May I ask who you are?"

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Efret Farr​

How curious that, even here, in a place that didn't feel like a place, his body clung to that same posture and discipline. Perhaps this was his mind's way of creating order. Unmoving, he offered space so that she might articulate her fear. When she spoke of freedom from the metaphorical bantha, he nodded once. Only after she finished, did he shift forward.

The gap between concern and counsel was not so foreign to him. "The banthas that follow us often appear larger than they truly are," he said, twin emeralds tracing over her. "I've found that when we turn to face them, we often discover they cast smaller shadows than we ever imagined."

Silence poured back into the void.. sharpened by the ebb in her Force signature. "I sense you have questions. It's better to know difficult truths than suffer the monsters of imagination. The Dark Side doesn't ask us to recklessly chase our fears; it teaches us that understanding what truly frightens us is how we begin to overcome it. That is one of the first steps toward mastery."

Fingers rose into a contemplative steeple before relaxing. "I cannot promise that my answer will banish your bantha entirely. But.. I can offer you honesty, and perhaps that might guide you in walking alongside what troubles you," assured a gentler voice. "Fear serves a purpose. It warns us of danger. Your bantha.." an open palm curved, "it's not just following you. It's a neglected part of yourself asking to be heard."

The silence between them expanded, then contrasted. "I do appreciate your directness. Far too many Sith come to us hiding behind aggression. Your awareness," a tap against the chest accompanied the praise, "that's a rare strength. One worth protecting."

Raising one eyebrow, he offered, "Judgement? No, that would require some moral high ground I do not claim to possess." Shoulders lifted in a peculiar half shrug, the right side higher. Laughter emerged in welcome. Too few Sith understood the power of mirth.

Curiosity drew his gaze once more to her hands. Were they delicate or marked by calluses and scars? Each told a different story. "Everyone has unique gifts they can contribute to the Covenant. I don't believe that everyone needs to shed blood in our name. Strength takes many forms." Lysander meant what he said, though he'd forever welcome those eager to prove themselves in the melee. For him, political science and swordplay intertwined like vines. The saber had been his companion since he was a young fencer at a prestigious Ukatis academy. These days, students sought his instruction on Coruscant. "If you join the Covenant, you will serve in the way only you can. What we do judge by are results. There are many ways to see what others cannot, and that would be valuable to us."

The Sith wondered how much to reveal. "Indeed, between the Order and the Covenant. Connecting my former home with my current one, if you will. These connections survive through understanding both sides." He let that settle before continuing. "Whether you realize it or not, you've already begun to build one too. Between whom you were, and who you are becoming."

The question of identity demanded careful consideration. A deeper breath filled his lungs. "Lysander von Ascania. Point Emissary of the Covenant." Blonde braids cascaded across one shoulder as his head tilted. "And what is your name?" Behind the gentle query lurked another. "What is it you fear now?"

 

[Efret Farr]

Being complimented by a Sith shouldn't have felt so validating.

And being challenged like a master might challenge a padawan's thoughts shouldn't have been so illuminating—not in the dark, not on the Dark side. But Efret watched Lysander, remaining herself quiet and still, letting her feelings be.

"Judgement? No, that would require some moral high ground I do not claim to possess."

A muted smile and curt laugh—from her rather than her device—echoed his sentiment back to him. Rather than annoyance, sorrowful reservation weighed down her lips and abbreviated her sound. A sense of irony swirled within her too. "You must teach me that," she interjected. "It seems I've forgotten humility somewhere along my path."

Everything that this young man said struck her as wise, but was it, really, or was she just lost and grasping for meaning?

When he introduced himself, she only caught his name; her gaze shifted down to the floor as he told his title. A beat passed, longer for Efret than it was for him. Cold dread replaced her blood drop for drop. At the same time, fire tore through her, suspending her body between freeze and flight.

In the next moment, she managed a full, self-regulating breath and pushed her fear through the durasteel surface. She then looked at Cora's brother again, energetically holding to her heart a bundle of empathy. There it steadily grew, as did her comfort standing there over him. He hadn't answered her question, so maybe he really didn't know who she was. But when she answered his, there would be no more hiding. It was quite possible that he would react similarly to how she had, with instinctual fear, if he hadn't already. Names like the ones they had made for themselves were sewn with space and stardust. They had their own gravity.

"I'm Efret Farr."

The question of her identity was easy to answer. His next question was more complicated, requiring context. "I sat with your sister on the New Jedi Order's Council," she began, though perhaps he knew.

