Eight weeks.
The shadows breathe and slither. They’re a whisper and a roar. The screams are distant, the ashes too, and it’s cold and graven in image; he stands on a dead world. But some people don’t respect the dead. They stomp on the graves and spit on the bones and they defile it, reaching their violating hands into places that were sacred and hollow and meant to be left alone.
He keeps seeing her. Not clear, but well enough to know. There’s nobody else like her he’s met, sharp and poison and dangerous. He can hear the clack of her heels and the rasp of her mask’s respirator crowding into his one good ear even when he’s awake. The visions won’t let him sleep.
Eight weeks, two months, he’s been haunted by these penumbral premonitions: a city on fire, gone in an eye blink; twisting catacombs and crumbling bodies; death and the stars that witnessed it, themselves dead long ago. There are secrets there, in those ruins. Some steeped in Dark. Some Light. But all of them are stirring.
All of them scream when she touches them and rips them free of the earth coated in ash.
Ruka stared out at the broken expanse of table mesas, a blur to his misted eyes when he wasn’t focusing on sharpening his vision. The cold, dry wind whipped his cloak back and tried to steal the golden cowl wrapped over his hair too, but the tie held. He looked backwards, to the blur of beloved colors that was his husband, the Jedi stepping nearer to lift a hand and touch his cheek, drawing their foreheads together.
“Be safe, Angel,” Corazon murmured, a wish and a demand. “I will be right here with you every step.”
“I’ll come back to you,” the Mirialan swore, and pressed a kiss. Their bond pulsed, sewn with seams of shadow and shine in the Force, and the Pantoran’s projected calm steadied his nervous heartbeat.
- Alaisy Tir'eivra was a threat he intended to stop, before she could find something here on Jedha, whatever it was, that would make her even moreso. He had been right there since she first came to the Brotherhood, seen her twist and threaten and wear every bit of her evil proudly. Whatever the alchemist wanted, whoever she was going to unleash it on, some unsuspecting person, or her own people on Kasiya, or his apprentices, or her enemies– whoever didn’t matter. He would protect them. He had to.
With a last look, Ruka turned and leapt, plummeting down off the edge of the crag of rock they’d landed the ship on. He hit the cratered ground far, far below and took off running, following the vaguest sense he could of Tir'ievra’s toxic aura and the echoes of dreams.
Nightmares, not dreams.
The remnants of the Children of Mortis were hunting for the Death Star’s fallout. They had always been lost and misguided, now more than ever. Aphotis was capitalizing on their headless pursuit. Like hounds, they sniffed out buried treasures, either discarding them or attempting to harness their powers on the spot.
‘Fools’
Little did they know, they were the souls that were about to be infused and feasted upon, one by one. Ancient knowledge could be reawakened with the Children, then locked away to suffer evermore. The ghosts of Jedha, the death-worshipers of Central Isopter, they would speak again and do her bidding before they disappeared with the moon itself. Their quest was so hyperfocused that eyes and ears could be mere hollow cavities, and nothing would be different.
Braziers and torches were alight, the echoing click-clacking of her heels on stone making the flames flicker playfully. Dust descended from the weathered sandstone walls. The tall, black-clad Sith ran her claws over a vast amethyst kyber crystal. Her weighted platform stomped and crushed what little Human there was left of the Crystal Ascendant. The call from the dark side was strong, pushing her forward as she saw its limbs continue to spasm.
Her tail swished and swooshed in ritualistic patterns as her claws lit up white hot. The crystal illuminated the chamber in bright violet. Tar-like tendrils dripped from her gloves and coiled around the Kyber. An ear-piercing shriek followed as the Child of Mortis was bound within by Sith alchemy. A gentle tug at her Garden of Trepidations funneled fear into the prison, to keep them company.
A loud hiss followed as she finally allowed herself to exhale. Her second skin shifted, like a slick blanket embracing her. The warmth of her breath steamed up her visor, despite the cooled, pressurized oxygen she drew from. The difference in temperature condensed the moisture into tiny droplets of water. Her glowing electric-blue eyes could not help but follow them as they slid down her lens like a curious loth cat staring out of a window.
‘More.’
Her grip tightened as hunger followed. She chased ghostly whispers, taps on the walls, the howling winds, and the drumbeat of her heart. She swallowed, but her throat felt dry.
‘Something more… something…real.’
‘More, always more…life.’
The darkest corners were cool, pleasantly so. The light was warm and hot, it burned. Pain guided her path. The amethyst light led her forward as it pricked at her alchemical suit.
Avoiding the scavengers already plundering the ruins might have been smarter, maybe even easier – not that stealth was his strong suit – but it wouldn’t have been right. He couldn’t just let more destruction happen while trying to stop even worse. So Ruka’s approach through the ruins was a slow one, gathering up the Children of Mortis agents he found and making sure they’d be safe and set for arrest later in the day.
That much fighting didn’t improve his mood by the time he descended into crystal-lined catacombs and found what he’d feared: bodies. One after another. Shriveled, cracked, broken and drained like husks. Not just the ones that were still people, but Ascendants, even.
And this close, there it was– her. Hungry. Always hungry. Always seething. Taking. Using. Hurting people.
The Master’s grip on his saber tightened, kept in hand unless he needed to use the Force. He eyed the stone suspiciously with each step that carried him further, half-expecting some Sith sigils drawn in blood to try and entrap him or more evidence of Ethereal Realm technology that would do Ashla knew what.
Crack!
A shattered skull was crushed beneath Aphotis’s boot. The corpse had dried up like a piece of jerky, yet when she ran her gloves over the clothes they felt new. Two statues almost as tall as herself were hidden in narrow alleys to her sides. She slipped into the corridor to her right, squeezing herself behind the sculpture. Her sensitive tail slid over the back until it found a groove. It felt cold and smooth, like metal. Her tail retreated and her claw poked open a small hatch.
Dim emerald light shimmered over her reflective suit. Another kyber crystal. She repeated the process on the left statue and found another crystal with a distinct death-like aura.
‘Like ancient toys, amateurs.’
Despite the obvious trap, the crystals had a powerful draining effect. The Sith could feel her second skin crawling and protesting, clinging tighter around her. She dropped both kyber crystals on the sandstone.
Crunch-crackle
The choking air became lighter as green smoke dissipated from the brittle stones. Yet another aura took their place, something familiar…