Sinner's Well [ Srina ]

[Malok]

S I N N E R ‘ S​

W E L L​

She had been sent away.

And not once had the Echani questioned: Why?

With increasing frequency had the Sith dispatched his Apprentice on glorified fetch-quests. Meet with a delegation here, retrieve an artifact there - things that could easily be accomplished by sending a cadre of Droids in his stead. Yet, as with most things, there was a method to Darth Metus’ madness. Ever since entering his life, he had been in a state of perpetual hesitation. Although his name alone denoted his alignment, there was just something about [member="Srina Talon"]. Something that he did not want to erode or destroy by exposing her to the Abyss. And so, whenever it came time to stare into the Black, he would send his apprentice away.

He would spare her the corruption.

This day was much like any other in that regard. As tensions grew with the Galactic Empire, the Sith thought it necessary to forge for himself a suitable form of protection. Beskar’gam was - as of his exile - out of the question. He would need to devise something new. Something vicious. Something that could provide an unconventional edge over legions of Stormtroopers and their Imperial Mission. Thus had he told Srina Talon to venture forth into the markets of Ryloth to check on the people...Thus had he descended into the namesake of his Fortress. Within his private quarters, there was a passage. One hidden in plain sight.

The second desk in his room was, simply, not a desk. It was an illusion. A mirage forged entirely by the Force to veil the stairwell from view. What everyone would see is a mahogany workstation pushed against a stone wall - but Darth Metus would simply see the entrance to the Well of his Sins. Descent into this space would bring a sensation of cold, for the presence of the Dark Side would be chilling to the bone. All illusions of modernity were abandoned with every step - conventional lighting fixtures were replaced with torches the further down the stairs one journeyed.

All culminating with a rough-hewn space that was excessively hot.

An Old World forge awaited the eyes of whomever was bold enough to venture down the stairwell. And, at a glance, it varied minimally from what a traditional smithy would look like. However, the differences were...jarring in nature. Alongside the sacks of coal and hung tools were cages. Occupied cages. Some possessed monstrosities - Sithspawn and other fauna that would be broken down into artifacts or armor. Some were empty. Yet one. One was occupied by a single, human male. He was chained, gagged, and sobbing - terror rolled off him in waves. And the one responsible for his sordid state of being casually sprinkled prepatory salts upon the Forge.

This man knew his fate was imminent. He was not leaving the Forge alive - not if Darth Metus had anything to say about it.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina handed her cloak to one of the attendant droids that greeted her in the foyer of Sinner’s Well. Her expression was light, unclouded, and touched with a blush of excitement from running her speeder throughout the wildlands of Ryloth. Darth Metus had requested that she take stock of the people in some of the nearby cities to ensure their well-being. For the most part, everything seemed to be going smoothly, despite tensions heating up with the Galactic Empire. Trade was up. Crime was surprisingly down. It was a task that could have easily been completed by someone beneath her standing but the young apprentice had long since accepted her Master’s tendency to send her out on the strangest of hunter-gatherer missions.

Personally, she just assumed that he needed a little space. They were always together, unless some sort of Confederacy business, or a personal matter, drew them apart. It was mid to late afternoon and she’d departed not long after breakfast. It had been mere hours and she already missed him. The silver eyed woman moved through the halls of her Master’s home with familiarity, first choosing to visit her quarters, so she could change and shower. She was covered in dust and dirt and felt a little sticky from the heat.

When she emerged from her rooms a little over an hour later, droids scurried past, and immediately collected her soiled garments and set about to cleaning her already pristine living space. It seemed as if they were desperate for something to do and the pale-skinned woman simply chuckled to herself and allowed it. The attendant droids were the only ones that truly got on her nerves. They loved trying to dress her, like a doll, and seemed almost offended when she tried to decline. Often, she found that her wardrobe had been either plundered or added to without her consent.

At least they had the good sense not to touch her armor or weapons without permission.

The faintly sweet scent of plumeria and sandalwood incense teased her nose as she felt through the Force for her Master. He was here, somewhere in this vast fortress he called a home, and Srina could feel herself relax in his presence. Her white-gold hair had been left free, unbraided, and it fell down her back in rolling waves of liquid moonlight. Her clothing was less plain than she would have liked, but fit enough, for spending an evening in, where delegates and possibly members of Viceroyalty may call. One day, the droids would understand the notion of practicality over shiny.

In her arm, she carried a little bag of treats that she’d secured from the marketplace. There was some sort of candied nuts along with long, thin, sticks of sugar crystals that had been grown together. The vendor had called it sweet rocks and while Srina’s sweet tooth was not as evolved as her Master’s she still thought it enjoyable enough to bring him home a few. He seemed to like things with a certain kind of crunch. Though, not as crunchy as her Namana cookies, as it turned out.

“Master?”, she questioned sweetly, knocking politely on the doors to his bedchambers, a little surprised, when it whooshed open of its own accord. Srina stepped inside, stockinged feet soundless, as curious eyes swept over the empty area. The bed was made—But the rest of the spacious room was filled with his usual organized chaos. The door to the refresher was open. The light was off. She couldn’t hear anything. “Master are you here?”

Still, she could feel him. The young woman set down the spoils from her city-adventure on the edge of the desk, still a little proud that she hadn’t been partially skewered this time, and crossed her arms. Her sense of awareness when it came to Darth Metus was never wrong. Out of all of the things she had gained an affinity for, locating her master, was possibly her most developed skill.

As she wandered toward the sunlit window she heard something. A whisper. At first, she passed it off as the breeze winding through the corridors but eventually, she realized that it was in the bedroom with her. Calling her. Before she could process what was happening, or even begin to resist the darkness, she found herself padding softly over to a mahogany workstation that she had seen a dozen times before. Her skin tingled as she stepped through it.

Through, what appeared to be solid wood, and stone. Silvered eyes trailed along a dimly lit staircase that circled down. It wasn’t dirty, as the solid blocks of rock seemed fresh cut, but the walls had a layer of something over them. Grime? Or was it soot? She could hear things that she hadn’t heard before, the workings of simple machinery, animalistic noises, and almost human misery. The Echani lifted the material of her dress and descended down into what felt like a portal to the netherworld. It ate at her core. Stealing away the warmth of Ryloth from her skin, robbing her of light, leaving a cold pit of irrational fear in her stomach.

The voices kept calling her. Taunting her. They wanted her to follow. Why? The further down she went the closer she felt to her Master. Her heart beat in the cage of her chest erratically, like the wings of a terrified bird, and she could do little more than lay her free hand over it, as if she could coax it to stillness. A wave of heat splashed against her body like a wall…But it didn’t warm her. No, not when everything in this place seemed designed to chill her to the core.

Srina saw tools first. Hanging neatly. Then animals. Creatures, plants, and things she couldn’t describe.

Then she saw a man. In a cage—Chained and gagged. Raw with fear and terror.

Silvered eyes lingered on the prisoner as something unnamable slipped into her mind. Into her heart. She could hear someone moving. Her head turned, slow, as if time had stilled, and she lay eyes to her Master. He worked around the forge as easily as a culinary droid made its way around a kitchen. Tenderness and horror crashed together in her being as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. This was her Master. She could feel him, she knew him, as well as she knew the back of her own hand.

Or at least she thought she had.

`What. Is. This.`​

She spoke to Darth Metus telepathically because she did not trust the stability of her own voice. Her hands began to shake from the physical effort it took to hold back the Force that she felt welling inside her. It reacted explosively, unstable, and with little regard for those in its way. Bit by bit Srina seemed to turn to ice. He would recognize her expression from the battlefield. Her mind closed itself off to the man who had taught her how, becoming a steel trap, save for the almost agonized voice that would echo in his cranium.

Srina felt a number of things. Deceived and betrayed were the least of it.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Darth Metus was usually better about this.

The bond he shared with [member="Srina Talon"] was one that had been intimately cultivated as of late. Whenever she was nearby, even if it were on the far side of the Fortress, he could feel her presence. She was much akin to a cool breeze in the midst of a sweltering afternoon, sweeping across the reality that was his lifetime. And, much akin to a child hearing its mother returning early from the store, took this as a sign to return things to “normal.” All aspirations or projects were, immediately, suspended and the glamour placed upon the stairwell would be magnified. Every effort to veil his Forge was always taken.

But today, something was different.

