Saga - OT Saga - ST Saga - Legends The Final Wound - sequel trilogy rewrite/legends tribute

Author: order_67
Title: the final wound
Timeframe: approx. 30 years after ROTJ
Characters: Luke Skywalker, Leia Solo, Han Solo, basically everyone
Genre: Action/Adventure

this story is cross-posted to: fanfiction (dot) net and archiveofourown (dot) org

Hey everyone! This has been cooking for awhile, just some idle ideas I fused together to just sort of have fun. I asked myself the question; if I had bought Star Wars, and established the old EU as legends, how would I go about my new canon? What is the sequel trilogy in my head that I would’ve found interesting? This idea started to develop. So, essentially, all you need to know to read this is the ot and pt. It’s safe to assume the general shape of many EU things pre-post ROTJ (what a weird way to word) happened- ; for example, at some point you will probably hear someone refer to ‘the Revan gambit’ in regards to a Jedi-turned-Sith. Those who know of Revan’s story as it’s told to us by legends can gather what that means. And stuff like the Rebels and Clone Wars shows, and Rogue One, etc, etc- just probably not exactly the same way we saw it happen. this is also a cool chance for me to try and work on world building stuff as well, since I throw a lot of references to the EU and out of that hsve sort of welded together my own weird little Frankenstein eu.

This backstory/new EU, as previously stated, will be referenced a lot in this story, and expanded upon in little short posts labeled “vision from the everflowing river”; these are little snippets of backstory, a scene, anything really, that could be from anytime in the history of this new canon. Sometimes they’ll explicitly connect to the main story. Sometimes they’re slowly building up something that’ll get revealed later. Sometimes I just wanna write a short little snippet of Revan wielding a broadsaber.

Ok, with all that out of the way, I hope you guys all enjoy

((A VISION FROM THE EVERFLOWING RIVER))​

…and the Force itself trembled, and Bane could only laugh. Finally, he had found it; finally, he would defeat death itself. He thinks of Zannah; he will draw agony from her for her betrayal, for weakening him with it. The thought is cut short. Bane didn’t hear her creeping towards him; she’s dressed in once fine robes of gold and white, though now they were torn and singed and shadows of their former glory. One side is worse than the other, burnt fabrics torn open and blood dotting the dirtied white robes. The left side of her body is mangled, an intricate pattern of Force Lightning burns turning the skin into a nebula of black and blue and brown and purple. Bane doesn’t feel her own triumph match the triumph in his heart, he doesn’t hear the lightsaber activate. But he did feel the scorching agony of a golden lightsaber blade carving a channel through his chest, directly in the center, easily and cleanly, like he was nothing, like he was some low-level apprentice and not the Lord of the Sith. For one hateful moment, he curses it all. He curses the Sideways Step. He curses Zannah. He curses the Sith and the Jedi, hopes they forever fight pointless wars of attrition until the universe fades to nothing. He curses the woman who followed him most of all, his final thought a vicious mental scream of hatred at her, as he wished nothing more than for her and her lineage to fail, fail, fail.

The holocron’s energy dissipates, its red glow fading. Darth Bane crumples to the ground, his armor slackening around his body. The Knight who had struck the killing blow stood in the doorway, her one good arm still up in the air from the lance-like throw of her pike. She took a deep breath, and struggled into a seating position, the traditional meditation pose of Jed’aii Knights of old. She closes her violet eyes, and the chamber rumbles.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.” Oliia Shan whispers to herself, over and over again. She calls her lightsaber pike to her hand, an afterthought. She folds it neatly, eyes still closed, voice a whisper, and lays it before her. She steeples her fingers. She thinks of Van’tolsta, and Argot Epsilon, and Elzar, and Loden. She remembers dinners with Marilus and Vernestra. She remembers the child, living on the Outer Rim, a secret she no longer was capable of feeling shame about. She smiles, the pain that’s settled over the left side of her body forgotten. Cracks appear in the walls, spidering to the ancient ceiling. The holocron shakes, as if fearing its fate. The cracks stop spreading, the temple groans mightily, Sith sorcery too old, too forgotten to hold it up anymore. For one moment, the silence is so complete that there is only Oliia’s voice, quiet yet strong.

The great and ancient Temple of The Victorious Sith crumbles. The cliffside it sits on crumbles too, all of it falling into the waters of Ahch-To, doomed to be forgotten just as the planet itself.

