Private The Old Blood

[Mykel Dawson]

Eryndel had never been unkind to Mykel, but it was the first time he had experienced any sense of warmth from her, feeling her shift behind him in giddiness. The kernel of curiosity and bloomed into dreaming and now she was completely smitten with the thought of traveling offworld.

<It's not all sunshine and rainbows out there.> He admitted to her. <But you'll never be bored, that's for certain.>

Meanwhile, Mykel was already getting used to the quaint existence of the Kiir on the world, largely removed from the larger concerns of the galaxy. It reminded him of the more idyllic days of his youngling years spent at the Silver Rest on Kashyyyk. If they survived the encounter, then he would take some time to enjoy local living before departing.

Such sunny thoughts soon vacated the forefront of his mind as he began to feel a pit growing in his consciousness. They were drawing closer to the cave, and while it was still a distance away, he could already feel the potency of its darkness, a gurgling void of malevolence. The power of the verdant World Tree still reigned supreme on the surface, but a spiritual battle was ongoing and growing in tempo.

<Do you feel it?>

___________________________________________________________________

Eryndel​

 

[Eryndel]

Eryndel's presence remained close to his, steady and warm, the faint echo of her earlier excitement still lingering like sunlight after a passing cloud. Yet the moment his awareness shifted, so did hers.

She felt it too.

The change in the current of the Force was unmistakable, like stepping from clear water into something cold and stagnant. Where moments ago the Living Force had flowed around them in gentle, breathing rhythms, it now tightened, growing dense and uneasy, as if reluctant to move forward.

When her thoughts reached him, the lightness had softened into quiet gravity.

<Yes,> she answered, simply at first.

Then, more fully: <It is like a place where breath forgets how to move. Where the song of life grows thin and distorted, as if someone is pressing their hands over its mouth.>

Her awareness stretched outward, brushing against roots, stone, and unseen pathways beneath the soil, listening in the way she had been taught since childhood. What she felt made her chest tighten.

<The Tree does not touch it directly,> she continued. <Not because it is weak…but because what lies there resists being known. It folds inward. It hides itself inside old pain and old hunger.>

A subtle shiver ran through her presence, not fear, but instinct. <It feels…lonely,> she admitted quietly. <And angry because of it. Like something that has been buried too long and has forgotten how to exist without hurting what comes near.>

She drew a slow, steady breath, centering herself, letting the forest's calm flow through her and into the bond between them. <But you are right,> she added, her tone strengthening. <The World Tree still holds the surface. Its roots surround this place like a living wall. Whatever waits below has not won. Not yet.>

Her presence brushed his, firm and reassuring. <We are not walking into darkness alone, Mykel. We carry this world with us. Every leaf. Every breath. Every voice that still sings above.>

A quiet resolve settled into her thoughts. <And as long as I can feel the Tree…as long as I can feel you beside me…it will not claim us.>

Then, softer, with that familiar warmth returning beneath the seriousness: <So yes. I feel it. And I am ready.>

Mykel Dawson

 

[Mykel Dawson]

Vegetation, once lush around them, steadily thinned out as they neared their destination. Carpets of grass and underbrush surrendered to desolate earth, jagged slabs of onyx thrusting up from the ruined ground in place of trees.

The moment they crossed from forest into that pocket of wasteland, it felt like slamming into a psychic wall. The gentle influence of the World Tree was violently ejected from his mind, replaced by a vile presence that tried to smother his thoughts with a viscous grip like tar. Yet the experienced mentalist, already primed for such a psychic intrusion, held the beast at bay.

He slowed the bike to a halt, then twisted back to look at Eryndel.

"How are you holding up?" He asked aloud, tone laced with concern.

The Jedi Knight was accustomed to facing darkness on its own ground, always anchored within the greater Force. But for Eryndel, this experience could be much more jarring as she was suddenly cut off from the direct support of the World Tree's constant overwatch.

___________________________________________________________________

Eryndel​

 

[Eryndel]

Eryndel felt the shift the instant they crossed the boundary.

It was not like stepping into darkness.

It was like stepping into silence.

The living chorus she had carried with her since birth, the endless whisper of roots and leaves and flowing energy that had always been there at the edge of her awareness, vanished in a single, violent breath. The warmth of the World Tree's presence was torn away, as if a veil had been ripped from her mind, leaving a hollow ache that tightened her chest.

