Private The Unwritten Chapter

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Voss was a world that seemed determined to remember.

Not merely through monuments or archives, but through the land itself. The forests grew around old scars rather than over them. Hills concealed forgotten bunkers. Rivers cut through the remnants of fortifications abandoned decades earlier. Even when nature reclaimed a battlefield, traces of what had happened there lingered stubbornly beneath the surface, waiting for someone curious enough to uncover them.

That persistence was what had brought Talia here.

The excavation site stretched across a broad valley several kilometers from the nearest settlement, its perimeter marked by temporary structures, survey equipment, and rows of carefully cataloged findings. Archaeologists, historians, and local researchers moved between excavation trenches with the focused energy of people who knew they had found something important, even if they had not yet determined exactly what it was.

Officially, the project began after unusual scans revealed an extensive underground complex beneath what had long been believed to be a relatively minor battlefield in one of Voss's many conflicts.

The reality appeared considerably more complicated.

Talia crouched beside an excavation trench, studying a section of exposed duracrete wall that had only recently emerged from decades of soil and vegetation. Weathering had obscured much of its original surface, but faint markings remained visible beneath the dirt. Unit designations, perhaps. Identification numbers. Something mundane enough that most visitors would likely overlook entirely.

Which was often where the interesting discoveries hid.

She brushed a loose strand of sea-green hair behind one ear before straightening, her gaze drifting across the valley. Workers moved carefully between partially exposed trenches. Repulsor lifts carried debris away from newly opened sections of the site. Somewhere farther down the slope, a team had apparently uncovered a collapsed command center that was already generating considerable excitement among the historians.

Everyone seemed focused on what had been found.

Talia found herself equally interested in what had not.

The records surrounding the battle were frustratingly incomplete. Accounts contradicted one another. Casualty figures varied depending on the source consulted. Entire portions of the campaign appeared to vanish from official reports without explanation. The more she researched the conflict, the less confidence she had that anyone possessed a complete understanding of what had actually happened here.

That alone made the site worth studying.

History had an unfortunate habit of becoming simpler over time. Complex events were condensed into convenient narratives. Victories became cleaner. Defeats became easier to explain. People preferred stories that fit neatly together.

Reality rarely cooperated.

A cool breeze rolled across the valley, carrying the scent of grass, earth, and recently disturbed soil. Talia closed her eyes briefly and listened to the sounds surrounding her. Equipment. Voices. The distant hum of generators. Beneath it all lingered something more difficult to define.

Not a disturbance in the Force. An absence. A feeling that countless stories had unfolded here and that most of them had never been recorded. Her attention shifted as movement near the edge of the site caught her eye. Another arrival.

Not unusual. The excavation had attracted scholars, local officials, descendants of veterans, and the occasional curious traveler since news of the discovery had spread. Yet something about this particular figure drew her attention for reasons she could not immediately identify.

Perhaps it was simply instinct. Or perhaps it was the way some people carried history with them rather than merely studying it. Talia watched for a moment before turning her attention back toward the excavation, though the thought lingered.

The site was full of artifacts.

Bramoc Karr

 

[Bramoc Karr]

Why?

More importantly, why here?

The question had followed him from the moment his ship touched down. It lingered still as he moved between the trees, retracing a path that had become strangely familiar. This ground had drawn him back more than once over the years. There was something beneath it, something old enough that even memory had abandoned it, yet it remained. Waiting. Calling. Whatever slumbered below the surface had not gone unnoticed. Others had heard its whisper as well.

One presence in particular stood apart from the rest.

He sensed her long before he laid eyes on her. A Jedi.

The title alone stirred little more than contempt. They draped themselves in ideals and codes, speaking endlessly of restraint, compassion, and enlightenment, yet history painted a different picture every time. They fought, killed, schemed, and justified it afterward. No different from anyone else. The only distinction was their insistence that they were somehow above the flaws they demonstrated so readily. They were people, nothing more, and people were remarkably predictable beneath the masks they wore.

The excavation site came into view through the trees. Workers moved about their tasks, unaware at first of the figure approaching from the forest. A handful noticed him and began moving in his direction before abruptly reconsidering. Fear settled over them with startling speed. No command had been given. No influence had touched their minds. He simply looked at them, and that was enough. One by one they found somewhere else to be.

