The Road not Taken

[Muad Dib]

The lambda class shuttle cruised through the atmosphere, an actual transponder that had permission to head for a range of land well outside the cities of Manda'yaim pinging with their location. The flight had been relatively quiet and somber. A visit to a vod in an ancient stronghold. The man sat back and looked at the two bags that laid nearby. One was filled with his beskar'gam and weaponry of war. The other bag contained items of a more personal and potentially much more dangerous. He sighed as his chin dropped to his chest.

A tan tunic with long sleeves pulled to elbows and dark brown trousers were stretched across his torso. His heavy duty boots stretch in front of him, dust of a dozen worlds caked upon its surface. Breathing slowly his eyes flickered to the bag, a sense of trepidation almost crossing his face, before a smirk stretched his lips. Today was about new life. But it would push him, push all of them, to the brink. But when it was all said and done, new life would prevail.

The ship settled and the ramp lowered with the suddenness of a lumbering bantha, yet as deep into his thoughts as he was Muad gave a visible start. They had arrived. Grabbing the bag he tossed it over his shoulder and glanced at the two with him. Derek and [member="Ginnie Dib"] , his aliit, had made the journey with him. He gave them both a grin.

“Come along children.”

With a chuckle he trotted down the ramp and hopped off into the red sands of the wastelands before trekking towards the massive coliseum. The great stone doors slowly opened outward inviting the trio in, even as a line of unidentifiable mandalorians lined the path to either side. Striding purposefully forward he entered the sands of the coliseum and looked upon the obsidian statue upon the dais. The features of Rhaegar Nemesis Dib gazed out, forever safe from the ravages of time. A low pulse seemed to echo from the center, a reverberation that was felt in the Force like waves upon the shore. A slow tempo reminiscent of a heartbeat. His chuckle was gone as he mounted the steps of the dais to greet, not the statue, but the apparition that watched his approach with a slight smile.

“J'us kiara muru Muad. Tuti oi tsakwa mazo minjio?

Spoiler

You look well Muad. Is it time so soon?

”

Muad looked at the form of Rhaegar and nodded silently while setting the bag upon the ground. He had visited Rhaegar many times, but the last few visits were filled with unrest, with tense conversations, and plans for the future. It was time for the cocoon of change to be shed and a new future filled with possibilities to emerge. The handle of a Force imbued sledgehammer was just visible from within the open bag. Muad spoke, a sad smile offered to his blood.

“It's time. This is the way.”

Derek had been quiet during the trip. His brother had only revealed a small portion of what he wanted to do today, yet it wasn't too difficult to guess at the purpose of their visit. His red rimmed eyes often studied Ginnie during the trip and felt pangs of loss and dismay radiating from her occasionally. He couldn't imagine the amount or kind of loss she had lived with for so long. If he was honest, he never wanted to endure what she had experienced, rather he would choose dismemberment.

When the ship landed he watched as his brother hopped from the shuttle with a smart quip. Resisting the urge to sigh he motioned for Ginnie to go first as a man of manners. Moral support and a cool head was needed and that was why he was here. To be there for family. And so he would be, for both Muad and Ginnie.

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Jarek carried the comatose Ginnie onto [member="Muad Dib"]’s ship. Wrapped in a flame-retardant blanket and stinking of Tihaar, Ginnie passed out in her forge. Fingernail beds stung with blood as Ginnie worked on the texture of new armourweave for [member="Rhaegar Dib II"] and Amma’s Verd’goten gifts.

A new form of Beskar’gam.

Pitching herself into the project since that day on Vanquo, Ginnie worked like the damned her husband Rhae was in life. She poured her grief into every stitch of the armour, groping at the beskar cannibalized from Rhae’s misbegotten never completed suit.

She quaked in her sleep, at one point setting her cheek on [member="Derek Dib"]’s thigh, close to his knee. Her knees curled into her chest, body instinctively curling in on itself the way it always had, since she was a lonely and outcast child torn away from her family for being the ruined little deaf one in a family with too many mouths to feed.

So much of her life was lived in silence, nothing but the constant roar of the flames which stole her mother echoing in destroyed ears. Until Rhae.

Until the day she died, and she and Rhaegar experienced the first music Ginnie could fathom. The Manda. That collective wonder of the Mandalorian afterlife. Together with Rhaegar, Ginnie found her own agency in that hymn. She found connection, and a family which would never abandon or destroy her again.

The second the ship docked, Ginnie burst to her feet, a beskad in hand. Discombobulated and staggering from her perpetual hangover, she glanced around in a fog.

Manda’yaim called to her, a whisper in the back of her ears. The same ears Rhaegar gave her, without initially realizing the gift he offered. The beskad returned to Ginnie’s belt. She followed numb to the surroundings, reaching for a flask and taking a long draught.

“Rhae.” Ginnie trotted then ran to him, throwing her arms around the statue’s chest as if he were truly among them. Nothing but cold obsidian met her, her husband’s apparition standing with the same smile which still made her swoon.

Not that Ginnie would admit such things.

“Time… time for… time for wh-“ So much of her time without sound had its’ slim advantages. For one, a woman became observant of the surroundings when there were no sonic emanations to warn her.

The sledgehammer peeked out of the bag.

“Muad? Wh-what’s th- what’s that?” She kicked the bag, revealing more of the dashed hammer. That ever-dashed hammer. “Why… why do you… time for what?”

Arms falling away from the statue, hands shaking Ginnie looked between the ghost of her husband and her oldest and most precious aliit.

“Time for what!?” Ginnie’s feet staggered. She shifted from a woman secure in the company of her family to a soldier taking up arms.

Her back pressed against the statue, as her stance widened. Hands stilled.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t… Muad don’t… I won’t… I will never let you.”

 

[Muad Dib]

Derek had seen the soft, unguarded side of Ginnie, the same side almost everyone reveals when they sleep, as she rested on the ship. He had almost brushed her hair from off her cheek, but that would have been improper and might have awaken her from her slumber. Looking at her now, ready to fight both of them he wished he had woken her so the brothers could have explained why they were here and why must had a Force imbued sledgehammer in his pack. But before he could intercede Muad laughed before speaking.

“Gin, nobody ever let's me, or stops me. I do what I want, I always have. And yeah, little Ginnie is all grown up, a mother of grown children, a mighty warrior, trained in the arts, the foremost beskar Smith, and a burning spirit. But kiddo, you couldn't stop me. Nobody tells me what to do, or not do.”

His eyes blazed with an inner fire as the grin on his face turned rabid.

“Careful little one.”

Even as Derek tried to circle between them nonchalantly Muad cut a glance his way that stalled him in his tracks. Returning to look at Ginnie once more, Muad sighed and eased the maniacal look from his face.

“Ginnie. I'm not here to destroy the present. I'm here to save the future. Don't take my word for it, ask them.”

His hand gestures in the direction of Derek who stood tensed watching the scene carefully while Rhaegar shimmered in his existence, a soft smile being offered from ethereal form before responding.

“It's true Gin'ika. A second chance. Rebirth. A future. Muad is offering this.”

Derek looked between the three before shaking his head at the crazy magnitude of what was being propositioned. He rubbed the stubble on his chin before offering his piece.

“We're bringing back Rhaegar. Muad told me just recently that he had been looking for a way. How to bring him back to us. He's been searching everywhere. Tython, Dathomir, Ryloth, even the Sith worlds. Then last week he came back from a trip to the Netherworld with another piece, the last piece, to bring Rhaegar back. He needed us here to do it. It's going to be unpleasant and sacrifices will need to be made but … Ginnie, we are resurrecting Rhaegar.”

 

[Ginnie Dib]

“It’s been sixteen fething years and I haven’t stopped thinking about my husband for a second. If you dare try and break anything in some… stupid attempt to get me to move on I will fight as hard to keep him as I have in every battle you’ve ever seen, Muad.” Glaring at the blazing fire of [member="Muad Dib"]’s eyes, Ginnie knew she’d take her licks. Ginnie versus Muad would be a battle that tore planets to cinder and threatened atmospheres with enough char to never be breathable again.

“I will never let go!” She raised her fists, standing between Muad and Rhaegar’s statue. In the fog of her tihaar addled brain, Ginnie fought with the context of what Muad was saying. [member="Derek Dib"] ’s truth penetrated the first layer, but for the dark lit glass of her stubbornness to let go.

“A.. future?” One by one her hands fell slack by her side. She sucked in a breath and reached for Rhaegar’s ghost, knowing yet again her fingers would go straight through.

Derek’s words flushed into Ginnie’s mind. It struck that piece of soul which belonged to Rhaegar in the first place, vibrating like the hidden chord that kept her spirit from losing singularity in the collective nature of the Manda in the first place.

Deep brown eyes widened as Ginnie’s full lips pouted. Her feet spread apart, as she watched the inferno within Muad and Derek’s living eyes.

Gripping the sides of her own head, Ginnie concentrated on a technique her once-Jedi father [member="Ordo"] taught her. Instantly the tihaar’s burn cleansed from her body, her mind as sharp and clear as someone thrice sober. Rushing Muad, Ginnie threw her arms around him, burrowing her face in his chest.

“I’m sorry. I doubted you and… I shouldn’t have. What do you need me to do? What’s the cost of this? What sacrifices, Muad… how? How do we do it? What do I have to pay?”

 

[Muad Dib]

Muad's arms went around Ginnie as she accepted what the three men said. His arms tightening in the embrace he closed his eyes against the betrayal that burned in his heart. He needed, for once, to have the steel reserve of his brother. He couldn't allow sentiment, worry, or the meshing of different spells and abilities for the ritual to sway him from doing his duty. For his House, for his Clan, for his aliit, for his blood. His demeanor smoothed from within, Ginnie's questions making the plan leap to the fore of his mind.

“The price is pain. When I anchored Rhaegar here, to this plane of existence, I broke the natural law of death. To break the laws again, he needs to be whole. He needs his soul to be reunified. And that, that will be painful for both of you. Derek will have to rip the splinter of Rhaegar from your soul and I will have to do the same to Rhaegar. Once you both are whole we have to break his body free of the obsidian shell to get to his body. From there it gets … complicated. If he can't return to his body every molecule of his vessel must be destroyed. And then I'll have to go to the Nether with him to create another form. There will be difficulties.”