• Excerpt from the The Dragon’s Visions In The Seven Cursed Tombs of Ixigul, authored by A’sharad Het, Revised by Kylo Skywalker

book one, part one
+emotion, yet peace+
-PEACE IS A LIE THERE IS ONLY PASSION-​

A starfield lay spread out against stark darkness, flickering pinpoints of lights drifting ever so slowly in the deep abyss.

The door slid opened, and the holographic starfield cut off, bathing the room only in the hall light. Two young voices groaned in disappointment- the boy even began to say “just one more minute mom-“ until their eyes adjusted, finally making out the shadow that stood in the doorway. With appropriate melodrama, the lights faded on just as their eyes began adjust, and the children made loud shouts of delight as they each jumped from their respective beds.

“Uncle Luke!” They both cried in unison, rushing to the robed man. He chuckled and knelt down just in time to catch them in his arms. The boy ooh’d and ahh’d at the damage to his Jedi armor, while the girl studied him intensely, as if searching him for injury. Satisfied, she smiled, and hugged him tightly yet again.

“Jaina,” Luke said politely. “Jacen.” He held them in his arms a moment more, before lightly pushing them away, standing to his feet and assuming a more regal deal demeanor. “Padawans.” He said shortly; they looked at each other, delighted, before bowing.

“Grandmaster Skywalker,” they said in unison. Luke waited a mere moment longer, stretching their anticipation to the breaking point.

“Would you like the latest mission report from the Skywalker Squadron?” He asked them, and as they hopped up and down in joy, excited for his exciting tales, he considered how their happiness at the prospect made the bitter, bitter pill of the media’s nickname for the Peacekeeping Corps of the Republic much easier to swallow. ‘We need a hero,’ Leia had said. ‘The Corps is our biggest peacekeeping effort yet, and with you at the figurehead, we may yet capture their hearts.’ Capture hearts they did; Luke Skywalker had been merchandised, in a manner of speaking. Hand-drawn posters of him became the symbol of Rebellion on down-on-their-luck worlds; children played with little plastic figurines of him, cutting down monstrous toy versions of stormtroopers. The HoloNet regularly reports on sightings and stories of he and his cohort; this he knew only because young Jaina and Jacen apparently led listening parties during downtime at the Yavin temple.

He regaled them with the story of the newest adventure, softening it slightly, though the children were mature enough to know some of the darker details. This mission had tested Luke, more than many others; they had been tracking old forgotten Imperial storage facilities- a final cleanup, the last traces of rot to be found everywhere except some fragmented unknown region forces. But what they found… he doesn’t tell the children that. He can’t, not right now, and as it was he wished for nothing more than to never hear of the planet Byss again anyways.

Jaina seemed inquisitive; it was if she didn’t believe him- but Jacen was rapt, eyes wide. “What about Ey!” Jacen blurted out; Luke smiled at the interruption. Ey- short for Eybeck Garva- was the captain of the Peacekeeper Corps, Luke’s right hand man. Ey was a grizzled former miner, all the way from Lah’mu; he came to the core as a young man soon after the Thrawn Skirmishes, joining the fledgling Republic military and surviving the double-tough Mandalorian training. He impressed everyone- but Ey opted for peacekeeper. ‘I’ll fight if I gotta,’ he grunts, ‘but we’re better off keepin’ that strength real quiet.’ Man of few words though he was, he succeeded at nearly everything he did. He was indispensable to Luke, and to the Republic- and he was Jacen’s hero.

“Ey’s resting up- he took a shot from the turret, just in the shoulder- he’s hurt but he’s tough. Should be able to visit him tomorrow, yeah, kid?” Luke ruffles his hair and Jacen grins widely. It’s almost maniacal. It reminds him of Ben, and Luke coughs politely to try and stave off his laugh. He looks at Jaina, still inquisitive. “Something on your mind, Jaina?”

“Well, Uncle, you see, I was reading up on, um, saber forms like you asked…” she trailed off, looking as though she was ashamed. Luke was quiet, allowing her to collect her thoughts. “It’s just, there’s one form, sir, that’s… um… it uses the dark side? But the dark side is bad, isn’t it?”

Luke thinks for a moment, glancing between the two of them; Jacen’s smile is gone, and now he looks at Luke expectantly too. He takes a deep breath, and thinks of how he’d explained it to Ben.

