Private The Forge and the Fog

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti​

The chill of Desevro was a different breed than the embrace of other frozen wastelands. Damp and bone deep, it clung to skin and hair with a relentless grip, seeping through layers of clothing and whispering of death.

Above the depths of tunnels, Lysander stood in a modest training yard, a pocket of open air. Cracked permacrete stretched beneath his boots, scarred by time. Rolling fogs seeped in, swirling lazy around him like ghostly tendrils. Every gust arrived with a sigh, and the stone shifting reminded him of teeth grinding.

Clad in wool trousers and leather boots, with a plain tunic beneath a heavy layer, he dressed only for function. The fabric was practical, nothing more, meant to keep him moving through the cold.

The activator clicked beneath his thumb, and the crimson blade hissed into being with a venomous snap. The glow painted his features in hellish light, emerald eyes narrowed. He shifted into the opening stance of Shii‑Cho, the foundation upon which all others were built. The blade swept low across his body, angled like a shield. Boots shifted against the stone, weight balanced, every muscle coiled.

With a slow exhale, Lysander began the kata.

One cut, then another, all textbook sweeps of Form I. His body flowed through the motions, the saber humming as it carved through the fog. Pivoting, he turned away and brought the blade down in a vertical strike, aggression sharpening the motion. In the yard there was no room for thought.. only the form, the breath, the blade.

He ran the sequence over and over, the blade tracing the same arc until the motion lived in his muscles rather than his thoughts. At the edge he paused, staring into the ruins. The academy was a forge, tunnels alive with rivals most likely waiting for him to fall. Stepping to the side of the yard, he slowly lowered himself onto a stone fragment. Thoughts wandered, toward survival, toward ambition, toward questions of what kind of Sith this world may shape him into.

 

[Naniti]

"You finished?" as feminine voice asked shrouded in mist. A violet-skinned Togruta as it became clear with the shifting air currents. She leaned against the wall of the tunnel with her arms crossed. As soon as she'd spoken, the young woman rocked away from the wall and began to stride slowly toward the training ground. Her form was wrapped in leather with hints of wool tucked at the collar for warmth on Desevro; her black, polished boots rolled across the ground without sporting outrageous fashion choices that'd kill reckless youths.

"Funny. They have us learn such an inelegant Form when they go on and on about how we're going to slaughter all the Jedi." Naniti rolled her shoulders. "Well, people still use vibroblades." Shii-Cho hadn't lost all value in the galaxy; it just hadn't changed since its original conception so long ago. Not that most Acolytes cared. Arguably, neither did she, but having read a book or two about it while looking for deep knowledge... Really, all she'd found out was anything worth learning was kept locked up in some Lord's personal collection. All that reading just to figure out the obvious.

Naniti stopped and looked over at the man. "What do you think? Would you be eager to show your junior a step or two?" The Togruta smiled. Was Lysander the type to instruct, dismiss, or kill? There was a reason a lot of students didn't go out of their way to ask others for help. Once they had their clique. And that's where Naniti was -- without a posse to stave off the ravenous hordes of ambition. Left her sore having to stave off so many attempts to kill her; usually without being able to put down her attackers because they came at her as a group.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti​

Amidst the shifting fog that swallowed sound and dulled the edges of this frozen world, Lysander failed to register her presence at first; so consumed was he by the memories that clawed at him from the depths of his mind. It wasn’t until he heard a voice, that his trance was shattered.

With slowness, unwilling to show the surprise, he turned his head to track her approach. For a moment longer he remained perched upon the stone, simply basking in the hum of his saber. As she drew closer, one corner of his mouth tugged with the ghost of a smile, mainly due to her dismissal of Shii-Cho.

“Even the best end up leaning on it,” he said after a moment, “When things get messy, when all the fancy footwork falls apart.. it’s the basics that keep you breathing.” A simple truth, tossed out casually like he was talking to the fog.

Perhaps it was the duelist in him, biased toward structure, toward the elegance hidden in repetition. Or perhaps, he simply knew that forms were nothing without the foundation beneath them..

Then his gaze drifted past the Torgruta, memory daring to pull him elsewhere, back to Ukatis, and to the fencing halls where he’d first learned the discipline. From footwork to the sting of a foil across his body, and the instructors having drilled economy into his bones.

