With a Hand to Hold

by flythesail

Summary:

Qimir had wanted a pupil. At first, Osha refused, thinking he was ridiculous for asking. She remembered the rare chill in the air that day, the salt from the waves, the vision in the helmet she failed to understand.

“Does that make me your Acolyte?”

He was looking at his lightsaber, but at her question, his eyes found her. They were at their darkest now, under the lantern light. When he spoke, his voice was low, and she felt it the same.

"It does." There was something new in his gaze that made her body run warm. “Do you want to be mine, Osha?”

--
A post-season 1 continuation.

Chapter 1: Nightmare

Notes:

(Obi-Wan voice) HELLO THERE.

I'm currently on my hands and knees begging for a s2 renewal. But until then, I have an eight chapter outline and a DREAM. I'm reading a wholeee book about Darth Plagueis for this. (It's that serious.)

I hope you stick around and enjoy <3

Osha never slept well.

Even as a child, she'd wake in the middle of the night and find herself at the side of Mae's bed, standing there like a statue before she realized no amount of staring would pull her from her dreams. 

So she'd wander the halls until Mother Koril, Mama, or another witch of their coven found her somewhere she "shouldn't be so late” and tucked her back in bed. 

Until they left, she'd play along. Fake a yawn. Pull the blanket up to her chin and let her eyelids lower. 

Across from her, Mae still snored. 

The second they were gone, Osha would sit up, peer through the window, and give herself a neck ache looking out at the stars. 

Past the stony cliff and into the expanse of trees, she wished she could glimpse the sea. 

After she lost her coven, her sleep only worsened. 

She had nightmares too. Ones where she burned in her bedroom. Or retellings with her family sprawled on the stone. 

Sometimes she was the one who started the spark.

With the Jedi, she was too scared of being anything less than perfect to leave her room at night. So she'd watch Coruscant’s sky and wait for daylight. 

As a meknek, she worked herself to the point of exhaustion. On nights off, she would tag along with the others to cantinas, sip on something fizzy to numb her mind, and laugh when everyone else did. She wasn't sure what they were laughing about—but she knew she wouldn't sleep back on the ship either. 

Company was a good distraction. 

Now, there was little to occupy her nights. So she'd leave the cave when it was still dark—creeping past Qimir, asleep on his makeshift bed of blankets, who seemed able to sleep whenever he pleased—and walk down the stone steps to the beach. 

Here, the stars and sea met. Osha would stand there, staring for what seemed like hours. 

Mostly, she thought of Mae. 

She heard Mama’s words run through her head the same way the waves ran over the rocks. 

This is your sister.

The Thread tied you together before you were born.

Did it tie them together still? Could some part of Mae sense Osha, though her memories were gone? 

Some nights, Osha thought she could sense Mae in the Force. Tangible signs of her other half; her mirror. 

Tears. A smile. The flash of a purple cloak. 

Then the waves would crash against the shore, and she'd know she was a fool.  

That hollow feeling after leaving the Order was back. 

As much as Osha wanted to hold on to the anger—the betrayal—that coursed through her veins when she killed Master Sol, all that remained was loss. 

A wind blew across the beach, and goosebumps rose on Osha’s arms. 

The rising sun bled pink and red into the sky. It reflected off the rough waves, and eventually, the sky became the solid blue of a clear day.  

Osha left the beach, her boots crunching on the rocks. The climb back up to the cave was uncomfortable. The steps were steep, and her muscles ached from yesterday's training. Qimir didn't believe in days off—pushing her to the point that sleep should come easy. Of course, it never did.

When she entered the cave, she saw Qimir was awake. He stood on the side of the room with his back to her. She studied the curves of his shoulders, watching as he reached for his tunic. He pulled his arms through the sleeves and tugged the fabric down, hiding the raised scar that snaked over his spine. 

At first, it was unnerving how comfortable he was around her. In the end, it made it easier to trust him, though she knew she shouldn't. He'd said as much himself. 

He killed Jecki. He killed Yord, she used to remind herself. 

What did that mean now? 

Master Sol killed her mother who didn't even hold a weapon. 

Then she killed him. 

“Are you hungry?”

Osha blinked at Qimir's voice. She'd been staring. He knew it, carefully watching her as she did him. 

“Sure,” she said. 

 

---

 

“Elbow higher, Osha,” Qimir said.

Osha reacted just in time. Their practice sabers clashed together, her arms straining against the force of his attack. 

Their eyes locked. 

In that moment, Qimir couldn't be mistaken for anyone but the man who took down eight Jedi on Khofar. His jaw was tight; his gaze focused. 

Though, she knew his skill had less to do with sight and everything to do with his strength in the Force. 

When she tried on his helmet, it was claustrophobic. The slit at eye level let in no more than a slice of light. Qimir fought effectively blind, and it was with a violence—a grace—she'd never known possible. 

Osha was struggling with her eyes open. 

While she tried to push him back, his stance was as solid as the rocks that lined their island. She relented, blinking sweat from her eyes as she stepped back. A cool wave crawled across the shore, rushing up to her ankles. The wave retreated, and her feet sank into the sand. 

“Not bad,” he told her with a nod. He adjusted his grip on his practice saber. It was more or less a glorified stick, from a species of tree native to their island. Durable enough to withstand hours of training, rudimentary enough to give Osha blisters from the numerous times her hands slipped. 

Day one, Qimir wanted to train with real lightsabers and had told her as much. Yet his saber was broken from his duel with Master Sol on Brendok. He didn't have the materials to repair the blade emitter here and would need to make a trip offplanet. 

“Not bad?” Osha asked through gasps for breath. The sun beat down on her shoulders. “I was going for good that time.”

Qimir's smile was easy, his eyes tracing over her for seconds before he raised his saber again. The loose strands of hair around his face stuck there. His arms and chest shined with sweat. 

Osha wore a tank top, the fabric at her back soaked through. She was running out of clothes to wear. Mae hadn't kept much on Qimir's ship, and their day to day training only ruined what she did have quicker. 

“You're treating your body and the Force as two separate things,” he said. She noticed how he came alive during a duel—his steps light and the saber an extension of himself. He and the Force were indistinguishable. “The Force isn't something you should have to think about. Just use it.”

“I am,” Osha started to say, but then he was on her again. 

Their sabers hit with a crack. 

They went back and forth, the sound repetitive enough that it echoed inside her skull. 

As she dodged Qimir's swing, she called to the Force like she did on Brendok. Then, it came to her like the rush of the waves up the shore. Powerful. She remembered what it felt like to pull the air from Master Sol’s lungs. The blinding rage. The pain. So much of it that she could no longer stand, falling to her knees when Sol finally collapsed to the dirt. 

Even after she left the Order, she felt the Force around her. A fading companion as her connection weakened, but always there. She started to ignore it. The Force became a stranger. On the prison transport, it ignored her too. Letting herself feel again made those six years seem like seconds. 

Now, the Force resisted her manipulation. 

“Remember, our emotions are our access,” Qimir said. “Feel what you need to.” If not for the footprints in the damp sand, she'd doubt whether his feet ever touched the ground. 

He twisted toward her, and their sabers connected with a thwack. 

Osha growled in frustration and pulled her saber back, swinging for his head. 

He ducked. “Reckless.”

“Maybe it's my teacher.” 

Qimir spun the stick in his hand. A flashy move, yet she didn't let it distract her. She raised her elbow and took the full force of his next strike, feeling it reverberate through her. When she pushed him back, their feet splashed up seawater. 

“Who trained you?” she asked. “When you were a Jedi.”

The way Qimir taught was different from how she learned on Coruscant. Often, in a series of techniques; each with a proper name and then put together. His movements were fluid—unique to him—and that made it harder to predict his strategy. 

“Focus,” Qimir said. The sea lapped at their ankles, soaking the cuffs of his pants. He moved back to dry sand, and she followed. “Everything you need is inside you.”

“A weapon helps too,” she muttered, blocking Qimir’s strike and swinging her saber toward him. He caught her saber with his, their eyes meeting over the makeshift blades. She knew she should push back, yet she stepped away and broke the tension. 

Osha, he warned, speaking in her mind. 

He watched her, smirking when she failed to hide her surprise. Though he rarely spoke in her mind, the intimacy of it caught her off guard every time. A reminder that the few barriers between them could be broken. 

It did the trick, and her other thoughts fizzled out. 

The sand, warm from the heat of the sun. A few steps to the left, cooler from the crawling waves. Qimir’s breathing, there alongside her own. 

He didn't have to think about these things. He just did. 

Osha breathed in the salty air and raised her saber. Using the Force to fortify her attack, she moved toward him and swung. Qimir’s saber locked with hers. 

“Better,” he said quietly, too focused on the duel—on her—to say more. 

She held steady, determined this time to prove herself. Physically, she was good in a fight. Her work as a meknek kept her strong, and she was trained from a young age. 

It was her mind that troubled her. The anger and pain she felt on Brendok seemed duller now, holding her back rather than propelling her forward. 

Still, she must be doing something right as Qimir let his saber fall, breathing heavily. 

She took that as a good sign and stepped back too, expecting he'd need a second to readjust. 

Instead, he moved with her. 

She lifted her elbow—too late to block his strike properly. His practice saber swished past her head so fast she heard it. 

As she tried to put distance between them—she felt his ankle behind hers. 

She fell hard, landing on her back with the air knocked out of her. 

Qimir looked down at her, shading her from the sun. Her limbs were too tired to so much as lift them, yet he seemed unphased, standing straight. 

“Your right leg was locked,” he explained. 

From here, she had a good view of his arms and chest. 

“No kidding,” she said. 

“Ready to go again?” He stepped back, and she held up her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. 

“No.” 

He dropped his practice saber to the sand and sat beside her. This was unusual. If they weren't training, Qimir always had something else to do. Collecting plants for their meals, poking at the broken hilt of his saber, trying to get that error light to turn off on his ship. (If he had the right part, Osha would have fixed it a week ago.) 

“What are you doing?” she asked, glancing up at him. 

“I thought maybe you'd like some company.” 

Apparently, they were something like friends now. 

Qimir's attention was on the sea, and she traced the line of his jaw with her eyes. It was strange really, to be taught one thing all your life and then watch it unravel. 

The Jedi wouldn't train her. Qimir wanted to. 

It was unfair of the Jedi to insist she let go of her past, all while hiding their destructive role in it.

Were they scared of what she'd do if she found out? What she was capable of? 

Qimir gazed at her, his dark eyes flickering over her face. There was patchy hair on his chin and above his lip. The sand was coarse beneath her, yet the warm tan of his skin looked soft—the old scars on his body a part of him. 

His mouth quirked at the corner like he might smile. 

“Try meditating,” he said. 

“I haven't. Not since I was a Jedi.” 

It was the thing she hated most as a Padawan. The silence. The stillness. No matter how hard she tried to think of yourself diving into a great ocean, as Master Sol would say, all she could ever picture was flames. 

“It's a useful way to funnel your emotions.”

“I thought you were all about feeling your emotions.” 

“You still need to learn how to use them, Osha. Don't let yourself drown in them.”

“I'm not drowning.” 

“When was the last time you slept through the night?”

Osha turned her face to look at the sky. It was too bright, so she had to squint. She felt the weight of Qimir's gaze. 

“I'm fine. I don't need to sleep.” 

“You sound like a child.”

“Well, I'm not,” she said, turning her head to look at him. 

His eyes were still on her, his expression unreadable. She'd tried many times to sense his emotions, as he often did hers, yet his mind was too closely guarded. 

Osha turned her attention back to the sky. Most days here were a clear and bright blue. The heat was better than rain, however. A single rainy day last week was enough for Osha to learn those days were the worst. 

“Your tattoo,” Qimir began. 

“Huh?”

He touched his finger to her upper arm, brushing away the sand that speckled the dark ink. Her skin tingled even after he'd moved away. “What does it mean?”  

“Oh. That.” She twisted her arm so she could see it. The ink formed the double-wing shape of a starship. “It doesn't really mean anything. I got it one night in CorpSec.” 

“With your crew.”

“Yes, with my crew. We were all very drunk.” 

Qimir exhaled, and it almost sounded like a laugh. 

Osha was always different from the other mekneks. They gave up the details of their lives willingly over games of sabaac and glasses of revnog.

When it was her turn to share, she had explained she used to be a Jedi and shrugged like her decision to leave was no more interesting than stats from the shield generators. 

That was met by silence and confused looks. No one understood why she would trade life in the Order for cramped quarters, dangerous work, and mediocre pay. Osha told them it was the people, of course, to half-hearted laughter. 

After that, she learned to stay quiet. She just became Osha. The woman with a friendly enough smile and a PIP droid in her pocket; one of the smartest members of the crew. It was a running joke, actually, that she had a sixth sense and could tell what was wrong with a ship before the scanner even finished its calculations.

Now, that night was a bit of a blur. They were coming off a particularly long stretch in space and received a bonus with their monthly pay to honor the new year. 

The tattoos were someone's idea. Fillik’s probably, as most of the crew's poorly thought-out ideas were. They found a shop open all night, and the next thing Osha knew, the needle was on her skin filling in that double-wing shape with ink. 

Walking back to the freighter with her crew after, her arm still stinging, it was the closest she'd felt to anyone since leaving the Order. 

“You wanted to feel like you were a part of something,” Qimir said.

Osha looked at him, the sand shifting beneath her head. A wave crawled up the shore, this one far enough to reach her feet.

“I suppose.” In a way, Osha’s identity was always a part of something larger. Her coven, the Jedi, then her meknek crew. 

Maybe that was why she felt so lost now. 

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you have any tattoos?” 

He stared at her, then shook his head, possibly wondering if she was serious. 

She laughed. That got him to smile, though he still seemed uncertain. Osha was getting more comfortable around him, and he would have to adjust.  

Really, she could have answered that question on her first day here. From her spot at the edge of the lagoon—she had a perfect view as he untied his clothes and washed the Khofar dirt from his skin. 

While she'd spent plenty of time with Qimir since then, she didn't know much more about him. He was open with her to a fault. 

A silence fell between them, leaving only the slow crash of the waves. If Osha had to choose somewhere to train and shelter from the Jedi, she supposed there were worse places. 

Qimir was the one to break the silence.

“Get some sleep tonight, Osha,” he said. “That's why you're making mistakes.” He touched his hand to her right knee, leaving it there for a second, then stood. 

She stayed on the sand as he collected their practice sabers, that spot of skin still burning. 

 

---

 

After an hour of staring at the cave's dark ceiling, Osha decided she'd tried hard enough. 

So she got out of bed and slipped on her boots as quietly as she could. Apparently, not quietly enough, as she saw Qimir stir as she passed him. He lay on his pile of blankets. The lanterns were off, yet some of the light from the small pool of water nearby caught on his face. She paused, waiting for him to say something. Yet the only noise was the drip of water in a far corner. He didn't move again, and she continued on. 

Outside, she went down to the beach and sat stubbornly on the smoothest rock she could find. 

Above her, the stars were bright. It was a different slice of galaxy than the one on Brendok, but she felt connected to it all the same. 

She closed her eyes and tried to quiet her mind. 

The waves crashed along the rocky shore. There was sea salt in the air. The rock beneath her was cold. 

Connect to the Force.

Osha sat crisscross as still as she could. 

Peeking through her eyes, she saw a sliver of Master Sol, winding his way through the rows of Padawans. 

“Eyes closed, Osha,” he reminded her with a smile. 

She wanted to be a good Jedi, so she listened. To become a Jedi was her dream. She'd do it in spite of Mae and in honor of Mama. 

With her eyes closed, she saw flames. Her coven's fortress burned. Mama lay on the stone ground, unmoving. Dead because of the man who led her away, screaming. 

“Is that true?” she asked Sol on Brendok. The words tasted like venom on her tongue. All this time, she'd thought of him as her savior. He was no more than a killer. 

When she held out her hand, the Force obeyed her anger. She stole the air from Sol’s lungs easily, and she ignored his attempts to ease her pain. 

It would never be okay. She wanted him dead. 

Sol collapsed to the ground, and Osha followed. Across from her, Mae's mind was open. Sadness, relief, loyalty—an end to this chapter of their lives and justice for their family. 

Qimir reached for her, his movement slow and careful—cautious. She swung the lightsaber toward him—the same one used to kill her mother—and watched in awe and agony as she bled it red. 

The yellow blooms of the bunta tree swayed with the breeze. They smelled sweeter than she remembered as a child. The tears running down her face tasted like salt.

“I can remove any trace of you or me.” Qimir's voice was low and robotic behind his helmet. 

Osha pulled Mae close, thinking of the Thread that tied them. 

“Always one.”

“But born as two.”

If she held on tight enough, maybe she could stop it from being cut. 

"I give you you." 

"And you give..."

Shadows descended over the woods. The yellow petals of the bunta tree turned black and crumbled like ash. 

Mae was gone. Osha turned and saw Qimir was gone too. 

The air smelled of smoke, choking her the way it did the night Mae set fire to their home. The spark that started it all. 

“Verosha Aniseya,” said an unfamiliar voice. It crawled over her skin and wormed through her mind. She stood, knowing she had to run—but found herself rooted to the ground. 

“Who are you?” she asked, sounding braver than she felt. 

“Who are you, Verosha? Extraordinary enough on your own.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw long fingers curling over the burnt bark of the bunta tree. By the time she fully turned, the hand was gone. 

“Together, we would become something magnificent.”

In the distance, a flash of yellow eyes. 

Water filled her lungs. 

Osha was choking—her arms and legs thrashing against the current of the sea. The waves tugged at her, pulling her further into the darkness. 

The water chilled her to the bone. 

It was so dark, she couldn't tell whether the surface was above or below. 

After all the flames, it was ironic to die here. In the dark water where no one would even know. 

Osha chose a direction and opened her eyes, coughing for breath. 

Above her, she saw the stars and moon. The rock beneath her was cold. The water was nowhere near her, the waves crashing further down the beach where even the foam couldn't reach her. 

She hadn't moved at all. 

Find me, said that same voice. 

Osha gasped for breath. 

With her body shaking, she stumbled off the rock. She fell, scraping her knees on the stones. 

She stood swiftly and reached for her saber. Nothing was at her belt, and she remembered leaving it in the cave, wrapped in cloth. She turned in a circle, looking for signs of life. 

Every rock seemed to tower above her. Every shadow hid something. 

The island was still, but she knew she was being watched. 

Her lungs still ached like she had been underwater. 

The walk back to the cave was a blur. She climbed the steps, only half-aware of what she was doing. Her skin felt clammy and cold, her legs unsteady. 

There was someone, something, here with them. 

But where? 

This planet—Bal’demnic, she'd learned when she tapped into the navicomputer on Qimir's ship—was largely unoccupied. Mostly sea life and harmless creatures, like the skura that searched the stones with their long noses, hunting for insects every morning. 

Yet with the number of caves, Bal’demnic was the perfect place to hide away. 

She wound her way through the cave’s entrance on instinct, stopping next to Qimir’s makeshift bed. 

For as observant as he was awake, he seemed to be a deep sleeper. This reminded her of Mae—all the nights she spent alone wishing for the sea. 

Now, she wished she couldn't still hear the rush of it in her ears, countered only by that voice. 

She focused on Qimir’s breathing instead, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his blanket. It was too dark to see much of his face, yet there was the mess of his hair, the slope of his nose visible by light that bounced off the pool. 

It made her feel a bit foolish standing here, staring at him. Like she'd imagined the whole ordeal. Her teeth chattered, and she crossed her arms over herself to feel warmer. 

In the far corner, she could make out the disheveled blanket she'd kicked to the bottom of her bed when she left. She went and got it, wrapping it around her shoulders as she returned to where Qimir slept. 

He lay at the edge of the blankets, on his side and facing the wall. Slowly, Osha lowered herself to the opposite side. She put her arm under her head in place of a pillow and closed her eyes, willing her body to relax. 

It was just too much. She'd never truly dealt with what it meant to leave the Order. For six years, she pushed down those feelings. How as she became older, the Jedi stopped lying to her—pretending she wasn't failing—until she had no choice but to leave. 

Now, she felt that tenfold—partnered with the truth of what happened on Brendok. The loss of Mae right when she'd found and forgiven her. 

Behind her, Qimir shifted, the blankets rustling. She lay as still as possible, hoping he wouldn't fully wake. 

He turned toward her, and she felt a gentle, warm pressure on her back. His hand, she realized. The heat of his touch radiated through the blanket, and Osha relaxed a little. He brushed his thumb over the curve of her spine. 

Things would work out.  

They had to. 

With his hand still on her, she drifted into a light but dreamless sleep.

 

Notes:

What if you wanted to be alone on a beautiful island with a beautiful man and Darth Plagueis said NO?

Kudos and comments are always appreciated! I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts <3

Find me on tumblr.

Chapter 2: Sink / Float

Summary:

“Are you okay, Osha?”

Her gaze drifted to Qimir. He rested his arm on the post with his body angled toward her. A light breeze blew a strand of hair across his face. He tucked it behind his ear.

“I'm fine,” she said.

His gaze didn't leave her face and she wondered if he was sensing her emotions.

If he could hide his, surely she could learn to hide hers too.

--
Osha meets someone new.

Notes:

Did you ever hear the tragedy of oshamir's neighbor, Darth Plagueis the Wise?

I have to give James Luceno a shoutout for his Darth Plagueis novel. If you like reading SW books, it's def worth a read!!

I hope you enjoy <3

When Osha woke, the cave was already bright. 

She turned onto her back and saw she was alone. Qimir’s side of the blankets was smooth and looked untouched. 

If her memory of last night wasn't so vivid, she might question whether he slept beside her at all. 

She sat up and stretched. Sleeping on the blankets wasn't as uncomfortable as she thought it would be, yet she felt a stiffness in her movements. Maybe from training or the way she had believed she was drowning. 