Bramoc paid them little attention.

His gaze swept across the site instead. Trenches scarred the earth where teams had been digging steadily toward the source of the presence that had beckoned him here. The answer to his question revealed itself quickly enough. Archaeologists. Researchers. Seekers of forgotten truths.

Interesting.

Unlike treasure hunters or scavengers, these people were not here to exploit what they found. They wanted to understand it.

In that regard, their goals aligned with his own.

For now.

Interrupting them would accomplish nothing. Better to let them continue their work while he observed. Information was worth more than impatience. He moved along the perimeter of the dig site, studying equipment, personnel, and the sections already uncovered. Every detail added another piece to the puzzle.

Eventually he found the Jedi.

She stood apart from the primary operation, her attention fixed elsewhere. Teal hair made her easy to identify even from a distance. Not a warrior then, or at least not one who defined herself by battle. There was a deliberateness to her movements, the sort possessed by those who preferred discoveries to victories. Scholars often wielded influence far greater than soldiers realized. Armies won battles. Historians decided what those battles meant.

Knowledge had always been the truest form of power.

That, at least, he respected.

Slowly he altered course toward her.

His approach was impossible to miss. Tall and broad-shouldered, clad in black, with burning orange eyes that seemed to strip away any illusion of safety. People noticed him instinctively. They stepped aside instinctively. By the time he closed the distance, those nearby were already finding reasons to leave.

Predators inspired that reaction.

And in that moment, that was precisely what he was.

Because she had already been singled out.

She simply did not know it yet.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Talia remained crouched beside the exposed section of duracrete, brushing away loose soil with one hand while the other steadied a datapad already crowded with notes that seemed determined to multiply faster than she could organize them. The wall itself wasn't impressive at first glance, and that was precisely why she liked it. Most people passed over fragments like this in favor of command centers, bunkers, or dramatic finds that made for better reports. History tended to celebrate spectacle while quietly ignoring the details that revealed how people had actually lived.

Talia preferred the details. A weathered marking could map a supply route. A maintenance corridor could explain troop movements. A single unit designation might tie together half a dozen contradictory records scattered across different archives. Small things mattered. They often mattered most.

A breeze stirred the grass around the excavation site, carrying the distant excitement of a team farther down the valley. Someone had uncovered a new chamber, judging by the voices. She felt a small, private sense of relief at that; their enthusiasm meant she could keep to her quiet corner without being pulled into whatever discovery was unfolding. Let them have the attention. She was content with her wall.

She straightened slightly, letting her gaze sweep across the valley before returning to the trench. Something felt different. Not wrong, not dangerous—simply altered, as though the air had shifted in a way she couldn't quite name. The sensation lingered at the edge of her awareness, subtle enough that she might have ignored it on another world. But Voss had always carried a peculiar resonance in the Force, brushing against thoughts and instincts in ways that made certainty elusive.

Perhaps it was that. Perhaps not.

Her eyes moved across the site again. Workers carried equipment between trenches. Researchers compared datapads. Machinery hummed steadily in the background. Everything appeared normal, yet she found herself looking twice, curious despite herself. The feeling reminded her of walking into a library and realizing someone else was searching for the same book—not threatening, just unexpected.

She let the thought settle without chasing it. Answers tended to reveal themselves when they were ready, and forcing them rarely helped. Instead, she turned back to the duracrete wall and the faint markings emerging beneath decades of soil.

According to official records, this part of the valley should have been well behind the primary defensive line. That alone was odd. The structure beneath her hand suggested something far more substantial than a secondary support role, and the deeper the teams dug, the less the accepted history seemed to align with what the ground revealed.

A faint smile touched her lips. History rarely stayed buried as neatly as people hoped.

She brushed away another thin layer of dirt, revealing a few more characters hidden beneath the grime.

Now that was interesting.

Bramoc Karr

 

[Bramoc Karr]

She remained blissfully unaware.