When he eventually returned to her, Lysander shifted his weight forward with a slow exhale. He didn’t waste any energy on posturing, nor look down on one as some apprentices did. He remembered that well enough. Korriban had been nothing but sharp teeth and vibroknives after he’d left Naboo. That hell had burned the arrogance out of him.

“If you want to learn..sure, I’ll show you a step or two. But just don’t expect charity. You’ll have to keep up.”

Stepping back into the training yard, the Sith's calculating eye fell over her stance, shoulders, and every subtle movement as he assessed her potential
"Go on.. give me your best. I'll point out what needs work."

The saber angled down, now giving the space of a circle. "Don't worry.. I've probably seen worse."

 

[Naniti]

The basics, huh? Wasn't even snide about it. "You're different," she replied as a matter of fact. Lysander seemed to understand a purpose behind an otherwise 'antiquated' technique. Naniti was certain some instructors taught it to students because it was antiquated. Weed out the weak. Keep the young helpless until everyone picked out their "favorite" to make it through alive. That sort of thing. There was more to it -- or there could have been -- but she didn't expect people to see it.

"I always want to learn. You don't get stronger thinking you have all the answers." Fact was, Naniti was confident in knowing nothing.

The Togruta followed Lysander toward the ring as he accepted the interested another showed. No need to goad him into it? Insult his honor? Just who was Lysander anyway? Maybe she'd have to dig up some biographical data on him.

She stopped and turned to face Lysander on the weathered proving ground. "Oh, you have." Naniti snorted. "And better." The price someone paid not spending every waking second throwing their lightsaber around. That and the lack of proper instruction. Sith Intructors imparted as much knowledge as they took by teaching -- deliberately or otherwise -- the wrong thing. And you didn't learn proper form in a book. Naniti hoped Lysander meant he'd be one of those interested in the truth.

The young woman drew her a scuffed saber and ignited the blade vertically upright in one hand. Its violet blade was cloaked by the mist, but cast its hue out into the nebulous surround. Slowly she brought the saber around to her right, left foot forward, right foot pointed to the right. One of the proper Shii-cho stances.

Naniti stepped forward to with a diagonal cut at the opponent's left shoulder, a step forward with the saber brought around for a strike at their right leg, and then a step with a vertical strike down at the head.

"Train out here often?" Not that she's caught him training. Some reflection? Naniti would ask about that soon enough, but it wouldn't hurt to discuss the form first.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti​

Lysander didn't deign to answer immediately, letting the fog swirl between them in tendrils of violet and crimson like poisoned smoke. With the same efficiency that marked all his actions, a seasoned blade, he rose from a low guard, every movement stripped of excess. Leather boots kissed the cold permacrete with a scrape as he shifted his weight.

There was calm in his gaze, but it was the kind that came after fire, embers banked, heat concealed. So he embraced words that were all too familiar, yet this time they fell without venom’s sting.

“Different,” Lysander echoe. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Different because I don’t mistake survival for weakness. Strip away the fancy tricks, the bravado, and all that’s left is this..” he gave the blade a gentle incline, crimson light cutting a line through the mist, “..the spine of every form. Forget it, and you’re already mine.”

A diagonal sweep followed, his body answered before any thought had a chance of intruding. A pivot on the back foot, crimson rising in a broad arc to meet the Togruta’s strike. The clash hissed, a few sparks spitting into the mist. Eyes narrowed, not out of anger, but at the way her shoulder overextended.

“Not bad, but you gave me your flank.”

A second cut came low, aimed for his leg. The saber naturally dropped, a sweep this time, knees bending. Blades met once more with a crackle.

“You’re pulling from your arms. Power comes from the hips.”

The third fell vertically, straight for his head. This time, it was a more textbook block, elbows tucked in sharply, wrists firm. The impact still shuddered down his own arms, but the Sith’s stance was rooted, and his focus would never leave the acolyte.

“Most Sith aren’t going to meet you head on. They’ll cut across.. don’t give them the line.”

After he pushed the violet blade aside with a twist of his wrists, before stepping back to reset their circle. Lysander’s chest rose and fell, the exhale slow.

A reply arrived at last. “Every day.. after I run. Gets the blood moving.. clears the noise. I can’t start the day without it.”

A glance flicked to the ruins beyond before returning to her. “You call me different. Fair enough. But what about you? What makes you worth the trouble of teaching?”