“The Force is a river,” he begins. “It is the teaching of the Jedi to let that river flow; to give yourself over to the current. A Jedi lives a good life- he becomes one with the Force; the river flows into the ocean. This is the ‘light side’. Now, imagine building a dam. Stopping the river’s flow, collecting all the water upstream and saying damn the ocean; this is Sith, yes- but not the Darkside as a whole.” Jaina looks confused; Luke smiles, squeezes her shoulder, and continues. “Think of it this way; if Jedi are light, then we are also have a shadow. Everyone does, everything does; it is the life’s work of a Jedi to master the shadow, to tame it. A Jedi Master can harness that little bit of Darkside when in trouble, a walk on that razor’s edge; it can be the difference between dying to a Sith and living, in fact.”

“So… a little shadow is normal?” Jaina asks quietly. She was radiating nervousness; Luke felt concern rise within himself. This was unlike her, a girl normally so bold.

“Jaina…” Luke says softly. “Are you okay?”

/\/\/\/\/\​

Commander Illjal took a centering breath.

They were being boarded. Successfully. He’d seem the rest of the fleet in their sector fall, and they were powerless, oh gods, they were powerless now. Because he watched the security feed, eyes tracing the holographic display as the two darkly armored Force-wielders cut their way seamlessly through what seemed like every trooper on the Nebula Rose.

Ah, the Nebula Rose, Illjal thinks. The moment of nostalgia is a shocking clarity; suddenly, it was as if he didn’t care. They’d lost the game, see? Perhaps this was the capping of some grand masterwork by the long-dead Emperor, a salt-the-land strategy thirty years in the making to hide his secrets. He could imagine Palpatine doing it. He’d seen Emperor in person only once, when the Nebula Rose was first launched. Illjal was young and ill-prepared, a Core-world boy just trying to make his living serving the only government he knew. Palpatine had… unnerved Illjal, even from afar; there was an air of superiority, a sense of total power, a crushing crackle of malevolence that bent will. Palpatine had commended them for their achievement in launching what was promised to be one of the greatest innovations in Imperial fleet engineering, and promptly left for the bridge with Commander Ofarm, never to be seen on the Nebula Rose again by Illjal. They were stationed in some deserted backwater system, a waste of the ship, in Illjal’s opinion; however, when the Second Death Star was obliterated mere weeks later, the seclusion of the Pasegam system seemed a blessing.

The proximity klaxon blared. The bridge was chaos, people barking questions at him. He turned slowly to the door. Purple plasma seared through it as though it was nothing; on the other side, a blade as red as humanoid blood appeared, and they slice upwards from the ground- they only had one Death Trooper, he was the last, he was old, he was their troop trainer dammit, he stood in front of the door with six others, but they were trembling- they’d never fought, dammit-

The lightsabers almost touch, then retract. There is no sound but crackling, groaning durasteel and the alarm.

Then Death came.

The door blasted forward, breaking in half down the middle from the pressure; the six troops flatten beneath it, and Illjal’s knees shake at the sound it made- the Death Trooper fires once, twice, but the red blade cleaves his head from his shoulders…

And it’s done.

All that stand on the ship are unarmed, now, save for the forcewielders. The one with the purple blade looks at him- and suddenly, Illjal can’t move. He can’t move at all, and he can’t even scream or whimper, though he wants to, he wants to more than anything-

“Commander.” The warrior says; his voice is deeply mechanized. His helmet hisses, clicks, and opens, revealing him to be a young Chiss man, deep blue hair shorn to the scalp, red eyes blazing with hatred and something like sadness. There’s a deep purple discoloration around his left eye, going to his temple; it seems to shimmer subtly. It’s almost entrancing. “Your ship has been selected for greater purpose. Rejoice!” He shouts the final word, looking around; the other warrior stands silently, red saber still on. “You all serve us now. You serve the Sith!” He activates his purple lightsaber, and looks at Illjal. “But you. Commander,” he spits. “You are rot, and filth. You are but some of the effluvia of the past. You can have your rest now, Commander. No longer do you have any part to play.” The Chiss approaches him, stands right in front him; and all Illjal can hear is the deep hum of the purple blade beside him. “Become one with the Force, commander. Rejoice.”

The last thing Illjal feels is fire in his heart.

 

This is really well-written, and I enjoyed it a lot. I liked the characterisation of Jacen and Jaina, and the inside joke about Luke Skywalker becoming a heroic figurehead with his own toy line. That could've been a tricky thing to integrate, but you did it stylishly, to the point where I can "see" it happening in-universe. That last section was pretty ominous and atmospheric, too. Looking forward to more, as and when!