"I've been told many things about the Sith my whole life. From my mother first, then my masters. I was able to avoid any kind of involvement with the Sith for a majority of my career. I did archeology and ethnography, mostly in free space. Then I answered the call of impending war against the Dark Empire and returned to Coruscant. Not too long after, I became Chief Curator and..."

Though Efret trailed off, it might might not have felt like she was finished speaking.

It was easy to remember the day of her appointment, a celebration she shared with Jonyna Si and Elias Edo in the Prosperity's central courtyard. Valery Noble and Zark San Tekka had presided. Even now, years later, she remembered parts of what they had said to her.

"You're a leader our Jedi look up to. A Master with a kind heart and an important voice of reason during these times full of conflict. For that reason, the Council would like to offer you a seat as well, as our Chief Curator."

"Long have the Dark Lords of the Sith sought to eradicate all trace of the Jedi religion. Future generations will learn from our triumphs, but also our failures. Perhaps the failures most of all."​

"The only thing I curated was intolerance." Hazel eyes seemed to dim as clouds of disgust drew over twin suns. It wasn't meant for Lysander though. She felt it for herself. "For your people. For all Sith and Dark siders."

Master San Tekka had been right, but Efret hadn't expected one of her accomplishments she had approached with righteousness to break her. Maybe the rest of the NJO had considered her Sith Artifact Recovery Program a success. To her, it was an abject failure, not in that it didn't fulfil its purpose; in that it served an unintended function. But the NJO felt safer, and by itself that was good and she was glad, but they also felt empowered to continue a manifestly destined war. And the hatred that drove it wasn't towards the Sith Order alone, though they had been the ones targeted. Her contracts, and the attitudes that they stoked, harmed all Dark siders. Even those not engaged in combat were deemed threats.

Efret didn't wish she had stepped back entirely and let the Sith eradicate the Jedi religion—not at all—but she didn't wish for the inverse either. What she did wish for was that she had dug as much for the line between her duty to one culture and her duty to all others as she had for Sith artifacts that hadn't belonged to her.

Maybe then she would have discovered it and learned somehow to walk it.

"I fear that is now swallowing my people."

The Light was blinding her friends and fellows.

She pouted slightly and shook her head shortly. Her gaze drew up and away; she turned away from him. The metallic voice of her interpretation unit echoed off the wall now in front of her a couple of meters and bounced backwards to reach his ears. Her breath began to ever so slowly whittle.

"Perhaps I didn't cause it, but...I didn't stop it." Or do more to stand against it, that rot that had gripped the NJO. She hadn't been much involved with the Shirayan Knights nor the High Republic's Jedi, but she didn't have to be to know that it infected them too. This great irony: this deep fear and loathing of anything, anyone involved with the Dark side, when the Jedi strove to feel nothing but courage and compassion.

Burning tingled up her throat, the brunt of her shame branding the tender flesh. The color began to drain away from her face. She refused to look back at Lysander.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Efret Farr​

At first, there was a spark of pride, edged with surprise, as words fell into place around him. Something caught in his throat before he could swallow back down. A Jedi, or the remnant of one, seeking humility from a Sith. The irony ought to have been.. entertaining. Yet there was genuine contrition beneath that plea, a sincerity that pricked something buried deep. Behind emerald rings, just for a moment, calculation softened.. the way light behaves at the bottom of deep waters.

"Not all of us are what the galaxy fears," offered with the barest curve at the edge of one's lips. The memory of a smile. "Many are, yes. But I am not 'many Sith.' There are countless lessons in our discipline. If you allow me, with time, I'll teach you the differences." The odds of her believing him were slim; what mattered was that the words were true, exhumed from the only part of him that survived erasures performed by the Dark.

There was a tremor in his hands, gravity almost shifting under him in that shared Force space at the mention of another blonde. Of course, he'd heard his sister's name countless times across the galaxy.. but here it landed once more. Curiosity, and a distant ache behind the calm facade..

"Cora never passes through someone's life without leaving something behind. She's always had a way of staying with people.. even when she's gone."

The scar along his jawline whispered; his hand lifted to revisit it slowly. A souvenir from Edic Bar, from the day he led the Covenant to Genarius and sank the floating city in Republic space. The one given to him by another of the former Council, a Cathar; he knew better than to let that name surface here, in this place.. where even a thought could become another wound reopened.