Today, there were whispers at the fringes of his mind. Whispers which compelled him to place undue focus upon preparing his Forge. And, as a man who had spent decades a slave to the craft, the Sith raised no alarm at the sensation. He, as he had practiced so many times before, pinched and sprinkled the prepatory salts upon the cherry red coals of the Forge. The next step, from here, was to increase the heat...but Darth Metus would never get the opportunity. For, just as the salt had run dry in his hand, the breeze of his Apprentice swept across the Forge.

Never before had such a chill characterized the sweltering room.

Never before had the bowl of salts dropped from the Sith’s hand. Its ceramic form slammed into the edge of the Forge, cracking and bursting apart immediately. Its contents spilled across the floor; but this was secondary to the Sith. No, tertiary. No, it was not even on the list of things that his mind placed attention to. He could feel her confusion...the hurt...the betrayal...and then nothing. All that remained were the three words which lingered in his psyche: her angry inquiry as to what laid before her eyes. At face value, only one thing was corrupt about this setup. The act of hiding a Forge was not a sin. Caging exotic creatures was not a Sin. But the weeping man now looked upon Srina as his savior and began to aim muffled cries in her direction.

Darth Metus turned to face her. His eyes would appear all the more sulfuric against the dim light of the Forge. He parted his lips, suddenly feeling as if his tongue had become a desert. His mind raced, his heart slammed against his chest...there were no excuses that he could muster, no half-truths that could ever excuse what she witnessed. The time had come. To be honest...to show her the edge that he stood before.

”This...is Alchemy.” he began, truthfully. He then indicated the man pleading for his life behind a gag. ”And this is a man who was guilty of Slavery. A man who was sentenced to the most vile of Cairyn’s pits. Here, he will be granted a quick death, as opposed to being eviscerated by wild beasts.”

His nostrils flared as he drew a breath. Although she had closed him off...although she her disgust had caused her to abandon him...she would be able to feel the conflict rolling forth from her master. The pride of an Alchemist and the man who never wanted to disappoint his Srina were waging a bitter war. He couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. ”I...I didn’t want you to see this, I didn’t know how to tell you.” he said, steadying himself against the edge of the Forge. ”This is how I prepare for war...This is how I create the weapons I told you about. There is...nothing good or...or even Light about doing this. And I…”

He sucked in a breath.

”I can show this to Mirvak without batting an eye. To Er’in. To even Akabane. But you. There’s something in you I can’t bear to snuff out. Something so…pure that I send you far, far away from this each and every time. But this...this is how I liberated Hutt Space from the Black Suns, decades ago. This is what gave me the power to come back from Mandalore. This...With the Empire at our door, with everything as it is now...This is how I prepare.”

His lips moved, as if to say more...but there was nothing else he could think to say.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

The sound of shattering ceramic broke the silence that had fallen over the Force. The humanoid creature that was bound and gagged stilled when he saw her, shouting muffled cries around his restraints, trying to dredge up any sort of compassion in the unnatural beauty. Silvered eyes that lay to Darth Metus were otherworldly, bottomless lakes of liquid mercury, which seemed to hold thoughts that would take her right off the edge of the world. With her mind closed off the dreadlocked man before her would feel only empty space. Where there had once been an ever present sense of tenderness, affection, and loyalty lay only a frigid nothingness.

It would dawn on him eventually that she was guarding herself, not punishing him. It pained her to weaken the openness that had always lay between them. Once before, temporarily, in regards to his daughter she had hidden her thoughts…But it was out of confusion. Not a notion to deceive him. Now, it was necessary, to do the one thing she’d never thought would be required.

Srina had to protect herself from him.

She inhaled sharply, blinking hard, to force back any salted water that pooled in her eyes. Instead she let her anger burn and fester until she could feel it no more. The emotion came and went in the blink of an eye. By the time he began to speak he would be met with cold indifference. The Echani could give this man, her Master, her friend, her family, nothing more and nothing less. “Will he?”, she responded, voice carrying through the Forge unwanted and untamed, like a crystal bell. “How long have you been keeping him here? Taking power from his terror? Using his fear?”

“Cairyn.”, Srina almost spat, silver eyes flashing, almost glowing in the gloom, “Should have been taught to heel long ago. Making a spectacle of death only encourages more violent behavior. His instability should not be permitted to flourish with the mantle of a legal murderer.”

No. The name of the game master of the CIS that would not win Darth Metus any favors. Giving a mad child such freedom, such power, under a banner designed to protect the rights of their citizens was absolute hypocrisy. Her Master would have never heard such a tone from her before, not in regards to battle, and certainly not in regards to his decisions. The volume was even. The pitch, was even. Yet there was something beneath it all that seemed like a towering wave that might come crashing down at any moment.

His conflict burned her. It was not disgust that drove her to distance, but distrust, and wariness. He couldn’t seem to look her in the eye, and for now, even as he accepted responsibility, she thought it for the best. To see him like this broke her. To know that he’d been hiding such darkness and secrets beneath the place that she called HOME left her feeling raw. Perhaps, she had been foolish to think that she was truly welcome in the life of the Sith Lord. The Force had drawn them together. Perhaps, they were not meant to stay that way.

When Darth Metus mentioned the names of his other apprentices, she barely hid a flinch, her jaw tightening. It was dizzying to realize that every time he’d sent her on some frivolous errand that she had trusted him enough to complete, without question, this was the activity he’d chosen in her absence. He referred to her as pure and her eyes went flat, the air lost from her lungs, the mention of Mandalore lighting pain anew beneath her breastbone. Did he believe that invoking the memory of his death would soften her? Would calm her? No, if anything it incensed her. The rage, agony, and helplessness she’d endured in that vision would never leave her. Never. She could never un-see his flesh pulling back from bone as it melted away. She could never forget the loss of him.

The very mention of it was a cruel stab in the heart that left her hollowed out.

“The others…You trust them…But not me? Er’in, Mirvak, and Akabane…They have your faith but I do not?”, she questioned slowly, her voice almost normal, save for the accusatory tension. Slowly, her stockinged feet took her closer to him, mindless of the broken bowl on the floor, forgetful of the glass that would dig into her flesh. “Am I so worthless? So weak-willed?”

The soft cloth of her gown rippled as she stopped walking when their forms were mere centimeters apart. Her hand rose, pale as the dawn, and rest lightly against his cheek. Silvered eyes pulled his gaze toward her, locking him in place, as they drank the sight of him down. As if she did not recognize the soul reflected back at her from deep sulfuric depths. “The choice between life and death is simple. Everyone dies. If the wretched life of one can spare the lives of many...If you say that this man deserves death, I believe you…”

Her gentle touch remained, a light caress that would hold his attention, almost as much as her nearing body would be. When her voice came next, it was that of nuclear winter, empty, and without mercy. “You buried this blackness beneath the place we sleep. Beneath your refuge. You pull every secret from me the way a healer draws poison from a wound and yet you have been keeping your own. I was happy, to entrust you with my thoughts, fears, things that I would share with no other.”

“Because I trusted you. You willingly sent me away to execute and sacrifice sentient beings in our home. Omission is a lie Darth Metus. You have lied to me. Over, and over. You will never trick me again.”

Srina slipped away, all at once, despite every fiber of her being crying out against it. Her hand moved to the side and the Force collided angrily with the cages on the wall. It was a crushing blow, where her eyes were not quite their normal shade, a tinge of yellow-gold twining in her iris, and the attack left the prisoner with a snapped neck.

“Antai kash tu'iea aukotis.” [There is your sacrifice.]​

Her words were not basic and she didn’t notice. The language of the Sith was not something she innately knew, nor had any reason to say, but it fell from her silvered tongue like water. It was cold, so cold that it burned, and a dark sensation would follow her as she turned toward the staircase to leave.

She could not stay in this hell any longer.

 

[Malok]

Why…

Where once there was the comfort of a summer’s day...the comfort that came in the presence of Srina...there was only cold. A vast nothing where once her joys and thoughts flowed free. An abyss that tugged and clawed at the core of the Sith Lord. In those moments, a single question danced within the void where she belonged. A nagging, vicious question that only made the sting of her closure all the more painful. He had caused her this pain...he had caused this emptiness…Why?

Why did he hesitate so?

The question nipped at his heels as the young woman responded to his answer. The coldness of her tone matched the winter of her departure. What Darth Metus felt without her mind open to his touch also laced every word she spat back as a response. First, there was the question of the man. A moral question that challenged his justification for bringing the slaver into their home to begin with. ”For only as long as you have been away.” he breathed, knowing that there was no answer in the Galaxy that smooth away her frustration. What’s more, his mention of the Gamemaster did nothing but agitate her further. Though her tone was as even as ever, the cold was there. The metaphorical jab of the finger was there. To this, no answer was given.