 

“Where is he?!”

The air crackles with static, so powerful that bright, popping sparks burst erratically on the air here and there-

Blades clash, sky-blue to verdant green-

The others run, run, run, headed for-

“They’re getting the ship!”

“Get out of my way, Solo!”

An alarm claxon blares- Jacen feels blindly for the shatterpoint, but he’s too unfocused now, and Finn is far too precise- Jacen feels a well of hatred boiling inside of him, a well that had slowly filled for close to four years now- Fire erupts along Jacen’s spine-

Finn talks, words staticky and far away as he holds his purple saber to Jacen’s throat-

“If you will not tell me, then I will cleave your nephew’s head from his shoulders.”

“Let him kill me! Stop them! Save her-“

His words devolve into gibberish devolve into hysterical choking devolve into guttural screams; he feels the heat of the amethyst blade, feels it start to sear his throat, and screams in agony as another voice yells one final warning and sparks erupt-

He’s shaken awake by an enormous, roaring Wookie.

“Sithspit, Waroo!” Jacen swears, instantly deciding not to acknowledge what he knew; he’d been… vocal during his sleep. The giant growls a sarcastic good morning to him, takes a seat on the end of Jacen’s cot, the antique, intricately carved white wroshyr frame creaking under the pressure of the Wookie’s immense weight. Waroo cocks his head, and growls.

<Another nightmare?> Jacen sighs, rubs his eyes, and sits up in his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest. He blows out a breath; his neck itches.

“Yeah, same as before. The scar,” he says, indicating the faint line across the middle of his throat, a thin channel of pink burned against his tanned skin. “The dream’s always the same. Vivid. Exact.” He looks off to the side, over the railing next to his bed and out into the treetops of the Koor’skoo Forest; at the other Wookiees rousing from their sleep in the silvery light of dawn, children running on the platforms and bridges connecting the trees; the circle of treehouses, built high within the branches of the tropical wroshyrs, surrounded the enormous Kabukk wroshyr; all up and down its vast trunk were buildings and bridges, crisscrossing from Jacen’s level then all the way up high into the branches. The Kabukk was essentially a society all on its own, such was its size. Jacen feels his unrest and frustration calm as he watches Kashyyk awaken. “The static. Finn’s heartbeat. The pain. The… anger.”

<I’m sorry, brother.> Waroo grunts. Jacen nods, looks at the faint specs walking along the bridges of the great Kabukk. Waroo seemed to hesitate. Jacen could feel it, as much as he didn’t want to; the Force told him Waroo wanted to say something, and gods, the instinct made Jacen’s teeth grind. He wanted his mind to quiet. <You yelled out words, this time.> Waroo pauses; Jacen can only imagine what he’d said. He wonders which part he’d screamed in his sleep- was that what had made Waroo shake him awake finally? Had Jacen yelled those last few words again, his last words to her, words well-worn in his head like old Bantha hide slippers?

-‘I hate you!’ roars the boy, and-

<You were telling your uncle to stop them.>

-they stand over Master Kinleron’s body, all three have their sabers drawn, though only two- purple, and blue- are ignited, but no blade gives them away; there is only Master Kinleron, unseeing, a smoking hole in his heart-

“I- uh, yeah.” Jacen sighs, rubbing at his temple. His friend’s curiosity is a genuine, well-intentioned one, Jacen can read; Waroo merely wishes to better understand his friend, to find a common ground. Jacen wishes he could step out onto that ground. “It was.. well...” Jacen pauses, and sighs. He tries to find the words, but can’t.

He looks at Waroo, his best friend, the Wookie who’d held him as a baby and who’d sneak him out of the Temple every Benduday to study Jacen’s ship designs and sculpt models out the the best timber he could sneak away from Kashyyk; who’d stay up late into the night and gently steer Jacen away from thinking about the stresses of the Temple and being a Solo and instead dream of building their ship and bringing only their closest friends on the greatest trip across the Galaxy ever. He was blissfully unconnected- Waroo was an artist, a sculptor of rare wroshyr wood. He wasn’t a Jedi, he wasn’t a smuggler, he wasn’t a prince nor a diplomat. He just… was. Jacen found a universe of beauty within that.