His stance compressed, a coil of discipline. “Again. But this time, show me your intent. Make me believe you want me dead.”

 

[Naniti]

Naniti eyed the man as he provided his feedback. A tightness appeared beneath the eyes as she considered it. More than just the fundamentals then. Should have figured. They were still at a Sith Academy, after all, where the first rule was there were no rules (unless you got caught). She'd just have to file this all away for a more thorough consideration later, and do what she could in the moment.

The violet blade spun off to the side as she stalked back to her own starting position. It gave her that moment to think -- not something often encouraged at the Academy.

"My life is a riddle that must be solved. And to do that, I need to survive." The Togruta lunged forward as she said the last word, both hands took hold of the hilt as she swung it for Lysander's left side. She'd give him force if that was what he sought. From the hips as he'd said. Her eyes were locked on him as she looked for signs of deception. To not be where your opponent expected you, and allow them to hit nothing but air, could get a person killed.

If their blades locked, she'd try to press the moment to bring them close together with the blades between them. It wouldn't exactly be stressing the fundamentals, but tactics were important to exercise as well. Try to get his feet in the right position, the saber at the right angle, and perhaps she could slip around his guard.

"And you're different because you're humoring me. Most the people in there think to survive they need to eliminate the competition. Cull the weak." Whether they exchanged words over locked blades, or just after the pressure released in their efforts to take the round's point, Naniti was interested in hearing more of the man's personal code. "How much knowledge as been lost? How much power tucked away never to be seen again? Just to demonstrate they possess the ability to kill -- and not even particularly well." Everyone only seemed to do things that made it impossible for her to learn the truth. That frustration and anger kept the instructors happy when they demanded signs of their students internalizing their lessons.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti​

This time her violet blade snapped through the air akin to a predator’s snarl, sharper, no longer a half measured drill. Lysander’s chest rose with another deep inhale, the air biting at the sweat along his collar from earlier. Instruction was a new blade in the blonde’s hand. Sure, he knew its edge, but not yet how to wield it for another. Passing on knowledge felt alien.

Yet this strike.. this one finally demanded a reply.

And so, it came for his dominant side, allowing himself but a fraction to read her body language, to reflect whether she’d driven the motion as suggested. The next pivot came harder on his back foot, blade snapping up to meet her. Another vibration up his arms. But he didn't just stop the blow, he redirected it, forcing the blade wide.. another test. To see whether she’d overextend.

When the girl pressed into the bind, he let her. Shoulders lowering, he leaned into that pressure, letting her feel the coil of his stance. Their blades hissed between them, light illuminating his youthful visage. Lysander’s gaze locked on her, but he wasn’t watching the saber. He was searching her eyes, for calculation, for the hunger that so many of their kind, the Sith, possessed.

From experience, that was where the real duel lived..

With a step taken back, he twisted his blade down, intercepting the angle she sought to exploit. That motion was sharper and made her seem less of a child just fumbling through academy drills. This was someone testing him.

“Well, what if I prefer my opponents alive long enough to learn something before they die? I mean.. there’s more to gain from someone that can last than one that falls too soon..”

Another effortless pivot placed the teen at the edge of the circle he had envisioned from the beginning.. the same ritual space he once carved out on Korriban. From experience, some stepped into it without question, some had even rushed to strike before he was set, and others simply waited at the line with uncertainty. How she chose to answer here, would possibly tell him more about the riddle she claimed about her life.

He spoke with ease, even if the worlds that tumbled forth were of war and death.

“The Sith are quite good at killing, if you ask me. That’s why we're entering a golden era.”

Each step carried him further along the invisible curve.

“With most Jedi flocking to the Mid Rim now, they’ve little choice but to.. huddle together. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, they only make themselves more vulnerable. The harvest is inevitable.”

 

[Naniti]

Naniti clenched her teeth as she fought to keep the pressure on. Lysander was more skilled, more experienced, or both. She could tell by the ease in which he guarded against the strikes and refused to let her maneuver his own blade into an optimum position. Maybe he was someone she could learn from. If this all wasn't some kind of perverse trick.

Dangerous position being this close. One slip. One mistake. Might be difficult to get a guard into position to block a killing stroke. Felt like the best chance she had at controlling the momentum though. At least until she knew something -- anything -- about his style.