But what hurt the most was feeling the crack in her heart. Worthless. Weak-Willed. Words that he would never associate with Srina now fell from her lips. Betrayal burned within her silver eyes. And though she had stepped closer, she never felt further away. Her hand graced his cheek, as it had so many countless times before...but there was no comfort to be found in that moment. Darth Metus felt rooted to the spot; felt winter staring back into depths of sulfur. Felt the merciless cold that demanded he never trick her again.

But when she turned away, he finally felt something. It was not the comforting presence of her mind. No...It was...it felt the same as when Er’in had unleashed herself upon Dagobah. It felt the same as when Mirvak had destroyed his oppressors. He could feel the Darkness within her. And, as if to confirm the black boiling underneath her skin, the language of the Sith slithered from her mouth. The slaver met an abrupt end - executed by the whim of her Betrayal in the blink of an eye.

And Srina attempted to stay no longer. She took one step…

Why.

And another.

Why.

And another.

Why.

But as she reached the base of the stairwell, she would find that the ability to proceed had been impeded. Her Master - the man who had been silent as she laid the feeling of her betrayal bare - rose a hand to prevent her from leaving. The weight of telekinetics fell upon her body, a meager sum in comparison to those used during their training exercise. A paltry sum, so much so that she could have easily brushed it away and kept walking. But...He hoped it was enough to have her stay. To have her listen, just for a moment.

”Srina.” he breathed.

His form pushed off of the edge of the Forge. ”You are not Weak. You are not Worthless.” he began, moving so that he might physically obstruct her path. ”You were spared exposure to this because I am selfish. Because you, as you are, have become precious to me beyond words. And I did not want to destroy what I have to come to love by casting you into the Abyss.” Even now, he dared not meet her gaze. ”The others...they have already Fallen. They already live within the same shadow as I - but you, the Srina I have come to love can be twisted and torn away by the Darkness.”

He reached out, matching what she had done previously. His hand graced the side of her cheek...and in that moment, he witnessed the taint of the Darkness upon her eyes. A sigh escaped him. ”I will never lie to you again. Never deceive you again, especially not for my own shortcomings. I never sought to betray your trust, or to diminish the bond we share. Forgive me and I will spend my every day and night making this right.” He paused for a moment, gingerly allowing his hand to fall away from her face.

And if she chose to walk away, at this point, he would not stop her - no matter how much it hurt.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

“As if that makes a difference. Even the span of a breath is too long.”

It wasn’t often that the pale Echani let her emotions bubble to the surface. Some suspected, likely from her general decorum and etiquette, that she barely felt anything at all. In truth, she felt more than they would ever know, only, she excelled at burying what she perceived gave her weakness. Unfortunately for Darth Metus, he seemed to be one of the few things capable of triggering her sentiment, bringing her darkest feelings on display, despite her aversion to it. Be it through a vision or otherwise, he evoked everything she had been trained, for at least half a decade to deny.

‘Acknowledge your feelings. Witness it. Allow it. Release it. Do not become it.’​

Srina could remember the lessons from her tutors on Eshan as if they were standing right next to her, whispering in her ear, guiding her into stone-cold indifference. Yet, with her heart thudding wildly in her chest, blood rushing in her ears as it rarely did, she found it difficult. Metus had been a constant fixture in her life, in her very mind, for quite some time. He knew how she worked. How she felt. Which also meant that he knew her well enough to know that his deception would break her taciturn heart. It did not crack, did not chip, it wholly shattered. Yet, he had kept her in the dark, misled her, and soaked the earth beneath their home in blood. In sacrifice.

When Srina let go of Metus, moving out of his proximity, she’d thought herself over the emotions that plagued her. She’d let him feel what he’d done—Let him understand that actions had consequences. Typically, expressing herself, however distantly, was enough. The well-mannered woman did not get into screaming matches and she certainly didn’t get aggressive unless she intended to kill. This was different. Where she swallowed the pain and feelings of inadequacy it didn’t pass through her like it usually did. Emotion remained, burning and building, too much pressure, in too little space.

Something had to give. In the end, it was the Force, and crushing power exuded from her with a ferocity that almost felt natural. It felt normal. Good.

Silver eyes threaded with glowing gold snapped furiously toward Darth Metus when he halted her departure. At first, her gaze seemed almost animalistic, like that of a predator, before her head tilted to the side. His hold was easily broken but the damage was done. He spoke her name and the white-haired woman telekinetically shoved him back. Not hard but hard enough that he should know to keep his distance. “Do not touch me.”

Not with the Force—and certainly not physically. He had more than lost that privilege.

Still, he advanced, putting himself between her and the exit. In her opinion, it was a bad move. If he didn’t let her leave through the already existing doorway, she would make one. Srina didn’t respond to his claims of her value but something deep down bade her to listen. She couldn’t tell if it was the bond that the Force had created between them or her own wants bleeding through a haze of betrayal born cynicism. He was the one she went to when she woke in the middle of the night, disturbed by a vision, or an equally terrifying dream. He was the one she sought out for comfort when the night got a little too dark. Now, it was misery, wanting to go to him—but fearing he was no longer her haven.

What else was he keeping from her out of fear that she wouldn’t be able to handle it?

His explanation caused her jaw to tighten. The earnest words chipped away at her defenses bit by bit. She desperately wanted to believe him—But could she really? Truly? Srina could not understand his reasoning. The light could be just as brutal and vicious as the dark. Aside from this incident, she had rarely questioned anything to do with her Master’s path. He was strong. That was all she aspired to be. He reached out to her and the young woman flinched from the familiarity of the sensation. It felt both very right and very wrong. His feelings carried with or without his presence in her mind, and despite her warning, the well of affection that flowed between them cooled her fire.

Pale eyelashes fluttered against equally pale cheeks as lavender lids slid closed over dual-colored eyes. He asked for forgiveness and all but promised never to lie to her again. Srina couldn’t help but lean into his warmth, but caught herself, just as his hand fell away. When her eyes opened again they were pure silver. They touched with an edge of uncertainty, pain, as they rarely were. “Do I not belong with you?”

“You can’t intend for me to remain in the light while planting seeds of darkness beneath us. I felt the call. The whispers that led me past the illusion…” , she trailed off, attention turning to the cage, where the dead slaver now lay. Srina felt the death in an abstract fashion. It was the way he had died that struck her—not the loss of life. Breaking him had felt as easy as breathing. “I could feel the cold. I still do. I did not resist. I didn’t even try…Because somehow…I knew it would lead me to you.”

Srina fell silent. Her right arm crossed over her stomach to hold the other as she tried to resist the urge to wrap her arms around her Master. She felt shredded on the inside, raw, and bare. Any other day she would have taken strength in him. Now, she only had questions. Reservations and doubts.

“…You claim to care for me but you deceived me out of fear that I would change…”, she spoke slowly, trying to put her thoughts into words that could easily be understood. Still, her mind remained a vault, but at least her body had stopped trembling from holding back power. She was still distant but at the very least seemed to be attempting to see his point of view. It was difficult and the compulsion to hug him or hit him was rather strong. “…That is not love, as I was led to understand it. Love, even among family, does not hold conditions, and it cannot be so easily destroyed.”

“My people…When we love…We love with everything we have. We accept who the person was, who they are, and everything they will be. Change is inevitable even when the Force isn’t involved…This aversion you have to me becoming something different… Does it mean that you will abandon me one day if I am not the woman you once knew?”

Srina did not think she would be able to tolerate a world that he wasn't part of. The little Echani seemed strong, capable, and independent to anyone that crossed her...But that was because the Sith Lord had become her anchor. He kept her grounded and centered. Just the notion of his absence, just the thought of it, even in her anger, was a nightmare. She would be so lost without him. So very, very lost.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Does it mean you will abandon me one day...

The silence was deafening.

Although she spoke, the quiet of being shut away from her thoughts had shaken the Sith still. And thus, her words were as ice-forged daggers upon his chest. The hurt that was woven into every syllable, the betrayal which soured her eyes...all left Darth Metus feeling smaller than he ever had. And what's more, the truth of her understanding stung worse than anything. The Echani notion of love - to accept without condition - was a divine contrast to what he had spoken. How could he say that he loved her when the thought of her corruption made him hesitate to the point of deception? Did he truly love Srina Talon...or did he love the idea of her?

Why did he hesitate.

A long sigh escaped his lips.