Osha remembered stories of Jedi who became trapped in their own minds. In those lessons, her teachers always spoke of this in regard to those who turned to the dark side and found only suffering. But after experiencing it herself, albeit momentarily, it seemed to be more complex than that. 

The dark side, like any power, was one you could learn to wield. A cautionary tale, however, would discourage Jedi from opening themselves to their emotions—to greater power—in the first place. 

Plus, Osha thought to herself, there was a power other than her own at play last night. She'd seen it in her vision while meditating and sensed it after. 

That eerie feeling of being observed lingered.  

A quick scan of the cave told her nothing was out of place. She saw the workbench, where Qimir sat last night, taking apart his lightsaber to see how far the damage extended. On the table, his helmet grinned at her where he'd left it. Yet she felt no pull like she did the night she tried his helmet on. 

Further back was the bed where she typically slept. Osha stood and went to the bag tucked beside it. 

The bag contained a canteen from Qimir as well as the cloak once belonging to Mae. Hidden at the bottom, beneath her only other pair of pants, was a bundle of cloth. She removed it and unwound the fabric to reveal her lightsaber and Mae's dagger side by side. 

She picked up the dagger, running her thumb over the floral engraving on the hilt. A memory from her childhood surfaced. The last time she and Mae slipped past the fortress walls and beneath the yellow blooms of the bunta tree. 

The upcoming Ascension ceremony made her anxious. Heightened that uncertainty she felt about what she wanted and who she wanted to be. Unlike Mae, who showed no uncertainty and was ready to take her place in the coven. 

The bunta tree’s so beautiful.

But Osha, it’s dangerous.

Osha was looking for an escape, but in the end, Mother Koril was right. True danger did lie outside the fortress walls. That night, danger found its way in. 

Carefully, Osha rewrapped the dagger in the cloth and tucked it back in her bag. 

After losing Mae the first time, the Jedi insisted she let go of her grief. There was anger too. Part of her hated Mae for starting the fire; for killing their family—a lie she would believe for the next sixteen years. 

That never felt right to her as a child, to let go of her sister. Whether she hated or loved her—both of which she did—neither would change what happened. So she learned to push her emotions down instead. She threw herself into her Jedi training and eventually grew to the age it was no longer acceptable to hide those negative emotions inside her. 

For the past six years, she viewed this as a failure on her own part. Now, she knew it was the Jedi who had failed her. 

She picked up the saber, testing the weightless feel of it in her hand. Given that Qimir's saber was broken, there was no need to have her own out for training. The island itself had no threats requiring a weapon—much less, one this lethal. 

Last night told her differently. 

Osha clipped the saber to her belt and pushed the bag back in place.

There was still no sign of Qimir, so she made her way to the mouth of the cave. Outside, the air was already warm, and the sky was a solid blue. Signs of late morning. She couldn't remember the last time she slept past sunrise. 

She stopped at the railing, resting her hand on one of the splintered posts. 

The sea was violent today—the waves high and reaching. She fought against the memory of the waves pulling her under and into the dark. Her throat felt tight, and she took a sharp breath through her nose, releasing it slowly through her mouth. 

Never before had the Force made her feel unsafe. She was raised to trust in it by another name, the Thread. Yet it was always a source of security—what tied all life together. Never a pull toward death. 

Not unless you manipulated it, as she did on Brendok, squeezing the life from Sol’s lungs with her fist.

At the sound of boots on stone, Osha noticed Qimir climbing the steps. He had a bag on his shoulder. As he reached the top, she saw the hair framing his face was wet. The light fabric of his tunic clung to his still damp chest. 

“Hi.” He stopped near her, adjusting the bag’s strap on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” she said, glancing at him. She didn't turn to him fully and watched as a large wave crashed over the rocks, spraying seafoam. A family of skura—practically specks from this distance—scurried for cover further up the beach. 

Qimir leaned against the next post over, looking at her, then out at the sea. It was a respectful distance. Still, she couldn't help but be aware of him when he was near. Where his body was in relation to hers when they trained, or how close he walked when they came in from the beach. 

Reacquainting herself with the Force was intoxicating in a way. It heightened her senses and made her more aware of everything. 

Another wave crashed, and he spoke with it. 

“Are you okay, Osha?” 

Her gaze drifted to him. He rested his arm on the post with his body angled toward her. A light breeze blew a strand of hair across his face. He tucked it behind his ear. 

“I'm fine,” she said. 

His gaze didn't leave her face, and she wondered if he was sensing her emotions. 

If he could hide his, surely she could learn to hide hers too.  

“How did you sleep?” he asked. 

“Alright.” She kept her voice neutral, though her face warmed. More or less, she had invited herself into his bed last night. He had felt safe to her. Ironic, considering the circumstances of their first meetings. 

He nodded, also leaving the unspoken thing unsaid. 

From what Osha knew of his time with Mae, he did seem different now. The Qimir that Mae knew was an act. A character Osha met herself that day on Olega in the apothecary shop. 

Then there was the Stranger. The killer who drove sabers through Jecki and snapped Yord’s neck in his arms. 

Last night, Osha lay beside him with his hand at her back and his thumb brushing her spine. 

The line blurred somewhere. She saw it yesterday on the beach when he went from slicing a practice saber past her head to asking about her tattoo, genuinely curious. 

Qimir took a few steps back, his boots scuffing the stone. She caught the second his gaze dropped to her belt. 

He'd noticed the lightsaber there, newly clipped. 

His eyes went back to her face, and she stared back as if daring him to ask. 

He didn't. 

“There's kebroot growing on the hill to the north,” he said, turning toward the cave. “Ready to be harvested. You can take the larger basket.” 

“We aren't training today?” 

He took the bag off his shoulder to hold it in his hand, his brows lifting. “You want to?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, that's not a complaint.”

He tilted his head, amused. “I figured.”

She watched as he turned back to the cave, disappearing into it. 

Behind her, another wave crashed. It took everything in her to stay afloat. 

 

---

 

Though it was technically her first day off since joining Qimir, it was not relaxing. 

The sun was hot, and the hill the kebroot grew on was steep. More than once, she lost her footing—loose soil sliding out from under her boots. Kebroot was a tuberous vegetable. She had to dig beneath the soil to harvest it, not very far, but enough that her fingernails were soon caked with soil, her hands dirty too. 

It would make a good meal. All of what they ate grew here on Bal’demnic. There was a variety of plants and vegetables that worked well for the soup Qimir liked to make. Or, they fished. Recently, Qimir showed her the net he had rigged on the south side of the island. The sea's current wasn't as rough over there, so there wasn't any risk of it just being pulled out to sea. 

The life they lived here was simple. They started their days with the sun. Trained. Ate when they were hungry and bathed in the lagoon by the waterfall. 

That made it easier to forget what exactly they were doing. They trained for their survival. One day, Osha would be ready. But for what? 

She hated the Jedi after learning what they did to her coven and mother. How they lied to save their own reputations and blamed Mae in place. 

Mae was a child at the time. 

Osha was a child too, alone and in need of someone to guide her. It made her angry to think about how they took advantage of her trust and innocence. Before the Jedi arrived, she'd never left Brendok. 

The outside world went as far as her bunta tree. 

A whisper cut through the hill.

Verosha.

The hairs on her arms rose. She stood quickly. Her hand went to her saber. 

Wind blew. Her locs tickled her cheek. She scratched her face, remembering too late how dirty her hand was. 

Above her, a grey-feathered bird flew by, squawking. 

The hill went quiet. 

She could have told Qimir about her vision. Should have, maybe. 

To an extent, they still put on an act around each other. She hadn’t known him that long. The last time she placed all her trust with one person ended badly. Teacher and pupil, however she framed it, their relationship was in an early stage. 

She agreed to train with him but never promised more. 

The wind blew again, carrying that voice with it. 

I came all this way to find you. 

Wouldn't you like to find me?

Her heart rate sped. 

Now, she did unclip her lightsaber. The hilt was weightless in her hand. It provided little comfort. 

She wished she had Pip with her. A companion she knew she could trust. With Pip, she was never alone. 

Bending down, she tossed all the kebroot she'd left atop the soil into the basket. It would be fine to leave here. 

She took off down the hill, letting the Force show her the way. 

Their island was large. Walking the shoreline took hours on a day with good weather, thanks to the terrain. The soil shifted under her feet, and she slowed her steps. 

At a fork in the path, marked by a group of knotted roots, she turned left. The ground dipped at a steep angle. She stooped lower to keep her balance. The ground turned rocky, the stones she stepped on rolling down the hill. 

The ground leveled, and she straightened. A boulder blocked the path, taller than her. The hill grew up around it, rockier and higher than where she harvested the kebroot. 

Keeping her grip on her saber, Osha made her way around the boulder. There, she found an opening to a cave. 

It was pitch black inside. 

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the sunlight. 

If someone else was here, she had to know. 

She ignited her saber and stepped into the cave. 

It was cool. The air was moist. 

Her saber’s blade hummed, casting a red glow that illuminated her path and bounced off the rock walls. 

“Hello?” she called. 

No answer. 

The cave broke off in several directions. It must run deep into the hill. She chose the bend to the left and continued at a slow pace. Her eyes caught on a silvery vein of cortosis. 

According to Qimir, cortosis could sell for a lot to the right buyer. It was dangerous to mine too. Sometimes pockets of gas built beneath where it formed. One wrong move could cause an explosion. That didn't seem to stop him from using it. 

Wings flapped overhead. 

Osha's senses narrowed.

She ducked, swinging her saber at the blur diving toward her. The blade hummed louder. 

Bats.

They flew by. Probably woken by the light. 

Her heart pounded as she stood. 

The more she walked, the stronger she felt the Force. It ran through her blood and was tangible in the thick air she breathed. 

She was drawn to it. Whatever it was that waited at the end of this tunnel called to her. 

Power. 

Her saber buzzed in her ears. 

The tunnel began to thin, a soft yellow light glowing at the end.

Osha walked through the archway into a small room. 

“Hello, Verosha.” 

She raised her elbow, ready to defend herself. 

A Muun sat on a clump of rock to the side. A lantern beside him illuminated the space, the warm light bouncing off the cave's walls.

“You can put away your lightsaber. Unless, of course, that's your preferred introduction.” He moved aside the edge of his black robes to reveal a lightsaber clipped to his own belt. 

Osha tightened her grip on her saber. Something Qimir advised her not to do. A lightsaber was meant to be an extension of your movements. 

Her saber hummed, pointed at the Muun. The red glow reflected on the cave floor. 

“Who are you?” she asked. 

His face was long, and his nose was flat. He had no hair and skin that looked rough, nearly translucent. His eyes burned yellow. 

“Hego Damask,” he said, adjusting his robes. “The second. Named after my grandfather.” 

The Muun folded his hands on his lap. She recognized his long fingers from her vision, wrapping around the burnt bark of the bunta tree.

“But,” he continued, “you can call me Darth Plagueis. I trust you know how to keep a secret.” 

“Who are you?” she asked again, inching the blade toward him. “Why are you here?” 

Darth Plagueis laughed, the sound scratchy and humorless. “I'm a Sith. The only true Sith in the galaxy.”

She took a step back. He'd made no other move for his saber, so she powered hers off. 

The cave was silent. 

“What do you know of the Sith?” he asked. 

“Enough.” Osha kept her saber in hand and remained aware of the room's archway. If needed, that was her escape. “I know you access the Force through the dark side.” 

“So do you,” he said with a nod. “Do you consider yourself a Sith?” 

“The Jedi Order says the Sith were defeated.” 

Darth Plagueis leaned back on his rock. “The Jedi Order is wrong. Only the Sith possess the truth.” 

Osha stood still. From here, she knew Darth Plagueis was stronger in the Force than anyone she'd met. Something seemed off about his presence. Even in Qimir, the dark side wasn't so prevalent. 

“Do you know why I'm here?” he asked. 

“Obviously not. I asked you.”

His yellow eyes studied her. “Your presence in the Force is an anomaly.”

She looked at him. 

“Your existence is something I've never seen.”

“I don't know anything about that,” she lied. 

What she knew of her birth was a story from another life. A tale from childhood before the Jedi and the fire, often recounted on those nights she couldn’t sleep. 

Mother Aniseya created them. Mother Koril carried them. 

Always one, but born as two.

Tied together by the Thread from the start. 

On Brendok, she overheard Master Sol’s own explanation.  

She and Mae were the same person. Created using the Force, or a vergence. 

There were few as powerful as their mother. Few powerful enough to create life. 

Osha knew she and Mae were not the same person in a literal sense. It wasn't possible when they existed as two people. Yet in the Force… 

“You have a twin who shares your presence,” Darth Plagueis said. “Mae-ho, is it?” 

Anger flooded through Osha. “Don't speak her name,” she said. 

The dark side wrapped around her like the waves did last night. Only now, she was in control. 

“Even identical twins would be different in the Force.” His gaze burned back at her, testing. “You and Mae-ho are one.”

“I said don't speak her name!” Osha ignited her saber, lunging forward. 

The blade sliced through him, sparking red. 

Or so she thought. 

“You’re angry, Verosha,” Darth Plagueis said.

Osha spun, her muscles tensing. He sat on the other side of the room, unharmed. 

Blood pounded in her ears. 

“That’s good,” he said, rising to his full height. He was a foot taller, at least. The closer he came, he towered over her. 

Her lightsaber hummed in front of her, keeping him at a distance. 

Darth Plagueis peered at her, his yellow eyes blinking. Passing by her saber, a strip of red glowed across his face. She could see his veins beneath his skin. His eyes stared into her own. 

“Direct that anger where it belongs.” 

He vanished, and she stumbled, her lightsaber slicing through air. Darth Plagueis watched with interest, back where he originally sat.

“Don’t move.” She pointed her saber toward him. The blade buzzed. 

He smoothed the front of his black robes. “Where can I go?”

“I’ll kill you,” she said. The Force was in her grasp. Her anger made it malleable. She felt it in the atoms of her body. “I’ll kill you like I killed my Jedi Master.” 

Darth Plagueis tilted his head slightly, huffing a laugh. “I killed my master too. In a cave like this one, I crushed him under stone and watched his life fade.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” She’d wanted to threaten him—prove what she was capable of. He took it as humor. 

“No, no, no.” Darth Plagueis shook his head. “I didn't hate my master. Not exactly. I was just ready for something greater.” 

“Then we're not the same.” She lowered her saber but kept it on. 

Master Sol was like a father to her. After losing Mae, her mothers, her coven—he was all she had. He held her in his arms when she woke from the fire. He stood by her when the High Council didn't, taught her to wield a saber, and to seek peace in the Force. The one lesson she failed. 

She loved him. She knew that, and it was because she loved him that she hated him so deeply. 

If she never loved him, she wouldn't have fallen to her knees—pulled to the ground by anger and the agony of loss in more ways than one. 

She trusted him, and he betrayed her. 

Sixteen years of her life were written by his lie. 

“You could be powerful. Even more powerful than you are now. In turn, I could learn from you.” He tilted his head in thought. The lantern cast a strange, warm shadow across his long face. “I'd teach you the proper way to use the dark side. To the Sith, the Force is our prey. I could teach you to hunt it.” 

Osha shook her head slowly. Her mouth curved like she might smile, but there was no joy to be felt. “No.”

“No?” Darth Plagueis dragged his hand along his jaw to his chin. 

“I already have a master.”

This was the first time she referred to Qimir as such out loud. In many ways, she considered their relationship more of a partnership. Two on an island. Two against the Jedi. 

But the name fit in technicality. He was training her, and she was his pupil. She didn’t care to give the Sith Lord an explanation he might not understand and didn't deserve. 

For the second time, Darth Plagueis laughed. “You call him your master?”

A moment passed where he looked at her. The cave was silent apart from her humming saber, held low. A strip of red light reflected on the cave floor. 

“Your master,” he said, “is in over his head. Too troubled to do you any good.”

“You don't know him.” She drew in her arm and lifted her saber, enough to show she meant it. That she wouldn't betray Qimir. The blade hummed louder. 

“You don't know what I know, Verosha.” Darth Plagueis blinked, his yellow eyes flashing. “You are better than him. More powerful. And when you want more, I can help.”

“I don't want your help.” Osha took a breath, glancing toward the archway then back at him. “I've heard enough, and my answer is no.”

She turned to leave.

Qimir was a skilled Force-user and a patient teacher. She was content with him. He also understood what she had lost and the sacrifice that had to be made to get to this point. 

He had known Mae too. 

“Your thoughts betray you, Verosha.” 

She paused, halfway to the arch. Though she couldn't see Darth Plagueis, she imagined his yellow eyes looking at her.

“You want to know about your sister.” 

He waited a long moment before continuing. Osha didn't look back and stared into the dark of the cave tunnel. 

“She's with the Jedi.”

 

---

 

The sunlight outside the cave was blinding. 

Osha went back to the patch of kebroot. There was more ready to be harvested, but her basket was almost full so it would have to do. 

It was later in the day now. The shadows cast by the rocks and greenery were longer than when she entered the cave. 

She made the journey back to their cave as fast as she could with the uneven ground. The added weight of the kebroot slowed her pace. 

By the time she was climbing the steps, the sky had the hazy blue tint of early evening. The air felt cooler. Soon, the sun would set, and the temperature would drop with it. 

She entered the cave, spotting Qimir by the pot they used for all their cooking. The air smelled of spices. He glanced at her from where he knelt, plucking green herbs from their stems to add to the boiling soup. 

“Hi,” she said. 

“Hi.” He watched as she walked over.

“Where do you want this?” she asked. 

“Over there is fine. Thank you.” Again, she felt his gaze as she went to the far side of the cave to store the kebroot. He was still looking at her when she returned, though as she neared, he went back to his task. 

She settled on the section of smooth rock. Here, she could watch him. He placed a carrot on top of a low crate and started chopping it. The slices were neat and perfectly even. He was good with a knife. Strands of hair fell around his face.

Troubled, Darth Plagueis had called him. 

Osha would describe Qimir as anything but. 

Vicious in a fight. Alluring at times and arguably aware. Patient as she struggled to connect with the Force as strongly as she did on Brendok. 

He seemed in control, and that was what made him hard to crack. It made her hesitant to tell him about the Sith. 

Qimir added the last of the carrot to the soup, eating a piece, and selected a leafy purple cabbage next. 

There was still dirt beneath her fingernails, and she picked at it. 

“Can I ask you something?” she asked.

“Ask away." His knife made a steady tap against the wood. The metal glinted, and she traced his hand from wrist to knuckles to fingers where he held the knife's hilt. 

“How do you read my thoughts?” 

“I can't read your thoughts, Osha.” 

“But you can sense what I'm feeling.” 

A small smile crossed his face. “Sometimes, yes.” 

Darth Plagueis was able to read her thoughts. He knew about Mae and knew that she was thinking of her. 

What he could gather, just from the Force—it was impressive and dangerous all in one. 

The Jedi spoke of the Sith only in the past tense. They posed a danger, but they were gone now, and things would continue to be better as long as the galaxy continued to embrace the light. 

Only recently did Osha learn how limiting the light could be. 

To feel anger was to acknowledge the truth. Opening herself to the dark side opened Osha to her true self. 

She could recognize her suffering, her loss, and do something about it. 

“What am I feeling now?” Osha asked.

Qimir looked up from the knife, studying her face. Longer than necessary, she thought. The fading light in the cave accentuated the sculpted look of his face. 

“You're conflicted,” he said. He shrugged too, because this made sense regardless of how much he knew. 

She killed Master Sol and lost Mae in the span of an hour. He was there for both.

Now, Mae was with the Jedi, without her memories or a trace of who she was. Darth Plagueis was here, poking around Osha's past and present—a Sith Lord planting an opportunity and uncertainties in her head. 

Then Qimir. 

An accomplice turned killer, turned partner. He was making her soup. She slept beside him last night. She didn't know a thing about his past—was still puzzling out how the pieces of him fit together.  

Darth Plagueis said he was in over his head. 

The only person Osha could trust in entirety was herself. Even then, she didn't know the extent of the power Qimir and Darth Plagueis both believed she had. 

“You hide your emotions from me,” Osha said. “Why?”

She was certain it was his doing. On Brendok, she had no trouble sensing what Mae felt. Or even Sol, as he struggled for his last breaths at her hand. 

Qimir finished adding the cabbage to the pot. The boil dropped to a simmer, and he stirred the soup with a spoon. His eyes found hers. “You wouldn't want what's inside my head, Osha.” 

She stayed silent, watching him. 

“You don’t know that.” 

This wasn’t a matter of prying. More that he knew and accepted her past, yet was committed to remaining a mystery himself.

He looked like he might say something else, then changed his mind. “Dinner will be ready soon,” he said. “If you want to wash before.”

She nodded, and that was it. 

 

---

 

Dinner was quiet. After, Osha took a proper bath at the lagoon she followed Qimir to her first day here. She took her time on the walk back to the cave—letting the cool air dry her damp skin.

She folded the sleeves of her tunic up to her wrists as she walked. It wasn't her tunic, but Qimir's. The fabric was soft and thicker than that of the shirts she had been rotating. Before she left, she asked to borrow one, and he'd nodded. What's mine is yours. 

The sun had set, and the moon highlighted the rocky path beneath her boots. She should be thinking about Darth Plagueis. Of who he was and what he wanted. Why he was here.  

Or even Qimir, who didn't appear to trust her the same way she was starting to trust him. 

Instead, the rush of the waves off the shore filled her ears. The scent of sea salt seemed to burn her nose. 

The memory of last night lingered. 

Her anger from earlier had faded, leaving only loss in its place. 

At the entrance of the cave, Osha searched for Qimir. He was at the workbench, messing with his helmet. She hadn't touched it since the first and only time she put it on, yet it grinned at her at all hours of the day, a reminder of what it revealed.