Looking down at the diminutive woman in his arms he gave her a small, genuine smile. Little Ginnie was all grown. It was still hard to wrap his head around. But life continued in a cycle that could not be denied. Brushing a tendril of hair from her face, he released her and moved to stand near the statue.

Rhaegar’s spirit neared the woman and he offered her the faint smile that combined a smugness with that look that said he already knew the outcome. Faint fingers raised to brush her cheek with a ghostly hand.

“Soon ner runi.”

Floating with ethereal steps he approached Muad and stood opposite him.

Derek was almost brimming with excitement, though only smiling eyes pierced his cool exterior. After so long they had the chance to restore what had been lost, what had been broken. Finally Ginnie would smile and laugh like she once had when her riduur had been living. Amma and Rhae would have their buir in the flesh. It was a momentous occasion, the danger be damned.

Moving near the small woman he pulled up his sleeves then rubbed his hands together in anticipation. The price would be paid today, no matter what. His family deserved this happiness. Then Rhaegar gave them instruction.

“Mis nayir dniti ri asarsi. Dzi dorizi waria shiyi an tumora ant zo wuni sirsizi, mazo ri asarsi waria ik an tnoi doru ri wiki azisi rianurzu. Muad, j'us diâ Derek, waria na ik an iriti ri asarsi diâ riai dro ri irartsa iw diu mis tuti an tsosûtaiyi anas harsosûti sirsizi diu ri arika tnirma wa. Tsosûtaiyi ri tarjwatsas diâ iniai. Ri ana iw tu'iyia asarsi waria intermingle kakija, katsoshatsa, diâ warsi noj ri zasoti. Sis tuti ri iroi nous.”

Spoiler

We must clear our minds. Each pair will have to focus on a single point, so the minds will begin to flow along the same wave length. Muad, you and Derek, will then begin to enter our minds and swim through the essence of who we are to find that central point where our souls reside. Find the splinters and withdraw. The passage of your minds will intermingle memory, emotion, and experience during the journey. This is the first step.

 

[Ginnie Dib]

[member="Muad Dib"] knew the tempest and mercy of fire the way she did. When she met Muad, Ginnie realized that she was not constantly burning in the munitions locker. The fire which stole her mother and tore her ears from her flesh was not a punishment for being a poor Mandalorian.

It was rage and a spark of insanity and the life’s breath of every being on every planet that breathed oxygen so passionately that inside the pyromancers, it combusted. Until Ginnie met Muad, she shook under her bed at night, falling to sleep only after exhaustion caused the child to pass unconscious. She could burn the room with a bad dream. And if she did, once again little Ginnie would be tossed out.

A bad omen and uncontrollable creature.

“You found a way. You always find a way, even when they’re usually insane.” Her arms felt the heat of his skin as she embraced him. Tears steamed from her eyes before they fell. Pain.

“Only pain? Think we got it. I’m old hat at pain, cyar’vod.” Ginnie laughed sordidly, shaking her head against Muad’s chest. The price was pain. Dare she trust him? Muad’s smile tugged at the more suspicious part of Ginnie’s mind, in its’ softness. The genuine nature shook her. When he let go, a shudder stole across her spine as if this was a final parting.

“Difficulties? I’ll go with you. I can help, you know I can.” She couldn’t let Muad handle the weight of their lives alone. Then Rhaegar was whispering, his fingers by her cheek with such care. Reaching for his spectral hand, Ginnie sniffed and smiled for him. “Soon. We’ll all be together. All of us. The way it’s supposed to be.”

Clearing her mind was easier when she knelt on the ground beside the obsidian form of her once and future love. Hands on her thighs, Ginnie shut out the worlds, all realities except Rhaegar’s voice.

Muad’s heartbeat.

Derek’s shifting, excited hands and the energy which buzzed between them.

“Qutzi, Derek. Ki asarsi tuti zo qûkhisirmti.” ‘Careful, Derek. My mind is a firestorm.’ The shift to High Sith took nothing for the mind of a woman whose companion since childhood was a Tuk’ata pup. Wembley snarled and paced behind them, at the entrance to the colosseum.

The first point in Ginnie’s memory felt like the warm sand on the Noasis beach, where she met [member="Derek Dib"] for the first time. Already pregnant and about to tell Rhaegar he was soon to be a father. Bare feet pounding the sand as Rhaegar, Derek and Ginnie rushed toward the sounds of blaster fire to protect the Vode.

She’d laughed then, a glorious sound and one dangerous to their enemies…

 

[Derek Dib]

Theme: [YouTube]https://youtu.be/bOvZjISGZWg[/YouTube]

The fingers of his riduur slipped unfeeling through his as she joined Derek and began to focus on a memory. He heard the mention of the beach and his soul ached for all he had lost. He offered her a twitching smile of encouragement then turned to look at Muad. The two stared hard at one another, no words passing between them. They were so similar in many ways, perhaps that was what pushed them against each other, and then drew them together. Each chose the path of darkness. Each saw the futility and hypocrisy of the Sith. Each did what they wished. Each became mando'ad. And each had fallen for only one love, their individual riduurs.

“Oi ai ri ros qo Muad. Dari nindz azisi datar. J'us mnirdaki an ki oi waria tuti dari.”

Spoiler

It's the only way Muad. Do not waver now. You swore to me it would be done.

Staring at Muad, Rhaegar narrowed his eyes. There was a glimmer behind the windows into the mad man's soul, a glimmer of something he couldn't place. But even as Muad nodded, Rhaegar closed his eyes and focused on the last time the two had met in the coliseum, just two weeks earlier.

Muad had been sitting on the dais smoking a death stick and flicking the ashes upon the obsidian statue's feet. Rhaegar had been hovering nearby as the mad man spoke.

“They keep coming ner vod. The first time was at their verd'gotten. If I hadn't been their I don't know what would have happened. But they are coming more often. It's taking more and more strength. One day I won't be fast enough and the price will be paid.”

The two sat there in silence until Rhaegar spoke, shoulders sagging and head bowed.

“It is time for me to pay the price for my sins. I will not allow my riduur or children to be hurt for me. You must send me to the Nether realm. Swear to me you will free me from this statue and protect my family. Swear to me!”

Muad had closed his eyes and whispered two words.

“I swear.”

The two stood in the present, eyes locked as their beings swirled about one another. Muad saw the desperation, fear, and love Rhaegar had for his family. Rhaegar saw that Muad was hiding something from him and saw that his heart was heavy with regret for a betrayal he had yet to perform. As Muad delved deeper into Rhaegar's soul the exchange of memory and thought flashed faster between the two, yet Rhaegar was no closer to discovering what the hidden secret was.

“I think I can handle a little fire, or don't you remember?”

Derek smiled as he, too, knelt next to the statue. Open palms pointed to the skies as the back of his hands rested upon his thighs. His red tinged eyes looked into hers and beyond, allowing his mind to drift toward the steam of her thoughts.

It was warm. Sand. Watching Rhaegar and Muad wrestle. Then Ginnie entered his sight, her body framed by the sunlight that cast a glow to her features. Then shortly after he found out the glow was just her, natural vitality and the light of carrying life. The next generation of Dibs. His own memory flashed, snippets of images unbidden came to him as he entwined with Ginnie's mind and soul. The twins asleep in their crib, he watching them as the sounds of hammering in the forge rang like a gentle lullaby, watching Ginnie swinging the hammer to breathe life into lifeless metal, playing marbles with a young Rhae using only the Force for fun and secretly teaching the art of control, of sitting in a chair at Ginnie's homestead in front of a hearth that had only smoldering coals (no flame) as he read a fairy tale to Amma only to realize she had fallen asleep in his arms, to Jerek telling him Ginnie had fallen asleep at her work table and carrying her to her bed to tuck her in, to coming to visit with gifts in hand having teen aged twins nearly tackle him, to seeing a quiet moment of Ginnie sitting in Rhaegar's den looking at old holophotos and one of the absolutely rare laughs ringing out. Just like that first day at the beach.

He had become a protector and guardian to the twins. He loved them as if they were his own, just as he loved their mother. Was in love with their mother.

He physically gave a start as the emotions and feelings leaked from him unbidden and unable to hide what was seen. All he could do was dive deeper in search of the splinter of Rhaegar's soul.

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Gin’ika smirked, as a soft laugh broke through the tension. Her cheeks flushed, as fresh and innocent as moments Ginnie couldn’t remember. A bright grin cast on cocoa skin, as she shook her head.

“You can handle more than a little fire, Derek Dib.” A compliment beyond measure, Ginnie looked with softened eyes at [member="Muad Dib"]’s quiet brother. He’d taken her pain and funnelled it, for the good of their family. Truth be, Ginnie wondered why. Of all the people who profess ‘family’ as their cause and effect, Derek was as unreadable as an Epicanthix. As solid as the obsidian which encased Rhaegar’s body in state. Inside the enigma of Derek’s mind, Ginnie missed the glances between Rhaegar and Muad.

The long silence which heralded the eventual loss of everything she clung to in this new, directionless life.

Memories shifted. Ginnie’s first life, and the fire which begat it.

“Ginnie!!!!” A mother’s cry, as she flung the child into a munitions container. Tossed herself on it. The concussive force of the grenade liquified her mother’s organs, while the inferno hardened her skin to leather. The slumped body hugged the container, until it too fell away to nothing but a wide-eyed child caught in a conflagratory scream, clutching her knees to an eight year old chest.

Every sound thereafter replaced by the woosh of flame, and the echo of her mother’s dying scream. The mind Derek entered swelled and retracted on that same scream, forever marked by her mother's sacrifice, and the flames which awakened her inner inferno.

Ginnie lit her bedroom on fire. The uproar in the Verd Homestead climaxing to her father grabbing the burned little girl and throwing her into an old metal shed.