He watched as she traced the arc of her life.. the dig sites, archives, the Council chambers. In the Force, he sensed a scholar's hunger, that restless seekers spirit. Someone who had once revered cultures.. now ensnared by one. The Dark Side was a tomb, and he too had once excavated too greedily, letting the rest of his life go fallow until those who had stood beside him in the Mid Rim were simply gone. Perhaps they would have unraveled regardless.. he truly couldn't say. Some losses didn't require a reason; they only required time.

"Most who avoid us do so because they were taught to fear us," he observed, leaning back only an inch or so. "You were not wrong to seek knowledge elsewhere. I mean, war drags everyone back to the center eventually."

The mention of the Jedi, her people, as she called them.. was swallowed like a bitter draught. "I cannot help you with that." Better to leave his true feelings about the Light unspoken. From his earliest days as an acolyte to the Covenant's summit, he'd fought in eighteen engagements. There was no solid place to begin articulating all of that. Especially here.

Lysander noted the shame, the tension written into the lines of her body. But it was necessary to press toward truth and not withdraw from it. "Everyone in a war thinks they did what they could. You can't change the past. All you get is what you do next. Fear doesn't decide anything for you.. it just points somewhere. And you're already moving toward it, Efret. You're not lost."

A single question pressed at the edges of his mind. Why this space, why now? The answer would have to wait a little longer.

“You’re caught between what you were and what you have not yet become.” The Sith turned, as if addressing the air beside him. “I have watched people come apart in that gap.. more times than I would have chosen to.”

There was no authority over who she would become; what he could do was keep her from shattering under the current cognitive strain.

“Sit with me for a moment. I don’t believe anything urgent is going to pull us away.”

Many assumed transformations were something dramatic.. but in reality, it was incremental, and almost always painful.

“Better yet.. slow down. You’re processing too much at once, and you're under no obligation to explain yourself. Just.. let me assist you in sorting through it.”

 

[Efret Farr]

It was like a summertime storm brewing behind her, the way Lysander kept speaking when she turned away. She couldn't see it or hear it, but she could feel it: the gently building pressure of politeness mixed with curiosity. Though the sensation urged her to, she didn't turn around. The latter half of his reply filled the space as a wave washing toward shore, and bending around a rock stack rising from the sea.

It seemed to erode something within her, even without it's meaning. She didn't need to know the entirety of Lysander's response. He didn't need to hate her when she hated herself.

She turned her mind to Elias, the version of him she had lost to the Netherworld. His kindness, his determination, his love for her. In his memory she felt the warmth of a sun she had never known, of a planet she had never visited.

But comfort turned quickly to panic and pain, similar to an ant's under a magnifying glass. The concentrated rays burning into her skin were the realities she wanted least to face, especially in this moment.

He had forgotten who she was and had gone back home to Bogano. She'd never see him again. They would not get to be together. There would be no romance on which to lean while healing from her self-betrayal. No special compassion to help her love herself as he did during the dark days ahead.

Ever since he was trapped beyond the pale, and even after he returned, she had been convincing herself and those around her that she had been able to bear this terrible fate. And she had been able to, for a time. But when had that ephemeral stream dried up? She couldn't say; she had spent too much time starting at an empty bed and swearing that water still flowed.

She crumpled to her knees under the weight of her collapsing universe. The first note of a strangled sob managed to slip free of her constricted throat.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Lysander von Ascania​

For a long moment, Lysander thought she simply hadn't liked what he said. For all his reputation, there'd been plenty of those who turned away from him often enough. Jedi. Sith. Politicians. The full spectrum, really.. as though his particular brand of offense transcended ideology. He'd gone through his share of losses since leaving the Mid Rim; in truth, it was always the ones he let in closest who left the deepest absence. A familial curse, he wanted to believe. Easier, that way..

But the way the woman's body shifted told a different story. Her hands, mid sign, froze. The stutter was felt, then vanished altogether. A Force signature imploding like a dying star. The blonde knew that particular silence, didn't he; the kind that wasn't peace.. but the opposite, the moment a person stopped broadcasting themselves to the galaxy and simply.. ceased. A blade of grief, yes. But also, uncomfortably, a mirror. Years ago, there'd been many nights where he sank into that void of loneliness. Dark matter always accumulated invisibly. The consequences were extraordinary.