Qimir turned. His eyes caught on her face, then lingered on his tunic—oversized on her. The sleeves had slipped again, past her fingers, and she let them stay that way. 

Meeting his gaze, she felt the Force between them as she always did. Yet there was something else too. Something that was maybe just them. He looked tired tonight, his posture more slumped. His hair stuck up at the top like he’d run his hand through it to get it out of his face. 

A long moment passed before Qimir looked away, almost reluctantly. Osha stayed where she was, with his back turned to her. From the scratch of metal she thought he might be trying to sand the jagged part on the edge of the helmet. 

What she felt now was akin to want, but for what—she couldn't decide. 

She made her way over to her bed and tugged off her boots, placing them beside her bag. The blanket on the bed was missing, and she realized she'd never brought it back over here. It was still on Qimir's makeshift bed. He'd folded it into a neat rectangle sometime between now and this morning. 

To say she was scared to sleep alone would be wrong. She was used to being alone ever since she left the Order. The child the Jedi took in was long gone. That part of her died on Brendok with Master Sol, then again with Mae beneath the bunta tree. 

But the thoughts that nagged at her during the day swelled at night. Being around Qimir had calmed that. It could have something to do with the Force and his steadier place in it. 

“Osha,” Qimir said. “You can if you want to. It’s up to you.” 

She looked at him to find he was already looking at her. 

“I don't mind,” he said, softer. 

When he turned back to his helmet, she grabbed her pillow and brought it over to his bed. He said nothing else as she unfolded her blanket and lay down, as close to the left edge as she could without sleeping on stone. 

The quiet sounds of whatever he was doing drifted over to her. A clink of metal as he searched for a different tool. Then the scratch of the sandpaper for a second time. 

Osha was physically exhausted after spending the day under the hot sun picking kebroot, followed by the stress of her meeting with Darth Plagueis. 

Sleep should come easily, yet she stared at the cave ceiling—studying the flow of the rocky surface until Qimir finally went around the cave and powered down the lanterns. 

In the dark, she watched the shape of him—more shadow now than man. He unclasped his boots, dropping them nearby. They landed with a quiet thud. He unfolded his own blanket and lay down beside her, maintaining the distance she established. 

Osha still stared at the ceiling, though she wasn't able to see anything. This left her to focus on Qimir. She heard him turn on his side to face her, sighing. The movement rustled the blankets. 

Maybe this was a mistake. She could sense his every breath. It was colder tonight too but wearing his tunic and having him near made that impossible to notice. 

“The Jedi have Mae,” Osha said suddenly. 

More to the ceiling than to him. Her voice sounded loud in the quiet of night. 

It shouldn't have surprised her when Darth Plagueis told her. That was the plan, anyway. To erase Mae's memories so she could stay behind, intercept the Jedi, and give them time to escape. 

Yet some part of Osha still hoped that the Jedi never found her. That Mae discovered a way to protect her and save herself too. 

“She was easy to find,” Qimir said. 

Osha turned on her side to face him, her arm falling into the space between them. From the little light there was, she could barely make out the lines of his face. Eyes, nose, mouth. His hair was pushed back from his forehead. 

“We could have taken her with us. Or tried to protect her.” 

“You weren't in a state to fight, Osha.” 

“Do you think she's safe now?” 

“Do you trust the Jedi?”

“No.” That was what made her nervous. If Mae was without her memory, she was without her skills too. They could feed her lies, and she wouldn't know any better. What would the Jedi tell Mae about her?

“There's nothing you could have done.” 

“I don't think that's true.” 

“There's nothing you could have done that would have worked.” He reached his hand out from under his blanket, placing his hand atop hers. Palm to palm, she felt the warmth of his skin. 

“If I didn’t—” She took a breath, wanting to ease the heaviness over her. “If I chose differently when I confronted Sol.”

“What, if you didn’t kill him?” Qimir’s voice was a whisper by the end. His palm shifted on hers. “Osha, what he did to you—”

“No. I don't know what I meant. Forget I said that.” Any number of choices would have meant a different outcome. Her destiny was written, and she'd chosen to pull the Thread. 

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” Osha said. Certain this time. “He’s why I lost everything.” It was an echo of what Qimir once said to her, after she pushed him to the wall—his own saber held to his throat by her. 

I understand, he’d told her. He understood her anger, her pain too. 

Osha curled her fingers around his hand. “I’m just worried about Mae.”

There is no emotion, there is peace. 

A line of the Jedi Code she was taught to recite as a youngling. Thinking about it now, Osha saw the contradiction. If she didn’t worry about Mae, that didn’t mean Mae was safe. 

It meant Mae was forgotten. 

“That’s understandable,” Qimir said. “But I think you can trust Mae too. She’s smart.” 

“She doesn’t remember anything.” She doesn’t remember me, Osha could add. They spent sixteen years apart—believing the other was dead—only to be split again. 

This time, Osha was left to mourn alone. 

Qimir moved his thumb down her hand and to her pulse. She felt his callus as he brushed his thumb back and forth there in a slow line. 

“Mae doesn't remember you or me. But she’s not defenseless,” he said. 

“It’s kind of surprising to hear that from you.” 

His thumb paused on her skin. “Mae always did things how she wanted.” 

Osha felt a pang in her chest. That did sound like Mae. Yet it was a reminder too—of how her sister was a stranger now. Her Mae was still eight years old with hands sticky from spice creams and an insistence they share everything from their drawings to their futures. 

“I wish I could just feel angry all the time. But I can’t," Osha said, her voice breaking.

It was when she felt the strongest. When the Force responded most easily to her calls. Whereas anger was hot and fueling, pain made her feel weak. 

Qimir brushed his thumb across her wrist again, resuming that steady motion. It soothed her. 

“Anger isn’t the only way to access the Force,” he said. “The Jedi taught us there can be no emotion, so when you let yourself feel anything for the first time, it can be overwhelming. All of what we feel has a purpose. Makes us who we are.” 

Osha studied Qimir as best as she could in the dark. His head on his pillow, and still—his eyes on her. 

Us, he had said. She knew he was once a Jedi too, yet he’d never told her how long ago that was or why he was thrown away. 

“What happened?” Osha asked quietly. The question seemed fragile in the dark. “When you were a Jedi.”

Qimir’s thumb faltered. Her fingers were still curled gently over the top of his hand. 

Already, she could feel him pulling away.

“It’s a long story, Osha.” He sounded weary, and when a silence fell between them, she didn't broach it. 

Like that, Osha tried to fall asleep, with his fingers touching hers. 

 

Notes:

SOOOOOOO what do you think!? If we pool our money maybe we can get Darth Plagueis a nice waterfront condo on another island far, far away.

Also.. no spoilers but I am very excited about the next chapter for Qimir-related reasons.

Kudos and comments are always appreciated! I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts <3

Find me on tumblr.

Chapter 3: Unknown

Summary:

Rather than move away now, Osha stood anchored by his gaze. She remembered the scar, rough and raised across his back. Maybe that was why this didn’t hurt. Someone once, who he trusted, hurt him so badly that nothing else would compare.

“Who hurt you?” she asked carefully.

Qimir took a breath but didn’t drop his gaze from her face. “My Jedi Master.”

--
Osha and Qimir travel offplanet.

Notes:

WELL… I'm back! I'll try to keep this brief as I'm sure you're as sad as I am. Main thing is it just really sucks!!!! I feel horrible for the cast and crew. For Manny and Amandla especially. It's not often I connect with a show this much, but it's special when it happens. Everything about the cancelation is ridiculously unfair, but they can't take my love for the show too.

On a lighter note… This fic is officially THE longest thing I've written in my life. I dared to think “Wouldn't it be cute if Osha and Qimir went on a shopping trip!?” 14k and an equivalent number of breakdowns later, this is the result lol.

I hope this helps take your mind off things if only for a little while :’)

Apologies in advance to Qimir’s forehead.

It rained four days in a row. 

A soaking rain that flooded the pathways and made the hills dangerous to walk. 

The wind whipped, and the waves off the shore grew rough. It was impossible to go outside without being soaked to the skin in minutes—difficult to stay upright. 

Their cave was better, but the cold found its way in. So did the rain—a puddle forming at the entrance and water dripping onto the floor through the cracks. 

Everything seemed damp. 

There wasn't enough space for training, so Qimir encouraged Osha to meditate and focus on strengthening her connection to the Force. That only filled so much time before Osha went back to wandering. She knew Qimir was starting to get annoyed when he assigned her a task like moving their supplies to the less damp side of the cave or sorting their dwindling food supply. 

Soon, Osha was annoyed by the taste of kebroot and annoyed with Qimir too. 

They bickered more, over nothing really, but that also filled the time. 

Every night was freezing without any daytime sun to offset the temperature. Their breath froze in the air, and Osha started wearing Mae’s old cloak with the hood up to sleep. One night, she woke warm for the first time in days, her back pressed to Qimir’s. She shifted away and spent the rest of the night awake, staring at the ceiling. 

By the fifth day, they were both restless. 

Thankfully, the rain stopped. 

The sun was out again, and with it came a thick humidity as the island dried. As soon as the hills were accessible, they climbed the lowest one with their practice sabers to spar. 

Before Qimir's practice saber was even raised, Osha came at him. 

He blocked her strike easily, though she struck again. 

They moved in quick succession. The ground was muddy, slippery too. With use of the Force, she managed to keep her footing.

Osha burned with energy after days of waiting for the rain to stop. This made her moves riskier. She acted fast enough that it worked.  

Qimir swung toward her head, and she ducked, her boots squishing in the mud. Standing, she swung at him—a narrow miss. She had to redirect to block his second hit above. 

“Close,” she said, using her sleeve to wipe splattered mud from her face. 

“Not close enough.” He moved quickly, and she had no choice but to block his strike one-handed. With a real lightsaber, it wouldn't have mattered, yet with the practice saber, it hurt. 

He pushed forward, and she slipped back, calling on the Force for balance. This half-worked. Her right knee hit the ground, soft from the rain. The mud soaked through the fabric of her pants. 

Qimir gave her no time to reset, and Osha jumped up to block a swing. He wore a sleeveless tunic, his arms already speckled with dirt. 

“Focus on what you're doing,” he said. 

The humidity made it difficult to breathe. Her rhythm was falling off. 

“I'm focused.” 

They swung at the same time, their sabers locking. She struggled to push him. His eyes stared into hers, and she saw the focus of someone who knew how to kill. 

“Why aren't you using the Force?” he asked. 

Osha stared back, took a breath, felt the current of the sea down below, and the stagnant air over. Anger was her companion. Loss too, and she wanted to use that. 

Mostly, she pulled from the frustration of the last four days—stuck in the cave with Qimir. 

The Force obeyed her call. 

She shoved the saber forward. 

To her surprise, Qimir dropped back.  

“What were you saying?” she asked, smug about it. 

Mud dotted his cheek, and he shook his head, strands of his damp hair hiding his face. He hadn't shaved, and his mustache was scruffy. “That was good,” he said, looking back at her and raising his saber.

Osha followed suit and ran toward him. 

Their sabers connected with a thwack.  

It was a steady back and forth. Their boots kicked up mud, and Osha felt sweat drip down her face, taking dirt with it. Sunlight touched her shoulders, her skin a deeper brown after weeks on Bal’demnic. 

She grew impatient looking for a way to best him. 

“Wait it out, Osha.” 

She didn't listen. 

Her next strike was rash. Her locs swung as she turned. 

Qimir deflected her hit and held out his hand. 

Osha reacted too late. 

He used the Force and shoved her back. Her boots squished through the mud. She slipped, catching herself with her hand. 

“Not fair.” She wiped her hand on her thigh. 

“I warned you.” He swung his practice saber in circles as he waited for her to reset.

The idea was to fight like him. Be unpredictable. That was what caught the Jedi off-guard on Khofar. He moved silent and smooth and knew how to get in his opponent's head with presence. 

He didn't fight by the rules and made his own opportunities. 

That was her mistake. 

She fought best like herself. 

Osha stood, adjusting her grip on the practice saber. Qimir watched but didn't get in position—too relaxed and confident in his own abilities to prepare. She rushed toward him, a shriek escaping her as she swung. 

Of course, he deflected it—in position at the last second. 

Yet with the Force, she managed to get a good second hit in. The muscles of his arms flexed as he blocked, his knuckles white around the saber. 

He was taller than her—stronger too—yet with the Force they could be an even match. 

This time, she let the back and forth play out. 

She waited for the right moment with the heat of the sun above and the crash of the waves below. 

He picked up on every subtle move she made. His hair was falling in his face, and he let it stay; unbothered. 

That was the challenge—not much challenged him. Nothing could crack his focus. She tried to focus more on what the Force told her than what she saw. 

This helped her anticipate his decisions. He often lured her close, then acted—giving her no room to act first. 

As Qimir moved to strike, Osha did too. The Force drove their movements, and she used all her strength, swinging forward.

Their sabers connected with a crack. 

They split—the pieces flying. 

"Ah." Qimir jolted back. 

It took Osha a second to realize she was holding only half a practice saber. 

Then she saw the blood dripping down Qimir's brow. He had his hand pressed to his forehead.  

Her broken saber fell from her hand. “Are you alright?” she asked, moving toward him. 

Qimir took a step away, his hand still on his forehead. “Fine.” His hand came away bloody, and he pulled his tunic up to use that instead. 

Osha's gaze skimmed over his stomach to the red bloom forming in the bunch of fabric he pressed to his head.

“Let me see.” She stepped closer, taking his wrist from his face. His tunic fell. So he couldn't move away this time, she held his other arm by his elbow. 

This close, she could feel the heat radiating off his body. He smelled like dirt and sweat. 

The gash was deep, above his right eyebrow. Blood dripped close to his eye. She didn't know whose practice saber had hit him. They were both in half, discarded on the ground. 

His eyes flickered over her face, to her lips, up to her eyes. Osha could only focus on the blood, her hand still on his elbow to hold him in place. She pulled the end of her sleeve over her hand, intending to press it to his forehead. 

He moved away before she could. 

“I got it.” He lifted his tunic again, soaking up the blood. 

Osha shook her head. “You could have lost an eye.”

“I didn't.” 

“It looks bad."

He glanced at her, red smeared across his forehead. “Thanks for the opinion.” Half of a practice saber lay on the ground nearby, and he nudged it with his boot as he walked by. 

Osha turned. “Where are you going?” 

“To get something on this,” he said, looking at her over his shoulder. “You're welcome to stay and train if you want.” 

She started to follow him down the hill, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you need help?” The hill was slippery, so she moved slow, reaching out for the larger rocks as needed for balance.  

“With what?” he called back. 

“You're bleeding.” Obviously. They didn't have any mirrors in the cave, and she knew the medkit was close to empty. 

When she rewrapped her wound from Khofar, the single roll of bandages hadn't impressed her. Neither did Qimir's loose bandaging skills as she redid it herself. Granted, she had been unconscious at the time. She wondered about that sometimes, how Qimir brought her from the middle of Khofar's endless forest to here. 

“This is nothing,” he said, easing down the steep stretch before ground level. 

Osha stared at him—the cream fabric of his tunic as dirty as her own clothes. He must have sensed her frustration, as when he reached the bottom of the hill, he turned to help her. 

She gave him her forearm, and he held her steady so she could jump down the last part. 

“Thanks,” she said. 

“Mhm.” 

They made their way back to the cave, the rocks crunching under their boots. A couple of times, his bare arm brushed her sleeved one. In retrospect, it was too warm to wear long sleeves, but the cold of the last few days made her think the heat wouldn't be so bad. 

“You did well today,” Qimir said. 

Her mind had drifted, occupied by the crash of the waves to their right.  

“Until you threw a stick at me.” 

She turned to defend herself. The words died on her tongue when she saw him smiling. The bleeding at his forehead had slowed, but he looked awful—the strands of hair around stuck in place. 

As a meknek, Osha saw her fair share of injuries. Cuts, burns, bruises. She heard stories of worse. It was an illegal profession for a reason. Repair work could be dangerous on any given day, most of all for the outer hull. 

Republic law didn't slow the demand. It was steady work that paid enough for Osha to get by. As a bonus, it came with accommodations. 

“I'm kidding,” he said, bumping his arm into hers. She didn't give him the satisfaction of a smile. 

They reached the steps to the cave, and she fell behind so he could go first. 

Once inside, Osha watched from a distance as he went to get the medkit. She should go bathe—the mud had dried, and her skin was starting to itch. But she waited in case he changed his mind. 

He settled on the smooth section of rock with the medkit, unscrewing the cap of a small vial. For bacta, she thought, knowing it was empty because she had checked.

Qimir dropped the empty vial back into the kit. It landed with a clink.  

She came closer to where he was, leaning against the workbench. 

“What planets are near Bal’demnic?” she asked. 

He picked up the roll of bandage and unwound a portion. “Within a day? Murkhana, Ossus…” He glanced at her. “Kuval. Depends on what you're looking for.” 

“Safe?” 

“Safe is a relative term. But there aren't many Jedi out here.” 

“The Jedi could be looking for me.” 

“They could.”

Since Mae was with the Jedi, there was reason to be cautious. Osha wasn't sure how Mae would be of any help without her memories, but still. She had confirmation now. 

Maybe they kept Mae as a reason for Osha to go back.  

Qimir tore off a strip of bandage, folding it a few times before pressing it above his brow. “Kuval is a small trade planet. Busy. It's easy to blend in.”

“You've been?” 

He nodded. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” He stood, looking at her over his shoulder as he walked to the other side of the cave. 

“We should make a supply run soon.” 

The list of things they needed was growing. Bacta. Ration packs would be helpful if it rained several days again. 

She looked down and saw she'd torn a hole in her pants while sparring, a strip of skin visible at the knee. 

Clothes, definitely. 

“I do need to fix my lightsaber.” He was further away now, rummaging through a crate one-handed so he could keep the bandage pressed to his forehead. 

She wondered how often he stayed on Bal’demnic before she joined him. Splitting his time between identities would make it tricky to stay long term. 

The cave was fine, but it wasn't exactly luxury living. 

Osha pushed herself away from the workbench. “I'm going to take a bath then,” she said. “If you want to go today?” 

“Fine with me.” 

 

---

 

As Qimir bathed, Osha walked out to his ship, the Exile II, to run through pre-flight checks. 

The ship was as old as some of the freighters Osha worked on, battered and patched over time. She preferred older ship models. Many newer ships were too flashy for her taste, with features that overworked the main computer but didn't add much in terms of function. 

Her six years as a meknek taught her to be thorough, so she did a diagnostics scan too. Long-distance travel was more common now with the advancements in hyperspace mapping over the past century. Alongside the increase in demand for private ships, some manufacturers began to cut corners to save on costs and get them out to buyers quicker. 

Not everyone knew their way around like she did. 

After the scan finished, she went outside to wait for Qimir. Osha had a good view of the island from here. The waves crashed up over the stone walkway, seawater sprinkling her charcoal cloak. She scanned the hills, looking for anything out of place.

Darth Plagueis's connection to the dark side of the Force had a pull. It was how she knew where to find him in the winding cave, deep inside the hill. Since her meeting with him, she hadn't sensed any sign of his presence. He hadn’t called to her again. 

Maybe he accepted Osha’s rejection on principle. Or the rainstorm could have driven him away. 

Instinct—or the Force, perhaps—told Osha it wasn't that simple. If he was the only true Sith, as he said, it was hard to believe he would give up so easily. Osha didn't know much about the Sith beyond their ties to the dark side. The Jedi weren't keen on living in the past. She knew about the Sith’s resistance to the Order. In that regard, she supposed they had a common enemy. 

Everyone does seem to want you, Qimir once told her. 

If it was for her power, the answer would always be no. Especially now when she knew the Jedi would kill her for it as Master Sol did her mother. 

Her power was strengthening too. Always, it had been with her. Yet as she nurtured it, she realized just what she was capable of—what her time as a Jedi inhibited all these years. She was still learning. 

A wind blew, ruffling the fabric of her cloak at the bottom. The hood would conceal some of her face, and the cloak itself was long enough to hide the lightsaber at her belt. 

It was good to be cautious. 

That thought stuck in her head as she scanned the island again. She reached for the Force to search for something, anything to prove that instinct right or wrong. 

The presence she found was a familiar one. 

Qimir walked down the stone path. He wore a black cloak. When he was close enough, Osha’s eyes went to the gash on his forehead. Yet he had brushed his hair to hide most of it. This reminded her of the day she walked into the apothecary shop on Olega. The ease with which he could make himself someone different, unassuming. 

“What are you looking for?” he asked. 

A wave crashed over the walkway. Seawater seeped across the stone to Osha’s boots. 

“Nothing.” 

He was watching her, and his head tilted like he could see right through to her thoughts. Her gaze fixed, and she noticed he had trimmed his mustache. The scruff on his jaw was gone. 

“Is that what took you so long?” she asked, brows rising. "It's just a supply run."

“What? You don't like it?” 

She almost smiled, shaking her head to dismiss the question as she turned to walk to the ship. 

“Osha?” 

His footsteps were close behind.

 

---

 

Kuval was a smear of green and brown from space. As they broke through the atmosphere, Osha saw ships coming and going from the spaceport in the distance. 

Qimir handled the navigation, and they went in the opposite direction of the spaceport—flying low over an area thick with trees. The woods opened to a clearing, and they landed there. 

This far in the Outer Rim, there wasn't much in terms of monitoring, yet if they could keep the Exile II out of any logs, it was worth the extra walk. 

Once they reached the town, they went separate ways. The materials Qimir needed to fix his lightsaber were a more specific find, which left Osha to wander the tables of the open market, checking items off her list. 

No one here was very friendly. As Osha stopped to peruse a table of pottery, more out of curiosity than anything, a squat droid trailing after a man with silver hair bumped into her leg. When Osha turned, the man glared at her as if she were to blame. The droid threw in some angry chirps for good measure. 