The only place which wasn’t flammable. The only place she couldn't hurt herself by accident. Ginnie’s muscles shook, the cold falling away to a fevered heat as she cried in astonished confusion. Ginnie couldn’t hear her father trying to work things out. Nor could she hear the animals or the people inside working to put out the fire. Cold metal reached out and cooled her cheek, when she pressed it to the door.

The mercy of cold, unforgiving metal. ​

​

Something calm, and steady. ​

Ginnie never slept in her childhood bedroom again. Always the shed, until her father tossed a knapsack at her and pointed. One too many mouths, and he couldn’t trust this one wouldn’t kill the rest. The first night, Ginnie found a park her mother took her to, when she was little. It was as warm as her skin, and Ginnie stayed for nine days before someone noticed.

Back in the shed again. Her father’s face contorted and arms flung this way and that, but Ginnie didn’t hear his words. She stared up at incompetent anger and waited.

The next day he shoved her at a duo of traders, with a small bag of credits pushed greedily between them. Shapes of words began to make sense. ‘Off’ and ‘wuh-sounds’. Wuh, with the rrrrrh of an ‘R’. Off-worrrrr.

Off World. One of the traders stunk funny, pointed to a datascreen. Pointed and pointed. Grabbed her arm and shoved her. The shows were in Basic, a language Ginnie’d never heard in her life, raised on Manda’yaim.

She learned to watch their mouths, before the traders deposited her on the door of a hospital on a planet with no name. Kind faced nurses took her by the hand, peeling back layers of cloth that stuck to the burns on her skin. Ginnie cried and screamed. On her third week, broke into the nurse’s station and stole back the only possessions she owned: A knapsack and her armour weave jumpsuit. She grabbed a data-pad and rushed for the door of the pediatric ward, and found a park with another play set like her mother brought her to, when she was small.

The childhood of Ginnie Dib. Scattered with temporary people and law enforcement, all Ginnie knew was to fall back on her memories of Mandalore. Wear the armour, speak the language, defend. Blaster bolts flew like pyrotechnic beacons, in those days. The undead, Sithspawn monsters, other sapients, it didn’t matter.

A child’s poem as direction for a child. ​

​

Wear the armour. Speak the language. Answer the call. Defend. ​

​

The only consistency a pair of blazing blue eyes with a wide, chaotic grin. ​

​

A man who believed in the sacristy of fire. ​

Serenno. Ginnie searched the cantina for a job. Something to pay for the food desperately wanted. Men started glaring at her. Leering, when she took off her helmet. Not a child anymore, but a blossoming youth. Ordo found her negotiating for mercenary work, this lost child of Mandalore. The gruff old man used hand signals, Mando’a! On the ship back to the Ordo Ranch, Ginnie took her helmet off. She set her knapsack down, instead of hugging it. Jasper taught her more hand-signs. Enough for Ginnie to see the Adoption Rite in both his lips, and heart.

The Ordo’s Ranch. A thirteen year old girl curled into Rianna be’Arklim’s arms. Rianna rocked Ginnie in those days, still so small from malnutrition and genetics to come to much physically. No matter where on the Ranch she hid when something went wrong, either Jasper or Rianna found her. Wrapped her up and carried her back to her bedroom. Ordo returned in perpetuity, pulling the girl off her backside and into the Forge.

Beskar was unbendable. Immutable. It couldn’t be forged. ​

​

Bend it. Mutate it. Fashion it. ​

​

Hammerfalls were silent in those days. The ones in Derek's memories were loud. ​

No matter what befell them before Ordo’s death Ginnie always returned to the forge, bending impossible things. Her Cathedral forge on Ziost opened to Derek’s memory, each tool and span of stone as known to him as they were to the girl who crafted them. Whispers of long dead ghosts melded with the push and pull of Sith Alchemy. Costs, and the wages earned.

If she got good… really good at it… Ginnie could even stop the people she loved from dying.

“… Daddy?” Snow fell on Iron City, as Ginnie Ordo crept closer to a figure in a snowdrift. Jasper Ordo, a beskad in his heart. Only a teenager, the act of towing her father’s gargantuan body to her ship jostled the flask out of Jasper’s belt. The tihaar went down her throat like raucous fire. She spat and felt sick, her father’s body lying in state. By the time she delivered him to her mother Rianna, the tihaar didn’t burn down her throat so terribly anymore.

Jasper’s bones didn’t burn. How could they? Cremated as he was, the beskar lining his bones was infallible. Nothing but a skeleton of metal.

Cold, horrible metal. ​

The same beskar Ginnie stole, when she ran off with Mia Monroe’s infant, in a bid to save her mother and sisters from Mandalorian reprisals after the Civil War. Rianna wasn’t a warrior, but a doctor. Rianna didn’t understand the cost of pacifism meant double-portions on Ginnie’s willful head. The baby went to Connor. Once more, the only continuance in her life was a chance meeting with Muad Dib, at her estranged brother's table. Maybe this time... maybe now she would be good enough.

Worthy of keeping.

The beskar bone weighed tonnes, when Ginnie held it in her hand. When her riduur Rhaegar needed armour. At such purity, the beskar from Jasper’s corpse was both impenetrable and as brittle as flimsiplast to Ginnie Dib. Finally her name sounded right. She belonged with Clan Dib, the brothers and Rhaegar were home. They were unafraid of her pyromancy, and both as steady as, and as chaotic as, the flames they all loved so much. She cursed and she battled with creating the appropriate alloy out of Jasper’s bones.

It took time. Distilling the only father she ever loved down to his most protective pieces. But that, as Ginnie watched the men of Clan Dib, was what a true man was.

Protective and strong and brittle. Rhaegar ran his hand along her distending stomach, whispering to his babies that life would be better in their more plentiful generation. Daddy was there, a father for twins. And Ginnie, the ultimate survivor was their mother. How could a man want anything more? Maybe if she'd worked a little faster, but the heat of her forge made her light-headed with the twins.

“But Ba’vodu, why can’t I be like you?” Amma whimpered, spindle-fingers clutching around Uncle Dede’s forearm. “Nothing scares you.”

Ginnie watched from the hall, as her seven year old daughter trembled, the last vestiges of tears staining young cheeks. Tears began to evaporate into smoke, and the glass of water on Amma’s bedside table bubbled. The girl shrieked, tangling her limbs on her Ba’vodu Dede’s arm, and the water glass shattered with no liquid but steam. Amma shuddered and buried her wild hair into [member="Derek Dib"], restating the mantra. Calm and steady. Calm and steady.

Calm. ​

​

Steady. ​

​

Like Uncle Derek. ​

“You wouldn’t have to leave if you were my Dad.” Amma whispered in a childish moment of panic soothed by the only masculine influence who made sense. When she was calm and steady, like Uncle Derek, nothing hurt anymore. The pain of her skin grafts diminished, and she slowly began to look like normal girls, without having to be ‘the one who’s mother burned her as a baby’.

Ginnie’s heart broke.

Her drinking tripled with the cognizance that Derek loved the kids, as he should. Didn’t he have a family of his own, always checking on hers like some form of life debt? No, the men of Clan Dib were steady, protective and strong. Ginnie was only the last vestige of a broken image.

The mother of a new generation, left in the Forge to do busy-work beside the laundry. As Derek’s memories cascaded into her mind, Ginnie gasped. Each one felt like a finger caressing her cheek, warm and comfortable. Seeing the kids through his eyes… the way they struggled and loved.

In Derek’s eyes, although consumed by her work in the Forge, Ginnie was nowhere near the failure she saw in the mirror.

Palms up on her thighs, Ginnie stared into Derek’s eyes and refused to break the connection. Inhales and exhales from Derek’s ribcage resounded through the space between two bodies. Fingers slid against trouser legs, as Ginnie interlocked her fingers with his and held firm.

Her memories shifted once more, to an eternal chorus sung by myriad voices, in a paradisiacal afterlife she longed to return to, when the kids were alright and it was her time. Ginnie unfolded the heavenly hymn of Manda to Derek, that inconceivable promise which bound her and Rhaegar in their throes. Fingers clinging to Derek’s, eyes sparking with the fullness of her life, Ginnie held him.

Infinity in the palms of their hands.

 

[Muad Dib]

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The memories rushing around him was almost too much. He was laid bare before Ginnie. As her memories flickered like an old, antique reel the woman he thought he knew came sharply into focus. The way he had seen her clutch a pillow while asleep, curled around her substitute rucksack from her youth. The reason every outbuilding around her yaim was mortar and brick, not a single metal construction around. How even now her eyes would drift to your lips as you spoke. Everything he knew about her came with a glossary that explored her past.

But it was a two way street.

A young child of no more than five sat on the dusty steps of the temple, a rebreather upon his face due to the atmosphere of Dorin. The hope that the masters of the order were wrong, that his parents and baby brother were not dead. That he wasn't alone on an alien world surrounded by kel dor. Watching the other children rush around talking about their visits with their family. The small child avoiding the other students who knew of his uncle's betrayal of the order.

Being ostracized with having a traitor's blood in his alien veins.

The busted lips, bruised body, sutured gashes that came from being a clumsy human. Or so he had told the nurses. Learning to stay silent so as not to earn another group beating by teens of the order.

An eight year old Derek sitting on the chest of a kid twice his age, calmly raining blows upon the face of his attacker. Late nights learning biology, weapon tactics, material arts. Using his skills during the daylight hours on those who sought to prey on the human/kiffar. A night wear he was woken by kids holding his blanket down on the cot he had been sleeping on, restraining him as they rained blows down with the practice swords breaking bones in his small body. A final blow that split his temple open and offered unconsciousness.

The mats were filled with students several years older than the twelve year old who had sprouted in body. The bo staff flipping in his hands before settling into a sideways stance, the forward half of the staff pointing toward his opponent's feet, the back half raised to shoulder height. Gone was the reactive child, instead the calm exterior was given, no emotion would be awarded any more. His opponent was a man of twenty years, a Sage. The sage attacked with a double gripped overhand strike from a high guard position. The staff lanced out straight into the sage's kneecap that bent at a forty-five degree angle the incorrect direction. Stepping forward with his back foot Derek brought the staff from behind and down across the sage's face to drop the man unconscious.