Quiet befell him. Silence befell the Forge. And although only mere seconds passed after the Echani bore her feelings to her Master, it felt as though an eternity had begun to pass. Yet, finally, Darth Metus looked himself in the eye. He knew the reason why...and as he had admitted before, it was selfishness plain and simple. Srina, from the day they met, was a reflection of who he once was. They were cut from the same cloth, molded by the hands of warriors, and cast adrift in the Galaxy to fend for themselves. They were ignorant of the Force and looked upon it not as something to be worshipped. And thus, when Darth Metus spoke about the purity that was Srina Talon, he truly was referring to Isley Verd.

He was referring to the Mandalorian heritage that hated "his kind."

He was referring to those years of walking through the Galaxy, untouched by the providence or corruption of the Force.

He was referring to what had been...

"I am...so wrong." he began. The convoluted mess of thoughts began to be articulated. Slowly. "You belong with me, yes. And I care about you. Deeply. And I would never abandon you if you changed someday." He paused, opting to at least attempt to address the flurry of concern which was laid bare moments before. "In you...I see a gift. I did not seek you out - it was not my ambition that saw you become my apprentice. You are not my desire to see Hapan aristocracy brought under my influence. You are not desire for raw power. You are not my desire for the Fringe powers of the Galaxy to be mine..."

"You are a gift. Given to me by the Force itself. Guided to me, by dream and by vision, and so at the start I saw you as precious. And I saw so much of myself - of Isley Verd - inside you. And I hesitate because...having suffered and burned because of the power I wield, I feel like...I am killing myself by corrupting you. I feel like the little bit of myself that is still there - the shred of that glory drunk Mandalorian that didn't taste the corruption of Darkness - would be gone forever."

"And so, despite how much I care for you, I deceived you because I am flawed and I am selfish. But you are not my faults. And I will hesitate no longer - for you are not Isley Verd. You are not me, and I will never allow my own selfishness to come between you and I again."

"I will make this right Srina, I swear it."

And unlike the Echani, the Sith made no attempt to restrain his desire. His dominant arm gingerly wrapped around her waist in a meek embrace.

Isley Verd would die, once and for all.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina waited for her Master to respond, her heart wrapped in discomfort and confusion, while her body remained trapped in an unnatural stillness. If she breathed, the Sith Lord would not know it. The snow-kissed apprentice remained beautiful, as always, but there was an aching sadness in her core that heralded the beginnings of stark, cold, desolation. Her gaze grew distant as each heartbeat of silence passed. Unfocused.

Slowly she came to the conclusion that If she could remove herself from the rejection, she could avoid the pain, and therefore avoid the emptiness that threatened to reach through the floor of the Forge and swallow her whole. The flaxen-haired woman's fair countenance fell into an expression of otherness. Of eyes that saw things much too far away and thoughts that threatened to wander off the edge of the world. There, the response of Darth Metus could not wound her. Not any more than he already had.

The apprentice was not the Echani that she used to be, nor the woman, that she thought she would grow and become. No matter what Metus wanted…

She was something different entirely.​

Certainly not as together as she had expected, but somehow, more complete than she had ever imagined. She was softer than most of her kin, but from all the storms she’d weathered since leaving Eshan, somehow, she’d become stronger. She was in self-imposed exile…But she was also completely and wholly unapologetic about it. It was necessary. The fact that some of the Clans had forsaken her, wished her dead, or in captivity, had never injured her quite as deeply as this. Srina had found that in the end, she was as together as she needed to be, broken in all the right places…Until now.

Perhaps her edges were too sharp. Too cracked. Too shattered.

Was she not completely broken beyond repair if she felt utterly devastated by the indecisive selfishness of one man? If that wasn’t weakness, she had no other name for it.

When Darth Metus did begin to speak, she tensed. She caught herself as her shoulders grew tight and forced them to relax. Especially when he affirmed that she did indeed belong at his side and that he cared enough not to throw her to the wayside. She was quiet throughout, expression giving nothing away, though she listened intently. Slowly, ever so slowly, his honest words and self-reflection tore down the mental wall that she had raised. Brick by brick, he would feel her, all that she was, peeking through, like an early dawn.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, as if he could feel her secret wishes, and the small Echani remained solid. Ice. Her arms remained at her sides…However, she allowed it. With his vow to correct his mistakes in judgment ringing in her ears, the tiny warrior began to melt, and she slowly let his embrace consume her. Abnormally chilled fingers curled in the front of his clothing and her cheek turned so that her head could tuck itself beneath his chin. “Promise me that this is all there is…”

“That there are no more surprises in the floorboards of my closets.”

Whether she was teasing or not would be up for him to decide, but the request still remained, even as her mind brushed feather soft against his. Little wisps, little mental fingers, looking for his hand to hold. She still didn’t entirely understand what he had done—but she was beginning to understand why. “Everything changes, Master…”

“Even a moon has phases. When you look up at the night sky eve after eve…Do you think it any less lovely? Any less significant? Is it no longer the moon?”, she whispered, the soft bells of her voice almost lost against the wall of his chest. A shiver ran down her spine, and she suddenly felt exhausted, reminded that she was essentially barefoot and coming off of a full days ride. Srina let the meager weight of her form rest against him. Tired, aching, and still…Uncertain. Her actions had not only surprised Darth Metus. In mercy killing her master’s prisoner, she had very much so surprised herself, and it would take time for her to come to grips with the remnants of darkness that had slithered through her soul.

“…Can I not change too?”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Silence.

It was only in moments such as these that the young woman's heritage shone through - at least in the mind of the Sith. Although the sting of betrayal had colored each and every word that had reached his ears thus far, her expression remained still. Her silver eyes remained devoid of anything that Darth Metus could read. Thus did an offhand thought worm its way into the Sith's psyche, one that blamed the woman's exceptional bearing upon her warrior upbringing. However, when the relative quiet of the Forge was broken by his own admissions...

It was as if a chink had formed in her armor.

It was as if her walls had been breached.

It was...faint at first. Much akin to candle light across a vast distance. And yet, with each passing second - with each word uttered - Srina came back to him. The winter of her absence gradually gave rise to the spring of her presence. And Darth Metus embraced her, in more ways than one. Physically, his arm ensnared her waist in a gentle embrace...but his mind leapt in response to her presence. As if welcoming a long lost child home, his presence wrapped about her; forming a metaphysical sensation of warmth. To say that he was relieved...and happy...was an understatement.

Her fingers coiled into his shirt. Her cheek rested upon his chest. She was right where she belonged - and his embrace brought her in closer. His dominant hand gingerly ran down the length of her hair, as so often her would, as the chime of her voice reached his ears. He listened and was her solid, support when the fatigue of travel finally worked against her body.

"This is all there is." he said, with confidence. "Nothing is underneath your floorboards, I promise."

He paused.

"What can I say, Srini...when you're right, you're right."

A light chuckle escaped him at the thought of comparing the alabaster woman to the moon. There were certainly similarities aplenty - from the ivory light to the quiet beauty. As the comparison danced through his mind, he shuffled his feet ever so slightly - suddenly becoming aware of the light crunch of porcelain beneath them. Casting a glance down... "Srina, your feet." he breathed, concern alive in his tone. Having been so lost in their moment, treading across the broken bowl had left cuts upon the woman's feet. Enough so that the Sith could clearly make out moisture upon the pieces beneath her.

"I've got you."

He didn't ask permission. Rather, he simply adjusted his arms and bent his knees - attempting to scoop the woman into his arms. Assuming she did not bar his efforts, the Echani would find herself being hoisted up the stairs much akin to a princess of some kind. Wordlessly, the Sith would attempt to bring her up from the Forge and into the washroom of his quarters - within which she would be seated upon the counter. A kit of bandages would then be paramount on the Darth's list, for upon seating her down, he would begin rummaging through the cabinets in search of the tools to aide his wounded apprentice.

All the while, apologies consistently formed and fell from his lips.

He felt horrid for his betrayal. Worse still for hurting her feet.

Suffice it to say, he would gladly spend the next year making this up to her.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

The sigh that escaped primrose lips was distinct, relieved, however nearly swallowed in the relative gloom of the Forge. Her instincts were confused. She wanted to fight him, raze everything this place was to the ground, for what she perceived to be betrayal of the worst kind, but her heart wasn’t in it. His confessions were honest, meek, and for that…She could not let her anger burn her Master down. She could not withdraw or pull away from the arms that held her. She could not forcibly shut him out of her mind for long. If felt unnatural—and in the end, she knew she would break.