Not because she lacked eyes, nor because there was nowhere to look. The danger closing around her simply existed outside the boundaries of her attention. Her focus was consumed by whatever discovery had captured her interest, and that singular fixation left the rest of the world to fade into the background.

Including him.

Bramoc approached from behind, slipping into the spaces people rarely bothered to watch. He made no effort to diminish his presence within the Force. Concealment would have implied caution, and caution was unnecessary. The Jedi was so engrossed in her work that she failed to notice the growing absence around her. Workers drifted away as he passed. Some left quickly. Others merely found urgent reasons to be elsewhere. None lingered.

None warned her.

The sound of his boots carried across the scarred earth at first, a slow and deliberate rhythm that seemed loud against the relative quiet of the excavation. Yet as he closed the distance, even that faded. By then the excavation itself occupied her attention far more than the approaching figure casting an ever-lengthening shadow in her direction.

He stopped just behind her.

A heartbeat later, crimson light erupted into existence.

The sharp hiss of ignition cut through the air as a red blade extended beside her neck, close enough that a startled reaction could prove fatal. Its glow painted the edges of her features in blood-red light. The weapon remained perfectly still. It did not need to move. The threat existed simply by being there.

Bramoc said nothing.

Words were often unnecessary at moments like these. People revealed far more when left alone with their fear than they ever did under questioning. Panic, defiance, denial, bargaining—each response exposed something different. Every choice became a glimpse beneath the surface.

So he waited. Silent. Unmoving.

Orange eyes watched her from above while the crimson blade hovered beside her throat like an executioner's promise. The entire excavation seemed to hold its breath around them. Whether she understood it or not, the next few seconds would shape everything that followed.

And Bramoc possessed all the patience in the galaxy.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

The sudden flare of crimson light washed across the exposed duracrete, illuminating the markings she had been studying only moments before. Talia felt her body tense as the realization caught up with what her eyes were seeing. Heat lingered near her neck, close enough that any careless movement would have consequences. The datapad slipped from her fingers into the dirt, and she raised her hands slowly. Not because she believed the gesture would save her if the stranger behind her intended to kill her, but because acknowledging reality seemed wiser than pretending she wasn't standing with a lightsaber at her throat.

For several moments, she remained still, listening to the wind moving across the valley and the distant hum of excavation equipment that suddenly felt impossibly far away. It occurred to her then that he was waiting. That was the detail she found most interesting. Whoever stood behind her possessed every advantage. The blade remained steady. No demands had been made. No threats spoken. Yet he waited with a patience that suggested he expected something from her: fear, anger, defiance, something predictable. The possibilities unfolded and were quietly set aside.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the ground. "You've certainly found an unconventional way to introduce yourself," she said, her voice calm but not careless. "Most people begin with their name." Her attention drifted briefly toward the trench beside her, toward the wall that had occupied her thoughts before this interruption, before returning to the more immediate mystery standing at her back. Because that was what he had become: a mystery. Dangerous, certainly, but a mystery nonetheless. "Although," she added after a moment, "I suppose this approach does make an impression."

The small smile that followed was genuine, not born of courage but of curiosity. Beneath the immediate concern of survival, a question had already begun to take shape. Why? Why approach openly? Why reveal the blade? Why her? The excavation, the battlefield, the strange presence hidden beneath the valley, and now this man who had arrived like a storm cloud wrapped in black cloth and old anger. None of it fit together. Not yet. And Talia had always possessed a weakness for unfinished puzzles.

Fear was sensible. A red lightsaber at one's neck generally encouraged it. But fear and panic were not the same thing, and she had never found panic particularly useful. So she remained still, breathing evenly, letting the moment settle around her while her mind worked in quiet, steady circles, already searching for the shape of the truth hidden inside the danger.

Bramoc Karr

 

[Bramoc Karr]

He could have been carved from stone.

The crimson blade never wavered. Not so much as a tremor disturbed its position as the datapad slipped from her fingers and struck the ground below. Her hands rose as far as circumstances allowed, an acknowledgment of the situation she found herself in. Sensible. She understood the imbalance between them well enough to recognize that resistance would accomplish nothing. At least initially.