The looks of fear, disgust, and anger that the fifteen year old not only survived but flourished with a skill level that rivaled all the sages and even some of the masters.

Being chosen by the master of the hidden temple for personal training, the wizened old woman instilling his lessons through blood, sweat, and tears.

Learning at eighteen he was being forged into a weapon to strike down their enemies, Rhaegar Dib and a new sith threat, Muad Dib. The revelation that the master was his own grandmother that had trained him to avenge her family name against her own son and grandson.

Being sent at twenty two to kill his own blood, or never return.

Arriving on Kiffu to train with his mother's people who denied him his markings. Learning that even there he was an outsider because of the sins of his blood. A brief romance that was revealed to be a dare against the outcast.

Learning on Kro Var the power that flowed through his veins, trying to find the duality of light and dark. To erase self for the good of the many.

The years that stretched of loneliness negated for the cause of balance and making a difference.

Memories indistinct flickered by until blue eyes shimmered before his face as a brother he didn't know battled an uncle he had been trained to kill. The ash fell from the sky as blood drained from his body. The villains he had been taught and molded to kill fighting over his fate. His brother saving his life and nurturing him to health.

Responsibility thrust upon him, which he accepted, and an eventual reunion with his uncle under the banner of such a thing as a clean slate.

Derek fought to attain control as memories of his leaked from him as he began to see where his collided with the woman before him.

The glowing woman on the beach who accepted him as family even though he was not mandalorian. Seeing Rhaegar and Ginnie happy and in love. Muad being … Muad. The broken and wounded man kneeling over the fallen Rhaegar, his throat hoarse from the roars of agony of losing his uncle. The pale pallor of his skin, eyes red rimmed from a broken spirit as he watched his brother burn half a forest in rage at the loss. The guilt that he couldn't save Rhaegar as Ginnie screamed and burned half the house in agony that tore his heart.

The two little hands of baby twins clutching his fingers and cooing up at him where their father should have stood. The endless months and years of searching to bring Rhaegar back for the children and Ginnie. The quiet late nights as he watched Gin work at the dining table throwing herself into schematics of new armor and weapons. Her hair tucked behind one ear as she squinted down at the lines of design, the tip of her tongue captured between teeth in concentration. The unconscious gesture that swept her hair from behind her ear, the wall of hair hiding her ears in habit.

Sitting on the floor with Amma going over a history lesson and watching his niece stare at her mother in the kitchen getting another bottle. The hunger that shone in Amma's eyes, the primal need for her mother to leave the forge and spend the evening studying with her. The broken look when Ginnie headed to the forge once more before smoothing her emotions from her face. Derek reached out and pushed her over, tickling her into a laughing fit.

Studying Sith runes and alchemy with Amma who wanted to learn so het mother would choose to spend time with her. Standing under a tree and watching both his girls at a work table in the sun, working on designs for armor. The sated look that slipped across Amma's face at learning and working with her momma. The pinched expression on Ginnie's face at the constant guilt she carried every time she saw remnants of her daughter's scars.

He wished he could take the guilt and pain.

The many, many, many times that Rhae cried out in pain from another daredevil stunt. Holding his nephew and rocking him before kissing his boo boos with an overly masculine expression upon his face. Slipping through the hall at night seeing Ginnie kneeling by Rhae's bedside, the gentle flow of the Force as she healed her son despite taxing herself. Standing with Jerek and watching Ginnie toss her son around as she taught him self defense, the utter joy on the child's face at the experience. The guarded hurt hidden in Ginnie's features at the constant pang of loss.

The drunken stupors he had found her broken and crying in sleep curled around the obsidian statue, hands bloodied from pounding the imbued surface in grief. The lost expression on Rhaegar's broken face at not being able to comfort his own wife. The carefully wrapped bandages about her hands and placing a blanket around her before melting into the shadows of the coliseum to watch over her until she woke, never allowing her to know he was there and see her in weakness.

Fighting with her at the children's verd'gotten, taking the blame and pain as he pushed her to acknowledge she wasn't at fault. The silent ride in his quarters on the ship, empty bottles strewn around as he stared into the mirror, finally acknowledging to himself that he loved her. That he would die for her. That he would do anything to make her happy, which meant finding a way to bring back Rhaegar no matter what. He threw the empty bottle at the mirror, shattering the bottle and the glass. The distorted shards reflecting the brokenness he felt inside. The blood that ran from lacerated knuckles as he battered the remains of the mirror with his fists before sliding down the wall empty.

He couldn't hide anything.

Her fingers intertwined with his as she stared into his soul, a tear welling and falling free of his lashes to hiss against his heated skin. Then the sound of the manda filled his heart as she shared a glimpse into an eternal bliss that affected him deeply. His fingers tightened with hers as he opened his mouth to speak.

And then he saw it. The splintering of Rhaegar's soul. Focusing his mind and closing his mouth he drew on the Force and encircled the piece of soul before cutting himself off from his union with Ginnie. Sitting back with a gasp he looked down, both to avoid her eyes and to look at the shimmering crystal that undulated in his have as if living. The piece to Rhaegar's soul.

Blue eyes stared into red. Muad and Rhaegar sharing their memories mutually. Flickers of similar experiences drawing them closer. And then Eshan. Rhaegar drifting from his mortal coil and landing in the Netherworld. The ache in his spirit as he felt the pain his death caused to his love among the living. Her ineffectual attempt to cross over, a denial that kept him chained from going home. The wraiths that came for him seeking to drag him through the gates of Chaos, never to exist outside of an endless torment that would strip every sane thought and memory from his being until all he would be was pain, all identity being erased.

Finding out that if he was dragged to chaos incomplete, that the wraiths would find the piece that was missing, and would drag Ginnie's soul to chaos for eternity. His selfishness had damned his riduur, not just in life, but in death.

His bargains, deals, and manipulations had secured his fate in unyielding chains that would be carried out by chaos who could not be bargained with or tricked.

The memory of Muad pulling him back, giving him something he didn't think he would ever have. More time. Even though it was a limited return, he was able to be there for his wife and children. But every year he watched his riduur descend deeper into guilt and brokenness. He would have died a thousand deaths just to be able to comfort her, to press his lips softly against hers, to catch her scent, to feel her skin beneath his hand. But that was denied them both. And through the splinter of her soul he felt her agony and mourned her damnation that was his fault.

Muad followed the roller coaster of pain from Rhaegar. Grunting at the intrusive revelations, the sharing of more than words but experiences, he felt his own mind drift as their souls entwined.

Little Ginnie Ordo, firestarter and child who felt she needed to prove herself despite her tender age. The immediate drawing he felt for the girl, the protective nature that had begun to emerge since he had become an ally of the Mando'ade. The Mad Knight of the Sith standing side by side with the wee girl.

He never judged her or belittled her for age or handicap. She had proven she was beskar.

Years passed and she became Ginnie Verd, lighting his death stick with a manipulation of the Force that had run across the table at a meeting he had been invited to.

Of the absolute rage at hearing she had died that boiled within him threatening to overflow.

Then the joy of seeing her returned, whole, and as a part of his family. Muad didn't care though. She was finally a Dib, but she had been little vod since the beginning. He had embraced her and celebrated at her joy.

Rhaegar's death had nearly broken him, both at the loss of the Dragon of Dorin and at the decimation of one of his oldest friends, Gin.

The search that he never surrendered to, to bring back Rhaegar. The bestowing his fallen vod to a statue, the process nearly killing him. The joy of watching his niece and nephew grow straight and strong. The sorrow of watching Ginnie break every karking day.

And then the wraiths began to hunt Ginnie and the twins. Finally he had found a way to save his family, to save them from the damnation that threatened to swallow his aliit.

As their minds focused on what was coming, what must be done, he found it, the gentle hum of the manda. He ripped it free and staggered, looking down. There in his hand was an oscillating crystal, the shard of Ginnie's soul.

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Two lives horrifically raised, punished for controls beyond them and reasons which seemed so flippant from the other side of infancy. The fingers of Ginnie’s right hand drifted along her own Kiffu markings, white lines on a cocoa skinned face. Her left hand tightened around his, memories passing between them.

Happiness lingered around Clan Dib, an unconvinced hummingbird that flitted off too soon to tell if it would oft return. The hoarse way they suffered after Rhaegar’s death. Her children brought a new happiness, as children sometimes did in that same unconvinced way. Her breath caught.

She saw herself in Derek’s red-rimmed eyes. The tables filled with schematics, and holo-projectors. Crying infants bobbed on her hip, while she planned client projects and kept the yaim going financially.

Ginnie wouldn’t touch Rhaegar’s money. Not a single credit. That money was for the kids, and she’d be damned twice if her kids grew to adulthood without a buffer so they could pursue their desires.

Then RhaeRhae’s desires became apparent and Ginnie reconsidered. He was Rhaegar’s son alright. 100% Dib.

Each time RhaeRhae fell, somehow Derek or Muad swooped in. She never noticed the amount of time increasing through the years, despite Derek being so mentally and physically far away.

Sitting with Amma in the forests of Dathomir, teaching her the Revitalization of the Whuffa, and other Nightsister spells, which could help the burns. Which always helped her mother’s burns, when Ginnie went too far. Knowing she could teach with impunity, because Jarek and the strike team were there. Because Derek was near and no harm could possibly befall them.

Taking Amma to Ziost, the Cathedral Forge a series of bad memories she could put to better use. Derek with them, RhaeRhae off with Muad (how had Ginnie ever said yes to that?), a quiet shadow in the vaulted ceiling of the natural cave built into the cliffs created from ancient battles with Sith. Catching her reflection in a sheet of cold metal, a smile upon her lovely but severe face as Derek laced up the smithy gloves on Amma’s diminutive hands. Even taller than her mother, Amma was still so thin and small.

All those bandages and blankets she’d thought Malek or Cher set down, or in her shame, Amma. The times she woke hazily as someone strong tucked her in, mumbling Rhae’s name.