His happiness both mocked and venerated her when her resolve fell to dust. His mind swept over her, his presence, his being, and the chill in her bones began to melt. She could feel his fingers running through her hair, his form a pillar of strength, and it took all she had not to forgive him immediately. Words were only words. They were empty, paltry things, compared to actions. Words did not comfort the silvery apprentice…Not the same way physical contact did. Body language was something the Echani spoke well and Darth Metus knew it. He knew how to calm her, how to end the storm and bring everything back into focus.

Lavender lids closed over mirrored eyes when her Master made more promises. Swearing, there was nothing else that she had been misled about. Her mind was delicate when it reached for his, hesitant, as it brushed over the surface of his. It wasn’t invasive, but after what had just happened, she did search for his truth. Honesty, was what she required.

When she found what she was looking for she curled closer, seeking to steal his warmth, to languish in the sense of home, of safety, that he had always provided. It was only then that she noticed the pain in her feet, but she didn’t dare move or breathe, for fear of reality crashing down around them. Darth Metus seemed to agree with her allegory about the moon, and of course, used her nickname to solidify her contentment. He wanted her to be happy. To feel as he felt.

She could feel his humor bubbling up beneath her own disinclinations and silently wished it could be so simple. “I do not need to be right Master... I only need to be heard…”

To be understood. This could not happen again. Already, the foundations of their connection had been shaken. Once, Srina would have thought it could withstand anything, but this had been a vulgar awakening. There were limits…

He pulled back a little, seeming surprised by something, and it took her a moment to realize exactly what it was. She looked down and the warm haze fell away, and breathed in, sharply, but that was her only response. Pain was relative. The shards of broken porcelain had been nothing in comparison to the revelation of deception. Blank eyes looked back up at Metus, but before she could speak, he swept her up from the floor without any qualms.

No, Srina did not stop him. Again, could not. Thin arms wrapped around his neck, leaning close again, as words momentarily failed her. She was small in his grasp, light, and barely a burden. Silver eyes flickered to the cages on the wall, to the body, whose cause of death left her disturbed beyond anything she had ever known. “What about him?”

The snow-kissed apprentice would not soon forget what she had done. She was equal parts frightened, apprehensive, and curious. Srina had no apology for the death of a slaver, as his ending was more than deserving, but it had caused something within her to change, something she didn’t understand. It was dark, fathomless, and seductive. It whispered of the obscurest of things. Just like the Forge, it called to her, beckoning, so sweetly of what the Echani could scarcely put a name to.

As they ascended the staircase from the pit beneath Sinner’s Well she slowly began to understand. Power. It was all-consuming, burning, black—Power.

She held tighter to Darth Metus. He was her anchor. Since that rainy night on Coruscant, he had guided her, trained her, and placed her on a path where she stood a fighting chance. He kept the Force from consuming her. Srina hadn’t fought the well of telekinesis that had smashed the Slaver’s body to meatier chunks and bone fragments in a skin sack. She had given in.

“Should I fight it?”, Srina murmured softly when the sable-skinned man set her down on the countertop, beside the sink, and she lowered a hand to balance herself on the edge. Silver eyes watched him search, distracted, and a little disconcerted. “This…”

“That…”

She didn’t know what to call it. Regardless, she had faith that he would understand her question. He rarely needed things spelled out in the past. She doubted it would be any different now.

Darth Metus kept apologizing. Over and over, she could hear him repeating it, while he rummaged through cupboards, likely in search of something to help. “Master…”, she trailed off, turning deceptively long legs to the side, so that he could access the storage space beneath the sink. “Here. There’s a medi-kit on the left. Next to the hand towels…”

Mirrored eyes pierced him. They saw through him, as if he were made of glass, stealing his attention more than his search for medical supplies would. When she was sure she had his focus her mind touched his. Forgiveness passed between the bond they shared. Wordless, soundless, pure and unchained by any sort of ultimatums. Her voice would echo in his cranium, soft, like a gentle spring breeze. ‘I do forgive you…I must. And you must forgive yourself. To spite you, simply for the sake of pride, is to spite myself…’

‘We will both forget. In time.’

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

I only need to be heard.

The woman residing within his arms spoke in more languages than one. Although primrose lips spoke true, the way the Echani acted gave deeper meaning to every word. The way her fingers clutched against his shirt. The way she seemed to melt into his embrace - the way she relaxed at his touch...all left Darth Metus with a keen understanding. Yes, it was very clear that Srina wanted how she felt to be heard. But above that, she needed to know that what they shared would be the same. She needed to know that those feelings of refuge - the very same that were born the day they met - were not temporary.

The Sith understood.

Yet, as the warmth of their moment receded ever so slightly - disturbed by the presence of the Echani's injury - another concern was voiced. Now safely cradled within his arms, Srina addressed the crumpled heap that was once a Slaver. On a purely academic level, the Sith was not bothered at all by the loss of the sacrifice. In truth, those who were already tainted by the stain of Darkness, such as Slavers and the like, made for lesser quality artifacts in the end. As such, the dog of a man would be given a conclusion that befitted his ilk: incineration. "I'll have the droids handle that." he said, speaking in such a manner as to not dismiss her concern of course. In that moment, his concern was mending the wounded feet of his Apprentice; and thus his answer was short on the matter.

Should I fight it?​

Once situated upon the countertop of the washroom, Srina posed the heart of her concerns. Today had been the second time in their relationship that she had unleashed the Force in such a manner; with the first being much more...primal and emotion driven, rather than motivated by wrath. And, if Darth Metus was being honest with himself...before today, he might have told her to attempt some semblance of restraint. He might have told her not to dive into the abyss headfirst, for the sake of his own selfishness alone. But now, in the wake of their newfound understanding, Darth Metus paused his search so that his sulfuric gaze settled upon pools of silver.

"No."

The almost-severe beritone of his voice was a stark contrast to the care that he took in taking her wounded heel in the palm of his hand. Now armed with the medi-kit the Echani was so kind to point out, he began, firstly, by taking tweezers to the remnants of porcelain yet lodged within her skin. He was careful not to tug wrecklessly, lest he cause her any additional discomfort. "What you felt today...you must seek after it from here forward." he began. "It will be difficult for you. Due to your background and training, thriving off of emotion will seem frivolous at times and challenging at others...But the path that I have chosen for you requires this."

His words came to a brief conclusion, long enough so that he could place the bacta patches upon the flat of her feet and begin wrapping them. "As the old saying goes: Through Passion I gain Strength." The significance of the ancient Code would, for the time being, be lost to the young Echani. However, it was a sign of things to come. Darth Metus had made a decision within the depths of Sinner's Well: the choice to truly begin the training of his Apprentice in earnest.

Her words were a summer breeze in an arid land. The telepathic melody of her voice cut through the ambitions which burned within his eyes, causing his expression to momentarily soften. The sensation of her forgiveness caused the whole of his person to relax - as if a mountainous burden had been spontaneously lifted from his shoulders. Leaning back, Darth Metus took a moment to inspect his handiwork and - satisfied - rose to his feet once more. "Thank you." was all that he could think to say, as the relief had essentially tied his tongue. What's more, a smile began to form upon his face.

Reaching out, his fingertips graced her cheek, as they so often did.

"I have something for you."

Carry it with you always.

"It will help your Passion."

Apart of me will go with you, always.

Although words entered the air by mouth, so too did he whisper within the confines of her mind. The duality of his message lingered whilst he briefly retrieved the silver band from his pocket. He had meant to surprise the young woman with the gift upon her return earlier, but had been delayed in doing so by her discovery. At a glance, the Ring was but a reflection of the Echani in every way. It bore a quiet elegance in the way it gleamed in the light; and brimmed with an unspoken potential.

And, most importantly, it hummed with the most faint echoes of the Dark Side.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Somehow, Srina felt, through their muddled responses that she and the Sith Lord were on the same page. He had always been perceptive and aware of her peculiarities, which was a relief, because those who did not understand her silence would never be able to understand her words. In that respect, when he swept her up from the floor and carried her away, she didn’t resist. It soothed him to take care of her. It soothed her to be close. Even, if he was the cause of her suffering. Darth Metus was also her salvation.

She accepted his response about the recently made deceased Slaver without rebuttal. As usual, she was lot in her head about the events that had transpired. Srina did not wish to voice the uncertainties that gripped her, twisting her stomach in knots, not when she was still having trouble accepting the blackness that had appeared from nothingness. Anger, wrath, and hatred were the same to her as joy, kindness, and love. Useless. It served no purpose on the battlefield. Compassion and callousness came with an equal price—Equal cost.