Fear settled into her posture soon afterward. Not the frantic kind that drove people to irrational acts, but something more restrained. More controlled. Her eyes searched nevertheless, measuring distances, evaluating possibilities, seeking cracks in a trap that had already closed around her.

Interesting.

He had expected the usual response. A desperate reach for a weapon. An attempt to spin away. A reckless act born from instinct and panic. Instead she remained composed, speaking into the silence as though words might somehow reclaim control of the encounter. Questions followed. Perhaps an effort to calm herself. Perhaps an attempt to understand the motives of the figure standing behind her.

Neither mattered.

Bramoc offered nothing in return.

He stepped forward until scarcely any space remained between them. One hand maintained the threat while the other moved with deliberate purpose, finding the weapon secured at her hip. The lightsaber came free without resistance. A moment later it rested on his own belt, claimed as casually as one might pocket a misplaced tool.

The closeness revealed details most people never noticed. Sweat from hours of labor lingered on her skin. Beneath it were traces of perfume, floral notes mixed with spices. Familiar scents. Forgettable scents. He had encountered countless variations over the decades and long ago ceased paying them any mind. More prominent was the smell of disturbed earth clinging to her clothing and hands. She had immersed herself in excavation, chasing fragments of history.

Fragments that meant nothing. Whatever called to him from beneath the battlefield lay far deeper than the broken relics occupying her attention.

At last he moved again.

A single finger settled lightly against her lips, silencing whatever question might have followed. Then he pointed beyond her toward a lone worker crossing the site. The man carried some newly unearthed artifact toward a collection point, completely unaware that he had just become part of a lesson.

The worker took another step.

Then stopped.

The Force gathered around Bramoc, dark and immense. Power surged through him, fed not only by himself but by the fear and uncertainty surrounding him. It expanded outward for the briefest instant before he unleashed it.

An invisible wave crossed the distance.

The man vanished.

No scream. No struggle. No time to comprehend what was happening.

One moment he existed.

The next he did not.

Silence settled over the excavation.

Bramoc lowered his hand and regarded the empty space where the worker had stood only seconds earlier. He made no effort to explain himself. None was necessary. The demonstration had never been intended for the man. It had been for her. A simple message, delivered with perfect clarity. Her fate remained her own to choose. The consequences of choosing poorly did not.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

The removal of her lightsaber startled her more than the blade at her throat had. A small breath escaped before she could stop it, not because she feared the weapon itself but because the sensation of it leaving her belt carried an unexpected intimacy. The familiar weight vanished, and her hand moved on instinct, fingers brushing the empty place where it had rested moments before. The impulse faded quickly. If the man behind her had wanted the weapon, he was more than capable of taking it. That realization did nothing to improve the situation.

The closeness was impossible to ignore now. She could feel him in a way that had nothing to do with the Force, the heat of the blade, the presence of a body standing just behind her, the deliberate certainty in every movement. There was no hesitation anywhere in him, and that, more than the weapon, unsettled her. Most people hesitated.

The finger against her lips silenced whatever she had been about to say, and for the first time since the encounter began, she let the words die. Her attention followed the direction he indicated. A worker crossed the excavation site carrying an artifact toward one of the collection stations, someone she recognized only vaguely, one of dozens who had spent the last several days cataloging the battlefield. A man with a name, a history, a family somewhere beyond Voss, and plans for tomorrow that likely involved nothing more dramatic than another day of careful documentation.

Ordinary.

The thought had barely formed when the world shifted. The Force gathered, and she felt it before she understood it. The scale of it sent a chill through her. Power itself did not frighten her; she had lived her life around Jedi Masters and ancient traditions. But this felt different.

Hungry.

The worker vanished.

One moment, he existed. The next, he did not. No cry, no struggle, no body, only absence. Silence settled over the valley, heavy and absolute. Talia stared at the empty space where the man had been, her mind searching instinctively for explanations and finding none. People did not simply disappear. Not like that. Not without trace or warning.

A knot tightened in her stomach. Dread arrived quietly, not the sharp fear of a blade at her throat but something heavier, something that settled into the bones and refused to leave. Slowly, she lowered her eyes, not in submission, but in thought. The demonstration had been meant for her. That much was obvious.