Her thumb in Derek’s wound, leaving a mark that would linger long after the Verd’goten was complete. Impressed that he took it, when all Ginnie wanted in the world was to be held.

Sober and awake.

The cavern in her heart thudded for Derek to see, in tandem with an innate understanding of the dread and loneliness they both suffered as children of fallen people and fallen masters.

And in that moment, as Derek stripped the crystalline piece of soul out of her…

… Ginnie loved him.

The world exploded with a fresh and encompassing pain. Dual lonelinesses of losing both Rhaegar and Derek’s connections. Inhaling with ragged lungs, Ginnie buckled forward, feet digging into the ground as agony at the loss of Rhaegar’s soul stabbed into her spine.

Her scream came after a contortion of her body, sound so far behind action. Gasping for air, the woman so used to pain found a new fount of it as her husband’s soul rended away. She collapsed in a ball on Derek’s lap, head skipping off to strike the ground.

Flashes of Rhaegar, his spirit watching Ginnie in her grief, of wraiths on Vanquo finally shuddered in without Rhaegar’s demand to stop them.

“You promised.”

Muscles seizing under the strain of this new soul-shattering pain, Ginnie bawled aloud.

“Muad… what’s Muad doing?” Ginnie groaned from her supine position draped across [member="Derek Dib"]’s legs. She crawled up with shaking arms, hands on Derek’s thighs as the fog of her grief lifted. Frigid pain coursed through her spine at the horrific lightness of soul.

She winced and crashed forward, her forehead colliding gently with Derek’s chest. Shivering arms wound around his lower back, a fighter’s attempt to use the closest person to rise.

“Rhae!” Ginnie collapsed again on Derek’s lap, tearing her eyes to [member="Muad Dib"] and her husband’s spectre. The smugness in Rhaegar’s smile faded as he communed with Muad and with the clarity of spirit Ginnie possessed once again, said the one phrase she now believed was for the last time. “Rhaegar, I love you.”

 

[Muad Dib]

Rhaegar staggered, even as a Force ghost, the sense of an intimate piece of him being ripped from him suddenly almost made him fall and lose cohesion. Gone was the gentle rapport that whispered of his riduur. Gone was the caphony of the Manda singing in the Nether when he shared that moment that lasted an eternity with Ginnie, a moment when two souls melded to become one. Gone was the very thing that redeemed him from darkness and opened his black heart to a love that shook him to his very foundation. His Gin'ika.

Turning to where his wife lay in Derek's arms he knelt, ethereal tears streaming down his cheeks. He reached out his hand to caress the skin of her cheek but his fingers scattered like a thousand sparking lights upon contact. He wanted to scream, to rage, to war with the unfairness of it all. Just when he managed to cling to something of his own, a family, he had lost it all to one he had called a brother, Alkor Centaris. Dropping to his knees that floated inches above the dais a guttural cry of loss escaped a man who prided himself on control.

“I'm sorry my love. The deception was mine. There is no saving me. Muad gave me, gave us, time. Time for me to watch our children grow into fine young adults. But that was because of you. It gave me more time to spend with you. But all things must come to an end. Chaos has sent wraiths to drag my soul through the gates, and there is no return from the gates of the damned hidden deep within the Netherworld. Because I was tethered here, the wraiths have come for our twins and for you as recompense for not collecting me. The Manda may have given me a clean slate, but not chaos. And Chaos will not be denied. I have to go or you and the children will pay my price. And that, I cannot allow. Forgive me ner runi, for I must go.”

It wasn't fair. He wished he could hold her in his arms, taste her lips, hear her contented sigh as she slept against him. He wished he had more time, but the clock waits for no man. Or in his case, spirit. And for the first time in his life, or afterlife, he broke down sobbing in impotent rage and desire to live, not for the sake of living, but for the love of one woman. His Gin'ika. He whispered between the sobs.

“If I had gone to Chaos with your soul as part of mine, you would have joined me there upon death. It isn't like other places in the Nether where you retain your individuality, it's like the Manda where you are swept up in a chorus that blends all together. In Chaos it's a blending of torment and pain. Where you lose yourself immediately and all you know is hell. Where the spark of your soul is consumed and you become nothing but pain without any memory of who you once were. Chaos strips you of who you were until you are an innocent empty soul, then it tortures you for eternity, a being emptied of self, damned without knowing the reason. I will not condemn you to such a fate as I have earned.”

His face looked at hers, emotions breaking across his face.

“I love you Gin'ika.”

Muad watched all this impassively. The crying questions of Ginnie on what he was doing should have haunted the mad man. But they didn't. Rhaegar falling apart as his end neared should have shook him to his core. But it didn't. A smile began to crease his face even as his eyes hollowed. No, this wasn't the end. At least not for Rhaegar. No, he would live to breathe the air again, to hold his wife and children. Rhaegar would grow to a ripe old age surrounded by his wife, children, and adopted children. Just as an Alor should. As the head of House Dib should. A soul for a soul and a life for a life. Chaos would not be denied.

Bending he took up the sledgehammer, feeling the imbuements and runes of the tool send shivers up his arms. With a spell murmured beneath his breath he swung the hammer into the torso of the statue and watched as it cracked and then blew apart. Reaching out he caught the falling body of Rhaegar, his appearance unchanged over the years due to the enchantments. Slowly he lowered the body to the ground before the others could react.

“I'm sorry I lied to you. But I have broken your trust. I'm not sending you to hell Rhaegar. And you will live again. Before you speak know I have enough spirit ichor, Force auras, and souls to make this a reality. All I needed was the right spells and rituals. You will go home ner vod. But we must go. Derek, you and Ginnie will remain here. Don't try to argue for this is how it has to be. This is the way. And we don't have much time either. Rhaegar, come.”

Doubt, unbelief, a glimmer of hope, and then acceptance that he could be whole danced across Rhaegar's face as he rose and joined Muad by his body, his look to Ginnie filled with love.

Where Derek cradled Ginnie on the ground, holding her like there was nothing else in the galaxy more precious he looked up, glancing between the two men before turning his face to the woman in his arms. The woman he loved. The woman who loved her riduur. His eyes caught sight of the scar just inside his shirt that hovered over his heart. A promise given to see this through. For Gin. A promise he would uphold.

Rising to his feet, his arms around Ginnie to aid her in rising, he looked at Muad and Rhaegar once more. The emotions of loss then hope that flooded from his uncle. The surety escaping Muad. This was going to work. Ginnie would finally get to be happy. Yet something about the way Muad's eyes were shadowed warned of further difficulties and truth not yet revealed.

“You said it. There isn't much time. So don't try to talk us out of it because we are going. No compromise. We see this through. Together.”

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Choking back the screams of agony, Ginnie slid onto her elbows and knees, rocking her hips backward the way she had in labour. That was in a medi-bed on Yasha’s Super Star Destroyer’s hospital wing. In the colosseum, dirt stuck to her elbows and trousers.

Another bark of pain had Ginnie on her side, cradled in [member="Derek Dib"]’s arms as she felt along her side to see if the space where Rhaegar’s soul had been was missing. She hiccupped and tried to speak, to give Rhaegar some mean comfort in their fissure. The woman who underwent labour alone panted and bellowed as she had then, contorting in Derek’s arms while one shaking hand reached for Rhaegar. Yet, no comfort remained in her sobbing spectre. No comfort could originate from the broken and catastrophic Nemesis. Derek held her. His arms flesh and blood and resolve without limit. Ginnie took what comfort she could in the scent of Derek, the way his arms gripped her, tortured by the love he bore unbidden and unrequited for the woman in his arms.

'Damn you Derek... if only you'd told me...'

“Rhae… I would still rather go through as much hell with you as you went through Manda with me.” Her husband… the saving grace in her death and rebirth.

“No… no… I forbid it…” Ginnie choked and spasmed, shattered by the distending of her soul and its’ crystalline companion still in [member="Muad Dib"]’s hand. “Chaos can suck Muad’s d—nnngkkh!”

Knees crashed to her ribs, arms around her nubile chest. Veins on the sides of Ginnie’s neck pulsed as a deep black night threatened her periphery. She was back in the munitions case again, an inferno ripping everything she loved, every comfort and safety from her. Steaming tears curled upward, first at Rhaegar professing his eternal damnation and then at Muad’s betrayal.


Towed upward, at first Ginnie was nothing but a rag doll in Derek’s arms, flopping with gravity and devoid of her own strength. Then, as she felt the hope and worry cross the borders of her husband and her Derek’s minds, the beskar-strong resolve of Muad, Ginnie did the only thing she truly knew in this life or the next.

She put one foot down. Then another.

One step. ​

​

Hold. ​

​

One more step. ​

​

Hold the line. ​

“Wh-we’re going and kark you.” Ginnie stumbled, her face crashing into Derek’s chest as she nearly fell once more to the ground. Bloodshot eyes craned up at Derek’s chiseled face, a hand creeping along his chest to cup his jaw. “C-can I have my soul back… please? Dang Dibs… standing there holding the great mcguffin without helpin’ a lady out.”

 

[Derek Dib]

There was no judgement in her eyes, no denouncement toward Derek for what she had seen in the innermost parts of his very being. Amma and Rhae were loved with a wellspring of emotion that ran much deeper than merely an uncle. And though he did not father the twins, he felt as though he had. He had given all that he possessed to them. Every ounce of goodness was bestowed on them since they were babes. And every milestone they achieved was viewed with a paternal pride at their accomplishments. Every failure they suffered made him ache and wish to run to their sides to comfort and raise them up for another attempt.

As for Ginnie, there weren't any words to convey the depths of his feelings. Just the imperfect perfection of a woman who struggled through loss and adversity to rise like a Phoenix from the ashes of her own demise to conquer all. And still she persevered in the face of almost assured loss and pain.

He ached in self recrimination at the knowledge that he was laid bare, that she had seen what he shared with no one. His desire. His oft daydreams. His secret wish. His unrequited love that would never be acted upon. The suffering he bore knowing that he loved a woman whose heart and soul belonged to another. Shame threatened to grow from within, yet there was no time. Even as her hands drew strength from his form, centering herself, he cried out within at her proclamation and willingness to suffer her husband's fate just as long as they were together.