The Echani needed a clear head to fight effectively. This was the opposite. Chaotic. Untethered.

She asked Darth Metus openly, honestly, if she ought to fight the darkness that tugged at her and he gave her a resounding no. She hadn’t expected an answer so simple. He looked her in the eyes, and spoke it plainly, clearly, and she breathed in deeply. Did he really mean that?

Her expression remained blank, almost wintry, as he began to treat her feet. She gave no indication that it hurt when he removed the shards of glass, save, for her fingers that remained clenched over the edges of the countertop. Her knuckles ran white from pale skin being stretched taut over them, though, her tenseness faded when the last piece of debris was removed. It was strange. Srina didn’t even remember walking over something broken, let alone, slicing her feet up. Any sane, coherent person, would have stepped back or jumped away. “What I felt today…”

“It is destruction, Master.”, she breathed, exhaling slowly as he pressed bacta patches to the tender parts of her heels. He claimed that it would difficult. If it always felt like today…Srina wasn’t entirely sure. The old adages from her Echani mentors did not apply. She could not that power pass through her. It invaded her every sense, her every cell, and it stayed. The wave of telekinesis that slammed into the slaver was exhilarating. Release. “It feels distant now. A dream within a dream…But it’s still there.”

“Waiting.”

For some reason, the quote of, ‘Though Passion I Gain Strength’, sent a shiver of familiarity down her spine. She had never heard it before. Srina was certain, she had never heard that phrase, but she knew it. The thought of following the lines of emotion that she tried so hard to lock away and ignore made it feel as if Darth Metus were trying to turn her inside out. Flesh on the outside. Protective skin on the inside. It left her feeling raw, exposed, and vulnerable. The little Echani did not like it.

“I do not know how to do what you ask. I am not Er’in.”, Srina murmured, dual tones echoing in the small room, touched with concern, and most unusually, with ineptitude. She’d never considered her lack of regard for emotion to be a weakness. It had always been her greatest strength. “What I feel…It passes naturally. Like the seasons, barely noticeable, as it moves. You value my forgiveness, and yet, it is the opposite of what I should do. I should remain angry. I should find hate, anger, and pain…Those things should sustain me.”

“Yet, it does not. I could not hate you. I cannot.”

Srina’s head tilted away from her Master as he inspected her feet, small chin touching her shoulder, as she tried to understand. She did not know how to be anything other than what she was. His fingertips touched her cheek and silvery eyes moved back toward him, pale lashes, dusting against rose tinted cheeks. His admission that he had something for her drew the pale-skinned Echani from her shell, curiosity ever a problem, as it was her one obvious flaw.

The voice of her Master wrapped around her mind, sinking in, surrounding her with all that he was. Her lips quirked to the side, though she did not question his claim, more than inquisitive over what he thought could undo a lifetime of culture and teaching. He claimed that it would leave a part of him with her, and that, she could not find fault in. Srina accepted the small silver ring he presented and held it close to her face, gray eyes inspecting every line, and the way it glittered in the light.

Never had she been one for trinkets, considering how hard it was to clean entrails from jewelry, but she placed it on her middle finger, right beside the plain band that contained her favorite sneaky disruptor. Oddly enough, it fit perfectly. For a moment she felt nothing. Then, just as she had been drawn to the Forge, she heard whispers. It was faint. Like fluttering wings of a crow on the edges of her vision…But it was there. Srina stared, transfixed and nigh mesmerized by what it was trying to say, before she blinked.

A soft smile spread across pale pink lips. It was quiet, serene, and far from the Sith apprentice that had made itself known in the dark below. “It is lovely, Master. I will wear it always.”

“Though…If it is meant to correct my inadequacies…”, she trailed off, hands lowering back to the counter to help balance herself. He was right. The ring did remind her of him. It held his warmth, his might, and his strength. “Might I make the suggestion of a slugthrower? Breaking me with fine jewelry may prove to be a little too subtle…”

The gentle sway of her voice more than made it clear that she was trying to lighten the mood. Her heart had suffered enough, for one day, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with it yet. Things felt different, despite the fact that she was trying to mend the cracks in their bond, and that hurt even more. Despite it all…Some small part of her didn’t want him to see. How small she felt. How small she STILL felt—regardless of the armistice they had reached.

“I have heard, from anonymous sources of course, that I can be quite stubborn.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Might I make the suggestion of a slugthrower...

What the young beauty did was attempt to stoke the flames. Winter had befallen the warmth of their Bond, threatening it with a menacing cold. The Sith's own deception had been the source - and it was far too early to determine just how much damage had been wrought. But, even as the wind howled, Srina stood before the flame and kept it burning. Her humor was a testament of this fact: a joke that caused a bemused huff to escape Darth Metus' own nostils. "Please. The next gift you're getting is a wrist rocket launcher. Mark my words!" he said, now leaning back with palms pressed against the base of his spine. "And...you're welcome. I'm glad you like it."

He then offered his dominant hand to the young woman, attempting to help her down - gently - from atop the counter. Her response to her mended feet touching down upon the floor would determine if the Sith was going to be her beast of burden for the day; protests be damned. As she moved, Darth Metus...exhaled ever so slightly. On one hand, he knew that the experience only moments before had been difficult for Srina. The signs were already beginning to show...but he had sworn to be honest. Sworn to be open. Thus, he decided to divulge the only thing that had not been explicitly disclosed to her previously.

It was not nearly as large as transgression as the sacrifice below. But...he wanted her to know.

"During the Kamino Raid, I sent you with another team for a reason." he began. "I...There is a power that I command above all others - greater than my alchemy or sorceries, greater than anything else I know. It...it can affect an entire battlefield, striking paranoia and terror into their very minds. I sent you away because I did not want you to be affected by that."

"But I never told you, after, why I had."

He paused, releasing a solid exhale once his back provided a satisfying pop. "I don't want there to be any lingering questions or doubts...I know I have a lot of making up to do, so I'll start today."

"I'm...I'm sorry that I didn't tell you this sooner. This I was not trying to hide - so much happened right after that I just..."

He met her gaze.

"So...Hungry?"

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

A pale smile crossed over the Echani’s marble features when the Sith Lord laughed in response to her joke. It had been a poor attempt, it was true, but she tried. For him, she always tried, no matter the personal cost. His humor caused a feeling of warmth to rise from within, unbidden but welcomed. It helped to chase away the shadows and cobwebs that her experience in the Forge had left behind. “I will mark them. I would like a wrist rocket launcher.”, she responded plainly, head tilting with curiosity.

Yet, she failed to see how it would be better than slugthrower. Both seemed like a fine weapon—If a little barbaric.

She glanced down at the ring touched with peridot that glittered back at her. It felt bizarre on her skin, as if she had some small piece of her Master, trapped in her grasp. She didn’t understand the logistics of it and some part of her wondered if this bauble weakened him. “Does this harm you? I can feel you…Some part of you…”

“I don’t know how to describe it. I just…I know it’s you.”, she finished a little lamely, her chin tucking down to hide the small amount of embarrassment her ineptitude caused. Srina wasn’t used to the intricacies of alchemy any more than she was skilled with the Force itself. They were foreign concepts to her—Aside from what he had taught her. If they had not trained for it, the little apprentice sadly did not know.

He offered his hand to her and gingerly, she took it, the silks of her skirts sliding as she eased delicately to the floor. Her eyes closed when her bandaged feet made contact with the polished tile. It was cold, which felt nice, but the pressure that followed caused her teeth to silently grind. Why hadn’t it hurt this bad before he pulled the glass out? She used his strength to keep her from wobbling as she walked slowly, to her credit, refusing to express how horribly every step burned.

How stupid, silly, and blind she had been to wander down that stone stairwell. The experience had turned what otherwise would have been a good day into an awful one. All of her problems were currently caused by some sure of lure, her curiosity, and the dark whispers that had pulled her to the Forge below. She was irritated by the sheer amount of disaster that had begun from one, singular case of complete, and total happenstance.

Her Master began to speak and the small woman remained quiet, both since it seemed important, and because her jaw was too busy clenching harder with every step she took. Srina stilled at the admission of being kept away from him on Kamino. He began to ramble, as he tended to do when he was nervous, and she waited for him to continue. Their eyes met, though she didn’t comment. She hadn’t finished digesting how she felt about it yet.

Immediately afterward, the dreadlocked man asked if she was hungry, and a lilting laugh escaped her.

“A little. I was waiting to have dinner with you…”, she trailed off softly, silver eyes glancing toward the bed, where a sack of sweets lay. “I brought you back some things from the market.”