Lysander even moved his feet as they both sought to test one another for an opening; the act caused their blades to disengage and a short distance to returned between duelists. The Togrute's lips thinned as she thrust the tip of her saber at the man's left kneecap. If he blocked she'd try to turn it into a slice toward his right shoulder; and if he dodged and sought to counter then she'd be the one forced to defend. It wasn't a master plan, but having one option and being prepared to retreat if pressed. Naniti had enough formal training to be worthy of standing there -- otherwise she'd already be dead.

"A harvest?" Golden era? Sounded like Lysander had given this some thought. Was aware of the movements of "their" enemies and how the Sith might exploit it to their advantage. Smart, but it aggravated her. Death, death, and more death. That's what the instructors always went on about. How to kill. "They'll produce great weapons for the slaughter." Even as they bantered, her blade thrust and swept at the man's upper and lower torso swiftly, but not blindly. Lysander's counters would be met with blocks, twists of her body, and if necessary quick footwork to avoid a strike. "And what about everything else? The hidden dangers lurking in the shadows. The unanswered questions that promise ruin. Will we finally explore them after slaughtering the Jedi?" Or would the Sith merely turn on one another to prove something? Why was everyone obsessed with just butchery?

"Have you ever wondered what power is out there they'll never tell us about? The countless secrets? Even the Jedi must know something, and that knowledge will be kept from us as well," Naniti hissed as her blows had grown in strength in line with the frustration in her tone.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti​

The grinding pressure of their blades sent a few jolts up his wrists, the violet hue nearly grazing his cloak while holding his ground, never overcommitting despite the Togruta's probing. Every twitch, whether from her shoulders or elsewhere, was read like a page. Seeing as she sought to open a seam in his defense, part of him may have been tempted to give in, to let her gain a false sense of confidence. But he knew better than to underestimate an opponent, especially one he just met.

Lysander unconsciously sank his weight as her weapon darted low, snapping down to catch it before it could threaten his knee. The follow up met the same resistance, shifting just enough to bleed any momentum away.

Every sweep that followed was met in kind, never hurried.

“It’s what killing clears the way for. Territory, knowledge.. leverage. That’s the harvest.”

There was no denying that the fiery questions struck against cold logic. But he guarded more than just his body; he was also guarding the doubts that wished to surface.

Her next strikes came sharper, each hiss of violet carrying a heavier note. Lysander saw the shift physically, the weight behind her blows, but his own guard remained firm.

“Secrets line every corner of the galaxy.” The words carried a dismissive edge as his blade caught hers and turned it aside. “But some truths break more than they give. We should still be cautious, or the desire for knowledge could consume us all.”

It seemed she wanted answers, those deeper than drills and dogma, ones that might explain the very hunger gnawing at both of them.

Or so he believed.

But the mask held as he pressed back with a controlled riposte, purposely so, to finally mark the increasing aggression.

When a moment presented itself, he broke contact, the space between them quickly widening. The teen’s voice carried no warmth, only an edge of critique. “Your weight is front heavy.. balance must come from the core, not the reach.”

Shoulders and hips aligned as his stance flowed with the grace of a familiar dance. “From here,” he continued, voice heavy with detachment, “the reach follows the core. Overextending is a needless risk, and a more seasoned opponent will capitalize on a counterstrike.” For a few seconds, he held the posture, before letting it fall back into motion. His saber pressed forward, not a killing thrust, but one that would demand her guard.. an invitation to keep the circle alive.

“So eager to peel back big secrets of the galaxy, but you keep stumbling over your own footing.”

A false thread seemed woven into that it, perhaps to get a reaction out of her.

 

[Naniti]

"For our Masters," Naniti replied quickly to Lysander saying knowledge was part of the harvest. But was it? Who ended up with the lion share of the spoils in the end? It wasn't a bunch of Acolytes. Even an Acolyte the instructors fawned over was only given what their 'betters' deemed suitable.

Blue eyes narrowed as Lysander broke off the engagement and she stood there with her saber held mid-swing. She slowly brought her foot around to narrow her stance without any sudden movements he might think to exploit. Balance, he said. The only kind of balance anyone at this Academy would talk about anyway.

Blade pointed toward the ground, Naniti swept it before her to intercept. She'd try to swing their blades over head until her's was on top; from there it could be possible to release the lock and go straight for the torso and the throat. Seeing how killing Lysander wasn't the point, if she somehow managed it her blade would stop short of actual contact. Given how composed he was, she doubted there'd be cause for concern of contact.