Yet even now, standing beneath the shadow of a threat she could no longer dismiss as theatrical, the question that rose in her mind remained the same.

Why?

Why the worker? Why show her this? Why go to such lengths when a simple threat would have sufficed?

The questions turned slowly through her thoughts as she kept her breathing steady, resisting the urge to look away from the empty place where a living person had stood moments before. For the first time since their encounter began, curiosity no longer stood alone.

Now it shared space with something colder.

Bramoc Karr

 

[Bramoc Karr]

The effort had not been insignificant.

Power on that scale always demanded a price, even for someone such as Bramoc. The darkness that had surged through him moments earlier had been expended with purpose, and for now that purpose had been fulfilled. There would be time enough later for strength to return.

The effect lingered regardless.

The young woman said nothing. Her gaze dropped, fixed somewhere below as she absorbed what she had witnessed. No arguments followed. No protests. No desperate attempts to reclaim control. Understanding had arrived swiftly.

Good.

The excavation site no longer held much interest. Whatever secrets lay buried beneath the battlefield had waited years, perhaps centuries. They would wait a little longer. The unexpected presence of a Jedi had altered the course of the day, and unlike forgotten ruins, opportunities such as this were not easily recovered once lost.

His thoughts drifted briefly toward the fortress.

Others already resided there. Broken wills. Unfinished projects. Individuals gathered over the years for purposes few would understand. Yet this one felt different. Stronger. More disciplined. There was substance beneath the surface that the others had lacked.

Perhaps that was coincidence.

Perhaps not.

The Force had always possessed a talent for placing people where they did not expect to be. Bramoc trusted neither destiny nor prophecy, but he had lived long enough to recognize patterns when they emerged.

The crimson blade remained active. Its hum lingered between them as the tip lowered toward the earth, stopping just short of touching it. The threat had changed shape but not diminished. She stood disarmed and alone, surrounded by workers too frightened to intervene and far too sensible to volunteer themselves as heroes.

Completely within his control.

His hand left her shoulder and settled around her throat. Not violently. Not yet. The grip carried no urgency behind it, only certainty. Enough pressure to remind her how easily it could become painful. Enough to make clear that resistance remained an available choice, but not a wise one.

A slight tightening of his fingers was all it would take.

He doubted it would be necessary.

For several moments the silence stretched on.

Then, at last, he spoke. The single word emerged low and cold, carrying the weight of an order rather than a request.

"Walk."

The lightsaber rose with the command, its crimson point indicating the direction she would travel. There was no need to explain where they were going. Only one of them was making decisions now.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

The command settled into the silence between them, and for a moment, Talia closed her eyes. Not in surrender, and not in resignation, but simply to gather her thoughts before they scattered in too many directions at once. The disappearance of the worker remained vivid in her mind, a stark imprint she could not reason her way past. Every attempt to make sense of what she had witnessed only produced more questions. She understood enough to know she was standing in the presence of something dangerous, something she neither understood nor possessed any immediate means of stopping. Whatever confidence she might normally have drawn from her training had been stripped away with almost casual ease. Her lightsaber was gone, and with it any illusion that the balance of power between them had ever been equal.

The hand on the back of her neck made that reality impossible to forget.

Slowly, carefully, she began to walk. The first step felt strangely ordinary. Dirt shifted beneath her boots. Wind moved through the valley as it had moments before. Excavation equipment hummed in the distance, and voices rose and fell in uneasy attempts at normal conversation, as though the world had not just witnessed something that should have made normality impossible. Its persistence, the way life continued as though nothing had happened, unsettled her more than the threat itself.

Several paces passed before she spoke. "You know…" The words emerged quietly, thoughtful rather than defiant. She let them linger as she searched for the right shape of the thought. "I was already still." A breath escaped her, carrying the faintest trace of wry amusement. "You took my lightsaber, demonstrated a level of power I don't fully understand, and made your point rather effectively. I suspect I would have followed directions without the additional encouragement."

Her gaze stayed fixed ahead, her tone neither challenging nor provoking. If anything, she sounded genuinely puzzled. He had control, overwhelming control. The demonstration had made that clear. What she did not understand was why someone who possessed such absolute command of a situation felt compelled to reinforce it at every opportunity. The question lingered without an answer.