His guilt knew no bounds.

Assisting her over to where Muad stood above the body of Rhaegar while his spirit watched the physical realms with a rejoiceful and hope filled expression, Derek knew that he would do whatever it took to make her happiness a reality. It was the least he could do for the woman who had given him a life, an acceptance into her life.

Muad held the shard of Ginnie's soul in his hand hesitantly. Looking down upon it he felt the silent chords of beauty that resounded within like a chorus of unimaginable ecstasy. The madman was almost humbled by the experience. His left hand opened as he placed it upon Ginnie's shoulder and let the Force flow through him, sensing her Aura and essence. Blue Sith runes ran from his knuckles to his elbow, a faint flow emanating from within as he let tendrils of his own aura flicker out tasting the vast power that existed within the diminutive woman. The pull to grip her soul and begin to absorb it whispered at the back of his mind like a dark lullaby, remnants of a past that sought power and destruction in chaos itself.

But those days had passed like the sands of time.

Closing eyes he saw without sight the void left empty within her soul. Girding his own thoughts and emotions behind an impenetrable wall he drove his hand into the shimmering presence that was at the core of [member="Ginnie Dib"] . Remnants of the echoing tune of the Manda threatened to distract and divert him, yet Muad held to his mission. Finding the void his hand released the splinter of her soul allowing it to return to where it had once rested. To make the lil firebug whole. However despite his plans to wall his every intent from Ginnie there escaped a whisper of a promise, a sacrifice that still must be paid, a debt that had to be settled. And within that small fissure in his wall slipped a hidden truth.

That they wouldn't all return.

With his retrieval of his hand from her presence. He left her to the embrace of his brother as he knelt upon the obsidian dais. The tunic was slipped from his torso and tossed from the platform while one hand retrieved his kal from it's sheath upon his belt. Warping the power granted him when the patron of Doashim chose him as shaman, he began shifting between the realms. The kal was raised to his chest as he scoured his flesh with an intricate design that was fueled with the spell falling from his lips that augmented the power that doashim had instilled. The air around them shimmered and grew dark until a flash of light blinded their eyes.

When their eyes adjusted they saw the empty plains of the deserts of despair that stretched across the southern reaches of the Netherworld. In the distance stood gates that had no walls, just doors that connected to nothing. Muad panted slightly from the exertion as he collected himself for a moment.

Rhaegar reached out and clasped his hand upon Muad's shoulder, flesh meeting flesh in the Nether. Turning he looked at Ginnie with hopeful eyes as he opened his arms that had become corporeal.

“Gin'ika ner riduur, ner runi.”

 

[Ginnie Dib]

If only he’d spoken, showed some sort of outward sign. As she looked into Derek now, cupping his cheek against the fierce passing emotions of the moment, Ginnie wondered what life would have brought?

Would he have been a method of healing?

She hadn’t a clue, hadn’t she? Brown eyes flickering across his lips. The kids’ Verd’goten. The way Derek hung around, helping with the plans for new client projects, claiming space lane disputes, or ship trouble, or the ever present excuse of ‘the twins’. When did Derek’s collection of excuses stopped mattering?

“None of that. No guilt, I won’t have it.” How many years did it take for Ginnie to realize she needed Derek the way she needed Rhaegar? The love he felt coiled with in her, a living entity taking form between her ribs and her spine. Ginnie poked at the scar above his heart, feeling the tangle within Derek none got to see. While Muad temporarily heard the whisper of his own chaotic leanings, Ginnie searched his eyes. Faith reigned between the two, and although Muad was as uncontrollable as the fire at their disposal, she trusted him with her soul. Trusted that the lengths reached for saving one of their own weren’t in vain.

Emptiness absorbed the spring of soul-wealth in Ginnie’s spine. Her soul returned, wrapped in the gossamer of her husband’s affection, and although Ginnie momentarily worried that the only reason he loved her at all was the piece of herself inside his own spirit, one glance to Rhaegar quashed her upstrike in fear.

Until [member="Muad Dib"]’s truth rocketed into her. One would be left behind… was that what he thought? His nobility in sacrificial action? Ginnie’s teeth grit, and before his ritual was complete, she whistled. Wembley, her Tuk’ata and oldest friend rushed to join them. Sentient in his adulthood, Wembley spoke High Sith as all Tuk’ata did. He’d been the first gift she’d gotten, a puppy she clung to even when she was scared. Part of the fabric of Ginnie’s life, Wembley defended her even after death, and rejoiced when her new form entered the ramp to her bereft ship. Through the new body, he sniffed out the soul of his Master and was the most loyal companion any could have.

Didn’t hurt he was large enough to chomp a man in half with his wide, clacking jaws. As the Netherworld settled around them, Ginnie leaned down and whispered in Wembley’s ear. His eyes narrowed, hackles raising as the dark sided beast growled at the dangers lurking that little bit off from where they were.

Protect the Aliit. Protect. Protect…

[member="Muad Dib"]’s shoulder wasn’t met with a spectre’s flicker but flesh and blood. For the first time in sixteen years, Ginnie burst into such a bright grin it ignited the world around them with pure, effortless Light.

“Rhae.” Ginnie’s breath burned at the air, as she stumbled out of [member="Derek Dib"]’s arms. The Netherworld swelled in its’ wrongness, a headache inducing collection of illness in her stomach to be alive and present. What few steps remained between were banished as Ginnie pounced Rhaegar, wrapping her legs around his corporeal waist and arms around his neck. Despite the piece of his soul being gone, Ginnie found the same sense of bliss and completion when she was once again in Rhaegar’s arms. Her lips found his regardless of her grin. Popping sparks crackling between the two separated lovers.

After all the words they shared during his encasement in the obsidian, Ginnie found none remaining between her and her spouse. Words. For sixteen years all they had were words. Clenching so hard her muscles shook, Ginnie refused the flimsy words her lungs provided and dove into a kiss so blistering with longing and relief that she forgot where they were. Her petite body fitted once more where it belonged, and all else was washed away…

… except an adult Tuk’ata snuffling at Muad, cruel voice lifting to his ears at a whisper.

“Wo naiti askar... wtsiyiki j'us minti Gwyndolyn waria nindz shiyi tuzuti snira iw ji sawas” (One left behind... curious you think Gwyndolyn would not have backups of her own.) The Tuk’ata filled Muad’s mind with numerous things, the souls from Ginnie’s Ziost forge, souls in their hundreds who aided in her Alchemical work. Dark, demonic work of a child filled with fears and the need for protection. All these things, the Tuk’ata offered at Muad’s feet, what indeed would Chaos desire?

One soul of a Dib, or hundreds stored in their perpetual torments, by the woman who now knew joy once more?

 

[Muad Dib]

Derek held her for the last few moments allocated him. He didn't have time to experience a life with Ginnie, to raise their kids together, to embrace the moment with zeal and passion. But even as the thoughts drifted into his mind he almost smiled. He did have that time with the twins. He also had time with Gin. Long talks, the careful watchfulness, the rare smiles. It may not have been the most agreeable scenario, but it gave him what he never knew he needed. And so letting go was the easiest decision he had ever made in his life.

And the hardest decision.

She flew from his arms almost drunkenly as she leapt into Rhaegar's waiting embrace. Derek suppressed a shudder. Yet this was the perfect snapshot of why he didn't follow emotional outbursts and why he was a weight on the scales of balance. Ginnie clung to Rhaegar with a desperate love that knew no bounds.

For the first time in almost two decades Rhaegar felt the touch of his riduur, smelled the fragrance emanating from her skin, tasted the flavor of her lips. Rhaegar's arms encircled her body refusing to free her from their joining. Not that he had to worry about that. Her lips pressed against his in a frenzy he was only too willing reciprocate. The scent of her skin caused him to stagger as he became intoxicated by her loving presence.

Their kiss was hard and fast, passion without restraint, as they gave of themselves freely and without concealing a single part of themselves. Like the Manda, their union transcended the mortal coil and united two that had been one and thus, created a small piece of the Manda there in that moment.

Steadily Rhaegar eased their rapid kisses by slowing their lips to the painfully torturous light nips that were teasing. He should release her but he couldn't bear to be apart from Ginnie. Not even for a second. He had a chance to claim every moment, every second, from this moment on. He would not fail.

“Titsû mus irwasa oi tuti dias j'us niti.

Spoiler

Let us hope it is as you say.

”

Most people would find themselves experiencing horror and fear in the face of the large tuk’ata. But not Muad. He had spent times around the creatures, going so far as finding a little one for himself and raising it. No, the tuk’ata had little effect upon the madman. He, too, hoped for everything to go smoothly. Yet he was always prepared for alternate outcomes.

Even as he knelt in the sands near the body of Rhaegar, the corpse began to lose his color before ashing and flaking away until nothing of the body remained behind. A depression in the sand was all that marked the body's previous presence with them.

Dropping the hammer within the bag he then pulled out a large animal bladder converted into a massive water bag. Rising he slung it over a shoulder and began to draw a massive circle roundabout them with the heel of his boot. Once completed he released the liquid within the trench, a green glowing haze growing around them as the spirit ichor flowed throughout the newly created channel. Raising the empty bag above his head, a single drop fell free from the spout and landed on Muad's tongue.

It was a good thing he was seated or he would have crumpled into a boneless pile. His spine felt as though it had been ripped free from his body as every nerve ending within screamed out in agony. The Spirit Ichor flashed bright green even as the man who had partaken began to shimmer and sweat a light fog of emerald. The wounds drawn in his chest with the sharp kal continued to weep blood that began to darken, a green smoke drifting from the wound.

In the distance came screams that echoed across the plains making a ferocious howl that rivaled the winds of a great storm. The living beings pulsed in a dead realm like beacons begging for consumption. But as they tried to cross the miniature ravine, they were repelled by the magiks interred within the ichor.