She swayed slightly where she sat, one hand instinctively reaching out to steady herself against the bike's frame, her fingers curling tighter than she realized.

For a heartbeat, her breath caught. Then she forced it slowly. In. Out.

She closed her eyes for just a moment, not to retreat, but to gather herself, reaching inward instead of outward, searching for the quiet reservoir of strength she had learned to trust within her own spirit.

When she opened them again, the green of her gaze was dimmer than before, but still clear.

"It feels… wrong," she admitted softly. "Like trying to breathe after being underwater too long. Everything that was always there is suddenly gone."

She straightened, shoulders squaring with quiet determination.

"But I am still here," she added, her voice steadying. "And so is the Force. It is just… distant. Quieter. Like hearing a song through stone."

Her hand brushed briefly against her chest, just over her heart.

"The Tree is not gone," she continued. "I cannot feel it the way I did before, but its roots are still part of me. What it taught me does not disappear because I cannot hear it."

She looked at him then, truly looked at him, gratitude and trust shining through the strain.

"I will not lie to you," Eryndel said quietly. "This place frightens me. It feels hungry. Empty in the wrong way."

A faint, resolute smile touched her lips.

"But I am not alone in it."

She reached out and rested her hand lightly on his arm, grounding herself as much as reassuring him.

"And neither are you."

Drawing a slow breath, she lifted her chin toward the wasteland ahead.

"So… I am holding up," she finished softly. "Because I have learned that even when the forest falls silent… I can still listen."

"And I will."

Mykel Dawson

 

[Mykel Dawson]

"It's alright to be afraid." He admitted to her. "The threat is real and our mission can end in catastrophe."

As she had rested her hand on his arm, he used his free hand to close over it in turn.

"There is always a chance we may fail if we continue on, but failure is certain if we do not. There is no other choice but to move and act. That is where valor is born, in the cradle of fear."

His aura expanded, basking her in the light of the Force, becoming a walking beacon in the Dark. Providing another anchor in place of the World Tree. The darkness emanating from the gash ahead, suddenly recoiled at the outpour of Light, a defiant hiss running through the air.

They were still within the dominion of the ancient darkness, but as Mykel stood like a flare, it could do nothing but seethe in his shadow.

___________________________________________________________________

Eryndel​

 

[Eryndel]

The light that poured from him did not feel like the World Tree.

It was different.

Where the Tree had been vast and encompassing, an endless web of quiet life stretching in all directions, Mykel's presence was focused, deliberate, like a lantern raised in one steady hand against a storm. It did not drown the darkness in one sweeping gesture. It stood against it.

And that mattered.

Eryndel felt the ancient presence ahead recoil at the touch of his radiance, and something within her steadied in response. The hollow ache left by the Tree's silence did not vanish, but it no longer felt like a void. It felt like space. Space she could fill.

Her fingers tightened slightly beneath his, not in fear now, but in acknowledgement.

"I have always known fear as something that lives at the edges," she said softly, her voice calmer than it had been moments before. "In the rustle before a predator moves. In the silence before a storm breaks."

Her gaze shifted toward the jagged slabs of onyx rising from the deadened earth.

"This feels different. Older. Not like a creature that hunts to survive… but like something that feeds because it can."

She drew in a slow breath, letting his light wash over her, letting it warm the places that had gone cold.

"You are right," she continued quietly. "If we turn back now, it will not remain here. It will grow. It will reach."

A faint ember of her own power flickered to life beneath her skin, subtle but real, not drawn from the Tree, but from within herself. It was not as brilliant as his flare against the dark, but it did not need to be. It was steady.

"I am afraid," she admitted, meeting his eyes without shame. "But I am also certain."

Her hand slipped from his arm only long enough to rest over her own heart.

"The Tree taught me that life does not retreat from shadow," she said. "It pushes through it. Root by root. Breath by breath."

Her gaze returned to the cave mouth ahead, where the ancient malevolence churned.

"So let it seethe," Eryndel finished softly, a quiet resolve threading through her voice. "We are not here to challenge it with rage."

"We are here to end its hunger."

She straightened beside him, no longer swaying, her presence no longer searching for something lost.

"Lead," she said gently.