Everything in this shared room was registering before he could catch up; there was densing of the air, grief achieving more metaphysical mass that was tipping the threshold feeling and transforming into some gravitational field. It warped the space between them. There was no prior experience to file this under. A realm where emotion and matter entwined? Lysander could not say, even as everything shifted. That was why, her collapse, was beyond the physical; Efret's dissociation tugged at the fold's edges.. a rend in this fabric of space. Memories seeped from the former Jedi, another nameless mass whose presence he could feel, and not truly understand. But what he did know, was her mind was elsewhere now.. somewhere painful.

A Sith, yes.. but was that the whole of it? The label had never sat entirely flush against him, had it. A brother once.. still was, perhaps, in whatever atrophied form brotherhood took in someone like him. And this one here.. knowing his sister, carrying that particular weight of connection.. something tugged at a register embedded deep. Quieter than most Sith he was, and certainly ambitious.. still dangerous.. just differently arranged.

All those faces, memories, accumulated understanding.. Lysander let them guide him now. Who knew trying to stabilize someone could suddenly be so dangerous? At least, that would be the case had there been other eyes present. A death sentence before the Triumvirate, or what remained of that fractured trio. Knights would read the gesture and smell blood in it; even apprentices, the half-formed ones, might just take the invitation. Weakness, they'd call it. Though, to be fair.. he would let them try. Lacking the skill to back such a challenge would only make it suicide.

The floor shifted beneath him as he rose from where he'd been wrapped in solitude and moved to stand before her. A step away, he stopped.. to let her sense him, to find him in whatever way felt right. Then, carefully, like someone navigating through a fragile garden, arms came around her gently; an offer, nothing more. Whether Efret allowed it was hers to decide. Strange, wasn't it.. for all the formidable power the emissary wielded in the Dark, none of it knew the first thing about holding a person together at the place where grief carved its deepest marks into one's heart.

 

[Efret Farr]

Beyond her past, they might have seen similar weakness in Efret too.

It wasn't just perceived weakness that would have drawn Sith intent to kill to her, though.

If the only thought that drove their blades or lightening was that no one who couldn't fend for themselves deserved survival, then they would leave her to die, not expend their energy to kill her when the cosmic struggle to live would.

But deep beneath the maelstrom that shuddered through her body and mind, threatening to rend what her apart was a calm sea of potential.

And that was well worth killing for. Even if they couldn't absorb her power-that-could-be, it was better at least that that she didn't have it, that someone who knew how to unlock and use it did.

There was no true indication of how powerful she would be as a Sith if she gave herself over fully to the Dark side, but she had been a Jedi Master. The way that the Force rippled within her betrayed her decades of learning. She would not be a blank slate. Though in some ways, that might pose challenges, while, in others, a boon: not her familiarity with the Light, of course, but her extensive foundation of knowledge and discipline.

Lysander's approaching shadow cast over the floor, deepening its shade of tan to her. His footfalls vibrated through the floor as soft and mindful as they were. She turned her eyes up to him after hesitating only for a moment. When he moved to hug her, her shoulders slumped in slow motion out of an unsteady relief rather than discomfort or fear. Her hands floated again, wrapping gently around him in silent gratitude.

She felt the pieces of herself pull back together under his grasp. Maybe he could too. Her aura was certainly still shattered—the enumerable fault lines could be traced like tactile map—but she was in one place again.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Efret Farr​

Lysander felt the shift into his arms, a tide finding the shore. Around them, the fold exhaled.. a vibrating sigh, warped edges of space recalibrating. The pressure drop was audible in a unique way to him, new really, a frequency beneath frequency. Perhaps, it was the hum of Efret's aura knitting itself back together beneath his fingers. Glowing cracks in cooling obsidian. Strange, all of it.. and yet not unwelcome. Beneath the resonance, memories of pain still registered like fault lines that hadn't fully closed. Could they be explored? Probably. But.. that had never been his way. And besides.. he already knew enough.

Each slow exhale was meant to say I am here. A brother's instinct. And that was when Corazona von Ascania 's voice surfaced somewhere in the back of his mind. For all the influence he carried, her counsel, at times.. still outranked his own. Surely the other blonde would have known exactly what to offer.. something to make cruelty feel less permanent? You're alright. Stay with me. Something simple and true.. all of it entirely beyond him right in the current moment. Lips parted around the shape of something before retreating.