<Three years of nightmares, brother. Three years of hiding. It wears on you.> Waroo growled gently. Jacen looks to his desk, in the corner of which sits a white and gold holopuck; a fine layer of dust covers it, and it’s barely visible for the sheets of flimsi that cover the desk, scribbles of ship designs in charcoal covering the pages.

“Three years of waiting.” He says softly.

-‘I hate you!’ the boy roars, and tries in vain to crawl to his lightsaber with a broken arm on one side and a dislocated shoulder on the other- his voice is raw, thin trickles of blood dripping from his throat. “And one day, I promise, I will kill you!’-

<Maybe it’s worth calling them. Just your parents- not him. He will call when his search ends, whatever that search may be.>

Jacen grabs a glass of water from his bedside table and takes a sip; it’s bitter on his tongue.

-rage blooms anew as she turns away, and he catches the slightest glimpse of tears as she draws her hood up; how dare she cry, he thinks, after she’s caused this, and for one moment, he feels a soaring sense of satisfaction as he imagines one swift Sai cha-

“They’re better off.” He says flatly, clambering off of the bed and dropping to the floor to commence his morning routine of push-ups. Waroo rolls his eyes, but doesn’t press the subject. Three years of Jacen living on his hometree have taught him that.

<Are we watching the fight tonight?> Waroo asks; Jacen’s workout pauses.

“I’d forgotten about that. Who’s fighting? ‘Taungheart’ Ilbic Arnij is defending the Core Worlds Championship tonight, isn’t he?”

<Indeed.> Waroo said simply, happy to see something other than the yawning abyss of trauma and sadness envelop his friend. <Versus Ishy Reybes, fresh off of a stay at the bacta farm.> Jacen’s push-up is still paused; he considers for a moment, before nodding and resuming.

“Nice.” He says simply, but his mind isn’t on the fight much at all.

-Finn looks furious; Zyyzyx, shocked; but Jaina…

Jacen’s heart shatters, and he draws his own lightsaber as anger washes over him like a churning tsunami, washing away reason, washing away rationality. Four years of building bitterness built to this. Four years of seeing what was happening while everyone was oblivious! His heart feels like a furnace in his chest. His own blue blade flares to life, and the three react in shock. For the first time in his life, Jacen feels ready to kill.

Because Jaina looked guilty.-

 

A/N: Welp. I realized I posted early versions of both chapters. That’s on me for not labeling my documents correctly lol. For context, the new versions have some expanded and cleaned up writing, and the Anant character instead is Finn. This is a factor of the actual Finn character morphing drastically over the course of planning/writing, and I tossed around different names before just keeping with Finn. For what it’s worth, I do imagine a blue skinned John Boyega when I write! Anyways, another short chapter today. Just slowly unveiling more puzzle pieces and slowly bring us back to the present. I promise we’ll get more meaty chapters as the story develops.


-kinleron’s body lay unmoving, and for a moment Luke is paralyzed as he watches the scene before him; jaina and jacen’s blades are locked as they scream at each other relentlessly and fight for the upper hand- and finn stares at Luke with pure, blazing hatred in his red eyes, as Zyyzyx stands behind him, egging him on, egging on his anger- Zyyzyx, paled skinned and dark eyed, always looking somewhat haunted- whispering evil goads into Finn’s ear, so of course- it truly had been Zyyzyx all along-

and saint kinleron stands before Luke, once feline eyes milked over and white now; the hole in his chest still smokes and he spits accusingly at luke-

“Eleven!” The audience- composed mostly of peacekeepers and fellow Jedi students- counts down, all gathered in this vast, beautiful grassy clearing with the Droma Forests of Yavin 4. The young Lepi padawan begins the fifteenth part of her test- she must lift two stones weighing nearly five hundred kilos. Her whiskers ripple, her ears relax and her eyes close, and she slowly lifts her palms upwards. The stones steadily, slowly, smoothly raise about fifteen feet into the air, level with the grassy platform she stands on. a small smile settles on her face, and by the time the crowd says “eight!” the stones begin gliding around her in a slow circle

-jacen and Zyyzyx are eighteen and they duel late in the dojo, and they are so focused on their methodical chess match that they don’t notice the high council has gathered- jacen uses his size to his advantage, hacking at Zyyzyx with a rather brutish ataru variant; but Zyyzyx remains composed, calm, cool, easily countering jacen’s force with calculated soresu- luke is beyond impressed, it’s a masterful display of swordsmanship by both, a completely matched game- luke smiles proudly and looks to the blademaster, Saint kiNL E R O N -