Osha tugged her hood lower over her face, thinking the droids weren't much better.

After weeks alone with Qimir, walking the streets of Kuval was overwhelming. She caught snatches of Basic as she wound through the crowd and other languages she could only guess at. It reminded her of when she'd go from the silence of space as a meknek to a crowded cantina on a night off—the raucous laughter of her crewmates audible over the music. 

She sensed everything. The frustration of the Rodian bartering over old speeder parts. The seller wouldn't give him a deal. Or the sadness of the Theelin on the corner. It drifted to Osha in waves like the sea up the shore on Bal’demnic. The Theelin held a crate close to her body, empty. 

These weren't Force-users. They didn't know to shield their minds and had no reason to. 

A shop came up on Osha's right, and she went inside. There was no one but an older woman, presumably the owner, behind the counter. Wrinkles lined her face, deep from age. She had a needle and thread in hand and looked to be repairing a hole in the heel of a thick sock. 

“Hello,” Osha said.

The woman stared at her, gave a terse nod, and then went back to her work. “I can give you a deal on gloves today,” she said. 

“Oh. Thank you.” Osha didn't need gloves, but the woman didn't need to know that.

The shop was small and lined with rows of shelves. Most of the clothing looked worn, but it was quality. That would save her money. Qimir had given her credits, and she could only guess at how he got them in the first place. 

As a meknek, she had to be frugal. She made enough for the occasional night out and a new uniform when she needed one. It took several months to save up for Pip, and even then, she had to redo his wiring herself so he could hold a charge for more than a day. 

At least when she was on the job, she never had to worry about meals or finding a place to sleep. That made getting by easier.

Osha brushed her hand over fur that lined the inside of a coat. It was a deep purple. 

Her mothers did let her choose her clothes as a child. But, that often meant picking a blue tunic, only for Mae to bound into the room five minutes later announcing she picked blue too so they could match. 

Mae always wanted to do everything the same, and the older they became, the more Osha defied that. 

Yet once she became a Jedi, she found comfort in the gold and white worn by all the Padawans. She was a part of something again. 

Osha sifted through a stack of tunics, debating the right combination of sleeves and sleeveless.

The nights were cold. The days were hot, unless it rained. Training was what ruined her clothes. She decided to prioritize sleeveless. If she needed something to sleep in, she figured she could take another tunic from Qimir. The one she had borrowed, she wore now—hidden beneath her cloak. 

She grabbed everything else on her list and brought the pile to the woman at the counter. 

The woman looked through the pile, then glanced at Osha. “Are they still out there?”

Osha studied the woman's face. There were no strong emotions coming from her. “Who?”

“I'm too old to care, but they had their questions.” 

She was about to press for more information, but the woman held out her hand before she could. 

“Forty-two.”

A little much, yet Osha counted out the credits and handed them to the woman. “Thanks.”

The woman nodded. “Sure you don't want any gloves?”

“My hands…aren't cold.” She shoved the clothes into her bag. 

It was heavier now, and she adjusted the strap on her shoulder as she rejoined the crowd in the street. 

Qimir had given directions for where to meet, and she followed them, looking for the marks that signified turns and tuned into the crowd around her. 

Kuval was an odd mix of old and new. The road was a reddish dirt, packed down from all the foot traffic. Some shops had the pristine look of duracrete—new construction. Others, like the one she just left, were all wood—worn from time and rotting in places. 

This was the result of a connected galaxy. While the Outer Rim was once largely undiscovered, it was now seen as a place of opportunity. Sometimes, for those looking for a more affordable lifestyle. Other times, for those with ulterior motives. 

The Outer Rim was a place you could avoid Republic law, or at least more easily dodge its enforcement. Smuggling was common, as government transport was rare. It was a good place to hide. 

Bal’demnic was one example of that. The last anyone knew of it, the planet was too hot to inhabit. No longer true, but the inaccuracy served them well. Otherwise, the planet would be flooded by miners. Anyone smart would know the value of cortosis. 

Times were changing. There were efforts to reshape the Outer Rim, yet those who benefitted from its obscurity would resist for as long as they did. Those in the Core Worlds didn't always see the point as long as the trouble was out of sight. Those in politics believed in the power of connection, or maybe the value of the control that came with. 

A burst of anger caught Osha’s attention, and she glanced over her shoulder. After what the shopkeeper said, she was on edge. 

All she saw was the chest of a Neimodian as he walked right into her. 

An apology was already on her lips, but the Neimodian shoved her to the side. 

“Watch it!” he said, glaring as he continued on. 

Osha called to the Force. The Neimodian tripped on nothing, stumbling into several others. They turned to complain, delaying him further. 

Still, she needed to see. 

The crowd began to move around her like she'd told them to. 

At the end of the street, she saw the last thing she wanted. 

Three Jedi stood there, beside a low building. They were talking to the silver-haired man with the droid that bumped into her earlier. 

Or, arguing would be a more accurate way to put it. 

The man waved his hands as he spoke, gesturing in the direction of the spaceport. Two of the Jedi tried to calm him, the tanned Jedi with brown hair reaching to place a hand on his arm. The man shook the Jedi off. 

Osha wove her way through the crowd and closer to the side of the street. Her hood was up, but she pulled it lower. 

The third Jedi, the shortest of the three, stood slightly apart from the group. When they turned, Osha got a clear view of their face. 

A young Zygerrian with light skin and the feline ears typical of her species. 

In her hair, there was a Padawan braid. 

Osha's heart started to pound. 

Yord's Padawan.

The Padawan's gaze swept toward Osha. 

The street was crowded, so she should blend in. She wasn't tall, and many of those around towered over her. But she was strong in the Force. 

Darth Plagueis knew how to hide his presence until he wanted to be noticed. 

How?

Why didn't she ask Qimir? 

Osha imagined the Force shrinking inside her, hoping that was enough. There was an opening in the crowd, and she moved further over. 

The Padawan turned and rejoined her group. Now, it looked like the droid was arguing with the Jedi too. 

Osha didn’t think she was seen.

Just as she felt she was safe, the Padawan got the attention of the other Jedi, a Cerean, telling him something. 

They both turned, the Padawan still talking. Her expression was searching, then she focused. 

She looked exactly where Osha just was. 

There was an alley to Osha’s right, and she ducked into it. She kept walking, losing track of her location as she diverted from Qimir's directions. 

It took another minute for Osha to recall the name of Yord’s Padawan. 

Tasi. 

She turned another corner, her boots leaving prints in the dirt. 

Their meeting was brief and more of an interrogation—Osha sitting in her room on the Fallon as Tasi read her file aloud. Osha remembered the feeling of slowly sinking into herself. 

Mourning. 

Mothers. Sister. Village.  

Difficult. 

To Tasi, Osha existed as facts on a datapad. An assignment and an opportunity to show Yord she was ready to be in the field. It didn't matter that they had the wrong twin, accusing Osha of Master Indara's murder when she never left the freighter. 

Qimir once pointed out that even Yord didn't hesitate to turn her in. In the moment, she saw that as a misread of Yord’s character—an attempt to turn her to his side. 

They were once friends, after all. 

Sixteen years ago, Yord had met a quiet and mourning girl and befriended her like it was his duty. They grew close. Osha teased him for how he hated wrinkled robes and always followed the rules. Yord watched over her, listened attentively when she rambled about the ships she wanted to fly, and always shared half his lemon cake. 

Saying goodbye when she left the Order was painful. 

Clearly, it wasn't the same for him. He looked at her differently aboard the Fallon. Colder with her than she remembered. When she moved to charge Pip, his hand went to his lightsaber. 

Now, she knew that wasn't the first time the Jedi readily blamed an innocent person. 

Yord had been a Jedi, and he was symbolic of all the wrongs they upheld.

 

---

 

The cantina door fell closed as Osha stepped inside, lowering her hood. It shouldn’t have taken this long to meet up with Qimir. Yet to get here, she had to find a new route in a town she wasn’t familiar with. 

About a third of the tables were taken. A group of Pantorans sat near the door. No one was at the bar but the barkeeper, a Twi'lek with green lekku. She offered Osha the first smile she'd received since arriving on Kuval. Osha couldn't bring herself to smile back. 

The lighting in here was spotty, some of the bulbs out entirely. It looked clean, though. The wood floors shined. Conversations and the clink of glasses carried over to her. 

She scanned the room for Qimir, relieved when she spotted him at a booth in the far corner. 

He glanced at her only for a second. His attention was elsewhere, which struck her as odd.

She walked over quickly. 

When she got closer, she realized why. 

The half wall had made it impossible to see before. Yet he wasn't alone. 

A blonde woman with her hair cropped short and an Iktotchi sat across from him. 

Go to the ship, he said, in her mind without looking at her. 

It filled her head with warmth, and as always, caught her off guard. 

She stopped, too abruptly to seem natural. When Qimir glanced at her again, his gaze lingered. The panic of seeing the Jedi remained with her, and surely, he could sense it. 

The other two noticed and turned to see themselves. 

“Ah, Eli,” the Iktotchi said, grinning at Qimir. He had peach skin and two curved horns protruding down from his head. “Is this your girl?” 

The look Qimir gave Osha could only be described as a warning. To stay away, no doubt, but they both needed to go. 

“Come on, introduce us,” the woman begged, drumming her hands on the table. She spoke with a trace of a Coruscanti accent, like it had faded over time but slipped in on occasion. 

Qimir gave Osha a slight nod, and she walked over to their booth. 

“Yes, good, sit,” the woman said. The booth wasn't that large, and Osha still had her bag on her shoulder. No way was she sitting next to the strangers, so she made do with the room next to Qimir, her knee bumping his leg as she sat. 

The woman looked over at Osha appraisingly. Turning to the Iktotchi, she shrugged. The Iktotchi nodded, and Osha took it as some form of approval. 

Osha turned to Qimir. They were close, nearly shoulder to shoulder. There was a light directly above them, and his eyes seemed warmer. 

His hair had shifted since this morning, and she could see part of the gash above his brow. It was starting to scab over, but it was shiny where it was deepest. The skin around looked bruised. 

“Are you alright?” he whispered. 

She looked back, trying to tell him Jedi! with her mind. But that was another thing she'd never asked him how to do. 

Maybe she just couldn't. She knew from her time at the Temple that not all Force-users had the same skills. 

His expression didn't change. 

She felt his hand brush her leg under the table and nodded, aware of the gazes of the other two. That was as much as he was going to get for now. They just had to make whatever this was quick. 

“So,” the Iktotchi said. Both him and the woman were watching them with interest. “What's her name?” He said this to Qimir, which annoyed Osha. 

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice hard. 

This amused him. “Well, I'm Poy.” His voice was gruff. 

The woman waited, then added, “I'm Catro.” 

They looked at her now, and Osha knew she had to give her name. “My name is, uh…” 

She couldn't think of a single name in the galaxy. Qimir bumped her arm with his elbow just enough for her notice. 

“My name is Pip,” she said. “Yes. It's Pip.” 

Osha snuck a glance at Qimir and caught his gaze. He would probably bring this up later. 

“Pip? Are you—” Poy began. 

She spoke over him. “You know Eli, how?” She glanced at Qimir again, and he nodded once. At least she got that right. 

Poy laughed. “He never told you about us? I guess some things never change.”

“He never told us anything,” Catro said. She nodded at the pitcher on the table, closer to Poy. He poured the clear liquid into a glass and slid it over to her. 

Without asking if she wanted one, Poy poured a second glass and set it in front of Osha. Whatever it was smelled strong. 

“It was a long time ago,” Qimir said. He already had a drink and took a sip of his. Osha didn't touch hers. 

Qimir had seemed relaxed enough when she looked at him, but just sitting beside him, she could sense the tension below that. Not that she'd known Qimir long, but he was typically the one in control, whether that be undercover on Olega or in the duels on Khofar. 

Here in a public space, there wasn't much he could do. 

He shifted beside her. “We used to gun run for the Hutts.” 

“We still do,” Poy cut in. “You're the one who vanished on our deal.” 

“There was no deal.” 

“No, there always is.”  

So he'd told the truth. Osha remembered Qimir telling the same to Master Sol and the other Jedi at the apothecary shop on Olega. 

That surprised her a little. He was open with her, but never really about his past. Thinking about it now, she realized he'd also given Mae his real name, despite hiding his identity as the Stranger. 

She understood the desire to be known. As a meknek, she eventually stopped talking about her past entirely—both as a Jedi and as part of her coven. If a new crew member asked, she no longer told. 

It was lonely. 

“We were young,” Catro said. “Eli could barely even grow a mustache.” She took a sip of her drink, running her tongue over her lip as she gazed at Qimir. “He didn't look like this back then, but I'm sure you have fun with him now.” She glanced at Osha like that was a question she was meant to answer. 

Osha stared back. 

“Don’t you have business you should get to?” Qimir asked. 

“Nah," Poy said.

“Yes and no,” Catro clarified. She set her glass down. “We’re supposed to get a shipment and bring it back to Tatooine, but there's a snag.”

Poy picked up his glass to take a drink, looking at Osha over the rim as he did. 

Qimir moved his arm so it was behind her on the booth. “Which is?” 

“They’re checking every ship that leaves,” Poy said. “Something about smugglers cutting into a new contract with the Trade Federation. They never used to care about that. What happened to the days when you could get away with anything out here?”

Catro raised her glass, nodding. “Cheers to that.”

Osha tensed. “Who’s checking the ships?” 

Poy exchanged a glance with Catro, then looked meaningfully at Qimir. “Kuval personnel, but they brought in Jedi for backup. I’m sure they’re on the lookout for weapons.”

Osha turned to Qimir and found his eyes were already on her. She nodded once. His mouth pressed into a line. 

“Do you still hate the Jedi like you used to?” Poy asked. When Qimir didn’t answer, he said to Osha with a grin, “The way he acted when anyone mentioned them, you’d think they killed his family or something.”

“I don't remember that,” Qimir said. “Your memory must be going.” He shifted the arm he had behind Osha, his fingers just brushing her shoulder. 

“No, that sounds right,” Catro said. “Me, though? They’re fine as long as they stay out of my way. They can keep the peace elsewhere.”

“That's all they're doing,” Qimir cut in again. “Checking ships.” 

“Yes,” Poy said. “The Trade Federation got the Republic involved, and when there's trouble, who else do they have to send but the Jedi?” 

“I've heard about what they can do with the Force,” Catro said. “I'd think I was the greatest thing in the galaxy too if I could move stuff with my mind.” 

“Right, could you imagine?” Poy waved his hand in imitation. “I wouldn't even have to get up to refill my glass.” 

Catro laughed. 

“How long have they been here?” Osha asked. “The Jedi.” 

“I don't know,” Poy said carefully. “Seems to be a new thing.” 

“Maybe they're looking for someone,” Qimir said. He was warm beside her, his leg bumping hers. “You, maybe?”

Osha looked at him as he spoke. He must have sensed her gaze as he glanced her way, their eyes meeting. She looked back at Poy and Catro. 

“We may be smuggling arms, but that doesn’t mean we want a fight with them,” Catro said. “Not this time, at least. We just took some hits on our last run.”

Poy's gaze was steady on Qimir. “Too bad we don’t have you on the team anymore.”

“Yeah, too bad,” Qimir said, suddenly disinterested. He lifted his glass to take a sip, using his left hand, as his other arm was still behind Osha. 

Her own glass sat untouched. She watched as a bead of condensation on the side slid to the table. 

“You owe us, Eli,” said Poy. 

Both he and Catro had generally seemed easygoing, but the humor was gone from his voice now. 

“I don't think so,” said Qimir. “It was a long time ago.” 

“We had a deal.”

“I walked when I wanted.” 

“Do you remember Samm?” Catro picked up her glass and tipped the rest of her drink into her mouth. 

“I remember him getting in my way.” 

Osha glanced at Qimir, not liking where this was going. If he ran into the Jedi, he couldn't be recognized as the Stranger, yet the smugglers knew him as a version of himself.

Between the two of them they were caught on two sides. 

“Who's Samm?” Osha asked. 

“He died on Merkat when Eli ditched us,” Poy said. “We nearly lost everything.”

Catro snapped her fingers, and Poy reached for the pitcher to refill her glass. “You used to butt heads with Samm all the time, so I bet you're glad about that,” she said to Qimir. “Could never keep yourself in check.”

If this was as long ago as Qimir said, there might be truth to that. He left the Order before Osha arrived. It was easy to imagine a teenage Qimir on his own, lost and running with smugglers—new to the dark side of the Force and with no one to guide him. 

He said it himself—it could be overwhelming to let yourself feel anything for the first time. 

“Unless being with this one's cooled you a bit,” Catro continued, her eyes on Osha. “He used to have a thing for me. I still think that's why he didn't like Samm.” 

Poy chuckled. “In your dreams.”

“I'm serious!”

Osha's gaze flickered to Qimir again. He dropped his hand to her shoulder. 

“We can go now,” he said. 

Osha didn't need to be told twice. She stood from the booth, pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder. 

She took a step away, but when Poy spoke again, it was directed to her. “We used to send him in first on all the tough jobs. They weren’t so tough after that.”

“I'm sure,” Osha said, not really caring what he said. She knew what Qimir was capable of. They were leaving, and he wanted a reaction. 

Qimir stood beside her now. 

“We could use some help getting out of here,” Poy said.

Catro smiled, holding her glass loosely in her hand. 

“Good luck with that,” Qimir said. 

“Good luck to you, getting past the Jedi.”

Qimir ignored him, touching his hand to Osha’s back. They started to walk toward the door. 

“Do you still fly that old sport vessel?” he asked loudly. 

Qimir stopped. When Osha realized, she did too. 

The Pantorans by the door and the barkeeper were listening now, plus some others. 

“Why do you ask?” Qimir looked calm, but there was something sharper in his voice. 

“Because the Jedi must have something on you. Maybe that's worth more than our shipment.” 

“No.”

“No? You owe us.”

Catro laughed. “He always thought he was the one in charge.” 

“Come on,” Osha said. She grabbed his arm, but he wouldn't move. If they left now, they might be fine. 

Yet the Exile II was a long walk out. 

The smugglers could alert the Jedi before they even got there. Osha had seen three, but there could be more. 

“Tell me what you want and be done with it,” Qimir said. 

“Easy,” Poy said. “Help us with our job, and we won't have to find out what your thing with the Jedi is.” 

 

---

 

For a long time, Osha only saw Mae in her reflection. 

She stood in the refresher of the closest hotel room they could find. It was somewhat of a shock to look into a real mirror for the first time in weeks and find her face unchanged, in spite of the fact everything else had. 

The light above the mirror was cool, almost blue, and flickered every couple of minutes. 

Osha rested her hands on the counter of the sink. She studied the curve of her lips and the shape of her nose, the warm brown of her skin and her locs, hanging almost to her shoulders. There was a scratch on her cheek she didn't remember getting. A cut by her lip too. 

Her hair was the one thing she always kept the same, out of practicality she often told herself, while knowing it was because her locs tied her to Mae. One of the last moments she shared with Mae was before the Ascension ceremony. They sat together for the last time as two of their coven members styled their locs, adding the traditional gold jewels. Though she was anxious for the ceremony, Osha remembered feeling beautiful like her mother. 

Keeping her hair the same made it easier to imagine what Mae would have looked like at ten years old, twelve, fifteen, and so on. 

Mae who she spent years hating, loving, and always missing. 

This went on until she was eighteen at least. Then she left the Jedi Order and gave up trying to let go of her attachment to the past as the Jedi always wanted. Instead, she tucked it away inside of her. 

Did Mae do the same all these years? There was no way to know. 

They had both believed the other dead. 

Now to Mae, Osha never existed. 

That was enough on its own for Osha to detest the Jedi. She could only imagine what Mae had gone through all those years. Waiting at the bunta tree as a child for a sister who would never show, then sacrificing her memories sixteen years later so her found sister could live. 

Today, Mae would look in the mirror and only see herself. 

Osha took one last glance at her reflection, at Mae, and opened the door to the bedroom area. 

The room was cheap—the sort you could pay for by the hour, but after living in a cave, it was also nice. 

Qimir was at the square window, staring down. Osha already knew nothing could be seen. The window looked out at a side alley, so the odds of seeing a Jedi stroll by were slim.

She flopped down on the bed just because she could. The mattress squeaked. After sleeping on a literal cave floor, it might as well have been the most comfortable thing she’d ever lain on. She hadn’t realized just how incomparable it was until this moment. 

She felt Qimir’s gaze on her as she stared up at the ceiling. There was a crack running through. 

“I don't like any of this,” he said. 

“I can tell. You’re over there brooding.” Osha moved her hand from her stomach to the bed sheet. It was scratchy. “You could just kill them.” 

It took long enough for him to respond that Osha turned her head to look at him. He'd taken off his cloak when they got here and was down to the tunic beneath. 

“You're serious,” he said, his brows furrowed. 

“You've never hesitated before.” It clearly wasn't a matter of skill, only whether he thought the situation called for that. Khofar was her proof when he took on eight Jedi at once. She was testing him.  

He showed no reaction. “Tell me again what happened.” 

Osha exhaled. They'd been over it twice already. 

“Like I said,” she began. “There were three Jedi. One of them was Yord's Padawan. She was there when I was arrested.” 

“And you're certain she saw you?”

“No. I don't know.” 

The room was dim apart from a lamp in the corner. While the curtains were open, the light coming through had the blue tint of dusk. 

He was looking at her. “You need to trust your instincts. What does the Force tell you?” 

“Then no. She didn't see me. But she sensed me and told another Jedi.” 

“Great.” 

She glanced at him, catching the bite in his tone. “You can just say what you're thinking. That coming here was a bad idea.” 

“I'm not thinking that.” He still stood next to the window. After looking out again, he leaned against the sill. She traced the lines of his arms from his shoulders to his hands. 

