Warm sunlight spilled over Mytilene’s rolling landscape, burning off the night’s haze and slowly removing the chill—though, being a mountain retreat, it still wasn’t exactly warm.
The Keibatsus had spend the night at Erinyes’ country villa. The building was mostly modern glass and steel outside, clearly inspired by yet streamlined from old Imperial-Brotherhood architecture. Warmer wooden panels offset some of the coldness, however, and offered a more rounded elegance.
Erinyes’ guests had, suitably, been given rooms in the guest wing of the small complex. The floor-to-ceiling windows of common area opened to a courtyard with sumptuous garden edged with trees. Cluster of red berries dotted the branches, adding another pop of colour to the sunrise.
Miho stood on the balcony overlooking the central garden of Erinyes’ home. The stillness of the morning allowed her to take in everything surrounding her. The trees reaching towards the sky, the berries adding their own color and scent to the surroundings, the whisper of water over stone from a fountain tucked away somewhere.
The crisp air felt good to the small princess. Kept her grounded in the now. Nestled inside the courier satchel she had brought with her was a singular treasure she always had with her. A small wooden flute. How long had she had this? Thirty years now? Maybe a little less. The aged wood was still in nearly perfect condition, a gift from her brothers on one of her namedays with the intent of teaching her themselves. Happier times, weren’t they?
Were they? Happier? Always on the run, always trying to stay a few steps ahead.
She ran a fingertip along the wood that had turned dark with age, holding onto the peace of the morning. Closing her eyes, Miho put the flute to her lips and began to play - softly - a tune that expressed sadness at the retreating darkness but welcomed the new day’s dawn.
This small Odanite, this being named Mihoshi, let all of her self drift along the music.
*“No,” the music instructor said for the thousandth time. “You must feel the music inside you. Why someone would teach a slave, I don’t know. But, he wants you to play so play.”
“But, how can you feel the music?” The dead-eyed slave said without emotion. “You say music requires feeling. I don’t have any.”*
The notes drifted away from the sun’s melody and became a meandering, living tune with no distinct, recognizable pattern.
The instructor hit the back of the girl’s hands with his baton. “No, stupid girl. You hold your hands like this.”
She smiled against the opening of her flute, continuing the nameless melody. Miho often thought kindly of the old man who had taught her to play. Taught her to feel. Taught her to be more than she was.
As she continued to play, the self that was Miho floated along the melody, exploring with her mind’s eye the garden she had walked through the day before.
Definitely happier times.
The sound filtered through the breeze to his ears. It was a familiar instrument, but the melody was only half so, like a painting of a creature one had only ever heard described. Sorrow danced with hope among the fires of a thousand dreams. The notes were steeped in her emotion, hope trying to lead sorrow, but sorrow being reluctant to give up control.
It was an emotion that Muz knew well.
Muz blinked blackened eyes, the world only slightly bleary. It had been almost three days already since he had slept. Not that there was anything wrong with the hospitality, far from it in truth. The beds were of remarkable quality, the views stunning. The version of himself who would sleep anywhere: on cold crates in a transport, on damp earth in the woods, in a corner of a tomb? Long gone, replaced through decades of experience, of machinations and of violence. No, these days, he was careful about his sleep. Too much was at stake otherwise. He had trained himself to need less and less of it, meditation removing some of the needs, a sort of thaumivory sorting out much that remained. He had another day or two before it would become an urgent matter.
He quietly stepped out between the massive windows onto the balcony, toward the courtyard as it bathed in fresh light and Mihoshi’s tones. He paused, leaning his back against the doorframe in silence, drinking in the moment, committing it to memory. Too few, moments of peace were.
Home.
Staring up at the ceiling from under the warmth of the bedcovers, Erinyes felt a sense of contentment she never had on Arx. The Brotherhood’s capital was her primary residence, but it wasn’t really home. It could replicate all the creature comforts, from the fancy moagwood furniture to the personal chefs, but it couldn’t replicate the work she’d put into building this place with her own two hands. Arx was where she lived. Mytilene was hers, and she came back every chance she got.
The morning ritual was long. Shower. Skin care. Makeup. Hair. Outfit. They were going to the farms and the vineyard today, so something that could handle walking and a little mud was in order. But, as ever, there was the urge to dress to impress. Hell, what level of formality was it when you had friends you knew but didn’t really know crashing at your place?
Hrm.
Working trousers, waist cincher… jacket? Jacket. She needed pockets. A belt for the lightsabers, of course. Shoes? Practical boots, because again, vineyard.
Right. Off to the kitchen. That Zeltron metabolism was going to wake up soon, and howl for food like a hungry cythraul.
Thank goodness for programmable caf machines. Caf is served, she pinged to her guests, while helping herself to a cup. It was the same roast she had shipped to Arx, tasted better on Kasiya, for some reason.
The notes faded as Erinyes’ ping sounded in her head. Lowering the flute, listening to the birdsong continue on for a moment before turning to face her brother.
“Good morning, brother.” A look crossed her face as she studied his face. “You look tired. Did you not sleep well?”