The wraiths circled the group looking for a break that would allow them access to the trespassers. Even so close, they were restrained. For now. So as Muad focused on the power from the liquid that threatened to destroy him from within he missed the gates to chaos begin to open and a single, solitary man began to trek across the sands toward the barrier that kept the wraiths from crossing over.

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Wembley chuffed and paced around Muad Dib , snuffling upward at the Wraiths. He clacked his jaws, standing up on his hind legs, the proud Tuk’ata he was, and stretched to sniff the air of the Nether.

Yes. This was a comfortable, desirable place for a Sith Hound.

Ginnie held her legs around @Rhaegar Nemesis Dib ’s waist as she clung and kissed, and kissed. Her lips taunted longer kisses out of Rhae’s nips, as her forehead collided softly with her husband’s. A pang in her ribcage fluttered. ‘Derek’. He’d been a faithful and watchful part of their family, and as Ginnie looked backward in her husband’s arms, she smiled back at him. Rhaegar’s ashes circled up and Ginnie noticed its’ passing. No more watching Rhaegar’s body in obsidian. Whatever was done now, would be lasting.

“Rhae, Derek… Muad thinks someone is staying behind… I ain’t losin’ any of ya. We Dib’s’ve been through enough, and we’re all going home… ‘cause I am not telling Arabella her riduur put his life up for mine… and… Amma loves her Uncle Dede more than her own dashed life.” One by one, Ginnie’s boots hit the ground. Arms refused to leave Rhaegar’s chest as she shut her eyes and shivered.

The hymn radiated around her, a tangible connection to the ether and communal consciousness of the Mandalorian’s promised afterlife. One both she and Rhaegar knew more intimately than their own entwined bodies.

“You know the one thing about Mandos, promised since the Taung?” Gwindolyne Dib stalked toward the agents of Chaos, those Wraiths and petty false gods. The lone figure marred by Chaos, who she couldn’t quite make out. “We never fight alone.”

Ginnie’s soul was both complete, and home. The hymn of the Manda was once more a physical sensation coating her skin, taming the natural curls of her hair into slowly shifting rivulets.

That collective consciousness of billions of souls who all knew one thing keenly. A battle for one of Manda’s collective, was a battle for all. Shuffling noises sounded round them, hemming House Dib’s aliit around with a border of protection. Spectres solidified, as in this nether-place, Mandalorian warriors returned to fight as one once more.

“What’s a gaggle of wraiths against billions? You brought me into Hell. We are part of the Manda’s whole. Where one is, all are.” Ginnie got down on her haunches setting her hand on Muad’s shoulder, eyes burning the green of her original pure flame.

“Mando’ade! Ready!!” Ginnie bellowed, and the Manda answered.

 

[Muad Dib]

The circle of mando’ade created an impenetrable ring of protection around the group even as the wraiths crashed down like a wave upon the base of the cliffs. Ineffectual and wearisome yet the waves of wraith were augmented by the pulse of ethereal forms flooding from the gates of Chaos. The power of the manda, pure and unsullied, against the depths of hell, jagged darkness, in a battle that seemed to be finished on the physical plane but now transcended to the afterlife in a struggle of titans as simple as good and evil, light and darkness, right and wrong. And the reality, which sentient beings refused to accept as truth, was that there was no triumphant victory to be ascertained, no lasting peace one way or the other. Two sides of the same coin. There would always be struggle and conflict. The only passable stalemate was balance.

Rhaegar stood at Ginnie’s side prepared even as Derek eased to Gin’s other side. The two men looked upon one another in acknowledgement in the fact that they would both do whatever it took for the woman they loved to be happy. Even as the small woman placed her hand upon the shoulder of Muad, he reached up and grasped her wrist to stave off her joining in the conflict. With her restrained so too would the two men. Utilizing her strength he pulled himself up and looked through the battling forms of Chaos and Manda as the solitary being approached unfettered and without interruption. However the other man paused as two dark forms slipped to his side, a flash of brilliant light visible from his open palms for only a moment before disappearing. And then the man walked through the final vestiges of protection, entering into their little clearing with nary a mark.

“Where one is, all are. How poetic that the words you cling to for salvation are the ones that will bring about damnation.”

The features of the man was now able to be seen. A caucasion humanoid with pale skin and the spider veins of constant darkside use. Eyes glowed a rusted orange like the promise of a morning sunrise or the fate of sunset skies. Strong jaw and facial features that looked familiar even as the man took a single step forward, an orange flame wreathing around him as if alive. Beside Gin’ika Rhaegar stiffened as his arm circled round his riduur. His words drifted out over the clamor of battle.

“Valayrion Dragonborn.”

A grin stretched across the man’s face, lengthened incisors slipping free with dagger like intensity. Raising his hand he pointed at Rhaegar, voice escaping with a rasp.

“It is good that you never fight alone. A Dib never fights alone. But those are not the words of your House now are they youngling? No … the words are ‘we may bend, but we do not break’. See how much more those words ring true? Because, despite your claim of never being alone, everyone is alone. You just scramble to fill a pitiful life that is less then a vapor on the wind with a thousand memories, hundreds of connections, and love if you are lucky. Or unlucky as fate would have it. You are well met Rhaegar Dib, Nemesis Nemonus the Dragon of Dorin. For we have much to discuss pertaining to your oath before we collect your soul.”

Muad, who had stood and moved to the fore of their group, looked upon the named Valayrion Dragonborn. He knew the name just as he knew the legends. The man born from a star dragon egg, that breathed fire, that had talons for fingers, and a hide as dexterous as dragon scale. A man that had transcended both the Jedi and the Sith to become a Shadow, neither existing in the light or the darkness but in the shadows betwixt the two. The madman grunted before speaking.

“What you said is true. Yet Rhaegar is not the same man he once was. He's better. He has a clean slate, and that is why he should be freed from your clutches. Both Ginnie and I have brought countless souls to offer in his stead. A vast treasure of souls for a single debt owed of one soul. You can bend the rules for, as you stated, we bend but do not break. And you should know that, Dragonborn, for you wrote them.”

The cold grin of Valayrion stretched even more until it appeared as death's unrepentant humor.

“So you know me as the progenitor of your lineage. That matters little. But what is of the utmost importance is that I am owed a soul, a Dib soul. One to take my place in Chaos and become the new herald and punisher of lost, dark spirits. And Rhaegar had received something of me many years ago in trade for his soul. This shall allow me to fade into the ether and find the empty respite of nothingness. Only a Dib can be tribute and become the puppet to Chaos. And yet the four of you seek to deny me what is due. Either relinquish the soul or I shall collect four in recompense due to your treacherous actions. For until it is finished I shall remain Banished from death."

Ginnie Dib

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Throngs of Mando’ade formed up, creating the blessed cacophony of battle in the depths of this infernal place. Ginnie’s image shimmered, shifting as plates of beskar formed on her previously unarmoured body wrapped in the forge-wear she wore when Jarek put her on the ship.

“Stay close to me Rhae. Dede.” As Muad Dib held Ginnie back, she felt the coolness of Rhaegar and Derek Dib beside her, hemming her in the way they had through the years for her own protection. Her boys… all three of them, giving every speck of plasma in their bodily hereafters to keep their family safe. Gloved hands slid onto both Rhaegar and Derek’s backs. She huddled in, taking unabashed warmth from them both as Muad led the way. Maybe the way Rhaegar stiffened or the intensity of the battle round them, or perhaps gaining the severed piece of her soul back was where Ginnie Dib kept her spunk, but the petite Kiffar growled. “He can be Vallary Dragonfether for all the bags of dikuts I give.”

Wraiths versus Mando’ade, an impossible deal and immortal blood seemed gigantic to most. In her stupours, Ginnie fought such gigantic things, trapped in her grief by the shred of soul which longed for its’ true owner. Her eyes snapped up at Valayrion. ‘Dash you Muad. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Cuddled between Rhaegar and Derek, Ginnie turned and gave them both one last hug. Pressing up on her tip-toes, she leaned in to whisper between them. “Nobody’s taking my boys. Not even Great-great-great-great-grandma. Stay behind me. No matter what, trust me.”

Ripping away from their arms sliced at Ginnie’s soul. So new to their reunion, she bled to be back in her husband’s arms, or swaddled in the safety of the cocoon Derek created for her for sixteen years.

“I know who and what I married, Valayrion. Spent an eternity wrapped in Manda, didn’t leave a dang thing out. You did make a deal with Nemesis. You did not make that deal with me. A Mandalorian woman owns her husband, and he ain’t allowed t’stay dead or become the marionette of the dim beyond. You don’t own Rhaegar. I do. And I am not sharing my boys. Not the one I married, not the one who’s loved and watched over me, not the beloved zany brother with the control problem. Today is not the day I lose a single person I love. But it is the day you get the release you crave.”

Each step sizzled at the ground. Her hands shook out at her sides as Wembley growled and snapped beside her, eyes manic for the horrors round him which felt like joy. Runes burned into her skin, sizzling through cloth and metal alike. The girl-child who first learned Sith Alchemy from the holocron of her deceased brother rocked her head back and forth. Shimmering beside her, a poised and dark skinned beauty of a woman set her spectral hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “And no, actually. We witches and Mandalorians know we’re never alone. You might be, but it’s a bit late to convert without some departed Mand’alor to give you the Cin Vhetin. I’ve got a better deal.”

Her mother’s shadow whispered in Ginnie’s ear, all the sounds the once-deaf girl was immune to hearing back when life was full of a child’s horror. Back before she learned to hear her.

Deeper, Ginnie. Deeper in.

“You want to fade into the ether. A Dib soul as Chaos’s great stringed marionette. Okay.” Pictures of the Cathedral Forge in Ziost filtered through her mind, pressing against Ginnie’s temples in tandem with the inferno which once attempted to swallow her wholesale into the same Chaotic Netherworld Valayrion now trod upon. Fingers twitched, the dangerous truth of her body’s first and strongest addiction flooding back into her spine with the strength of a returning tsunami.

“Call it fate, or destiny, or a lucky draw, but Rhaegar married an alchemist who played with souls as a birthright. I was a child when I tore thousands of souls from their moorings on Ziost, fumbling with magics I could barely recognize.