It seemed like such a trivial notion now. She’d been off checking on the status of his citizens, buying him candy, while he’d been sacrificing people in the basement. Srina sighed heavily, trying to banish the need to be snarky and crabby, when Darth Metus was on his best behavior. It was right about then that she figured out what she wanted from his Kamino admission. She stopped walking, and casually sat down on the edge of the bed, as if her feet weren’t the cause. The slender woman pulled out a stick of red rock candy and held it out to the Sith Lord. It was good, if a little too sweet for her tastes.

“This power that you command. This paranoia…”, she trailed off slowly, rolling the words around in her head before speaking again. “I can handle it, Master. Use it. On me.“

She feared, despite his words, that he didn’t yet believe in her. ‘I will show you I am strong.’

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Does this harm you?

While the light humor surrounding the wrist rocket had provided some meager warmth between the pair, the chill yet lingered. But, as these things often went, a handful of minutes would hardly change anything. Time heals all wounds, and the Sith sincerely hoped that their relationship would be no different. As his lips yet remained in that half smile of his, the young Echani posed a question regarding the gift he had presented her. She did not understand the ins and outs of Alchemy as of yet - and so she was attempting to discern it as best she could. And...despite his own treachery only moments prior, concern colored every word which escaped her lips.

”No, it does not harm me.” he began, gingerly lifting her chin with his finger. ”It functions much like a battery. I placed a portion of my strength and energy within the jewel so that you may draw power from it. And, once it is exhausted, I can restore it for you. With time, you will be able to restore it yourself too.”

With that said, she accepted his assistance in moving from the sink to the ground. At first it seemed that she was...alright...taking a handful of test steps forward upon the cool tile. What’s more, she made no verbal complaint - and her expression did not give away any of the discomfort that she was experiencing. Darth Metus lofted a brow, half believing that she was okay...and half wondering if she was attempting to show her strength. As if to say I am strong, glass won’t stop me and neither will your teaching. Or. He could have been reading too far int-nope. Onto the edge of the bed did she soon descend. She was hurting but he’d never hear a word of complaint out of her.

Fair enough.

At the mention of the trip to the market, Darth Metus followed Srina’s gaze to the bag that had been left upon the bed beside her. Even a sideways glance showed that it was practically bursting at the seams with confections. A light chuckle escaped him. ”I’ll make your favorite soup when you’re ready then. It won’t be as good as back on Eshan I’m sure, but I’ll do my best.” No man alive could ever challenge the culinary masterworks of another’s mother - no matter how good they thought they cooked. In this case, Darth Metus’ own cooking always, always, always paled in comparison to that of Srina’s mother. At least in her mind anyway. And he would never be daft enough to challenge that.

For a moment it seemed as though the evening was moving in a positive direction. The two were finally on the same page and could move forward. But...just as the Sith was about to offer his hand once more, Srina caught him completely and utterly off guard. She wanted him to unleash the power of Dread upon her. ”I cannot.” he said, immediately. ”And, no, it has nothing to do with your own strength - it has everything to do with mine. That power has no...scaling. If I were to unleash it, the whole of Sinner’s Well would be affected.”

He exhaled, solemnly. ”But if you insist, when your feet are well, we will go far into the Wastes. Far enough away that we won’t harm anyone...and I’ll grant your wish. I promise.”

With that said, his hand reached out once more. The offer of soup was now on the table.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

The silvery woman remained silent as her Master began to explain the intricacies of Alchemy. She could feel darkness in the ring she wore, a piece of the Sith Lord, but she could not fathom how power could be moved so easily without weakening the source. Nevertheless, she was grateful, and would keep it close. She could feel him lifting her chin, despite a sense of embarrassment, and she allowed it nonetheless. “How would I be able to restore it?”

She was curious. It was the reason she had followed the black whispers down into the Forge in the first place. It was the reason she indulged her visions, or the Force, merely because she was curious. Now that her anger had passed, despite lingering feelings of unease, she needed to know more. Srina needed to understand what was so important that her Master felt the need to sacrifice people beneath the place they called home. It had never felt particularly dark to her, or blackened from the Force, so she didn’t understand how she could have missed such a thing.

Was she that inept?

After the first few tentative steps from the bathroom to the bedroom the stubborn Echani had to sit down. The pain radiating from the bottoms of her feet was too much, too new, for her to keep comfortably walking around. Her expression remained blank out of necessity. Srina had been taught to hide what bothered her, to hide any pain, to remove the possibility of someone else seeing weakness. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes for a moment, before exhaling slowly.

No matter what had happened in the Forge—she could not lose control like that again. She had killed a man, deserving or not, simply to spite her Master. It was not acceptable in any sense of the word. He laughed lightly at the bag of sweets she’d returned to the Well with, and she could feel a blush creep up her neck, before she banished it. “My mother doesn’t cook. My father does.”

Perhaps that was why she was so abominable when it came to doing anything in the kitchen. Genetics. She could handle prep work, cutting, and what not—but when it came to mixing ingredients it all went to hell. Srina just couldn’t seem to stop from either lighting things on fire or breaking them into bits. It was one of the reasons, before she’d found Darth Metus, that Cassisus Droma had handled most of their meals. It had been an easy arrangement. She would handle the shopping and he did the rest. A list, she could manage easily.

At first, her Master refused her request to be treated, or conditioned, with his ability. He seemed surprised that she would ask. Ever since she’d heard the reports after a skirmish on Kamino she’d thought about it. Darth Metus had begun to train her mentally, at her request, but would not his blackest of measures prepare her for the worst? If she could learn to withstand that, she felt that within reason, she could withstand any Sith Lord that thought she was easy prey. “Tomorrow then. I’ll be fine if I stop by medical. We’ll go the wastes…It is the strongest thing I can think of. If I can learn to fight it…”

‘I will be stronger. Less vulnerable—More capable.’

He was right. It would be very, very bad, to enact something that could cause their Sky Demons to lose control. They were far enough out of the way that it wouldn’t affect the cities but there was no telling what personnel could be held under its influence. Or what they would do.

Darth Metus offered her his hand once more and the small woman stared at it. It wasn’t simply his appendage, which he brandished, but a peace offering. He wanted their relationship to return to what it was. If Srina could have made the events of the last few hours disappear she would have. She didn’t like this hole, this gap in their faith, any more than he did. Nevetheless, she took it. One small step at a time, one small gesture of goodwill, and things would work themselves out. Srina would do her best not to shut him out or to fall into her less than gentle outlook. Once burned, she usually cut all ties, and stayed far away.

When it came to her Master it was not so simple. Hesitantly, she let him pull her to her feet and her jaw tightened when the pain returned.

“Soup...I like soup. That sounds good..”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Sinner's Well
Present Day...

Tomorrow never came.

As their unity was challenged by his own misdeed, Darth Metus spent the rest of the day in the company of his Apprentice. Every touch was an apology - every word laced with his desire to make them whole again. When they were One, there was a strength that could move mountains. When they were together, there was safety. Security. A home that did not require four walls. They had each other - and they knew they always would. Though nothing ever was repaired in a single evening, their peace came to a close with a smile. As she so often did - her fingers touched his arm. He asked of her something simple. Something genuine:

"Naa lye Er?" [ Are we One? ]

He never had an opportunity to hear her response. Their world was set spinning as the words fell from his lips. What began as a rather irksome blare of his datapad - alerting him to a meeting of the Viceroyalty - erupted into war overnight. The Galactic Empire had to be made to answer for their transgressions. Tatooine became their next destination.

And from that point, they never had a moment to breathe. They skated from battle to battle - aiding their allies and expanding their borders. From a purely, political perspective, the Vicelord and his Apprentice were a mighty unit. Together, they commanded the respect of thousands. Together, they guided the Confederacy with a caring hand. But...for the Sith, Srina had become like water, slipping through his fingers. She did only what he asked and used her authority in his name, yes. She went to many worlds and uplifted the name of their nation, yes.

But at what cost? He missed her, terribly - and it felt as if a gap were forming between them. And the loss only exacerbated the feeling. They both had personal pains to deal with...and though they spoke about sharing these burdens, they still held back. It was, most likely, their mutual desire to keep the other safe. Their mutual desire to protect the other from undue harm. Though Srina knew the loss of his home, sister, and son pained him beyond words - he never unleashed the fullness of his grief upon her. Never opened the floodgates of their Bond so completely that she could witness the tsunami of his pain.