So did many others.

Questions about the worker. About the battlefield. About the strange feeling she had felt beneath the valley before his arrival. About the thing he was searching for. About him. And most of all, about where he was taking her.

The knot of dread in her stomach remained, cold and unwelcome, refusing to yield to reason. Curiosity had not vanished; it never did, but it no longer stood alone. Concern pressed in beside it, and beneath both lay a thin, unmistakable thread of fear. Not panic. Not the sharp terror of immediate danger. Something quieter, heavier, the kind that settled into the ribs and stayed there.

Yet through all of it, one realization returned again and again, steady as a heartbeat. He had wanted her attention. Now he had it.

Bramoc Karr

 

[Bramoc Karr]

She obeyed.

Not eagerly, and not quickly, but she obeyed.

That alone spared her considerable hardship.

Together they crossed the excavation site, the distance between them never changing. Dirt shifted beneath their feet. Loose stones rolled away with each heavy step Bramoc took. Behind them, workers watched from a distance, pretending not to watch. Soon enough they would resume their duties. Fear faded quickly when survival demanded normalcy.

For a time, there was only the sound of movement. Then she spoke again. Bramoc's expression did not change.

The lesson should have been obvious. The worker's disappearance. The lightsaber at her throat. The silence that had followed. Yet still she sought answers, as though understanding could somehow improve her circumstances.

It was a flaw common among scholars. They believed every mystery could be solved if only enough questions were asked. Some mysteries answered questions with consequences instead.

His hand tightened.

The pressure was immediate and precise. Fingers settled against the arteries running along her neck, restricting the flow they carried. Her reaction was instinctive. Muscles tensed. Her hands moved. Breath caught. None of it mattered.

Bramoc felt the pulse flutter beneath his grip. Felt it weaken. Felt consciousness beginning to slip away from her despite every effort to resist. A few moments later her body surrendered where her will would not. She collapsed.

The moment she lost consciousness, he released her. Dust stirred around her as she struck the ground. Silence returned once more. For several seconds he simply looked down at her.

Ending it would have been easy.

A single motion. A brief exertion of effort. Another corpse left behind on a battlefield already filled with the dead. Instead, he remained where he was. There was still potential here. Whether that potential justified the inconvenience remained to be seen.

With a faint movement of his thumb, the crimson blade vanished. The forest seemed darker without its glow. Bending down, he caught the unconscious Jedi by the back of her clothing and lifted her as though she weighed little more than a pack. A moment later she was slung over his shoulder.

The journey resumed.

Tree lines swallowed them soon afterward. The sounds of excavation faded behind the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of wildlife. Before long, even those disappeared as the transport came into view between the trunks.

Inside, he secured her without ceremony. Force binders locked into place around her wrists. Restraints fixed her to one of the cockpit seats. Experience suggested she would awaken well before their destination, and experience had also taught him that preparation was preferable to improvisation.

Only after she was secured did he settle into the pilot's chair. Engines came alive beneath the vessel. Systems responded one by one. Coordinates were entered. Calculations completed. The transport lifted from the surface and climbed toward the stars.

Beyond the atmosphere, the familiar blue tunnel of hyperspace awaited. Bramoc watched it form ahead of them and considered the events of the day. He had come seeking answers buried beneath an ancient battlefield. Instead, he was leaving with a Jedi.

The Force rarely cared about expectations.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Consciousness returned slowly, accompanied first by discomfort and then by memory. A dull ache lingered at her neck, while a heaviness behind her eyes made thought feel distant and sluggish. For a time, she remained still, listening rather than looking, allowing the unfamiliar sounds around her to assemble themselves into something meaningful. The steady vibration beneath her, the low hum of engines beyond the bulkheads, and the occasional groan of metal under strain all pointed toward the same conclusion long before she opened her eyes.

She was aboard a ship.

The rest followed soon afterward. The excavation. The worker crossing the battlefield with an artifact cradled in his hands. The impossible moment when he had simply ceased to exist. Then came the memory of the hand at her throat, the darkness that had swallowed her awareness, and the growing realization that everything she thought she understood about the day had been overturned in the space of a few minutes.