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT US kinleron screamsroarscrieslaughs but his mouth doesn’t move he just stands unmoving smoke pours from his chest-

“Seven!” The crowd roars, as Oesi now draws her long-handled lightsaber pike, emerald blade snapping on with a hiss; two electro staff-wielding IG models came at her fiercely, but by the time the crowd chanted “Four!” they’d both been cut into scrap- and now, the final trial, she barely has time to breathe as she begins running-

-“where did he go? shouldn’t grandmaster Skywalker know?” Zyyzyx whispers in finn’s ear, hand stroking his shoulder. “where is he, Skywalker?” finn shouts, as jacen and jaina’s sabers remain locked and jacen screams at her in fury

and kinleron’s body remains

and finn screams for answers

and Zyyzyx whispers to his fury

and jacen looks more like a dark jedi than jaina


and for one


twisted


moment


luke is his father

at the shattered window

on the precipice

he is the boy looking at the twin suns, blissfully unaware of how heavy destiny is

he is the jedi knight who stands against Darth Sidious, Sith Eternal

he is his mother staring at the coruscant skyline on that unspeakable day that horrific hour

and so luke activates his lightsaber

and it’s instinct, sheer defense

its saved him every other time

but as the green blade blazes alive

his stomach drops and he

knows

he has failed-

Oesi reaches the edge of her grassy platform and leaps-

-Zyyzyx’s smile is all teeth as finn roars and activates his own purple blade. luke steps back, holding his blade back, a plea for calm on his lips though the weight of his mistake settles over him and he knows it will do no good- “no!” a voice bellows, and luke never thought he’d hear so much anger in jacen’s voice- he pushes jaina back and runs at finn’s back, and luke steps forward, but he feels the Force cry out in pain, and he thrusts his palm out just in time, as arcane lightning blasts forwards at him- he grunts in exertion, and the purply-blue prongs of pure dark energy disintegrate into invisible static that permeates the air-

Oesi Jenjora Patternowsen lands squarely upon the marble stepping stone, and the crowd erupts in cheers. Removing himself from the undertow of memory, Luke smiles and claps. Oesi looks around at the peacekeepers, her fellow students, and then Luke, and her smile beams.

It reminds him of Jaina, and the momentary happiness is cut short

LUKESKYWALKERYOUAREAFAILUREKINLERONSFINGERPOINTSACCUSINGLYANDJAINASLIGHTSABERGUTSLUKE

 

Hey, things take as long as they take, and stories unfold at whatever pace you dictate!

I'll admit, it is reassuring to have the editing restrictions lifted in this specific forum. That being said, I totally didn't notice that your previous chapters were early versions! They scanned pretty complete and well-edited to me!

 

Thank you for the kind comment and thank you for reading

((A VISION FROM THE EVERFLOWING RIVER)) ​

Escutcheon: Part One​

The sky shone a brilliant purple as the sun, Enkeyimah, set; the three moons stood out as dark circles against its light. Tonight was Moon Configuration Daius; every sunset, the moons would have a particular location in the heavens- tonight, Dal and Pardok, the Ever-equals in the Sky, are on the edge of Enkeyimah, right at the midpoint. Upon the crown of the sunset, purply-black against yellows and reds and oranges, was the king moon, Equal-only-to-the-Sun; Entulak. The moons formed a perfect triangle against the setting sun, a breathtaking tableau. From a vantage point high atop the Tower of Light, a young woman smiles as she looks at that brilliant sky, and below it, the crisscrossing streets and forests of the great capital of their planet. Stone building and temples, crafted beautifully from white and grey stone, seem to glow orange in the light of Enkeyimah.

Such was the beauty of the planet Onshysuth.

The woman turned to the door behind her platform, which hung open into the staircase below. She shakes her head, but her smile doesn’t falter; a quick check at her chronometer tells her they have plenty of time before the Sun disappears and the moons shine. Knowing her two rambunctious young boys, they were probably playing pretend swordfighting with branches from Bekuna trees. Just yesterday, one of them had attempted to use her lightsaber, hefty battery pack hung on his shoulder; she thanked the Force she’d sensed something was wrong, before something horrific had happened; she kept that dusty old relic safe in a locked box now, requiring both passcode and key. She’d turned the key to molten slag.