And Srina did the very same. Thus, they could stand upon the same ship and feel miles away in his eyes. They could touch, yet feel apart. More than anything, Darth Metus wanted to go back to the way things were. To return to how they felt when he had plucked her fresh from Coruscant. So bound were they that being apart was anathema. She was his greatest strength, his greatest need - and without her his world had become cold. In the midst of this tundra, he awoke. She, like always, was there resting beside him.

After yet another long sortie, they returned home and settled into the Sun Parlour - only to never make it to their shared room. He had fallen into slumber sitting upright on one of the sofas, and she had nestled into his side. Their rest was very warranted - but his was cut short by the mischievous chirps of a certain demonic duo. The reign of terror of the damn bunnies was enough that simply hearing the whine of their servos set the Sith on edge. He never retaliated against them though, as they were a source of Srina's happiness. A thorn he would tolerate, only for her sake.

His glare sent Thing One and Thing Two bouncing away.

"Enda en'amin." [ Heart of mine.] he began, placing a hand upon her knee to rouse her. "Can we...talk?"

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

The small woman was mentally and emotionally drained. Everything that had taken place on Coruscant had left her foundations broken. The Alliance had been the largest power in the galaxy until one moment, one dark, seething presence from within had torn them asunder. She had spent days on Monastery coughing the ash of the dead and destroyed from her lungs. She idly wondered if reports were true, that Galactic City still burned. Her feelings in regards to the actions of the former Supreme Commander were mixed.

Through him, she understood why he gave up, why he didn’t amass his forces and strike back. In his eyes, there was no one left to fight. He felt a failure. Used and possibly ill-suited for a position that may have brought harm to hundreds of thousands of people. It was a daunting reality that she couldn’t chase from his mind no matter how hard she tried. Always, the Echani had been able to talk sense into him. Be it in the middle of a battle or the end of a bloody dispute. She had even kept him from personally killing Koda Fett out of fear that his darkness may someday rival her own. In the end, the Sith Apprentice had been forced to add one more light-saber to her collection of weaponry and relics. It was well-made, with an azure blade, but she had yet to remove it from her belongings.

Simply looking at it caused her pain.

It was in this mind-set that she found herself resting near her Master, as she had so many times, basking in the warm safety of Ryloth. Monastery had been a tense and heartrending environment. The Sith Empire had been the cause of such wanton destruction that the emotionless woman had almost found it hard to look at the product of their attack. The broken bodies, the burned hopes, the crushed dreams. Entire worlds were ransacked, blackened, and assaulted on what felt like a childlike whim. Srina could not fathom the level of hatred it would take to decimate so much for so little.

@Dart Metus often found rest at her side, as did she, considering the dangerous lives they led. Physical contact allowed her to release her fears and let down her guard enough that she could sleep. She didn’t get enough of it lately, especially, when the worries of the men she was bound to woke her in the dead of night in a cold sweat. The ghostly Apprentice basked in the peace of the Sun Parlor and didn’t shift in the slightest when her Master moved.

Her form was tucked in on itself, clad in a plain, formless cotton dress. It was pale green, the shade of watered down mint, with a thin golden rope tethered beneath her bust to keep it in place. Her white-gold had been left down, long and loose, falling in shining waves that were neither braided nor bound. It partially obscured her face, highlighting pale skin, with cheeks that were tinged with a hint of primrose. “I’m sleeping Master…”, she exhaled slowly, shifting just slightly, only to curl back into his side.

She wasn’t clearly, considering she’d also heard Bella and Leo up to something, but she didn’t have the strength to move. Srina felt drained of every ounce of energy she had and then some. Slowly, ever so slowly, she drew herself up, a delicate sigh passing through her lips as she did so. Small fingers reached up to tuck almost waist length hair behind her ears before she took a moment to compose herself.

Srina was awake, however, a little groggy. Silver eyes were unfocused. “Yes. We can talk.”

She blinked, feeling a sudden sense of dread. “Is something wrong?”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

When she awoke, remnant thoughts echoed through their Bond.

An unflattering image burned itself into the front of the Sith's mind. Srina, standing outside of a medical tent, coughing as ash yet clogged her lungs. Her hands, caked in blood, were but a testament of her efforts throughout the days. She had tried, so hard, to turn the power that was reserved for saving her master towards saving the damned. She healed alongside the Jedi. Bandaged and soothed. Went without sleep.

At times, her sole sustainance were cups of lukewarm tea and a few bites of a ration bar. At times, she only slept a handful of hours before diving into the thick once more. Srina Talon was one of the most devoted presences on Monastery falling the Fall of Coruscant; and Darth Metus had a suspicion of what motivated her to work so hard. His conversation with the former Supreme Commander had left the taste of ash in his mouth - he could only imagine what their conversation went like.

He was her friend. She braved the warzones of the Alliance time and time again for his sake, pulling him from numerous fires. And now, all that they had bled for was...gone. As was his desire to fight. His desire to serve. His desire to muddy his hands bringing any relief to his own people. In the wake of this reality, Darth Metus would have dove into the efforts headfirst too if it were his friend doing the walking away.

And so, Darth Metus served alongside her. His skills were much less in the healing and bandaging, as his touch was far from as gentle as it needed to be. But as Srina toiled in the tents, he toiled in the heavy lifting. Supplies. Droids. Organization. Anything where two hands and effort were needed, he was there.

The experience left them both drained - and having seen the stray thought, Darth Metus regretted rousing his Apprentice from her slumber. Yes, he missed her terribly. Yes, he felt as if a chasm had erupted between them. But, admittedly, he realized that waking her was selfish. He'd make up for that in spades. "Sorry for waking you." he began, gently. "I just...wanted to suggest that we take a vacation."

He offered a light smile. "From everything. The job -" Exarch and Vicelord. "has a few weeks for our own sanity built in. We can cash in a week and go to Leritor. Relax. Recover. Try to..." How did he put this into words...

"Try to get back to the way we used to be."

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Still a little groggy she reached up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Small hands massaged her cheeks for a moment in an effort to bring them some warmth, some color, and eventually silvery eyes landed on her Master. They were filled with concern. He had never answered her initial question and she could feel her heart rising in her throat. Lately, it was always something. Some disease, some war, some sort of trouble or drama and she could scarcely catch her breath. Her dreams were full of things she couldn’t explain. Darkness. Not the kind she could control, either. “Master—is something wrong?”

He apologized for waking her, but still, she didn’t relax until he finished he sentence. His partial smile drew a half-laugh of relief from her lips. It was dry, but relieved. Of all things, she had expected, a vacation was not the first, second, or fiftieth thing that had appeared in her mind.

Ever so slowly the pale beauty relaxed back into the warmth of her Master. He was safe. They were safe. For now, the Confederacy was intact, and the Sith Empire hadn’t raised warships from the bowels of Geonosis to rend them asunder. There was no insurrection, no plague, and nothing to fear. Ryloth was safe. The Well was safe. Her family, for now, was safe. “It’s all right…”, she replied easily, her patience nearly endless, when it came to the Sith Lord. There was very little he could do that she would not forgive these days. “It’s all right.”

He spoke of leaving the CIS for a week in order to return things to the way they used to be and the slender woman didn’t respond right away. The watered-down mint of her dress seemed too cheerful for the thoughts that were running through her mind. She looked like spring, like a nymph that had gotten lost—but how could that be? She was Darth Omnia, now. Did secret Sith get vacations? Did she even deserve one? Could the Confederacy handle it so soon after the fall of the Alliance? “Can we even do that? Realistically?”

Her question referred to several things. Could the CIS survive a week without them? Could they return back to the way things were? Srina did not know for certain. She was not the same woman-child he had taken in on Coruscant. She was learning to stand on her own, as he had always desired, and she was desperate not to disappoint her Master now. This meant more training, more work, and more meetings. More, more, more. In this way, she would prove that she deserved the title of Exarch.

She would prove to him, and to everyone else that held doubts, that she was capable.

“I am not who I once was. Neither are you.”

That wasn’t to say that she was entirely opposed to the idea, however, she worried. Srina could not un-see or unlearn the things that had brought her here. She could not take back what the Spirit Ichor had done to her. The chasm that he felt, Srina had noticed, but it was less of a reflection of their relationship than it was the burdens on their shoulders. They could not always afford to have what they wanted AND caretake a nation. It simply didn’t work that way.

She exhaled slowly. A small, soft thread of doubt ran through her. “I am sorry, my Master. For anything, I may have done wrong. If I am not enough as I am…I am sorry.”

[member="Darth Metus"]