When she finally opened her eyes, the cockpit around her confirmed what she already suspected. Instrument panels glowed softly in the dim light. Hyperspace stretched beyond the forward viewport in endless currents of blue. Looking down, she found her wrists secured by binders attached firmly to the chair and another restraint crossing her torso. The arrangement was practical rather than cruel, designed by someone interested in certainty rather than comfort. She tested the restraints anyway, not because she expected them to fail but because the attempt felt necessary. The metal did not move.

That was disappointing, if not particularly surprising.

Her attention drifted from the binders to the stars beyond the viewport and then, almost instinctively, toward the Force. The motion was so natural that she barely realized she was doing it until confusion followed. The Force remained there, but only faintly. It had not disappeared, nor had her connection to it been severed, yet it felt distant in a way she had never experienced before, muffled and indistinct, as though something stood between her and a voice she had heard her entire life. She tried again with greater concentration and achieved precisely the same result.

The sensation settled heavily in her stomach.

The restraints were understandable. Captors restrained prisoners. That required no special explanation. This was something else entirely, and the absence of an explanation disturbed her far more than the binders around her wrists.

For several minutes, she sat quietly, turning possibilities over in her mind and finding none she particularly liked. Eventually, her gaze settled on the figure occupying the pilot's chair. The man seemed entirely at ease with the situation he had created, as though abducting Jedi from archaeological excavations was merely another item on a lengthy list of daily obligations.

The thought was absurd enough that it almost distracted her from everything else. Almost.

"Kidnapping archaeologists seems like an unusually complicated way to recruit assistants." Her voice emerged rougher than intended. The memory of his hand around her throat remained fresh enough to leave its mark. She shifted slightly against the restraints before continuing. "I should probably be offended." The statement sounded sincere enough, though after a moment she found herself reconsidering it.

"Although, at this point, I'm considerably more curious." And that, Talia reflected as she watched the blue currents of hyperspace flow beyond the viewport, was becoming an increasingly dangerous habit.

Bramoc Karr

 

[Bramoc Karr]

Hyperspace stretched endlessly beyond the cockpit canopy, an ocean of swirling blue light that had long since lost its ability to impress him. The familiar currents washed across the viewport while the transport raced toward its destination. Bramoc sat motionless, watching them pass.

His thoughts remained on the battlefield.

Something had called to him from beneath that scarred ground. Something old. Something hidden. The Jedi's presence there felt incidental rather than connected, a coincidence born from the same curiosity that seemed to draw her toward forgotten places. Whatever secret remained buried would have to wait. If the excavation uncovered it before his return, so be it. If not, he would revisit the site when circumstances allowed.

A faint sound from behind interrupted the train of thought. He glanced over one shoulder. The prisoner was waking.

Without haste, he rotated his seat to face her. Orange eyes followed every movement. The first test of the restraints came before her eyes had even fully opened. Instinctive. Predictable. She shifted against the binders, exploring their limits. Moments later she tried again after taking stock of her surroundings. Bramoc simply watched.

Eventually she spoke.

The silence in the cockpit lingered after her words faded. There was something relentless about her need to understand. Even now, restrained aboard an unfamiliar vessel and completely at the mercy of someone she knew to be dangerous, she searched for explanations. The impulse seemed inseparable from who she was. Perhaps that was why she interested him. Perhaps that was why she would prove difficult.

The fortress would provide time to determine which. For now, he required quiet.

A hand rose slightly from the armrest. The Force responded. Invisible pressure closed around her, firm and undeniable. There was no anger behind it, no flare of emotion, no satisfaction. Bramoc regarded her with the same detached calm he might have shown while observing a machine that refused to function as intended.

The struggle that followed changed nothing. Within moments her resistance faded. Consciousness slipped away once more, leaving the cockpit silent save for the steady hum of the vessel's systems.

Only then did Bramoc turn back toward the viewport.

The blue currents of hyperspace continued to flow around them, indifferent to prisoner and captor alike.

Their destination awaited.

And when they arrived, the true work would begin.

Talia Larkin Swift