“Then what are you thinking?” 

“That it's dangerous to risk leaving when they know you.” He turned and pulled the curtains closed. The room seemed warmer with only the light of the lamp. 

It was a mystery as to what exactly the Jedi knew. 

Osha was known to be on Khofar. When her body wasn’t found, they would assume she survived. 

Then what? 

Master Sol was found dead on Brendok. 

Odds were they would suspect her of his death. She was once his Padawan, after all. And a failed one at that, known to struggle with attachment and negative emotions. It was all in her file. 

Khofar could be blamed on her too. 

There was no one alive to bring Qimir into this. Only Mae, but she didn't remember him. 

“Maybe I should wear a helmet too.” 

“Osha, this is serious.” 

There was a loose thread in the bed sheet, and she picked at it.

“Is there any other way to leave?” she asked. 

That was the problem. They had no way of knowing if the smugglers were all talk and no action. Qimir didn't trust Poy and Catro, and that was enough for Osha to not too. He wasn't with them anymore, so why not hand over his ship ID? If anything, that could be used as a distraction and create an opportunity for them to get away with the weapons. 

“Anything you suggest, I'll have already thought of.”

Osha shot him a look. “Then you need to work with me.” 

“Sorry,” he said, his voice softer. 

Her own gaze softened before she spoke again. 

“I don't see why we can't just go along with it. You already said yes. They get out; we get out. Then we can go back to hiding.”

“Training.” 

“That too.” 

She looked at him again to find his eyes on her. He wouldn't relax until they found the nonexistent, perfect solution. She was also more or less taking up the whole bed.

“Do you trust me?” she asked. 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

If she didn't trust Qimir, why was she here? At first, it was a need to be trained. But survival no longer felt like the sole reason. Not when she'd started to turn to him for more. 

If that wasn't trust, she didn't know what was. The only way the power of two could work, however it did, was if they trusted each other. To continue to question whether she trusted him would be to lie to herself. 

Qimir was quiet and remained by his place at the window. Not uncharacteristic. He seemed to either talk a lot or not at all. His gaze had fallen from her to somewhere by the floor. He looked softer under the warm light of the lamp. 

Darth Plagueis's words slipped into her mind again. Too troubled to do her any good.

Osha didn't know if Qimir trusted her in entirety. He left his lightsaber on the rocks as he bathed, let her keep it on her person, then she pushed him to the cave wall—holding the humming blade to his throat. 

Was that trust? 

It was a gamble. A confidence in his own skills—that he could stop her if needed. Or maybe he never cared, more focused on getting Osha to admit her anger and pain. 

Tonight, he was putting her first again. 

“I got something for you,” she said, sitting up. 

His attention drifted to her. 

She went over to the corner, where she had left her bag. It took a while to find what she was looking for. It was disorganized with how she had just shoved everything in. Her hand closed around a vial, and she turned.

“Bacta,” she said with a small smile, holding it up.

“How much did that cost you?”

Probably too much, but that wasn’t the point. “Sit down,” she said. “I’ll put some on.”

Seconds passed, and she thought he wouldn’t. Finally, he did at the end of the bed. 

She moved in front of him and unscrewed the cap, setting it on the bed. “Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” He was watching her and sounded genuinely unsure. 

“Your head.” The gash above his brow seemed better than this morning, scabbing over, but the warm light in the room made the bruising around look worse. 

“No.”

“You don't have to lie to me," she said, meeting his gaze. While she had her secrets too, he was always accepting of her pain. This was a different kind, more minor than a lost sister and her Jedi Master dead by her hand, but it probably did hurt. 

He didn't break eye contact. “I don't lie to you, Osha.”

Osha moved her hand, pausing before she touched him. His gaze was still on her, yet he said nothing. So she did, moving the soft strands of his hair from his forehead, mindful of the injury itself. His eyes closed for a second, when her fingers grazed his skin.

This close, she could hear his every breath. She tapped some of the bacta onto her finger. It was warm and had a thick, gelatinous texture. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. 

The light from the lamp softened the sharper lines of his face. Her knee brushed his leg as she moved closer. His body was warm near hers. Even in the apothecary shop, they were drawn together, and she noticed that now. 

The Force seemed more tangible with Qimir, as if the atoms in their bodies recognized each other. 

His hair wasn’t staying, so she used her other hand to keep it out of the way. It was longer than when she first met him. 

Still, she felt his gaze on her. 

She dabbed the bacta above his brow as gently as she could. The bacta would heal the bruising and the cut itself, and hopefully, keep it from scarring.  

This didn’t take long at all.

“Osha,” he said.

She brushed a strand of hair more to the side of his face. This time, it stayed. Her eyes found his again. He was already looking at her. 

“Thank you.” His voice sounded rougher than normal. 

She nodded. 

The way he looked at her sometimes, like he did now, it blurred everything else. The same way the drink at the cantina would have if she took a sip. Just standing near him, she felt warmer and was reminded of a couple nights ago when she’d moved away. 

Rather than move away now, she stood anchored by his gaze. She remembered the scar, rough and raised across his back. Maybe that was why this didn’t hurt. Someone once, who he trusted, hurt him so badly that nothing else would compare. 

“Who hurt you?” she asked carefully. 

He took a breath but didn’t drop his gaze from her face. “My Jedi Master.” 

She nodded and didn’t push him for more. That was what she suspected, but the last time she guessed that, he changed the subject—showing her the cortosis of his helmet instead. 

This gave her more questions, but it was a start.

Her eyes traveled over his face once more to the bacta above his brow, then she stepped back. Aware of the way he was watching her, she grabbed the cap to the vial.

“Osha, wait,” he said, and she paused. “Do you want some? On your face?”

She glanced at the vial of bacta. There was plenty left, yet the cut on her cheek was already healing fine. They should save it in case they needed it later for worse.

But he had asked, and she thought it might help him if there was something he could do for her too.  

“Sure.” She handed him the vial, their fingers brushing. 

Qimir looked at it for a second, then at her, looking up at her face. She waited as he put some bacta on his finger. 

He seemed almost hesitant, which he never seemed to be—going as far to suggest she might want to join him in the lagoon as early as their second conversation. 

Maybe it was all in her head, but she didn't think so. 

“Here,” he said, lifting his hand, and she moved closer so he could reach her more easily. 

The bacta was warm. He smeared it in a line, over the scratch on her cheek. Her skin tingled there, whether from the bacta or from him touching her, she didn't know. 

He pulled away, and she caught the moment his gaze dropped to the cut by her lip, lingering there. 

His eyes went back to hers, and they stared at each other. 

“Um, thanks,” she said. Her voice sounded scratchy, and she cleared her throat. She took the vial of bacta and brought it back to her bag, taking her time to screw on the cap and put it away.

After, she went to the bed and settled against the pillows. This left space between them. She tried not to think about how sleeping beside him in a real bed would be different. The bacta on her face still felt warm. 

Qimir’s back was to her, and she could imagine the scar that went across his spine from here, tracing it with her eyes. He didn’t turn to her, but his head was tilted like he was drawn that way. 

“Did you join the smugglers after you left the Order?” she asked. 

“About a year after. I needed the money.”

That was why Osha became a meknek too. Yet there was something to be said about joining a group smuggling weapons for the Hutts. Working as a meknek was illegal, but it came with stability. The job had been dangerous in a way she could somewhat control. “Were you close with them?”

“No. I didn’t let that happen.”

“Except for being in love with Catro.”

Qimir was so silent that for a second, she thought he wouldn’t say anything at all. Then he turned to her, his brows rising. His forehead was shiny from the bacta. “Did you really believe that, Osha?”

She laughed, and the genuine sound of it surprised her. Qimir smiled, shaking his head. He sat facing her now, at the other end of the bed.  

“So I’m taking that as a yes.” She shifted. One of the pillows was at an odd angle under her shoulder. 

“No.”

“See you say that, but I don’t know if I should believe you.” She was teasing, and although she hadn’t known Qimir then, one conversation was enough for Osha to believe he never liked Catro much.

“What would convince you?” 

Her smile faded. She didn't know how to respond to that, but the way he was looking at her made it seem like a real question. “What?” she asked. 

“Nothing. I'm just curious what you're thinking.” 

She chose her words carefully, watching for his reaction. “If only you could read my mind.”

He stared at her for a second and when he smiled, it was slow. Her face felt warm.  

Outside their hotel room, there was the sound of muffled conversation and footsteps. They both redirected their attention. Osha reached for the Force and found no risk in the hallway. Just other hotel guests. 

Once they were gone, Qimir turned back to her. “Do you still need to eat?” he asked. 

“I haven't.” Between the Jedi and the smugglers, she forgot completely. When she was stressed, she often did. 

He stood and went to the narrow table against the wall. If not for the smugglers, she would have ordered food at the cantina. That was another reason to find them annoying. 

Qimir tossed something to her. She caught it, the wrapper crinkling. It was a ration bar. She checked the flavor on the label. It had twice the nutrients as it used to. 

“Better than kebroot, I hope?” he asked, sitting on the bed. 

“That’s a low bar.” She tore open the wrapper and took a bite. It was salty, but other than that, the taste was fine. Some crumbs fell to the bed, and she glanced at Qimir, seeing if he noticed. 

He looked a little concerned. 

“Sorry,” she said, chewing. She collected the crumbs as best she could, but the ration bar had a crumbly texture. “I’ll sleep on this side.”

Qimir never looked uncomfortable, but there was an ease to the sight of him sitting at the end of the bed they would share. His hair started to fall again, close to the smear of bacta on his forehead, and he brushed it back. 

“So what’s the plan?” She finished the ration bar and balled up the wrapper.

He took a while to respond, and she imagined he was trying to think of a better answer than the one he was about to give. 

“I agreed to meet them in the morning,” he said. “I’m not one for breaking deals.”

“I never thought you’d be the type to back down from a fight.”

His lips pressed together as his eyes found hers. “Do you think I take every one?”

“I guess not.” In the apothecary shop on Olega, she and the Jedi were none the wiser as to who he actually was—what he was capable of. Their meeting itself was odd, and in a way, she'd been drawn to him, but she never suspected Khofar was to come. 

“Taking every fight is not a good way to survive, Osha. Part of being certain in your abilities is taking fights only when necessary.” He scratched his jaw with his thumb. “Remember, I don’t have my lightsaber.”

“I have mine.” If it came to that, she would give it to him. While Osha was confident enough after training for weeks, there wasn’t any question as to which one of them was more experienced. 

“No,” he said, making it clear that wasn’t up for discussion. “You need it.”

“Okay, so then we go along with them. What do you owe them for anyway?"

“They just have a grudge from when I left,” Qimir said. “I suppose this will make us even.” 

It was a long time to hold onto that, but Osha supposed she couldn’t judge, even if Qimir had every right to back out when he wanted.

She didn't want to help Catro and Poy either, yet since they knew Qimir's ship, that at least would keep the Jedi out of this. Catro and Poy seemed petty enough to make trouble. The fact that Qimir was currently safe from being recognized was one of the few things they had going for them. 

A fair, unfair deal. 

“I do need to ask, though…” Qimir began. “Who’s Pip?”

She tried not to grimace. Her fake name at the cantina. Not her best work, but the first name she could think of. 

Osha leaned further back against the pillows. “Pip is my repair droid. Or was,” she added. “I…” There was no other way to put it: “He's how I got the moths to attack you on Khofar.” 

Pip’s light attracted the umbramoths, and when attached to Qimir, they had carried him away. 

“Really.” Anyone else might have been mad about that, but Qimir seemed impressed. “That was smart.” 

“You didn't see him, did you?” 

It was hard to miss the hope in her voice, but Qimir shook his head. 

She hated to think of him abandoned in the dirt before Mae found him. The fall must have damaged his memory. He hadn't recognized her on Brendok. That hurt too, but at least Mae wasn't entirely alone. 

As a meknek, he did more than help her with repairs. He was her friend. 

“Your lying skills could use some improvement, Osha. I think Poy was suspicious, but at least this time, it was only a name.” 

“I'm not that bad,” she said. 

Though as children, Mae was always the better liar. If Mother Koril let them have a spice cream, she could often convince Mama to give them another later, claiming they hadn't eaten any at all. 

“You thought I was Mae at first,” she said. “On Olega.”

Qimir laughed. The lamplight caught on his cheekbones. “No, I knew right away.” 

“I look exactly like her.” He said as much himself, which was the moment she knew her cover was cracked. 

“There's more to it than that, Osha.” His gaze flickered over her. Although Mae would look the same sitting here, it didn't seem like he saw Mae at all. 

Growing up on Brendok, it was always Osha and Mae. They were twins and the only children in their coven. Everyone saw them as a pair, and that probably encouraged Mae to want that too. 

Osha wanted to be seen as herself, and it took losing Mae and her coven for that to be true. 

“How did you meet Mae?” Osha asked.

Because this was the other thing she wondered about. Sixteen years of Mae’s life were a mystery to her. In a way, Qimir knew the Mae of the present better than she did. Before her memories were wiped, that was. 

Qimir smirked. “She tried to pick my pocket.”

“Tried,” Osha repeated. If Mae was the better liar as a child, she was the better thief too. Also for spice creams.

“I could sense her in the Force, so she didn't get far.” 

“Then?”

Qimir shrugged, seemingly lost in the memory himself. “I offered to make her a deal.”

“Because you knew she could use the Force.”

“Because she surprised me,” Qimir corrected. 

“I wish I could know her. Now,” Osha added, in case it wasn’t clear. 

Qimir looked at her, and when he nodded, she knew he understood. 

 

---

 

Osha and Qimir left early, when the sky was a sunrise of red and pink. 

The air had the chill of morning, but unlike Bal'demnic, Kuval did not become as hot during the day. The town itself was a quieter version of itself. The streets were nearly empty, and the market tables wouldn’t be set up for an hour or two. 

Osha tried to keep her senses open as they walked, reaching out with the Force for signs of Jedi or any other threats—yet she was tired and that weakened her grasp. 

Sleeping on a real mattress and not what was essentially blankets on the cave floor meant she could feel every time Qimir moved from his back to his side or vice versa. It kept her awake, a reminder of how close he was, but also because she was a light sleeper. 

There was nowhere to go here either, when she couldn’t sleep. She was used to having the sea and salty night air only steps away. 

Today, she wore her bag like a backpack, and the straps dug into her shoulders. The plan was for Osha to wait on the Exile II while Qimir helped Poy and Catro. This way, they wouldn’t have to worry about her crossing paths with the Jedi. They left earlier than needed, so Qimir could walk with her to the edge of town. From there, she had to walk the last stretch through the woods. 

As they neared the edge of town, the buildings were all newer. Osha saw a bank among others, advertising efficient exchange for any currency in the galaxy on its front window. A couple years from now, the town would probably be unrecognizable from its current self. Maybe the market wouldn't be here at all. 

Suddenly, Qimir slowed. 

Osha did too, her eyes going to his face. He was looking at the alley across the street, and she sensed what he did just as they appeared. 

Poy strolled out into the open with Catro close behind. 

Early and not where they were supposed to meet. 

“Leaving so soon?” Poy asked. He had a blaster at his hip. It wasn't there yesterday, and the Force told Osha it was fully charged. 

“We thought you might,” said Catro. 

The smugglers walked over, crossing the street. 

“Go now,” Qimir said to Osha.

She took a step, but the smugglers were closer. 

“Nuh, uh,” Poy said. The Iktotchi’s hand went to his blaster in show of a casual threat, his horns tilting with his head. “She's our insurance.” 

Now that they were all standing, Osha could tell both Poy and Catro were taller than her. Which, wasn't saying much. Most were. Poy was slightly taller than Qimir too, just not as strong. 

“That won't be necessary,” Qimir said, his voice cool.

“Then how do we know you won’t skip out again?” Catro asked. The blonde woman folded her arms under her chest. It didn't look like she had a weapon, but between her vest and cargo pants, there were many places to hide one. 

“Because I keep the deals I make.”

“So just let us ensure that,” Poy said. “When you're done, you can have…” His gaze slid to Osha. “Pip back.” 

Osha stared at him, tired of the way he spoke like she wasn't here. Before Qimir could speak again, she cut in. “I'll wait.” 

Qimir turned to her. “No.” 

“This will waste more time. Just go.” She glanced at the smugglers and saw their smiles; this was what they wanted to happen—an argument. They saw her as the bargaining chip. 

Qimir's jaw was tight, and his eyes looked the same way they did in a fight. 

Under the morning light, she could see his forehead clearly. The bruising was almost gone, and the gash itself had the pink look of healing skin. 

She placed her hand on his arm. The smugglers themselves weren't the problem. It was the fact that this wasn't his plan. 

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

His eyes met hers, and all she could think was that at this point, he either did or he never would. 

He nodded. 

That was all they needed. 

“Let's make this fast,” he said, turning to the smugglers. Before he left, he glanced at Osha one last time, like that alone could keep her safe.

“Okay, good choice,” Catro said. She walked over to Osha. “We wait here.”

Qimir glanced between the two of them. 

“Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her.” 

He shook his head, more to himself, as if Catro was missing the point. 

Be smarter, he said in Osha's head. 

Her eyes locked with his, and his words felt foreboding. 

He and Poy left, leaving her alone with Catro. 

They were standing in the street, so Osha went into the nearest alley, leaning against the wall. She took her bag off and set it by her feet. Catro followed but stayed at the end of the alley to block her path. Maybe that was supposed to be intimidating, but Osha wasn’t concerned. 

“What is he supposed to do for you?” Osha asked. A fight would catch the attention of the Jedi.

“Well,” Catro said. “Personnel are checking the ships. So we need someone to get us cleared.”

“How?”

Catro narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know Eli very well, do you?”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”

She laughed.

“What’s funny about that?” 

“It's funny if you don't notice the way he looks at you.” 

Osha watched Catro but said nothing. 

“He can be convincing.” Catro shrugged. “I don’t need to understand it, but he has his ways.”

Osha nodded, her gaze on the dirt as she dug the toe of her boot into it. Qimir would use the Force then, to get the personnel to clear the smugglers’ ship. Master Sol used to do similar, albeit for different circumstances. Things like calming someone's panic so they were coherent enough to tell the Jedi what was needed. Often, Jedi were sent to help after planetary disasters. Ironic, considering the disaster they created on Brendok. 

“How long did you know him?” Osha asked.

Catro took a moment to respond, watchful of Osha. “About five years. Reliable enough until he betrayed us, though there was always something off about him.”

“Like?” 

“Like he was mad at the galaxy. But that's what made him good on the job. You don’t forget a dealbreaker like that.”

“Qi—” Osha realized her mistake, but Catro didn't seem to notice. “Eli said you never had a deal.”

“It’s not so much about the deal as it is about the owing.” Catro tilted her head, gazing at Osha. For the first time, Osha saw someone dangerous. “The Merkat job, when Samm died, cut us back three months. We lost one of our ships, which cut us back another three and lost us a chunk of our other jobs. The Hutts don't stand for that.” 

“It sounds to me like you needed him more than he needed you.” Osha could sense the anger in Catro now, and her words only fueled it. 

“Careful what you say, Pip. He's too far to save you now.” 

Osha smiled. This was unfair to begin with, but sure, Catro could think she held the power. “It's just lucky for you that he's willing to help.” 

Catro glanced over her shoulder, then to Osha. Her hand was near her pants pocket, and Osha was ready when she pulled a knife. 

“Lucky for us to finally get what’s owed,” Catro said. 

She rushed Osha, maybe expecting her to run. Yet Osha took her head on, blocking the knife with her forearm to Catro's.  

This angered Catro further. She swiped the knife again. Osha leaned away, coming back with a kick that sent Catro stumbling. 

Catro wasn't a Force-user, so it wasn't a matched fight. She was strong but didn't have the finesse of someone properly trained. 

Osha was trained to fight from the moment she could walk. Her time as a Padawan and her training with Qimir only honed that further. 

Loose dirt flew up as Catro lunged for Osha again. Osha kicked high, which gave Catro the chance to jab the knife toward Osha's side.

The tip of the knife cut a hole in her cloak, but with use of the Force, the knife didn't graze her skin. Catro growled, pushing Osha back hard. 

Her shoulder hit the brick wall.

“You should walk away,” Osha said. She shook the pain from her arm.

Catro was poised to strike again. The knife glinted in her hand.  

“You won't, and that's enough for me!” She grinned, and her teeth seemed just as sharp. “Eli takes from us. We take from him.”  

Qimir.  

Poy was as good as dead if he turned on him. 

“He’d kill you for this himself,” Osha said. 

This time, she attacked first. When Catro was off balance, she grabbed her arm, pulling her forward. The knife fell to the dirt. 

Catro pushed Osha off of her, getting a kick in by her knee. 

While it hurt, Osha ignored the pain. Listening to the Force, she deflected Catro’s next punch the second it happened. 

The confidence there earlier was gone from Catro's face. She expected an easy fight. 

“Your mistake is underestimating me,” Osha said. Her mouth tasted like blood. She must have bit her lip.

“Then I better make this worth it.”

Catro ran at Osha.

She tried to trip Catro at her ankle, but Catro took Osha's arm to catch her balance.

Osha shoved Catro back, a cloud of dirt rising up. 

“There's more than one path to revenge!” Catro said. She bent down to retrieve her knife. “Maybe the Jedi are even nearby.”

Osha was done with this fight. 

When Catro came forward, Osha dodged the knife. Catro grabbed the fabric of her hood. Osha didn't get far, and the knife swiped close to her face. 

Osha stopped Catro’s hand with her own. Her arm shook, trying to hold the knife back. 

She heard Qimir's voice in her head. 

Using the Force, she threw Catro back. 

Catro hit the wall hard. She fell at an odd angle with her head slumped forward. 

The alley was still and quiet. 

Osha turned, the soles of her boots scraping dirt. 