Glancing at her chronometer, Obira Hord let out a long suffering sigh and turned once more to the open door, where the sounds of two boys making lightsaber noises mock dueled each up a set of stairs. They were her children; they were the reason she’d left that monastic order on Coruscant; and she loved them so much that she named them for the sky itself.

“Keyimah!” She calls. “Tulak! Hurry, or you’ll miss it!”

/\/\/\/\/\ ​

Powdered glass and ice crystals crunch under Finn’s feet. Onshysuth had been a garden world, once upon a time; the legends of its bygone past also speak of it with the same reverence held by the mass shadow generator, by the thought bomb, by the Death Star; a catastrophe brought on by the Sith that shifted everything. Onshysuth had been glassed, in some long forgotten skirmish between the Sith and the Republic. Legend says it was the first planet to face such devastation. It rallied the Republic, and even the traditionally noninterventionist orders of Jed’aii folded into the Coruscanti monastic order to become a force for holy war. Finn closes his eyes and feels along the Force, as though combing through a full scale hololibrary. Onshysuth’s history is so much deeper than the legends speak of. He grasps at the past, untouched for so very long.

For a moment, he floats alone in the void, arm grasping out for nothing. The, the past reaches back.

His mind overflows with vision, smell, taste, sound, feeling; horror raises goosebumps along his skin, but he feels, distantly, a different kind of horror; Finn casts his mind out further into the multicolored swirl of this planet’s past. He grasps onto that feeling of horror, and realizes it is a feeling of horror at feeling horror; a mix of self-hatred and revulsion and memory all wrapped into one. Finn smiles under his helmet. So, this was another truth. He files it away in his mental library. He reaches out into the stormy darkness, grasps at the wailing imprint of souls.

I know you, Tulak Hord.

He feels the Force bend to him, feels the power of knowledge flood his mind and body and midichlorians. He blows out a breath that frosts against his helmet. He presses a small button on his gauntlet, and his helmet folds away. His skin chafes at the cold, at the peculiar, rough air; he accepts the pain. For Xôcri.

The fires in the braziers of his mental hololibrary burn green for a moment-

“Sir. We’ve found it.”

Finn turns on his heel. Captain Ahnka stands before him, now able to reign in his physical cringe at Finn’s furious stare; despite such pitiful fear, he was a capable soldier. His ebony armor gleams in the cold, grey light of the dead Enkeyimah. They’d only managed to seize a facility that produced the internals and shells of trooper helmets; the new design was angular, brutalist, recalling the Sith armies of the old empires. Ahnka was designated Second Legion, Finn’s Legion, the Zsotha Legion; named for Darth Zsotha, a Sith historian and keeper of secrets in the Great Time of Sith-Plenty. Finn’s helmet unfolds back over his head, slitted eyes glowing purple.

“Prepare the shuttle, then. Lord C’de’düs will want to know of our success.”

/\/\/\/\/\​

The bridge of the Nebula Rose had, in the time since procurement, changed drastically. Anything nonessential, unable to be streamlined, anything that wasn’t nailed to the walls and floor had been stripped and repurposed elsewhere. The resultant redecoration wasn’t… pretty, per se, but it was a far better than the sterility of the Empire. The Nebula Rose was being redesigned in shades of dark blue, purple and red; it was outfitted with the latest in cutting edge displays, holoprojectors and other various tech upgrades. Personnel bustled around the bridge, still nervously stiff and clearly unsure of what to think. Their eyes flick between Finn in his dark armor, and the dark figure standing before the viewport.

Zyyzyx Magnutarr eschewed the armor of his Sith fellows; he’s dressed in a simple form-fitting bodysuit, much like the standard Jedi Knight outfits of today- but his seems blacker than black, like a singularity that seemed to pull any light and hope into its maw. His lightsaber- Finn’s hand twitches- hangs from his belt, starkly silver against the darkness of his outfit. As Zyyzyx turns, his eyes glow orange, and he smiles. When he speaks, it’s as though all other noise on the bridge falls away, bowing to his lightly accented voice.

“Aye, Lord Cursion. I trust your mission was a success?” Zyyzyx greets him. Finn tilts his head slightly, still not used to the new name. The bridge seems frozen; usually their fear was a constant, droning buzz in the background of this ship, but on this day the crew seemed especially anxious. Curious.