She set her flute in the small case it traveled in and walked over to him, reaching a hand out towards him, before taking it back slowly with a worried look. “You should rest more.”
There was no doubt that few would be able to get away with bullying her brother. But, the same love between them that allowed her to tolerate - and even sometimes enjoy - his sometimes maddening displays of brotherly attention, gave her the ability to be the same pain in the ass little sister he had known. Three decades ago for him, only years for her.
“I dreamed about you all the time, you know. Of coming home, of finding all of you.” She smiled up at him. “In the same way you had found all of us after…”
Kuroshin.
She blinked and gave him one of her private smiles only for loved ones. Death and Rebirth. Sorrow and Hope. Miho offered all of them to this man who was her brother, had once been and still was, her only real confidante. Manji had been her teacher, her protector. Shinichi had been her shield. Musashi? He had been the one she could share her secrets with. Could she still? The world was different now, they were different now.
In none of the ways that truly mattered. “Come on, Muz,” her soft voice teasing at the butchering of his given name. “Let’s go have some caf. It’ll help you stay awake.”
She stood, her hand out to him. An offer of simple contact, of ground once again made solid by their presence together. An offer of acceptance, no matter what their past had made them.
He hadn’t thought he looked that tired. The scars hid his eyes well enough, and the Force parried with aging long before Antei to keep his face frozen at a point of time not far removed from when she had been last. He took her hand for a moment as she moved past, then followed her toward the kettle. His hand genty slipped beneath his warcoat, a thumb hooking at his belt,next to one of the finely crafted holsters for his blades. He hadn’t bothered with the armor, nor the overly fancy robes, prefering understated and stylish for this foray. He wasn’t there to impress anyone, but yet…
He blinked slowly as the kitchen unfolded before his eyes, Erinyes pouring something from a silvery kettle. Perhaps it was just his mannerisms that gave it away. That was likely it. His sister was familiar with his ways, aged as they may be, foreign as many seemed to find them. Maybe Erinyes knew him well enough for that, but maybe not. There were few from his time near that cursed throne that still worked closely with him, even after all the years. He liked to think he was never changing, but he knew it was a conceit, perhaps emboldened by some events that he’d rather not discuss.
Who he needed to be, and who he was.
Here, he would be who he was. There was no need for the Lion here, no battle to be won, no legendary actions to take for an audience that was simultaneously grateful and terrified. He pursed his lips for a second. The power had more edges than not, and none knew it better than him. It was a force of willpower to keep him from falling fully to the power, burning away his sense of self with a compulsive drive for more that would never be sated. He had seen others try, and in losing themselves, closed themselves off from that which they sought.
The cups were small, well crafted, filled with a dark steaming liquid that smelled of roasted fruits and savory somethings. Cool fingertips found succor in the warming ceramic. He tilted his head at their host.
Having guests to entertain was a nice change of pace. “Overnight companionship” was one thing, but it was a rare treat to be able to cook a relaxing brunch for friends.
Even after all this time, it was a little odd to refer to the Lord of the Krath as a “friend”, but there really wasn’t a better word for it. Muz had certainly gone from being a superior to a comrade in the years they’d spent fighting the One Sith. They’d had their social nights at bars or aboard Muz’s ship, discussing the finer points of distilling and saberplay. The Lion of Tarthos being an unusual friend didn’t make him less of one.
As for Mihoshi? Erinyes only barely knew her, but being Muz’s sister had put the woman on the express lane into Erinyes’ circle of acquaintances. Granted, reducing her to being “Muz’s sister” was unfair; the diminutive Keibatsu seemed like an interesting person in her own right. Nobody in that family was boring, and how she became an Odanite Keibatsu must have been an intriguing tale.
And so, Erinyes continued cooking breakfast for a planet-eating demigod and his apostate sister.
Slices of cured roba sat on a griddle, hissing as rendered fat hit hot metal. A bowl of egg yolks sat on a double boiler, churning rapidly under a telekinetically-controlled whisk as Erinyes slowly poured melted butter into the mixture. As she tended the food, she alternated between her own cup of caf and a flute glass with a mixture of wine and fruit juice.
“How was your night? Were the rooms comfortable?”
The smaller Keibatsu stepped away from her brother, curiously looking at the different foods being prepared as she accepted her own mug of caf. She glanced up at Erinyes with a smile and a shrug.
“The rooms were quite comfortable, Erinyes. Quite comfortable.” She sipped at the mug, enjoying the warmth that spread through her at the drink. “But, given some of the places I’ve slept in over the years, opulent would be closer.”
The smells coming from the different pans made her hungry, but more than that it felt like a home. She made due with a smaller cooking station - probably closer to what would amount to a hot plate in a tenement - in the quarters she sometimes stayed at. Otherwise, her food was always prepared at eateries, restaurants, and cafés.
“It smells wonderful.” Her smile was soft.