"Just like the instructors." Naniti smirked. "Quick to mistake a specific inquiry for a general interest." She might be young, but she wasn't that young; they could both play at baiting their opponent.

"How quickly everyone quickly forgets the Planeshift." Her violet blade swept forward at Lysander's shoulder. Despite some mistakes, the Togruta held strictly to Sho-chii's form. The point had been to training, not to demonstrate her ability for acrobatics. Not that she particularly enjoyed being critiqued, but Naniti did try to consider what Lysander said. "Entire worlds flung around the galaxy or lost, and brand new ones appearing from outside known space. A Celestial wonder put back into balance and believed corrected once and for all. I wonder."

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti
​

Lysander indulged the acolyte, allowing the bind to rise higher, his saber tilting back as if he had been forced into submission. But in truth, the slack in his wrist was a choice, a concession offered to appease the acolyte. His weight shifted to his back foot, shoulders lax, evoking the appearance of calm, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He could have broken the lock she had on him, and punished for her overreach, but instead.. he let her taste the illusion of advantage. It came so near as to threaten to kiss his throat, a phantom danger he permitted. There was something erratic in the way the blonde lingered, the way he entertained this game simply because the Academy offered so little else in the moment.

Upon her mouth twisted a language he knew all too well. He read it instantly, before dry smile tugged at his own lips, not wide or warm, sharp as the edge of a vibroblade, one that revealed amusement.

“The instructors are quick.. yes,” Lysander conceded, “but swifter still is the one who knows when to play along..”

When the girl's blade swept toward his shoulder, he pivoted just enough that it cut air, the violet glow sliding past. His own crimson blade dripped and rose in a rather lazy arc.

With an inclination of the head, he considered the galaxy itself through her words. “Sure, wondering is the first step.. but don’t mistake it for knowing. If you want answers, then you’ll have to take them..the galaxy won’t just hand them to you.”

The hum of plasma crossed hers in a X, two sabers locking in a cruciform.

“Entire worlds flung around, and here we are, two students pretending our little dance matters. That could be another perspective.”

Slowly, he pressed into it, testing the Togruta’s balance.

"Now you’re pressing harder with your tongue than your saber. If it’s a duel of words you want, you’ll find me at home there. I might even let you keep pace… for a while."

 

[Naniti]

Naniti moved back a step swiftly and brought her blade down to guard against Lysander's. Her eyes narrowed a hair for just a moment. Was twisting your shoulder a Shii-cho technique? Well she wouldn't fault a valid move, but it wouldn't further her learning of the form. So Lysander was playing with her to a certain degree. At least he wasn't being overbearing about it.

A half-lidded look managed to serve in place of the eye-roll that was ever so tempting when Lysander spoke of claiming answers. It was an insightful take. Just do it. Why hadn't she thought of it? Just somehow overpower or outsmart countless Sith Lords that had been playing their game for decades. How hard could it be?

The duo clashed once more with the blades crossed. Naniti's lips thinned as she carefully moved or shifted her feet to respond to Lysander's movements. Using both hands, she focused on keeping her blade from being pushed back into her own body as the slightly taller Human pressed forward.

"The Great Machine is breaking. And the Revenant are coming." Naniti stared into Lysander's eyes. "But what do I know? I'm just a student." With a roar, Naniti sought to force Lysander back with sheer strength and a flurry of blows if need be as she channelled the Force through her. One Master thought it a curious thing and might be half-heartedly looking into it. The rest, if any knew, wouldn't have cared less. Tales of a mere acolyte that didn't know better and wanted attention. Apparently visions were a thing only Jedi did, and even then they must have been terrible at understanding them.

Not that Naniti was any better. Yet. She just needed time. And information. Visual puzzles of signs and writing she didn't understand and could only half remember. All the while knowing no one would take it seriously. Could she be mad? Maybe. Possibly. But no one had bothered to prove it, and until she knew one way or the other, Naniti was going to claw her way up to the ladder to claim what she needed for herself.

Once the flurry of strikes was over Naniti wouldn't be exhausted, but she would feel the conflict of the toll on the body versus the dark drive to continue pressing the advantage. It took effort to maintain an even breating rate that drew deeply to keep the rush of blood oxygenated.