But beneath the brother was the tactical emissary at work too. Because both of them existed inside a culture that would only see stillness as an invitation of sorts. Asses.. locate strength. Plan egress. All of it arrived naturally. The fold had calmed, yes.. but that was not the same as stable. Which also meant unsafe. Maybe there was somewhere deeper in this shared space that wouldn't pull so hard, if he could only find it.

So he tried something smaller first. The embrace loosened by a fraction, and his hand migrated from back to her forearm. Breath slowed next, deepened until it was less function and more a transmission. A fraction lower, and warmth might've grazed her temple from breath. Somewhere in his chest, a decision assembled. Lysander's body angled a few more degrees.

"Efret.." The name offered as vibration more than sound, or so he believed.

"We could move somewhere else. I can guide you there, if you want."

He suspected there would be conversations waiting for them on the other side of this, hard ones, if she truly intended to root herself in the Covenant. From experience, few found that transition gentle. Whether they spoke here in the Force space or with real ground beneath them somewhere, he would do what he could.

 

[Efret Farr]

As she felt him begin to pull away, she moved too. First, her gaze met his. Its hazel was as light in color as it had been at the beginning of their encounter, but something in the hue strained beyond visual perception. It was like a possibility, perhaps a promise, that steam from the emotions simmering much more quietly in her chest now would eventually reach her eyes.

Then, she pulled back just enough to allow for some extra space when she rose a fist between them. She nodded it up and down. "Yes," the synthesized speech came a breath after the gesture had begun. "Please."

She gravitated to Lysander's side. One arm of hers snaked under his. Her other hand secured the link as she began to walk with him wherever he guided her.

A very strange trust possessed her to put herself in an even more vulnerable position.

She withdrew her linked hand to sign one-handed. "I'm not just Deaf. I'm also blind," she confided. "I...I have been told that someone like me can't survive among Sith." Her eyes sought his again. "Your people's laws imitate nature, right?" Without unwinding her arm from his, she leaned a bit closer momentarily to connect both of her hands for a specific sign. When she withdrew, a thoughtful look crossed her expressive face. "I suppose the Jedi's do too, but the difference is your predation to our..." She couldn't bring herself to separate herself from the Jedi, even considering all that she had already done to arrive her. Trailing off, she searched of the word. "...symbiosis.

"The strong survive. The weak must die, to supply food—" This time, she cut herself off. The sudden silence from her vocoder reverberated in the steam tunnel. A flush rose to dust over her cheeks. "Not-not that I think all Sith are cannibals. I-I just meant—I'm very sorry." She paused again, placing her free hand flat on the side of Lysander's shoulder in apology.

Her hand floated back into the air in front of him. She tried again. "The weak die to make resources available for the strong. Enlighten me if my understanding is crude."

The ethnographer in her wanted to truly understand, or else get as close to the truth as she could, but she humbled herself with more than professionalism.

Her truth was quiet and still, waiting in her bated breath for his answer. Her desire was personal; she wanted to know if she could possibly ever really have a place here.

"Suppose a sentient in...an unidealized body possesses much power, and they know how to use it, but..."

The specific words she had strung together in her mind's eye stuck in her fingers like blood clots. They didn't come. Maybe that was a blessing. She took a few moments to rearrange her thoughts.

"I'm also scared of not belonging here, not just because of who I am but because of how I am." Her gaze pulled away, another shame plain on her face. "And I don't know if I really want to belong here. I simply feel like it's the only option I can bear. Because I can't bear to be alone anymore."

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Efret Farr
​

What unfolded between them was a slow shift, an internal tide barely held at bay.. by sheer will. Lysander recognized her determination against the upheaval; the same resonated within him, as he believed it to be a mirrored effort. Navigating this metaphysical landscape was like walking on narrow ridge, which demanded nothing less than cautious steps. Perhaps remaining true to himself, he always found ways to practice gratitude. So, with that came recognition that fate spared her this encounter from the hands of other Sith.. other monstrous entities he'd been known to command.

His own hand stirred at Efret's, the catch of fingers tightening, a promise in this moment of uncertainty. Without breaking grip, he began shifting, and guiding her toward the tunnel's mouth ahead, which was half swallowed by shadows. The passageways, to him, were more than corridors.. they were like thresholds between one world and another.

Strides slowed, matching her pace, mindful of their shared trajectory. The signing hand drew a glance, and that instinct that was both vigilant and protective washed over him once more. Korriban came to mind, and his time at the Kor'ethyr Academy. A different world and different version of himself to be sure. An acolyte then, and somehow the elder brother to all of them regardless. Some things, mayhaps, never changed. There were certainly worse things to be..