No one was around to witness. 

She turned back to Catro, reaching out with the Force. There was nothing there. 

Osha was breathing heavily, her heartbeat loud in her ears. 

The ship. 

She had to get back to the ship. 

Qimir would be fine on his own, and that was the place he would think to meet her. 

Something was still off, though. 

Osha tried to calm her breathing. The Force was with her, and she reached out with it. 

She retrieved her bag and started to run. 

Out of the alley, Kuval was beginning to come to life. She saw two figures further down the street and a Twi'lek entering one of the shops. The sky was blue but scattered with grey clouds in the distance like it might rain later. 

The ground was a blur beneath her feet. It turned from dirt to tall grass, then back to dirt once she reached the woods. 

She split her usage of the Force between her path—it was uneven and marked by large tree roots—and the town behind her. The further she ran, the more she became certain. 

Someone was following. 

Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting odd shadows on the ground. She tripped on a large root and caught her balance with the Force. 

The Exile II appeared in the distance, and just when she started to slow, a voice called out, too far away to be decipherable. 

Osha was out of breath. Her hood had fallen sometime between the fight with Catro and now. She pulled it up and continued moving toward the ship, hoping they would go away. 

“Excuse me!” a male voice said. “Are you alright?”

Their presence was strong in the Force, and that was when Osha knew. 

She looked over her shoulder as a Jedi walked toward her. A man with tan skin and brown hair pulled back from his face. He was with the group of Jedi yesterday, but not the Jedi that Tasi spoke with. 

“Excuse me,” he said again. The Jedi made his way toward her, picking his way carefully over the roots. “I’m Calman. A Jedi. Do you need help?”

“I’m alright. Thank you, though,” Osha said. She kept walking toward the Exile II. It was close, but not close enough. 

“I sensed trouble,” Calman said. “Is this your ship?”

He was closer now, and Osha had no choice but to turn and face him. Calman was older than her. No Padawan braid. At least a Knight, maybe a Jedi Master. 

“This isn’t my ship,” she said. “I’m— I’m a mechanic.”

“Oh.” Calman gazed at it out in the distance. “What’s wrong with it?”

“The fuel processor isn’t working. You know how these models are.”

He nodded, yet Osha got the impression he did not. “Why is it landed all the way out here?”

“Because…the fuel processor,” she said, like it was obvious. Her heart was pounding, and she urged it to slow. She urged her presence in the Force to shrink too. Between the fight with Catro and her run to the ship, she’d done little to conceal herself. 

The Jedi gave a hesitant smile. His eyes scanned her face like he recognized her but couldn’t figure out why. 

That was when Osha felt the presence of two more Jedi in the woods. 

“Osha Aniseya,” a younger, female voice said. 

Osha watched as Tasi walked through the woods, trailed by the Cerean. This completed the group from yesterday. 

Tasi looked the same as Osha remembered aboard the Fallon. Like the other two Jedi, the Zygerrian wore traditional brown robes. She joined Calman, standing attentively by his side. Perhaps he was her new master. 

“You’re alive,” Tasi said. 

“I am.” Osha laughed nervously. “Am I not supposed to be?”

“You were reported dead on Khofar.”

“Oh. That is odd.” She tried to sound surprised, but Tasi’s expression didn’t change. She reminded her of Yord in a way. Both serious. 

The Cerean walked up, the oldest of the three. His head was a high-dome shape. “I’m Trevon. You are Osha Aniseya?” 

“Yes.”

“Have you heard?”

Osha tensed, certain this was when they would announce her arrest. Her lightsaber was at her belt, concealed by her cloak. But there was no way she could take on three Jedi at once. 

“You should know,” he continued, “Master Sol has been convicted, Osha. I believe you were once his Padawan. It’s safe for you to return to Coruscant now.”

“Safe?” So they didn’t suspect her. “What was he convicted of?” 

“The High Council released a statement last month. It was for an event sixteen years ago on the planet of Brendok. As well as for the recent Jedi deaths on Ueda, Olega, and Khofar.”

“Including my Jedi Master's,” Tasi said. Her voice showed no emotion, and Osha’s gaze flickered to her. 

Osha started to shake her head. “But Master Sol is dead.” 

Sixteen years it took for the Jedi to make the truth of what happened on Brendok public. What good did it do now? When Osha had already lived that lie. When Mae had already suffered for it and was suffering for it still. 

“He is—” Tasi began.

“And you know this how?” Trevon asked. He tilted his head.

“I don’t. I mean, I…I assumed.” All three Jedi were looking at her, and she felt panic prickle over her skin. 

Her mind worked quickly. They didn’t know she was on Brendok. Then who did they think killed Master Sol? They were blaming Master Sol for the lives Mae took too.

Why?

Osha felt relief flood through her, not understanding why. It was then the three Jedi turned to look behind them. 

Qimir was walking through the woods. The Force had told her. 

“Hey!” he said as he neared, his voice friendly. He held his hands behind his back. “Uh, what’s going on here?”

While Osha couldn’t take her eyes off of him, he didn’t so much as spare her a glance. 

“You are?” Calman asked.

“Oh. This is my ship. Who are you? And why are you all…” He moved his hand to gesture toward them, then seemed to change his mind and kept it hidden. “Why are you all matching?” 

“We are Jedi,” Tasi said. “From the Coruscant Temple.”

“Wow, I’ve heard great things about Coruscant.” Qimir nodded. “Built around a mountain, right? What’s a Jedi? Don’t you do something with your minds?” 

Tasi was about to speak, but Calman held up his hand to silence her. “Do you know this woman?” he asked. 

Qimir looked at Osha, acting surprised to see her. “Um, do you?”

“I’m fixing his ship,” Osha reminded the Jedi. 

“Right,” Qimir confirmed. “My ship. It’s very broken.” He nodded at the Jedi, then took his time walking over. 

With the Jedi behind him, Qimir was himself for a moment. His dark eyes scanned her quickly—then locked on her face before he turned back to the Jedi. He stood a distance away, and Osha saw the reason he’d hidden his hands. His knuckles were bloody. 

“I suggest you find a mechanic in town,” Trevon said. “She will need to return with us to Coruscant.”

“Why?” Osha asked. If they weren’t suspicious of her, all she had to do was play this right, and they would leave her be. 

“So you can testify to the events on Khofar. The High Council would appreciate your contributions.” 

“I could just do it now. I really don’t have the time.” 

“In person is standard protocol,” Tasi said. Osha looked at her, struck by how professionally she held herself. As a Jedi, she always felt too much. “Your sister is at the Temple. After, I presume you could meet with her.” 

This wasn’t new information, but Osha had a physical reaction to it. Mae, without her memories and surrounded by their family’s killers. 

An anger that burned like fire; a fear that froze her. 

“Calm yourself, Osha,” Calman said, just as a master would. “I understand this is a lot to take in.”

“I am calm!” she said, sounding everything but. The Jedi had no right to tell her how to feel. Not when they were the ones responsible. 

Though Qimir said nothing, she felt the weight of his gaze.

Calman and Trevon exchanged a weary glance. 

Tasi was the one to speak. “I sense darkness. She could be like her Jedi Master.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” Osha said, her voice low. 

“Hey,” Qimir said, stepping closer like he might put himself between the Jedi and Osha. “Maybe you all could just talk this out or—” 

“Should I contact Master Vernestra?” Calman asked Trevon. 

Qimir stiffened, and immediately, his gaze went to Osha. She couldn't pretend not to know him. There had to be a reason. 

He looked scared. 

“She’s likely busy,” Trevon said. 

Osha took a step forward now, aware of Qimir to her right. “I know Master Vernestra.” She was an elder Jedi, a liaison with the Galactic Senate, and had been close to Master Sol. 

“I've seen her with your sister,” Tasi said. “You look a lot alike.” 

“What does Master Vernestra want with Mae?” Osha asked, her voice harsh.

Trevon glanced at her. “I believe she’s under her care.”

She turned to Calman. “Do you know?”

If they believed Osha to be innocent, there was no reason to hold Mae. Unless the Jedi were stringing lies again.

It wasn’t fair. 

That pain she’d pushed down, that made her feel weak—coursed through her now. Even after everything—after getting justice for her mother and for their coven—Mae could not live in peace.

“If you come with us, you can speak with her yourself,” Trevon said. “I’m certain Vernestra would be happy to—”

“No,” Osha said. 

She said it like a command, and she saw Tasi’s hand reach for her lightsaber. 

“The Jedi don’t attack the unarmed!” she reminded her. Tasi still took her lightsaber from her belt slowly. “But that didn’t stop Master Sol from killing my mother while Mae watched.”

Trevon and Calman were alert now. Qimir moved closer to Osha, and when she met his gaze, it was a warning. She ignored him. 

“Where were you after Khofar, Osha?” Trevon asked.  

She remembered Qimir’s words. All of what we feel has a purpose. 

Tasi’s eyes went black. Osha watched as she dropped to her knees, her lightsaber falling from her hand to the dirt.

“Osha!” Qimir said.

Calman rushed to Tasi's side. “What are you doing to her? Stop!” he said, reaching for his saber. “This is the work of the dark side!” 

Osha looked at Qimir, her expression pleading. He started to move toward her. She couldn't stop. 

Trevon retrieved his saber and ignited it green, standing in front of Tasi and Calman. “What are you?” he asked, the blade humming. 

Her vision blurred with tears. “I am what you made me.” 

Tasi's head tilted back, her face blank. 

“Protect the Padawan!”

Calman ignited his saber yellow. 

Tasi’s lightsaber flew through the air and into Qimir’s hand. He ignited it blue, springing toward the Jedi as they came at Osha. 

She threw her hands up, bracing for the attack.  

Darkness materialized around her. 

Shadows—unstable and flickering. 

The darkness burned through her veins and flowed with her blood. 

She felt the start of a connection to Tasi. But she couldn’t maintain it. She saw flashes of her mind. A second of herself, being interrogated aboard the Fallon. Another with Yord, showing Tasi the proper way to hold a saber. 

Darkness was all she saw and in her every breath. It was like being on fire—and she was grasping for control. 

The clash of lightsabers was distant. As was the drop of a first body, then a second to the ground. 

She dug her hands into the dirt, not even realizing she’d sunk to her knees. 

Qimir was in front of her, trying to pull her to her feet. Her ears were ringing, and she realized she was screaming. 

“Osha, we need to go.” 

“I can’t,” she said. Her vision was blurred—from tears or pure power—she didn’t know. 

She felt Qimir’s hand on her cheek, rough, as he tried to get her to look at him. But she wouldn’t. Her eyes caught on Tasi’s body. She looked smaller, younger. 

Calman and Trevon were crumpled not far behind. 

Osha gasped for breath. 

The darkness was with her, trying to choke the air from her lungs. She was shaking now, but she wanted more. 

Qimir’s hand was still on her face, trying to bring her back. 

“Osha,” he said. 

The darkness started to fade, and it was like all the strength left her body. 

She collapsed to his chest, sobbing. 

 

---

 

The flight back to Bal'demnic was silent. Qimir covered navigation, and she stared out the viewport, watching the blur of hyperspace, then the steadiness of realspace. 

When they landed, she still didn’t speak. 

She kept walking, from the stone path to the beach. Then past the cave. 

She walked all the way to the south side of the island, where the fishing net was supposed to be. It was gone, pulled out to sea during the rainstorm. 

Osha stared at the waves for so long, sea foam crashing up and over the rocks, that the sound started to feel hypnotizing. The wind caught at her locs and her cloak, but she stood unmoving. 

The Jedi spent years teaching her how dangerous the dark side was. It was the path no Jedi should go down. A path lined with fear, anger, and pain—emotions the Jedi were not meant to hold. 

It would only lead to suffering.  

What they left out was that once you came out the other side, acknowledged your true self, and tasted true power… 

It felt good. 

Osha turned to walk back to the cave. 

But not before she sensed the proof she was looking for and knew her instinct was right. 

Her gaze traveled over the rocks and up the moss-covered cliff facing the sea. At the edge of the cliff, stood a tall figure cloaked in black. 

Darth Plagueis was watching.

 

Notes:

Morale of the story: NEVER LEAVE HOME!

Jk, but please do leave a comment?? I always love to know your thoughts and this chapter was a JOURNEY.

You may notice I changed the chapter count to a ?. Right now my guess is 10 but we shall see lol. Regardless, I promise to do my best to give these characters what they deserved <3

Find me on tumblr.

Chapter 4: Hold / Crave

Summary:

“Does that make me your Acolyte?”

Qimir was looking at his lightsaber, but at her question, his eyes found her. They were at their darkest now, under the lantern light. When he spoke, his voice was low, and she felt it the same.

"It does." There was something new in his gaze that made her body run warm. “Do you want to be mine, Osha?”

--
Osha confronts her power.

Notes:

Hellooo!

I thought this would be a shorter chapter and well, I was lying to myself lol. A couple notes:

1. I changed the summary to a passage from this chapter.
2. Qimir got his combat knowledge from wookiepedia. Apply at your own risk.
3. The first lip bite of this fic was inserted with what I can only describe as scientific precision.

Hope you enjoy :)

Osha woke to panic. 

The kind that pained your chest and cramped your stomach. Stole your breath and blurred the edges of your vision. It was impossible to think. 

This was a familiar feeling. 

During her early days on Coruscant, she'd wake alone to her heart pounding, everything she lost flooding back as she remembered why she slept in an unfamiliar bed. 

On freighters as a meknek, she spent full nights awake—hoping for a call over her comm, if only to have a reason to give up on getting any rest and give her mind a distraction. The steady sway of space travel wasn't enough to push the past from her dreams. 

Osha sat up, and her blanket fell to her waist. The air was chilly. Toward the front of the cave, she heard rain falling—the tap of it on stone. 

She pressed her hand to her chest, expecting an erratic beat. 

It was calm. Steady. 

The panic wasn't her own. But she felt it in waves, and it began to unsettle her too. 

“Qimir,” she whispered, turning to him. He lay on his side, facing away from her. It was hard to see him in the dark. 

She reached toward him across the blankets. He was radiating heat, and the panic she sensed grew. “Hey.” Her fingers touched his back. 

He flinched.  

She pulled back her hand, her heart sinking. 

Qimir inhaled, turning onto his back as he woke. 

Never before could she sense what he was feeling in the Force. Now, it was easy. She didn't even need the Force to know something was wrong. 

With the little light there was, she could see the uneven rise and fall of his chest. She heard his breathing as much as she could see it. He dragged his hand across his face, staring at the ceiling. 

“Qimir,” Osha said again, her voice quiet.

He was looking up, searching. Whatever it was for, she didn't think it could be found. Then he pushed his hair from his face, making it a mess atop his head, and finally turned to her. 

Even with him looking at her, she got the sense he wasn't seeing her. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. 

He said nothing, which only scared her more. She wasn't sure how out of it he was. 

Hesitantly this time, she reached toward him. He lifted his own hand, and for a second, she thought he'd push hers away. 

Instead, he met her hand halfway. She intertwined their fingers and lay down beside him, releasing a soft breath. 

At the front of the cave, the rain still poured. 

“Did I wake you, Osha?” he asked. His voice cracked on her name. “Sorry.”

“No. Don't do that.” She pulled her blanket over her as best she could without letting go of his hand. 

The air was frigid, but he was hot next to her. They were nearly touching—as close as they'd lain intentionally. Her arm was at an uncomfortable angle, and she moved their hands to rest them atop her stomach, brushing her thumb over the side of his finger. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” she asked. Her voice was quiet. It felt wrong to speak any louder. 

While he was calming, soon unreadable if she had to guess, Osha still had that sinking feeling. Qimir was always the steady one, the balance to her falling apart. 

He'd flinched. Qimir who grinned with a lightsaber at his throat and didn't care when he bled. 

She thought of the scar snaking across his back—certain that was why. 

Yesterday, he sought her out at the mere mention of Master Vernestra’s name. It was easy to connect the two after she saw the fear on his face.

“I'm fine, Osha,” Qimir said. It wasn't an answer to her question, but she accepted it. She brushed her thumb over his finger again. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

He said nothing, and she took that to mean no.

She propped herself up on her elbow, and their hands separated. Her eyes were more adjusted to the dark now. His gaze was on the cave ceiling, then her.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His voice was soft, tired too. 

“I just wanted to see you.” She scanned his face, not even sure what she was looking for. Reassurance maybe, that he was okay. Or a way to protect him from what was already done. 

His features were shadowed, but she'd seen enough of him in the light that she knew what she was missing. 

“What do you see?” he asked. 

Thunder crackled outside, and it took a moment for her to reply. The rain poured hard. Hopefully this time, it wouldn't last for days. 

“I don't know.” 

A faint smile crossed his face. She lay down beside him, resting her head by his shoulder. 

“I started having nightmares after I lost my coven,” Osha said. “Sometimes they were exactly as it happened. I'd see my mother and my family again.” 

There they would be, unmoving on the stone floor of their fortress as Master Sol pulled her away, screaming. The flames reached for her too, urging her to stay. 

“Other times…” She trailed off, remembering what it was like to be eight years old and to have lost everything. “I became the one who started the fire. Instead of Mae.” 

Qimir took a long time to respond. He was breathing evenly now. She was close enough to know that. 

“It doesn't happen often,” he said. “Not anymore.” 

“That’s good.”

For her too. Since she started sleeping beside him, her nightmares were fewer. 

Qimir was always fearless to Osha. In a fight, he kept his arms bare and broke the rules. He took on eight Jedi at once and wasn't scared to die. 

He was scared of his ex-master, and it scared her to think about what Vernestra did to him. She didn't know. For all the pain Master Sol had caused Osha, he left no visible scar. 

Tears pricked her eyes. Osha knew then, Qimir meant more to her than she thought he would when this all began. 

“Are you sleeping now?” Qimir asked. 

Osha tilted her head to look at him. It did her no good from this angle. She turned onto her side, pulling her blanket up to her neck. Bal’demnic was cold at night. She stayed close to Qimir, who always ran warm. Her head bumped his shoulder, and she let it rest there. 

“I'm awake,” she said. 

She wondered why he asked. Maybe he wasn't ready to sleep himself. Osha's eyelids felt heavy, but she didn't want to leave him alone. 

“Did you like it? Growing up on Brendok.”

“Oh.” Of all the things, Osha wasn't expecting him to ask that. 

“It's fine if you don't want to answer.” 

“No, that's okay,” Osha said. They both spoke quietly. Apart from the occasional crash of thunder, there was no reason to speak loud, side by side. “I just. I'm sure Mae already told you a lot.” 

Qimir shifted, and Osha adjusted where her head was so she was still close to him. “I'd rather hear it from you,” he said. 

“Well. Then I guess I would say it was good. But I didn't realize it then.” 

In the sense that it often took loss to realize what you had. 

“We lived in an old miner’s facility. You saw it. Our mothers started training us when we were young. Mae was always better at it. I couldn't block. And,” she added, “please don't say I still can't.” 

Qimir released a breath that sounded like a laugh. “I promise if you couldn't, you would know.” 

“Good,” Osha said, smiling slightly. “Anyway, we were never allowed to go outside the fortress walls, but I snuck out all the time. We'd meet in the woods at the bunta tree.

“Mother Koril, she would always get so mad about that, and I never understood. I wanted to leave. And in a twisted way, I did get that wish. I was curious about the rest of the galaxy.” 

The Jedi granted it, but not before taking her family too. 

“What else?” Qimir asked, and she heard him yawn.

“Too sad?” Osha thought through her other memories. 

They'd all faded with time. When she remembered Mama’s smile, or the secretly affectionate way Mother Koril would shake her head in disapproval, the images were blurrier. 

Sometimes she wondered if she remembered them as they truly were at all or if it was only the desire that remained. 

“We had this dessert called spice creams. They were a blue cookie with frosting on top and decorated with flower petals. 

“Not like the drug, obviously. Though debatable with the way Mae and I loved them. The name would make you think they tasted spicy. But they were sweet. They had cinnamon and sugar. Other ingredients I can't remember.” 

Spice creams were meant to be for special occasions, like the Ascension ceremony. Yet the coven found many reasons to celebrate after they escaped persecution and were blessed with Osha and Mae. 

A miracle, they would say. 

Osha wished she knew how to make spice creams now. Maybe tasting one would help her remember her mothers. Yet as a child, she never had the patience for baking or time in the kitchen. Neither did Mae. Together, they might have been able to figure it out. 

“Qimir?” she whispered. He was quiet, and she began to think he had fallen asleep. Which was good. That told her he was alright, at least for now. 

Outside, it sounded like the rain had slowed. Osha let herself relax and stayed curled against the heat of Qimir's body. 

She told herself it was because of the cold, knowing that wasn't true at all. 

 

---

 

It took a while for Osha to fully wake. She was warm, drifting in and out of sleep—of thoughts blurred with dreams. 

There were the woods on Kuval. Three Jedi unmoving in the dirt. Qimir, holding her to his chest, his hand rubbing soothingly over her back. She clutched at the fabric of his cloak—trying to stay tethered. To the darkness. To him. She couldn't choose. His words were close to her ear. They had to go. 

She reached for him and found empty space. 

Her eyes opened. The cave was bright. Water dripped in a far corner, a steady tap, tap, tap. The blanket over her felt heavier, and when she rolled onto her back, she realized it was because Qimir had draped his blanket over her too. 

She pushed the blankets off and sat up, stretching. Her neck was sore, probably from how she slept. Then because she knew Qimir would later if she didn't, she folded the blankets into rectangles and stacked the two. 

Qimir had clearly left before she woke, and she wondered if that was intentional. If he would shut her out now, take a step back, or if things had changed between them. 

Her stomach ached—she ate little for dinner last night, and she got up to scrounge for leftovers. By the time she was ready for the day, walking down the steps of the cave to the beach, Qimir was still nowhere in sight. The island looked empty, a long, quiet stretch in both directions, apart from the crash of the waves. A skura chittered and ran behind a rock as she passed, startled by her presence. 