“Quite.” He answered and agreed with a single word that echoed between eardrums and thoughts. Even after the last year or so of what Leena would jokingly refer to as ‘Enhanced Extroversion’, his voice was still raw. The Keibatsu were already known for communicating silently, the security and efficiency of direct thoughts instead of voices useful on the battlefield rapidly becoming the usual rather than the exception. In truth, he had rarely spoken since Korriban, and he wondered if it was the years of disuse or something to do with the power unleashed between Antei and there that strained his voice.
He raised the cup, the caf spreading across his tongue and leaving half singed nerves to dance between flavors of twilight cherries and dawn-dried spices. The aromas found his nose as he smiled, confit roba and a sauce he had tasted on Spira he vaguely recalled as being draped over toasted bread, poached egg and meat. He watched her whip around the kitchen, patterns hiding behind a veneer of chaos and suave indifference. Or was that Zeltros where he had tried that? Muz blinked, wondering if it was a Zeltron dish after all.
Either way, there were worse ways to start a day.
Between the three of them, they probably had tried them all.
“Everyone deserves a little opulence sometimes. Otherwise it’s all just unremitting darkness and suffering, you know?” She suspected Mihoshi did know, if the woman considered this place “opulent”; not that it wasn’t well-appointed, but it was nothing compared to the lavish (and frankly, excessive) mansions of the Tapani Sector where Erinyes had grown up.
On the other hand, she knew Muz knew, in much the same way she did. The Brotherhood’s capitol was no whimsical playground. Being stuck around masses of Dark Jedi—and despite their rebranding, many of the most powerful figures in the Brotherhood and on Arx were still Dark Jedi—left a sort of psychic grunge that couldn’t easily be scraped off. Sometimes, you needed to get away from it all before the malevolence warped your mind.
Erinyes worked through the batches of breakfast food on the griddle. The slices of roba went onto a dish in the oven to stay warm, and buttered halved biscuits replaced them on the grill. The egg-yolk-and-butter sauce continued stirring itself until it could come off the heat, then it too went into the oven, and the Zeltron cracked half a dozen eggs into the remaining pot of boiling water.
While the eggs poached, Erinyes detoured to the fridge to retrieve condiments, then plates and cutlery. She laid the former and latter—salt, pepper, a bottle of dark red sauce, and a dangerously bright red relish with visible chunks of chilies and garlic—in front of her guests.
Then, the plating process ensued. Biscuit halves, buttered and toasted side up. Eggs atop each, poached oozy medium-soft for the perfect balance of being mop-up-able without running all over the plate. Roba slices. The creamy, liquid-heart-attack sauce. The fried cubed potatoes went in a pile on the other half of the plate. Fnally, the whole thing was topped off a sprinkling of some kind of fresh green herb.
“And here… we… go.” Erinyes set the plates down in front of her guests. “I figured that if we’re going to be walking around the vineyard and farms all day, we might as well have something substantial. Can I get you drinks besides caf?”
Miho shook her head with a puzzled look. Alcohol this early? Surely not. “Caf is fine, thank you.”
She looked at the small feast Erinyes provided for them and smiled even more. It reminded her of meals in Voraskel Palace when the Empress summoned her Council. Kaltani wasn’t extravagant, but the food prepared was always exquisite and Miho doubted this would be any less so.
“It looks delicious, Erinyes. Thank you for the meal.”
She touched her hands together, palm to palm, and nodded her head slightly. Before picking up her utensils and beginning to eat with enthusiasm. She was very interested in the vineyards and the farms, almost impatiently so.
Between bites, she wondered what sort of plants and animals thrived in this sort of climate. Perhaps they could even adapt some of the techniques for the sky cities on Kiast. Or the frozen tundra of Solyiat. She smiled as she considered it.
It was almost a foreign concept to him, vacation. Miho had made a joke wondering how often Erinyes had made breakfast for guests to be so good at it, and Eriyes flirted mercilessly back, his sisters cheeks reddening. The words blended together in his ears with the sounds of flatware and hearth, the sounds harmonizing into a sense of comraderie and peace, reminding him of home. After the war, after the rebuilding, after the peace he and his brothers had forced by Force.
The feeling didn’t belong here.
He had spent most of his time with an ulterior motive in mind. The purpose for most visits had some sort of purpose, be it diplomatic, scholastic, or martial. He paused at that last, half a smile resting upon his lips. He had been called to intervene a few times in the last several years, their ‘requests’ sometimes a thinly veiled command that held no power over him. Not that he faulted them for trying. None would deny that his presence on a battlefield would have wide-reaching effects, even if only on morale. His decisions to be selective with his involvement was intentionally to preserve that effect. Yet still, he couldn’ remember the last time that he had gone somewhere for the singular purpose of relaxation. Usually there was some other overarching plan, some business to discuss, research to be accomplished, or something lost to be found. It was effort to him, his mind running through a million pieces of other work before he would catch it and reign it in.
To simpler things.
Delicious things.
He chased the richness of the dish down his throat with the hot caf, trying to lose himself in the sensation, the bitterness cleansing away his thoughts as much as the flavors.
“That should hold us over for a while,” Erinyes said, once the trio had finished their breakfasts. “I thought we’d start with the distillery and vineyard, then work our way out. Muz can offer his critiques on my alchemical setup,” she joked.
.