For a time, all the younger Sith could offer was but a steady presence while articulating the margins of fear that clung to her words.

Inwardly, the blonde still wrestled with such a confession. There was a fragile balance between strength and survival she painted; this was not the kind of thing one set aside. Whether the Order or the Covenant, it mattered not. Hierarchies were different, but nature's cruel rhythms echoed similarity. Even if he chose to reflect on differences, it didn't change the fact that their paths were the same. But parallel paths did not always mean the same destination.

Where she saw ruthless predation, he had an alternate perspective that recognized a form of 'harmony'.. even if that so-called harmony was so often forged in hardship and imprints of bloodshed. In truth, this unfolding ordeal might've even been just another test revealing itself.. a trial of understanding.

The silhouette of the tunnels sharpened, and Lysander gait adopted the instinctive wariness of one who sees more than what is visible. Always see more than meets the eye.. because that was the lesson of every ambush. Then, he eased to a halt, pivoting until his lithe frame faced her fully. But not before his hand cupped her elbow, guiding her turn with care, so she could face him.

Behind him was the outline of the "bantha" she'd named earlier.. hovering like a shadow he dared to eclipse.

His mind moved like a tactician assessing terrain; he was committed to navigating this tangled wilderness, whatever it may be. After all, he was the face of the Covenant, their emissary, for a reason. "Efret," spoken softly, then followed by a gentle pause. "You're absolutely right that many shrink from those that cannot read with common sense." Unfortunately, there were many.

Both hands gently curved around one of hers, enveloping with a protective embrace, palms cradling to create a warm sanctuary; reassurance without words was his specialty. "But many of our laws are forged through purpose. We honor strength, yes, but we honor mastery of one's own fate even more." The truest tribute for any sentient being. "Predators and prey exist in a balance. A hunter who slaughters heedlessly falls with an empty belly, no? And a pack without hunters is devoured by its own weakness."

He inhaled the humid air. "No more apologies.. please. Your questions carry no offense." A mind that didn't want to settle for easy answers was worth respecting. "Strength is more than some force to be wielded. For me, it is the discipline to protect what matters.. my comrades, my values. I'd rather share strategy and risk, so that my whole team endures. That is how our Covenant grows."

A light pressure transmitted through his grasp. "You do belong. Whatever form you take, whatever senses you trust, you have a place here.. alongside me, and the others who will see you for who you are." There would be ample time to prove their merit, a thought for another day.

One corner of his mouth hooked into a half smile. "You're under my watch now. I don't let my own walk alone. Whatever decides to stalk you.. it'll have to get through me first."

 

[Efret Farr]

Behind him was the outline of the "bantha" she'd named earlier.. hovering like a shadow he dared to eclipse.

She stepped back just slightly, pulling her elbow from his grasp not harshly but still urgently. It had been a metaphor to her before this moment; she hadn't ever actual seen it before. Maybe her fears were spilling into the Force and coming to the reality that it showed her.

Her eyes flicked back to him from studying the air over his shoulder. Their hazel seemed just a shade darker now, either a subtle internal change or a consequence of the tunnel's shadows they had been moving towards.

Lysander reached back out, hands grasping over hers. He might not have meant to silence her, but it did that effectively, and made her listen to him in entirety before even thinking of a response. A few moments stretched on after he finished as she compiled her thoughts.

His philosophy reminded her of the Tunroth Hunters'. Her last ethnographic emersion was on Jiroch-Reslia. In just a year and a half with them, she had attained their organization's nineteenth level: chirlan. Tracking and killing prey were not just acts that kept their tribes fed and safe; they also provided them spiritual satisfaction—a sense of balance and purpose among the seemingly senseless horror of nature. For that reason, they refused to be senseless back to it. Greed for meat and trophies and honor, as well as violence for the sake of it, was punished harshly. A Hunter's title could be stripped regardless of their prowess. They could be exiled, or even ritualistically killed.

The Hall of Predation was their most sacred site, home to ancient and more modern belongings of their greatest Hunter ancestors.

Another memory came over her, not a flashing visual but an impression of the past.