Little Gin’ika grew up.” Her mouth dried, as Ginnie tilted her head to the side, reigniting channels of alchemical and mystical pathways her mother Rianna and father Ordo worked for a decade to deaden and remove. Between the day Ordo saved his daughter from the inferno of her forge to the day he died, Ginnie lived under a pristine regiment of cleansing, healing and beskar forge-work. Each day away from the alchemical processes a hard won battle against her innermost talents and desires. To save their daughter, when she dove too deep. The heart in her chest thrilled as it tripled its’ beat.

Deeper, Gin’ika. Deeper in.

“You want to fade to the ether? Muad, Derek and Rhaegar are worth the cost to me to shatter every one of the bonds, until you are free as you wish. You want a puppet in your place, I’ve got one in mind. One who thrives on chaos and hates being a homebody. And if by the slim chance Muad and I cannot collectively solve your suicide coefficient, I will give you the Dib soul you need.” Deep brown eyes shimmered an emerald green as the more Ginnie spoke, the more she shifted into High Sith, channeling achingly decadent and decrepit energies from the battle raging round.

She grit her teeth, one foot in front of the other.

Deeper, Gin’ika. Deeper in.

 

[Muad Dib]

The power being pulled in thickened the air around them. Every movement seemed amplified by a weighted resistance as though underwater. And thicker, more concentrated, flowed the power of the force that Ginnie called upon. The wrath and determination flowed into the gathering even as the hint of fear danced on the peripherals. This was their last chance, their last shot. Would they take it or let it slip away? Ginnie was preparing on her own contingencies even as the tuk’ata hound hovered while the power spiraled around the group. Rhaegar clenched his fists of flesh. The call for power was sent and here, in this place of flowing divergences of the force, it was answered. Flickering red flame flowed from his hands running the length of his arms even as droplets of what seemed liquid fire dropped to the dirt in pools of miniature molten destruction.

Derek nearly released a growl as his hand slipped to the cylinder clipped at the small of his back. Twisting he held the device in his right hand extended before his body. An unseen manipulation activated the weapon causing the songsteel staff extend fully to it’s two meter length with both ends narrowing to a point. Not to be merely a spectator he glanced once to Rhaegar and ginnie before returning his eyes once more to Valaryion. The power summoned by the first two firestarters was then added to as Derek summoned electrical charges into his body, blue currents travelling into the staff as the electrical attack was added to with every passing second.

Muad watched even as the three Dib prepared for a possible maneuver founded in hope for the possibility of staving off the end. He had begun the day knowing he had to deceive others with words that offered them hope, from a certain point of view. And it was with confidence that the madman furrowed his brow at the specific manipulations used by the ancestor’s conversation. Absolutes were not offered and though it seemed Valaryion was being forthright with his fate, something struck wrong within the words. An omission worded in just a way to appear as an admission. But wasn’t one in reality.

“Hold. Steady.”

His eyes closed as the Force flowed from him as he sought to see that which words denied. Open palm caressed the earth, secrets of the past waking to him as though a dream. Visions of memories not his own flickered before him. Countless spirits trekking across the wastelands to arrive at the gates of Chaos with no understanding of why they were compelled to travel to the remotest point in the Netherworld. A pilgrimage that those damned to Chaos must take. And Muad became witness as the gates of Chaos opened and Valayrion greeted each before taking their souls for the ether. However a sliver of every soul was consumed by the Dragonborn. For countless years of absorption of the vilest, most corrupt, and completely devoid of humanity sustained the first Dib. And every meal made him more powerful and knowledgeable yet did nothing to bring about freedom from his role to Chaos.

Until the fateful day Rhaegar Dib encountered Valayrion in the Nether decades earlier.

A chance encounter orchestrated by a master composer that allowed the manipulation to be seen as good fortune but was truly a plan long concocted for a single purpose. Freedom. But now the plan had reached the end, to either culminate in failure or success. However, for a man who had tasted nothing but victory against masters of light and dark in his time upon the mortal plane, he would accept nothing but success. Quickly images dances across Muad's inner eye as moments of finality for so many unveiled the machinations of Valayrion.

“I see your awe inspiring attempt to free yourselves and save all that has been lost,'' the Dragonborn began. “I understand the fickleness of the ancient gods upon the races laid before them. It wasn't that they no longer cared about the people. No, it became that the gods had transcended the inadequate squabbling of mere mortals who neither possessed a vision for the future nor had the ability to grasp true power. Even ten lifetimes would deny a mortal being the insight I have garnered in my sojourn here. And it is through your weak displays of power that you prove the unworthiness within. Who shall wear the collar of Chaos? What soul will be ensnared in gates of Chaos? Who shall be ensnared by fate?”

His hand disappeared into his tunic to pull out a heavy iron necklace upon which a transparent cube held a pulsating radiant orb that was unmistakably a soul.

“You have spirit woman, yet you are not blood of the Dib, of me. All you are is a thoroughbred brood mare, but a breeder nonetheless. Now choose your sacrifice. A brother unlike another, a Spouse of your House, or a friend to the end?”


Ginnie Dib

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Deeper Ginnie. Deeper in.​

Ziost, Cathedral Forge
23 Years Prior

The flames spat through water to grapple at the struggling girl with their spectral claws. Ginnie shrieked with deaf ears, a pyrokinetic backlash smacking useless against the onslaught. Weeks prior, the fire of her forge began to talk, whispering as the ill-slumbering dead of the Ziost cave in which she set up Cathedral Forge.

It’d felt like power to a thirteen year old grasping at every desperate maneuver to bring her father Ordo back to health. She could… the answers called to her in words the deaf girl could hear.

Ginnie could even stop the ones she loved from dying like her mother. The answers were on Ziost, in the dead and in the alchemical fires. Deeper, ever deeper she sunk through texts the girl spirited off prior to her brother’s demise. Ziost’s battlefields stank of souls so easily absorbed as fuel.

So, if it would help her family, Ginnie would take them all and stop destruction itself from touching them. A pathway once opened was openable again, and now Ginnie had use for tempering, and bending, and seeping in the energies around them.

'She is not ready.' A chorus of dissonant voices, clawing through the flame.

'She was never meant to be. Let her go.' The spectre of her departed mother spoke then, rushing to the aide of her child unawares.

'We were invited.'

'Let her go.'

'The girl has potential. We will use her.'

‘She’s not ready.’ The spectre of the past flittered in Ginnie’s mind, as blocks twenty years in the building sloughed away for the purpose of once again stopping the ones she loved from destruction’s pursuits.

The Unfortunate Netherworld
Present Day

“I’m re-“ Ginnie’s eyelids popped open. The incanting replay of her alchemical disaster swept from her mind as orange and yellow sigils binding flickers of soul into the woman turned bright green. Did…. no… surely her husband and best friend and most loyal, but tricksy brother would be up in combined arms if Valary Dragonfether called her a…

“Did… did yo’fethin’ ancestral baby-daddy call me a breeder?” The impassioned speech roiling in Ginnie’s mind fled for the gargantuan bantha which stomped through the Dib’s epic soul-saving moment.

“And none’a y’all done said nothing!?” Pure unadulterated and righteous anger burst in radiant bounds across Ginnie Dib. She glared at Rhaegar, the daunting ‘irate mother’ voice clipping across the short distance between them. “Oh you better start refuting that statement Rhaegar Dib or we havin’ WORDS.”

Ginnie played Valayrion’s phrase back, dismissing such choices as ‘friend, husband or brother’ for the crux of this new and belligerent issue. More than the fate of the Dibs, the sheer misogynistic insult to the entire gender of Women required abatement.

“BROOD MARE!? YOU CALL ME, GWYNDOLYN ORDO DIB, A…. A…. A BABY MAMA!?”

The air exploded as the woman who fought with force-strengthened limbs and unnatural speed charged forth… wound her left leg back…

And taught Valayrion Dragonborn what happened when a man disrespected a strong, independent, grief-stricken, self-actualized widowed single-mother of two outrageous but mostly adjusted (thanks to their Uncles not Mommy’s drinking problem but she's working on it and drinks tea now) teenagers.

The shockwave of Ginnie’s kick radiated from the gates beyond them to the Blood Plains, and became a ripple on the waters of the Oasis.

Kicking him wasn’t enough.

“BROOD. MARE!!!”​

The ‘Brood Mare’ of Clan Dib glowered in her petite fury, emerald flames sparking through her to the marrow of her glowing bones. While Valayrion grappled with the stomach-twist of Ginnie’s mighty kick, Gwyndolyn Dib gripped him with the same powered-fisted grip which bent beskar at her mystic forge.

Snapping her fingers, her eyes only once flickered behind to Rhaegar, Muad and Derek. That beskar grip twisted and pulled swiftly down so Valayrion was at eye level as Ginnie growled in Valayrion’s face.

“Brood Mare. Chakare hutunn.”

Valayrion Dragonborn was no doubt one of the most powerful beings in the Netherworld. The progenitor of the Dib line, a starborn child destined to the cacophony of spheres, powers, and the shadows of multiple sides. Defeater of Masters of the Jetiise, the Dar’jetiise, all manner of potent and powerful beings. Machinator of centuries’ machinations. Maker of fine soul-bound necklaces and devil-owner of a million slivered souls.

Yet never had Valayrion’s pride led him to a more fatal mistake than dubbing the Firebug little more than a walking womb who ought be more useful in a nursery or kitchen than out in the wide, wide Galaxy. As if Rhaegar found her at a life day ball and courted her with flowers and petty gifts, Daddy spreading a datapad with the blushing girl’s dowry before Sir Husband took her by the hand for a night she never knew was disappointing. Oh, but it was fine if her belly swelled, at least that sort of woman’s work was something little Gin’ika could handle without chipping one of her demure, dainty, effeminate nails. Her hand closed.

Ginnie yanked.

“Breeder… Ptah. Apologize you slithering inchworm!”

Ain't nobody disrespecting women in front of the single-mother of an astoundingly well egoed teenaged girl.

Derek Dib Muad Dib