Mykel Dawson

 

[Mykel Dawson]

Fortunately, Eryndel appeared to recover as he encouraged her to resist. She beckoned him to lead, in turn, and so he did. With each step, the darkness appeared wounded, recoiling and hissing through the Force as it was pressed back. Then there was something like a defiant cackle, as if daring him to proceed and meet the darkness at its nexus where it held complete dominion. No one man or woman could overcome it, and then they would promptly fall, and the evil would be allowed to spread its tendrils across the world unhindered.

Mykel's stride remained steady, not missing a beat as he took the first down into the depths.

"Guard the speeder, and keep keep the entrance clear," he ordered the two attending wardroids. Dee and Dum quickly shifted into patrol mode, relentlessly scanning the area for physical threats, ready to unleash their potent arsenals made for enemies far worse than the predators of Orkathell.

While no expert of the local geology, he still found the glassy obsidian formations of the cave walls strange, as if they had been carved by lava, but there were no volcanoes in the area. He recalled the vision of seeing great dragonic creatures leveling entire battlefields with plasma fire that left the melted earth as glass.

With each step, the pair drifted further from the light of day. However, they were soon swathed with azure light as Mykel activated his lightwhip in blade form, providing both a source of illumination and aegis in the dark.

On their trek, the entity gave up on assaulting Mykel directly despite its advantage, instead focusing all its vile influence directly on Eryndel. It attempted to flood her mind with violent images of her fellow Kiir who had gone down before her, succumbing to the madness unleash upon them. Succumbing to the black song of the dreaming dragon. Their screams ringing through the abyss.

Nidhakar wouldn't dream forever. Soon, it would awaken, and its nightmare would be unleashed upon the world. The World Tree would be ravaged as her kin were being down below.

She was next.

There was no escape.

No escape for poor little Eryndel.

Only fire.

Only agony.

Only death.

___________________________________________________________________

Eryndel​

 

[Eryndel]

The darkness did not strike her all at once; it seeped in slowly, threading itself through the edges of her awareness until images, sounds, and sensations not her own pressed against her mind with a cruel, insistent weight. Her kin appeared as the entity wished her to see them, twisted by fear, broken beneath something vast and suffocating, their voices reduced to hollow screams echoing through empty depths. The forest felt distant. The Tree felt gone.

For a moment, her breath faltered, not from belief, but from recognition.

She had known pain before. She had seen death in the hunt and had felt the sharp edge of loss even in a world that nurtured life. Suffering itself was not unfamiliar. What struck her was the way it was being wielded now, sharpened into a weapon meant to fracture her from within.

Eryndel closed her eyes as she walked, not to retreat, but to center herself. A slow breath filled her lungs, steady and deliberate.

In.
Out.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but it did not waver.

"You show me pain as though it is something I have never known."

The visions surged in response, the screams rising, the imagined fire consuming everything it touched. Yet her expression remained unchanged.

"Life has always held pain," she continued, her tone calm and unwavering. "The forest is not free of it. Teeth break flesh. Storms tear branches from living wood. Even the Tree sheds what it cannot keep."

The darkness twisted the images further, trying to turn every truth into despair and to make the familiar unbearable.

Eryndel opened her eyes. A faint, steady emerald light met the abyss without flinching.

"You speak of fire," she said softly. "But fire is not yours alone. It warms. It clears. It makes space for new life to take root."

For the briefest heartbeat, the screams faltered.

"And death…" Her voice deepened with quiet certainty. "Death is not a terror you invented. It walks beside every living thing, from the smallest root to the tallest canopy."

Her steps did not slow. She did not look away.

"It finds us all," she said, not with defiance but with acceptance. "In time. In its own way."

The pressure in her mind surged again, desperate now, clawing for something to hold. But there was nothing to grasp.

"No escape?" she echoed, almost gently. A small, resolute warmth stirred within her, not the vast presence of the World Tree, but something smaller, closer, and wholly her own. "I am not trying to escape."

Her gaze lifted toward the light Mykel carried ahead of her, anchoring herself not in what the darkness tried to take, but in what remained beside her.

"I am walking forward." The visions fractured, still present, but diminished, their power slipping. "And if you bring fire," she finished quietly, "then I will walk through it."

Because she understood something the darkness never could. Fear did not end life. It revealed it. And she would not turn away.

Mykel Dawson