With that, she led Connel to the table on which Kifaayatu's belongings were laid. She pointed out the things they were to take, then carefully transferred them into his pack with his help. As they worked, she couldn't help but feel some of his emotional conflict—partially because she was an Empath but partially because she was experiencing it too. Even though the Tunroth were giving them both permission to take these important artifacts away, the actions their bodies were going through to make it happen felt very wrong.​

She slipped her hands free of Lysander's. Again, she stepped back, shaking her head. The bantha that she could see but he could not still towered over him. "Don't promise me that," she said slowly, the monotonous voice of her vocoder echoing off the walls around them. Her emotional state tilted on its fulcrum again, what had been ironic trust slipping back into despair, though it wasn't coming apart at the seams anymore. "I was living in a den of thieves for so long. At the end, I was the worst one. I stole, I enabled others to steal. Sith artifacts, but objects from other cultures too." Her signs grew larger and even more precise, punctuated and frustrated, though not at him.

Well.

Maybe at him, but more so at herself.

"When it started to feel wrong, I didn't say anything. I didn't stop. I didn't tell them to stop." She pointed down the hall in the direction they had come. "That vault held years worth of my sins."

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Efret Farr​

As she pulled back, no pursuit emerged. For all his darkness, perhaps there was a lone filament of compassion still glowing within some corner.. repurposed to understanding, if nothing else. The tactician in him believed he left enough leash to watch which path she'd choose. Truth would always emerge on its own terms..

A gentle hiss escaped through flared nostrils, cold as winter's breath. Patience, he reminded himself.. anger would only destroy what trust she'd managed to offer. Whereas many Sith burned, any of Lysander's 'fury' was frozen. If anger did lurk anywhere, it was certainly a patient observer.

Both hands were tossed up in an open palmed protest. "Alright. So you were a thief." Silence pressed in. "You think that's a confession I haven't heard before? You think the people who built half of what's in that vault weren't stealing from someone?" He tilted his head. "Sith have been scavenging the galaxy's guts before either of us were born, Efret."

Quiet reclaimed the Force space they shared before his voice became a confidential murmur. "At least you knew when it felt wrong, yes? That's the part you're not giving yourself credit for. Most sentients on this journey eventually become desensitized. You didn't. You just.." a hint of tension, ".. didn't know what to do with it." It was clear she was giving herself no ground to stand on. "I've done my part to prop up tyrants, remaining silent when a word might've broken something beyond repair. I've fractured bonds that I never learned to fix."

No apology would color his words. "That's just my record.. not a plea for forgiveness. You are far from alone in your guilt." Sometimes, a confused heart needed the simplest questions. "I won't guess what you need. That's on you to say. So, what's next? What do you want from me?"

Something under the emissary's mask shifted. He wasn't supposed to care whether she stayed or not, but for reasons that began irritating him, he did. "I'm not going anywhere, damn it. So stop talking like I am."

 

[Efret Farr]

She felt the shift in the Force and the micro shifts in his face.

"I want you to know," she began, her signs still enlarged, still frustrated. "I want you to understand who stands in front of you asking to be reforged."

The shadows pulled her one more step backwards. The heel of her boot hadn't set itself flat of the floor before she walked back towards Lysander, regaining the entire length of ground her had given up. She took a soft and steady breath. Emotional and physical tension drained from, her body. When she signed again, her movements were calm. "I don't want to trick you.

"Perhaps your promise is absolute," she mused on his commitment not to leave her alone. Her dominant hand fisted and began floating up to rub a hole on her chest, until she remembered that he had told her not to apologize anymore. Instead, her palm bloomed open again and she signed something else instead. "I'm not used to that."

She should have been in this context. For as much as the Jedi preached unconditional compassion, and even loyalty, Efret had eventually uncovered their conditions for both.

And they broke her heart.

Her head tilted to the side subtly. The gratitude held in her small smile shouldn't have been able to fit, yet it did. "I didn't expect this kindness." A short pause elapsed as she reached out to take Lysander's hands. If successful, she swiped her thumbs gently over the backs of his palm a few times before withdrawing; if not, she recoiled her arms anyway. "I want to prepare you for the battle ahead for both of us. I've betrayed both the Jedi and the Sith. You need to know the details."

Efret hadn't educated herself about the Covenant during her time on the Council, devoting all her time and energy to tracking down artifacts in the war's southern theater. So she wasn't aware of Lysander's role as emissary, his extensive experience with politics, but she was savvy enough to realize the gravity of the situation they were getting themselves into.

Establishing a former Jedi Master and Councilwoman into the Sith Covenant would be beyond challenging. If he was determined to help her with her transition, the least she could do was show him her hand, to spare him any surprises.

Lysander von Ascania​