This didn’t concern her in theory. Qimir didn't always tell her where he was going, and neither did she tell him. They were on an island. It wasn't like there were many places to go, and they spent so much of their days together that alone time was beneficial. But it felt different after last night. It was the first time she felt needed by him in return. 

So with Qimir somewhere, Osha decided to take care of the other problem herself. She went south, in the direction she had seen Darth Plagueis yesterday. He must have a ship landed on the island if he was still here. There were sections she'd never been simply because there was nothing there but rock and a steep drop to the sea. 

The events of yesterday occupied her mind as she walked. It was hard to shake the feeling of the darkness that possessed her. She felt traces of it in the Force.

When Tasi dropped to her knees, Osha didn't know what she was doing. There was so much pain inside of her. She wanted the Jedi to leave her alone, and the pain consumed her. It manifested into something greater—uncontrollable. 

Qimir once warned her that when the Jedi discovered how powerful she was, she would meet the same fate as her mother. 

But if Osha was as powerful, couldn't she learn to wield that?

A rocky hill loomed in front of her. Osha scanned the surface for the easiest path and started the trek up. The rocks were damp from last night's rain, yet her boots supplied enough traction to keep her from slipping. Already, the sun warmed her skin. She wore a sleeveless tunic today and was sweating by the time she reached the top. 

There it was. That distinct presence in the dark side of the Force. 

The pull to power. 

Osha stopped at the top of the hill to catch her breath. Behind her, the waves crashing over the rocky shore looked smaller. 

The stretch of land in front of her was flat and covered in a short grass. She walked on, aware of her surroundings and listening to the Force. He wasn't far now. 

She would find him, make him leave, and Qimir would never have to know. 

A grouping of large rocks was to her left, piled there like a giant had dropped them, and Osha turned that way. 

Around the corner stood Darth Plagueis, gazing out at the sea. The hood of his black cloak was up. A Sith Lord who wouldn't bother with any form of light. 

“Beautiful isn't it, Verosha?” he asked in his deep, smooth tone. “The strength of the sea.” 

His back was to her, and her hand hovered near the hilt of her lightsaber at her belt. 

“Why are you still here?” Osha called. She wanted to sound threatening, and she did. 

Darth Plagueis turned. His long face and flat nose were shadowed by his hood. His eyes burned a weaker yellow, offset by the sunlight. 

“I suspect I'm here for the same reason as you.” 

“I doubt that. What is your reason?” Osha didn't move. If this came to a duel, the distance would help her. 

“To learn, of course. Aren't you hungry to learn?” He took a step toward her, studying her. “You're different from the last time we spoke. That much is clear.” 

“I'm the same. Except now I'm asking for a second time for you to leave.”

“No, you know it too. The dark side laps at you like the waves.” He turned to look behind him, seeming to acknowledge the view, then turned back to Osha. “Tell me. Do you know how powerful you are now?”

“I’ve known my power for a long time.”

Which wasn’t true. Before meeting Qimir, she spent years doubting her abilities. Then latching onto Tasi’s mind—she didn’t know she could until she did. This was power greater than she'd seen in any Jedi. A power no Jedi would dare use. 

Darth Plagueis sighed. “If you're honest with me, we can have an honest conversation, Verosha. There is only so much time in the day, and us Muuns are busy.” 

“Then you tell me something honest first.” Osha shifted her stance. Her body was tense.

Darth Plagueis considered, and she felt the weight of his burning gaze.

“I'll tell you this,” he said. “When you experience the true strength of the dark side, you will think you are dying. You will think it will kill you. Sound familiar?”

Osha’s hand still grazed the side of her lightsaber, and she let it drop to her side. 

The dark side had stolen her vision and the air from her lungs. She felt like it would burn her alive. 

“Now, you tell me something honest,” Darth Plagueis said, encouraging.  

“It's…familiar.”

“Good. What new power have you discovered?”

Osha began to shake her head, a refusal forming on her lips. She didn't speak aloud, but Mother Aniseya came to mind.

In the coven, Mother Aniseya was known for her strong connection to the Thread. She created life, could summon shadows, and use them to transform. She knew how to get inside heads, and together, the other witches could combine their powers to do the same. 

“Sorcery is known to be one of the purest expressions of the dark side of the Force,” Darth Plagueis said. “I'll even admit it's not an expression I've grasped.”

A warm breeze passed through, and Osha felt her locs brush her cheek. 

“How did you know?” she asked. He'd never seen her use her powers. Training with Qimir maybe, which the thought of left a bad taste in her mouth. Yet to the extent on Kuval, never. 

Darth Plagueis smiled at her beneath his hood. It was more a baring of teeth. “I do now.” 

Osha's heart felt heavy in her chest. “I should go,” she said, quieter than she intended. She meant to leave. She did. Yet she only managed a step back. 

“Sorcery is a form of creation, Verosha.” Darth Plagueis took a step toward her, the end of his cloak ruffled by the breeze. “I'm interested in creation. What do you know about midi-chlorians?” 

“They're…” Osha started to shake her head. The sun was warm, and her mouth felt dry. “They're what make someone Force sensitive.” 

As a child, she was tested aboard the Jedi’s ship. Torbin, a Padawan at the time, poked her arm for a blood sample. A blood test would have told the Jedi her M-Count and that she was strong enough in the Force to be trained. That test was likely how Master Sol learned Osha and Mae had the same symbionts too.

“That's correct,” Darth Plagueis said. “Midi-chlorians are essential to my research. Someday, with your help, I could use them to create life.”

“I don't understand,” Osha said. “Why me?” 

He gazed at her for a moment. His translucent skin seemed grey under the shadow of his hood. 

“Because you were created in the Force too. You and your sister.” 

“But why?” Osha pressed. Her hand hovered near her saber. “Why do you need to create life? I’d assume the Sith are more interested in death.” 

Darth Plagueis laughed, a low sound. “Muuns have three hearts, but they don't beat forever. If I change that, I will change the future.” 

“What future?”

“The future of the galaxy, of course. Of the Jedi Order.”

This interested Osha. For all the time she and Qimir spent training, it still felt like a fight for survival. That wouldn't save Mae. It wouldn't stop the Jedi from doing what they did to her to another.  

“So you have a plan,” Osha said. “What is this plan?” 

A grey-feathered bird landed on the nearby rocks, and Darth Plagueis watched it for a moment. The bird flapped its wings and flew away. He looked back at Osha. 

“The Sith have operated in secret for hundreds of years. A true Sith, such as myself, descends from Darth Bane. Things are in motion already. Things that no one but me are privy to.” 

Darth Plagueis began to walk toward her, and Osha reached for her saber. But he was only moving to sit on a rock. He leaned back, comfortable. 

“Another question for you, Verosha,” he said, studying her. “Who holds the power? You or your master?” 

Osha kept her hand on the hilt of her saber. “We're equals, so it’s not how you think. We support each other.”

“Equality does not exist. Support is a thinly veiled way to say feel. Deeply? Compassion has no use for the Sith.”

Her face flushed. “He is my teacher.” 

“Ah,” Darth Plagueis said. “So you are the one who craves. Disappointing.” 

“No,” Osha said. “I'm being trained.”

Qimir had more experience with the Force. Osha had spent the past six years letting her connection fade. Jedi skills weren't exactly transferable to work as a meknek. It had less to do with power than it did with potential. Already, her skills had improved. 

“No, you're lying to yourself. In every dynamic, there is one who holds the power and one who craves it. This is the way the Sith have survived.”

“We are not Sith.” 

“It isn't only true of the Sith.” Darth Plagueis leaned forward. “You need to decide which you want to be, Verosha. Always reaching for something you'll never have? Or the one with the power?” 

Osha stepped toward him, her hand on her saber. “I have power.” 

“You will limit it if you only seek to be as powerful as your master. You need someone whose abilities are a match for your own if you wish to truly learn. Together,” he said, gesturing between the two of them with his long fingers, “we could carve a new future. Don’t you want to save the galaxy from itself? From the Jedi?” 

She exhaled, glancing over her shoulder. There was nothing to see there, only grass and the distant waves beyond the edge. Darth Plagueis still wanted her as his apprentice. But she had Qimir. She chose Qimir and trusted him. He trusted her. 

“Why would it be any different with you?” she asked. “I'm sure you think you hold the power.” 

“Because I believe in a new age for the Sith. My goals extend beyond that.” 

Osha was shaking her head again. “How do you even know power is what I want? You come here and assume things. Like you know me, but you don't.” 

At first, she wanted to survive—to leave Brendok and go somewhere safe, where she could train and hone her abilities. And now that she was doing that, she did wonder what came next. Could she save Mae? 

Power could bring every Jedi to their knees for what they did to her family. 

She wanted to taste it again. 

“You wouldn't still be standing here if you didn't want to learn from me,” Darth Plagueis said. “See? Already we are learning from each other.” 

“I don't want to learn from you.”

“It's a little late for that.” 

Osha felt anger swirl inside her now. He was trying to get inside her head, and she wouldn't let him. But if he was going to take from her, she would take back. 

“Fine,” she said. “Then teach me something my master can't. Right now.”

“Hmm.” Darth Plagueis adjusted his cloak and stood. Again, she was reminded of his height. He gazed at her, his yellow eyes alight. 

“To gain the true power of the dark side,” he said, “you must lose yourself. It’s not enough to feel your emotions. Give in. Become removed from yourself and let the dark side take your place.”

Osha stared back, watchful. She should tell him to leave, remind him he wasn't welcome. 

“And then what?” she asked. 

Darth Plagueis seemed pleased. “Then you will be reborn.”

 

---

 

Osha watched the foam of the waves fall over the rocks. Qimir's ship was visible in the distance, and it reflected the sunlight in a blinding way. 

She was back near the cave and feeling restless. Darth Plagueis was right. The dark side was with her, and it wanted her. Whereas the Force was a companion she could call on, its dark side was a whisper growing louder. 

It teased, and it spoke of potential. 

It urged her to do…something. 

To lose herself? 

There must be a way to do so without losing control. If the dark side felt like dying, there was a way to survive it. 

She wanted to feel like she did after Kuval again, and she wanted it to last. When the weakness wore off and she realized her pain was her own to wield—a burden became a tool. 

She needed to learn to control her power. That much was true. 

Osha closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. 

The night she tried meditating, her mind went to Master Sol and to Mae. To the yellow blooms of the bunta tree. The past had held her back for sixteen years, yet she was ready to go forward. 

Think of yourself diving into a great ocean.  

The water was cold. A darkness of a different form. She dove deeper than she ever did. The blood in her veins froze, and the flames of the past warmed her. 

There was no air to breathe. Her lungs were filling. She kept her hold on the darkness and let it pull her under. 

“Osha."

She startled, opening her eyes and blinking against the harsh sunlight. 

The darkness faded slowly. It left an absence. That whisper. A wanting for more.  

She turned and found Qimir a short distance away. He stood watching her. For a second, she despised him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

The whisper cut out. 

Osha blinked again. Her heart thumped steady in her chest. There was concern in the way he looked at her. 

Then she remembered her own worries. Last night, how he reached for her and was gone when she woke. 

She walked toward him. “How are you doing?” He looked like he usually did, in a sleeveless tunic with his hair tucked behind his ears. No sign of the restless night he had or where he was this morning. If she didn’t wake, she never would have suspected anything was wrong. 

“Fine,” he said, some of his tension easing. “Do you have your lightsaber?” 

“Yes,” she said. More confused now. It was at her belt and in plain sight. “Why?” 

“For training.”

Osha stood in front of him. They still hadn't trained with real sabers, instead focusing on combat with the practice sabers and her usage of the Force. 

She was ready to get started. 

“What mistake did you make yesterday when the Jedi attacked?” he asked. The sun was hot where they stood, with no shade. 

There were a lot of ways she could answer that question. She chose the most obvious. “I couldn’t control my power.” 

If she could, would the confrontation with the Jedi have ended differently? Unlikely. They wanted to take her to Coruscant. Even if she managed to escape, it wouldn’t be safe. They would have reported back to Vernestra and the Council. 

“No,” said Qimir. 

“No?” Osha’s brows furrowed. “Then—”

“You didn't reach for your lightsaber.” Qimir nodded his head toward it, hanging from her belt. 

“But I used the Force instead.” The dark side of the Force. It was how she killed Tasi. 

“You threw your hands in front of you and were fortunate I was there.” A breeze blew, ruffling his hair and the fabric of his tunic. “What if I wasn't?” 

“You were there.” He had collected Tasi's lightsaber and killed the other two Jedi before she even understood what she was doing. 

“What if I wasn't?” he asked. His gaze was intense, and she forced herself to meet it. “Tell me what would happen then.” 

“Then…” She would be on Coruscant, imprisoned for her use of the dark side and awaiting trial. Or, simply put: she would be dead. “I don't know.” 

“You do know, but you don't want to say it.”

“Then you say it,” she pushed back. 

He was unwavering, the look on his face sharp. “How do you improve if you refuse to acknowledge your mistakes?”

She stared at him. Her eyes were glassy, more out of frustration than anything. “How was it a mistake if I wasn't ready? You’re the one training me.” 

“The Jedi don’t care if you're ready, Osha. You lost control of your emotions, so they sensed the dark side in you. Then you chose to defend yourself with a method you can't control.” 

“I still killed a Jedi,” she insisted. 

“Intentionally?” His voice raised on the question. 

Normally he wasn't this forceful with her, like she might have expected after he pressed and pressed until she admitted she failed as a Jedi her first day here. He challenged her, never went easy, but this felt different. 

The danger had been real. 

She swiped a tear from her eye before it could fall.

“I’m not trying to scare you, Osha,” he said, softer. There was more sympathy in his gaze. A stray piece of hair brushed his cheek with the breeze. “But you need to know how to protect yourself. Part of that is making the right decision in the moment. Fair enough?”

“Okay,” she said, blinking away the rest of her tears. She knew she reacted poorly, escalated the situation herself, but it bothered her that this was the way he chose to go about that. In a way, her power did work. 

“Now,” he said, taking a step back. The rocks crunched under his boots. “Show me your ready stance.” 

She sniffled. “We've been training for weeks.” 

Qimir nodded. “I want to see how you hold your lightsaber. The weight is different.” 

Osha glanced at him again before taking her lightsaber from her belt. This was something a youngling would learn and almost felt like punishment after the combat training they had been doing. 

But whatever. She would show him. As far as he knew, she hadn't used a lightsaber since her broad swing at him on Brendok.

Aware of his gaze, Osha got into position. Her right foot went back because it was her dominant, and she held the hilt so the blade would be vertical if she was to ignite it. 

“Your knees should be bent,” he said. 

“I never said I was done.”

“If you take this long, you'll bore your opponent into finding someone else to duel.” 

She looked at him, more of a glare, and found his brows raised. He wanted a reaction. 

“Good,” he said once she bent her knees. 

She moved to stand normally, feeling a little better that she could at least do that right. Her palms were sweaty, and she wiped them on the front of her tunic. The waves crashed behind her. They would be cool. “What's next?” she asked. 

“Show me how you defend yourself.” 

Like she didn’t yesterday, apparently. 

The defensive stance was similar to the ready stance. In both, you held your lightsaber vertically. It was meant to be seen as a warning. The only difference was you kept your feet spaced evenly. Her lightsaber's metal hilt was warm from the sun, and she adjusted her grip.

“Okay,” Osha said. She found it hard to believe he would find anything to critique, but she would play along. 

Qimir came closer, and she waited as he checked the main points of the stance from her hand placement on the hilt to how she stood, knees bent this time. 

Standing still, she was all the more aware of him. How tall he was. Strong—his arms lined with muscle. He was studying her stance, not her exactly, but it was hard to keep still when she was aware of his gaze on every part of her. 

“Do you want to know why you shouldn’t do this?” he asked.

She glanced at him. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.” 

This was how the Jedi taught her. After training with Qimir, her combat style was a weird blend of the Jedi’s, his, and the skills ingrained in her as a child. Yet with a real lightsaber in hand, she resorted to what she learned as a Padawan. 

He waited a moment, his eyes on her. The silence got her to look at him, only the crash of the waves audible behind. 

“Yes, I want to know,” she said, with less of a tone. 

That was what he wanted. 

“Remember, this is how you're standing when your opponent comes toward you,” he continued. “If it's fast, you may only have seconds to react. What do you do then?”

Osha said the first thing that came to mind: “I swing toward them to block.” If she was being attacked, there was nothing else to do but block. 

“Show me,” he said. 

She glanced at him and found the entirety of his focus on her. He nodded in encouragement. A breeze blew, her locs swaying. It was warm and provided little relief. 

“Like this,” she said, swinging the hilt to block. With her feet spaced evenly, she didn't step forward. That influenced the direction. 

Qimir watched, considering, then held out his hand after she reset. “Can I?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

He wrapped his fingers over her wrist. It was a firm grip, and she felt the heat of his skin on hers. Closer together, she could smell sweat on him and feel the heat of his body. She was probably no different. 

“When you swung, where was your strength coming from?” She looked at his face, unsure if that was a question she was meant to answer. He squeezed her wrist to direct her attention. “Your arms, mostly, as your feet were locked in place.” 

He demonstrated, using his grip on her wrist to swing her lightsaber hilt toward his chest. She stumbled slightly, rocks shifting beneath her boots. 

“How comfortable is that?” he asked. 

“Not very.” 

“Right, but it should be.” Qimir let go of her wrist, and she fixed her grip on the hilt. “Your first swing can determine the course of the entire duel. So it's essential that you make it count.”

She listened, losing any of her residual anger to the calm of his voice. He was a good teacher, and often, she thought she liked him best like this. Focused, but not so much that he forgot her. 

“But,” he said, moving his hand to her waist, “see what happens when you place your foot behind.” She was hot already, but his hand practically burned through the fabric of her tunic. His fingers pressed into her so she'd step back, and her breath hitched. 

Of course, he noticed. 

“You okay, Osha?” he asked, and she swore his voice was lower. Her eyes found his. 

“Fine,” she said. If her cheeks felt warmer, she could blame the sun. 

Qimir's gaze lingered on her. It was impossible to know what he was thinking, though she wondered. 

The moment passed when his attention went back to her stance. 

“With your foot behind, you have the strength for a more powerful swing.” His touch was lighter, and she adjusted her foot on her own. He removed his hand. “Show me.” 

There was little space between them, so when she naturally stepped forward to swing, it was weak. 

“That's the best you can do? Reset.” 

“You're in the way,” she said, swiping at the sweat above her lip. 

“I don't care.” 

She looked at him again and found him waiting. His forehead was beaded with sweat too, the silky strands of his hair damp like he'd gone swimming. 

So she did what he said, adjusting her grip on her lightsaber hilt. When she swung forward, he took her wrist and pulled her, forcing a stronger swing. The hilt hit his chest.

“How did that feel?” he asked.

Osha met his gaze. The brown of his eyes was so deep, they often looked black. But under the sun, she could see warmer flecks. 

“Better,” she said. “But then that's just a ready stance.” 

“That's right. Always be ready. And now you know not to rely on anything the Jedi taught you without reconsidering it.”

She released a frustrated breath. “I could have told you that.” He still held her wrist and lightsaber to his chest. With the way her hand lay, she could feel his heartbeat, fast.

“Maybe, but once you know the rules, you get to break them. Isn't that fun?” 

This didn't impress her, though her body buzzed from how close they stood. 

“If that's your idea of fun, then sure."

He smirked. “What's yours, Osha?” 

They stared at each other, and it was almost unbearable the way she felt drawn to him. She always equated this to the Force. But she didn’t think the Force had anything to do with how she noticed the freckle below his cheekbone or the stubble along his jaw and above the slight turn of his lips. 

His lips looked soft.

Her gaze went back to Qimir's eyes, and she saw he had a similar focus himself.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” she asked. His gaze returned to hers, and he loosened his grip on her wrist. 

“What am I doing?” He sounded teasing. 

Osha didn't think he was so innocent either, and she ran her tongue over her lip, just to see—watching as his eyes dropped again briefly. 

“I thought we were training,” he said. 

“Sure,” she said and moved to step back, taking her lightsaber with her. He released her wrist so she could. 

“Osha,” he said, and she felt his gaze.

She'd turned to the sea and held her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. A large wave crashed over the rocks, seawater flying up. 

Maybe she was just desperate. Her only other options for company were a Sith Lord and the skura. 

“Hey,” he said. 

She turned back to him, the rocks crunching under her boots. The fabric of her tunic clung to her skin, and she pulled it free, trying to cool off. 

Her gaze flickered from his face to his bare arms, lingering on the lines of his muscles. 

“When are we going to train with the Force?” she asked. 

Whatever he was about to say, this question seemed to surprise him. “We have trained with the Force. Many times.”

“That's not what I mean. My power, it's like my mother's. I need to learn to use it.” 

His lips parted like he was about to speak, but was hesitant. “What you need is to be more careful with it.” 

“But if I can learn to control it, I don't see what the big deal is.” 

He tilted his head. “Need I remind you what happened when you wore my helmet? Or on Kuval?” 

When she wore his helmet, she mistook herself for Mae, killing Sol. The helmet was just her and the Force. The dark side found her, wanted her, and Qimir had removed the helmet from her head when it became too much—just as he pulled her back on Kuval. 

But the difference was, with Kuval—she realized that power could be hers to hold. 

“Because I need you to train me,” she said. 

“I am training you.” Qimir gestured between them. “That's all we've been doing.”

Debatable as of a few minutes ago, but she wouldn't mention it. Still, she didn't see why Qimir of all people would shy away at the chance of something greater. Something useful. 

“It could help us against the Jedi. Why are you limiting what I can do?”

“I'm not limiting you. You're not ready.” 