“Indeed, Lord C’de’düs.” Finn confirmed. “We retrieved one starmap, and the datadisc, as you foresaw.” Finn gestures to Ahnka, who produces both. Zyyzyx nods, gestures, and Ahnka barely startled when the two small objects begin floating from his hand to Zyyzyx’s.

“Excellent- this… this is perfect.” He stares down at both; in one hand, the golden, finely filigreed starmap, in the other, the flat, metallic datadisc; they seem to glint in his vicious eyes. “With this, we can bring our new information to our friends at Panatha, and give them a show they won’t soon forget. Excellent work, the both of you! And,” suddenly Zyyzyx’s voice changes, becomes almost tender. Finn feels his shoulders square and his chest swell. “Lord Cursion, exemplary work as always.” Zyyzyx’s hands move away, but the starmap and datadisc remain suspended in midair; he turns on his heel once more. “Set a course to Panatha will you, Pryde?” He orders offhandedly; perhaps the only person other than the Sith on the bridge that wasn’t internally combusting with fear, General Pryde gives an aristocratic nod and sends orders every which way. Finn turns to the doors, eagerly anticipating alone time in his quarters to pick through his newfound knowledge, but Zyyzyx speaks once more. “Oh, and Cursion… speak to Lord Mandias, will you? She’s in a… difficult mood today.”

/\/\/\/\/\​

-“come back. you’re not beyond saving, kid. your mother and i know that better than anyone.” the flickering blue hologram of han solo shifts in his seat- the transmission is just his head and shoulders, but she can tell he’s recorded this in the pilots seat of the falcon. her tears are silent.-

“You are unfocused.”

Jaina’s lip curls in anger. Her blood red blade guts another training droid, its razor sharp vibroblades failing to the durasteel floor with a clatter. Six more to go. She blocks a vibroaxe blade, and lets out a primal scream. The unit- a Krphedian Swordsman, Version Five- shudders, the plating covering its body seems to curl in on itself, before the swordsman flies backwards and smashes against the wall. Jaina turns to the voice, though she cannot see through her blindfold.

“Quiet, Finn.” she hisses, twitches her head to the side, out of the way of a dagger, before driving her lightsaber blade backwards into the droid’s abdomen. “Did you find it- or fail Zyyzyx?”

“Unlike you, o divided one, I’ve yet to disappoint Lord C’de’düs yet- on your left!”

Jaina bends backwards, a vibrosword stabbing at the space her chest had been. Her senses informed her that the droid had struck at her from the right, and she suppressed the urge to fry Finn alive with sheer dark energy. As she chopped the droid’s legs out from under it and relieved it of its head and powercore, she smiled cruelly in Finn’s direction.

“Speaking of C’de’düs- have you yet come to a decision on whether you’ve taken this- oh, what is it called? Something pretentious-“ Jaina slowly approached Finn. She could feel his agitation grow exponentially. She reveled in it. “-oh, right, Revan gambit! Did you take this gambit, truly, for the love of Xôcri…” She’s close enough now she can lean forward to whisper in his ear. “… or has it actually been love for Zyyzyx all this time?”

She brings her blade up just in time to meet his; his roar is inhuman, a roar of fury and anguish and loss- his strikes are furious, carving at Jaina’s defense, batting her blade back close enough to burn her with the sparks. But she allows him to attack, to tire, to waste his fury-

“NEVER SPEAK OF XÔCRI! NEVER!” He bellows, voice sounding mad, and with each strike against Jaina’s blade, he punctuates it with a shouted ‘never!’-

-“you’re my ray of sunshine, jains. come home.” hans voice breaks and the recording ends-

“NEVER!”

-“stop this, jaina!” Luke pleas as he blocks her assault-

“NEVER!” All too late

-“my ray of sunshine,”-

“NEVER!” Jaina realizes her error

-“stop this, jaina!”-

“NEVER!” because expecting Finn’s fury to tire

-“you cannot escape your destiny.”-

“NEVER!” When it comes to Xôcri

-“i promise, i will kill you!”-

“NEVER!” is a fool’s errand

-“my ray of sunshine,”-

“Enough.”

They both freeze when they hear Zyyzyx’s voice, steely cold; Finn’s blade pauses right before it hits Jaina’s own counterattack, and then there’s a sound like the fabric of reality itself shredding, and Jaina and Finn both are lifted off of their feet and hit the wall with force.

Jaina is unconscious before she hits the ground.

-the holopuck collapses in her palm with a crunch and spark-