"I won't stop until I figure out what it means." Saber in one hand, her fingers rippled down its length to ease some of the tension that'd come from clenching it in her grasp earlier.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti

Lysander's voice stayed tucked away, allowing his silence to momentarily expand, sharpening his senses to every nuance. The fog closed in, snaking around them like smoke from a fading fire. As he continued leaning in, he searched for tremors in her grip; if he found any, he would know to back off, so he didn’t drive the blade into her chest.​

Though his breath was steady, his heartbeat was slowly increasing; not because he feared her, but because her voice was starting to sound like some serpent's tongue, mentioning things far beyond the realm of lightsaber forms. If anything was going to unravel him, it was that.

Another blow cracked against his guard, like thunder this time. The next shift wasn’t just in his stance, but the air around them. The Sith apprentice could feel the Force surge through her, raw and alive..

She was pressing harder now. Maybe she wanted him to feel it, to see her, to believe something.

Catching the edge of another strike, it slid right off his blade.

“The Great Machine..the Revenant.”

His voice came low, devoid of inflection, not shaped by mockery, but by really just the act of registering what was just said.

Surprisingly, when he raised an eyebrow next, it wasn’t for effect; it was a flicker of something real beneath the surface.. not that it usually took much to unsettle his expression.

“You sound like a Jedi with a fever dream..”

A beat passed. The sabers hissed between them, locked but not moving.

“I’ve touched the topic. Once.. maybe twice. It didn't quite stick.”

Then, quieter. “What are you even on about?”

What unfolded before him was not surrender, but he did guess whatever edge was there, began to fray.

“Then don’t stop.”

The words that passed between them were not thrown for encouragement. They were closer to a command.

“Whatever it is.. this vision, madness, truth, it’s yours. And if you let it slip now, it’ll own you later.”

He circled her slowly, eyes scanning the way she held her saber. Was that a flicker of doubt?

“The only answer that matters at this moment is about what you do when the body wants to quit and the mind starts making excuses.”

His tone softened momentarily before sharpening once more.

“In the field, this is the moment that gets you killed. The hesitation, the hesitation is what will betray you.”

For a beat, Desevros seemed to hold its breath with him.

“So push. Not because I said so. Not because you want the meaning of something that only you understand. Push because if you don’t, someone else will. Again.. don’t hold anything back this time.”

​

 

[Naniti]

Jedi. Naniti knew little truth about them. Propaganda mostly. Probably full of lies, half-truths, and basis confirmation. There were hints though in the recordings they should to demonstrate the folly of the Jedi Code. Often in the background. Usually just for a moment. Someone listening intently, extending a hand, showing concern. Placid. Thoughtful. It sounded perfect except how different were they, really? Jedi instructors would probably deliberately endlessly as the Sith sneered about their methods. They'd shut her out just as surely as Sith Lords unconcerned or desiring to snare something for themselves. For 'her own good' they'd probably claim.

No, the Jedi weren't an answer. Just a different kind of problem with a host of others that'd follow in its wake.

At least what she'd said had somehow gotten through. Maybe he questioned her sanity as much as was ever so slightly intrigued; but perhaps Lysander didn't think her concerns were merely the tantrum of a spoiled brat upset the Lords didn't share. A little understanding was something.

"We'll all die." Naniti said the words and then there was a flicker in her eyes and the angle she held her head. That hadn't been what she'd been expected to say in response to Lysander saying it would 'own' her if she let it 'slip.' Death? Death was new. It fit, but was that if they did... or didn't do something?

"I'll push through. Not because only I understand. Because I don't." Naniti sought focus on the man before her. Calmed her breathing even as she felt the currents in the Force around and between them. "And no one is solving this puzzle for me." Certainly not some high and mighty Lord. She'd unravel the mystery. She'd prove her worth. None of them needed to worry about her taking the easy route doing just enough to satisfy a Lord and get promoted.

For now, however, she needed to focus on the battle. The Togruta brought the blade before her in both hands. Her blue eyes stared at Lysander from the other side of the glowing, purple beam of light. The Force would strengthen her. It would guide her. She knew it could be so, and so it would. It would, she insisted as it swelled about her once more. Without a cry this time, she surged forth to deliver quick, but strong blows to the four quadrants. Naniti would strive to keep her strikes from becoming repetitive even as she sought a stable core and an unyielding advance. Lysander would become the Unknown through which she had to press in that moment.

Lysander von Ascania