That's what it felt like, though. From weeks of training with practice sabers to today, revisiting a lesson she learned over a decade ago. If the Jedi were so dangerous, she would need to be dangerous too. They couldn't hide on Bal'demnic forever. 

“Is it because you're jealous?” she asked. 

“Jealous?” He was taken aback. “Of what?” 

“My power.”

Qimir couldn't use sorcery like her, and as Darth Plagueis said, it was one of the purest expressions of the dark side. Darth Plagueis didn't seem to mind that he couldn't. If she mastered sorcery, she could become more powerful than Qimir. 

More powerful than both of them. 

“Well, I'm not,” said Qimir. “I don't know why you would think that. I'm training you to survive, Osha. The Jedi killed your mother, remember.”

She stiffened, her voice lowering. “Oh, like I could forget.”

Her mother was killed for the same power, and he warned her of that on Brendok too. 

That was why she needed this. To use her power against the Jedi. No one she loved could ever be hurt again. 

“Osha,” he said. There was sympathy to his gaze that she didn't want. 

“No,” she said, her grip on her lightsaber tighter. “Whatever it is you’re about to say, I don't agree.” 

She turned to walk down the beach, and he didn't stop her. 

 

---

 

Osha stayed on the beach until the sun began to set. 

She went for a swim, wading out into the actual sea rather than the lagoon they bathed in. The rush of the waves was a good distraction and a welcome relief from the day's heat. 

Though she tried not to, she spent most of that time thinking about Qimir. 

The Jedi would always be a threat. She didn't understand why he was so adamant about her power. At least with it, they would have a stronger weapon against the Jedi. Training would ensure she could use the dark side to its full potential. 

Maybe the moment with his helmet and then her breakdown on Kuval made him think she was incapable. If he thought it was too dangerous… She pushed the thought aside. 

Qimir never backed down from danger. On Khofar, he seemed to relish in it, taunting the Jedi and disrespecting the rules they followed—the rules he would know. 

He said it himself—she needed to know how to protect herself without him. 

Why would this be any different? 

She knew he was more strict with Mae, after all. They'd talked about their deal a little. How she was meant to kill a Jedi without a weapon to complete her journey. That didn't sound like a partnership or a strong foundation for the power of two. He wouldn't even show her his face. 

For years, she hung on Master Sol's every word and followed him blindly, only for the truth to cut through her like a dagger. Qimir may be her teacher, but she wasn't a child now and would make her own decisions. If his instruction no longer served her, there was nothing to keep her here. 

Except that she liked the monotony of the routine they'd fallen into. 

She liked him.  

This led to other thoughts that even the waves couldn't wash away. 

Thoughts involving Qimir's hands on her. Where else he might touch her and what it would feel like to touch him. She'd seen enough that little was left to her imagination. Once the thoughts started, they didn't stop. 

Maybe that was a mistake.

She was used to a life defined by the temporary. As a meknek, crew members came and went. Assignments changed. Connections were over drinks and only for a night. 

It had never occurred to her that there might be an end date with Qimir because up until now, she never wondered whether there should be. 

But she and Qimir didn't just live together. They were united for a purpose. There were more pressing concerns. Mae was with the Jedi, and presumably, being used by Master Vernestra to find them. 

If she did, they would need to be prepared.

 

---

 

In the cave, Osha found Qimir sitting on the floor near the workbench. 

His lightsaber was in his hand, and she figured he was repairing it. An array of parts and tools were scattered around him. 

She stood by the cave's entrance, lingering like she had to be invited in. It felt like an apology was owed, but from who she didn't know. Something had changed, and yet everything was the same. 

The air smelled faintly of herbs, and the lanterns were on, bathing the cave and Qimir in that warm, orange glow. A color she'd come to associate with quiet evenings.  

“Hi,” he said, looking up at her. “I was starting to wonder if you were lost.” 

“Surprised I came back?” She had never seriously considered leaving. But she wanted to know what he thought of the possibility. 

His face didn't change. “Are you?”

“No. I'm here to train.” 

“You've said that. Why else would you be here, Osha?” He scanned the floor in front of him and picked up one of the lightsaber parts. 

“I just think if you expect me to stay, I expect you to train me.” She crossed her arms under her chest. Her tunic was damp after her swim, and it didn't help that the temperature dropped with the sun. 

“Sounds fair to me.” His gaze found her again. “Do you feel like I'm going too easy on you?”

“Yes.” 

He nodded, his head tilted like he intended to return to his work but rather look at her. “That I can fix.”

She suppressed a shiver. “Good.”

Qimir's attention shifted to his lightsaber, and she watched for a moment as he reinserted the part he'd picked up. 

The sun was set now, so she went across the cave to find something warmer to wear. Her belongings were in the same place by the forgotten bed. Yet she kept them in a crate now instead of her bag. More permanent. Rummaging through, she looked for anything long-sleeved. 

The first she found was Qimir’s.  

Without checking if he was watching, Osha pulled her damp tunic over her head. Her back was to him anyway, and she didn't care. The air was cold on her skin. She pulled her arms through the long-sleeved tunic, feeling warmer already from the thicker fabric. 

When she turned, pushing the sleeves up to her wrists, Qimir wasn't looking at her. She'd known what she was doing, but his focus was on his lightsaber. 

“There's dinner if you're hungry,” he said, when she walked close enough. He glanced at her as she sat on the cave floor across from him. 

“I'll eat later."

Qimir held the hilt of his lightsaber, and she saw he'd soldered the cut edge of it to replace the damage from his duel with Master Sol. It reminded her of the rough look of his cortosis helmet. Uneven, melted metal combined the old and new. 

“You don't like your new clothing?” 

His voice interrupted her thoughts, and her gaze drifted to his face.

“You're wearing my shirt,” he clarified, his eyes on her.  

So he did notice. Not that it was hard to miss. The sleeves were too long, and the fabric slid off her shoulder whenever she didn't fasten it all the way.  

“You can have it back.” She didn't think he cared. 

“No, keep it on.”

“That's not what I said.” 

Qimir’s gaze remained on hers, and he waited a moment before speaking. “I know. Wouldn't want you to be cold, Osha.” 

She held his gaze, and he was first to look away. 

The parts of his Iightsaber were scattered around him. She recognized most from when she constructed her own as a youngling. While designs differed by user, certain elements remained the same. 

Qimir scanned his collection, selecting the kyber crystal. 

Red, like hers. 

Kyber crystals were responsible for giving lightsabers their color and unique feel. Everything from how they moved to how they hummed. 

The truth was enough for Osha to bleed Master Sol's blue crystal herself. She'd never felt so much agony. 

It was like losing Mae, her mothers, and her coven all over again, only through a new perspective. Felt entirely; free of the lies of the man she had trusted and loved and killed.

Captivating to watch. Painful to experience. 

“Did you bleed your crystal?” she asked, quietly because she knew it was a personal question. But she remembered the way Qimir looked at her at that moment. 

Like he understood.

“Yes,” he said. She felt the weight of that word and all that it carried. 

He inserted the kyber crystal into the hilt of his lightsaber. 

“What do you want from all of this?” 

“I'm not sure what you mean.” He was still working with the kyber crystal, adjusting its position with the Force. 

“I mean, you don't think of yourself as a Sith, right?” 

He paused to look at her. “No. Why would you ask that?” 

“Isn't that what the Jedi would call us?” 

The galaxy was in an era of peace, so the Sith were never a large part of her lessons. The Jedi didn't dwell on the past. When discussed, however, they were synonymous to the dark side. Their supposed defeat proved the strength of the light. 

“Likely.” Qimir peered into the hilt. “But it's easy for the Jedi to put a name to something they don't understand. What I want is freedom. To use my power how I like, rather than by the rules the Jedi dictate.” 

Osha thought of her own power. Sorcery, Darth Plagueis had referred to it as. In her coven, it was merely the work of the Thread. The witches didn't view the Thread as a power to be wielded. Instead, it was a connection between all living things. It transcended good and evil, light and dark. 

Qimir didn't want her to use all of her power; or at least, thought she wasn't ready. It was hard to see the freedom in that. 

“If we're not Sith, then do we have another name?” she asked. 

He looked at her. His hair was brushed back from his forehead, stray hairs falling to frame his face. She assumed he'd bathed when she was on the beach. His tunic was long-sleeved now too. 

“I have no name,” he said. 

Osha shifted how she sat, pulling up her knees to rest her arms on them. “Don't you want one?”

His head tilted. “Why do I need one?” 

There was power in a name. To have a name was to be known. “It sounds lonely to me, to not have one.”

Qimir's gaze dropped for a moment, then found her. If her estimate was right, he'd spent a decade on his own after leaving the smugglers and before meeting Mae. 

For as alone as she'd felt throughout her life, she never was entirely. Whether that be with her coven, the Jedi, or her meknek crew—she was always a part of something.

Master Vernestra took that from Qimir when she threw him away. He still hadn't mentioned her, but Osha didn't want to be the one to bring it up when it was his story to tell. 

“You could be considered an Acolyte,” Qimir said. “The Jedi live in a dream. An Acolyte challenges that. You did when you killed Sol without a weapon.”

“Then what does that make you?” 

“Your teacher,” he said, picking up another lightsaber part. This one was a conductor. She watched as he snapped it inside the hilt and then picked up the other. 

He had wanted a pupil. At first, Osha refused, thinking he was ridiculous for asking. She remembered the rare chill in the air that day, the salt from the waves, the vision in the helmet she failed to understand. 

After she killed Master Sol, he was her place to turn with nowhere to go, handing back her lightsaber and covering her thumb with his own. Mae had asked what she wanted, and she wanted to train. 

“Does that make me your Acolyte?” 

Qimir was looking at his lightsaber, but at her question, his eyes found her. They were at their darkest now, under the lantern light. When he spoke, his voice was low, and she felt it the same. 

"It does." There was something new in his gaze that made her body run warm. “Do you want to be mine, Osha?”

She held his gaze and was aware of the line they were teetering. It was crossed already in her case, by way of thoughts. Rather than answer, she did what he would. “Is that what you want?”

He looked at her still, and she wondered if he was considering. Maybe he already knew. The many versions of him made it hard to be certain. He bit his bottom lip, his eyes on her, then dropped his gaze to the hilt of his lightsaber. 

Osha watched as he snapped the second conductor in place. 

“Peace is a lie,” he began. The sound of his voice was a texture she'd grown used to. “There is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power.” 

“What are you reciting?” she asked. 

“The Code of the Sith. They weren’t the best record keepers, so it was difficult to find.” His focus remained on his work, securing the conductors with the Force, and that left her to study him. The line of his jaw. The strands of hair that often fell across his face. She traced his shoulders to his hands. 

He'd changed the topic, but it didn't change the way she felt. 

Her body was still hot. Maybe she shouldn't have changed into the tunic so soon. His, she reminded herself. A conscious choice. 

“But you're not a Sith,” she said. Qimir's own words, and also a simple fact. Darth Plagueis was the only true Sith, descended from the line of Bane. The only way to become a Sith was to join him. 

“That doesn't mean it's not worth reading,” he said, glancing at her. “You should look into it, Osha.” 

She nodded, though she knew she wouldn't. It wasn't ideology she was interested in. She'd received enough from the Jedi to last a lifetime. It was action she wanted now, knowing the truth and knowing the Jedi had Mae. Even Qimir's desire for freedom seemed vague in comparison. 

Today's conversation with Darth Plagueis complicated how she saw her partnership with Qimir. Darth Plagueis claimed equality didn't exist. In some regard, that had to be true. Just as Qimir was more skilled in a duel, only she could utilize sorcery. 

Yet the power of two was a notion from her coven as well. The Thread could bind two or even many, as represented during the Rite of Ascension ceremony when the witches came together. Osha almost joined them. 

Ascension meant sacrificing part of yourself to become a part of something more, which scared her as a child. As an adult, she understood it was more of a symbol. 

“If,” Osha began slowly, “I'm an Acolyte, what does that make the power of two?” 

She was curious what it meant to him. Her first night here, he told her that was what he wanted with Mae. His mistake was thinking Mae wanted that too—more than revenge. 

“The power of two is exactly as it sounds,” Qimir said, picking up his lightsaber's energy lens. “It's a combining of powers.” He examined it, and she did too as he turned it between his long fingers. “Two will always be stronger than one against the Jedi and in a galaxy where they say we shouldn't exist.” 

He added the energy lens to the inside of the hilt. This took longer than the conductors, and he had to tilt it toward the light. 

“That's all?” 

The energy lens found its place, and Qimir lowered the hilt, holding it loosely in his hand. 

“The power of two is also having someone to feel with.” 

He looked at her, and she sensed the Force between them. A pull she could get lost in. Alive like the electric current that ran through the wires of the ships she used to fix. 

To touch it was to expect a spark. 

“Feel what?” she asked. Though, she didn't need to. Sitting here with him was answer enough. 

Qimir’s gaze flickered over her, then found its way back to her eyes—as it always did. 

“Everything.”

 

---

 

It was early, and though the sun had risen, the island wasn't hot yet. 

Osha walked down the beach without a destination in mind. The rocks crunched under her boots. Then the ground shifted to coarse, sinking sand.

Her steps slowed when she saw Qimir sitting on the shore, a short distance from the waves. 

“Hey,” she said, walking over. She took her time as she didn't know if he wanted to be alone. When she woke, he was already gone as he'd been every morning. “Are we going to train today?” 

Qimir turned to her, and she heard the soft crash of a wave crawling over the shore. 

“Hi,” he said, looking up at her. She scanned his face as she'd done the past couple of days. To check if he seemed more tired or if there was some other sign she was missing. “Why don't you sit, Osha?” 

He leaned back on his hands, waiting, and she sat beside him. A wave came up the shore, leaving damp sand in its place as it retreated. 

Qimir was quiet, and she glanced at him. His gaze was on the sand. He dragged his finger through it, then brushed the sand off. The breeze caught at the loose hair by his face. 

Osha waited with the waves for him to be ready. 

Another minute went by, and his eyes found hers. She saw sadness in them. Resolve. Herself reflected. 

“Eighteen years ago, I left the Jedi Order,” he said, his voice quiet and then stronger. 

He glanced at the sea and then back at her. Osha didn't look away once. 

“But not because I wanted to.”

 

Notes:

To be continued mwhaha.

Leave a comment if you'd like!? It can be hard to know how many people read chapter to chapter, but I always love to know your thoughts and say hello (hello, hi, hi, hi) <3

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Chapter 5: Known

Summary:

Her face softened, his name on the tip of her tongue. He was fifteen and left alone to die. There was nothing she could say to change that.

Qimir was too busy grabbing the collar of his tunic and pulling the fabric over his head to notice.

“Go look,” he said, dropping his tunic to the sand beside him.

Osha pressed her lips together. “I know what your scar looks like.”

--
Qimir shares his past.

Notes:

*Emerges from a mysterious fog two months later.* Hiiiiii! Remember me?

It has been… A Week to say the least and I hope you're doing okay. If anything, maybe this can give you a little break. So welcome (FINALLY) to the Qimir backstory special, dedicated to the tragedy enjoyers and the yearners.

Couple things:
- This chapter has brief spoilers for A Test of Courage.
- I made a playlist! You can listen here. The song order follows the plot so, do what you wish with that info.

Hopefully it was worth the wait! <3

“How old were you?” Osha asked. 

They watched as a bird swooped low to the sea's surface. To catch fish, maybe, though it flew up with an empty beak, water trailing from its feathers. 

She was eighteen when she left the Order. An adult, at least, but on reflection, life as a Padawan still sheltered her from much of the galaxy. Going from her coven to the Temple, she went from being cared for and taught by the witches to a life organized by the Jedi for her training. 

“Fifteen.” Qimir looked at her again, his gaze steady on hers. “We were on a research mission. Myself, my master, and three other Jedi.” 

“Vernestra.” 

He tilted his head. “You knew?” 

Osha shrugged, moving her hand to the sand to lean back. The grains were still cool from the night. “I made the connection. I…don't know her well. She was friends with Sol. And, I met with her on Coruscant when we were searching for Mae. A couple of other times as a Padawan.” 

The meeting was short, almost clinical. Vernestra asked about Mae and ran through the logistics of accompanying the Jedi as a civilian. She was the one to approve the Khofar mission and expressed sympathy for not taking in Mae after the fire. If only we'd known. 

If only I'd known, Osha thought. 

For as long as Osha was with the Jedi, Vernestra never had a Padawan or spoke as if she'd lost hers. Now, looking at Qimir, she supposed she knew why. 

“What were you like then?” she asked.

She tried to picture a younger version of him. His face less defined by age. Without the few strands of silver in his hair she only ever noticed under the sun. Unsure of his abilities and of himself. Not yet the man beside her. 

Qimir studied her too. “The Jedi often expected me to be as impressive as my master.”

“Were you?” 

He answered immediately. “Of course.” 

His certainty made her laugh. 

“You don't believe me?” A fondness crossed his face that she had to look away from. 

The bird had returned, flying low over the waves. Osha watched as it dove into the water. There was a fish in its beak when it emerged—still alive, tail flapping. 

“No, I do,” she said, turning back to him. “Don't let that go to your head.”

He smiled.

“But I figured you would be more of a problem for the Jedi." She was from the first day, refusing to talk with anyone but Master Sol until he insisted, probably so the Council would let her stay. 

Then, she went from one emotion to the next. Mourning the loss of her coven. Angry because of Mae. 

Over time, she adapted and made a friend in Yord. The routine of training and lessons was good for her, but she was known to lash out on occasion at the other younglings. With Mae, she had to prove herself to differentiate herself. The Jedi didn't see the value in competition. 

“You assume both things can't be true.” Qimir's smile was slight, but it made her realize his feelings toward the Jedi were more complex than he led her to believe. He had happier memories too. 

It was happier memories that made the fall worse. 

“So what,” Osha began. Seawater crawled up the shore, soaking into the sand. “Vernestra was the only one who could handle you?” 

His skill in the Force today was impressive. Skill required control. She remembered how the smugglers on Kuval spoke of him, as if he had worn his anger on his sleeve. Control came with time. Often, age. She was almost twenty five and still learning. 

Qimir nodded. “You could say that. I reminded her of someone, really.”

“Were you close?”

It was hard to rely on your master and not be. Compassion was central to the Jedi way. That was the catch—the Jedi Code still forbade attachment.

He met her eyes. “Master and pupil is a special relationship.”

His answer was an echo of what he once told her by the lagoon, his hair damp from bathing, and the hilt of his saber gripped in her hand. It was their relationship now, and his gaze seemed to acknowledge that, warm and on her like the morning sun.

Special could mean a lot of things. 

Osha didn't let that distract her. He looked at her a second more, then back at the sea. She saw his jaw tense; he was chewing on the inside of his lip. 

The scar on his back wasn't an injury done by accident. There was intent. 

“So special that she had to kill you.”

 

---

 

A young boy stood on the corner, wailing. 

He couldn't be more than two or three, upset about something unclear to the eye. His mother held his pudgy hand in her own, trying to get him to move. When he wouldn't, she bent down to pick him up, but the boy thrashed against her and went back to his piercing cry. 

The boy was still crying as Qimir tore his gaze away to Master Vernestra, now paces ahead on the cobblestone street. Her brown Jedi robes flowed with her. He hurried after her and the other Jedi. Dahn, a blonde Jedi Knight, glanced over his shoulder with a smug smile as Qimir rejoined the group. 

“Try and keep up, Padawan.” 

Dahn was more than a decade older, and most days, Qimir found it surprising he passed his trials at all. Yet that didn't keep Dahn from acting as if he held any real authority, especially next to Vernestra. 

Maybe Qimir was slightly jealous too. Dahn could grow a beard while Qimir was stuck studying the hairs above his lip every night to see if they'd grown at all. But only he knew that. Jealousy wasn't the way of the Jedi, and anyhow, it'd be an embarrassing thing to admit. 

Qimir stayed with the group as best as he could with his split focus, mindful of the uneven street and the attention of the locals as they passed. 

Udut was in the Mid Rim and known as a slow, quiet planet to make a life. The Udutians respected nature, and their town coexisted with it. Greenery sprouted through the cracks in the street, and vines crawled up the stone buildings. 

They relied on local resources and their own farming, so there wasn't much need for trade. This meant visitors were rare, but not by any means unwelcome. As the Jedi passed through, many Udutians paused to watch and offer a hello before carrying on. A visit by the Jedi implied Udut was special in some way, which it was.

Udut was home to albeks, and they were here to study them.

The research itself would be boring, Vernestra told Qimir. Well, boring wasn't the word she used. Instead, she described the mission as an opportunity for observation. Qimir took this to mean long days spent in the jungle, recording notes on datapads for the experts to review later. 

It couldn't be much worse than his prior missions. Those mostly entailed standing in finer robes next to Vernestra as she stood next to those dressed even finer. Politics could be exhausting. A few multi-course meals was all it took for Qimir to learn no one actually said what they meant until they were three glasses of wine deep, and by that point, no one would remember the next day. 

The Jedi, of course, weren't politicians themselves. Yet their role in the galaxy as beacons of light often gave them a seat at the table. This was true for Vernestra in particular. She was a high-ranking Jedi herself, and there were rumors at the Temple that she would soon take the liaison position between the High Council and the Galactic Senate. 

Qimir knew this to be true. His master was well respected and would have decades ago if not for her devotion to the Force over other matters. Many were surprised when she took Qimir as her Padawan. She'd been a Jedi for almost a century, and throughout that time, he was only her second. 

He remembered the day they joined almost three years ago. Many of his peers were already selected to become a Padawan. Qimir was the last, and he'd felt special, walking into her office and shaking the hand of someone so important—someone who chose him.  

They were headed out to the Udut jungle now. Research didn’t begin officially until tomorrow, but today, they would familiarize themselves with the area. 

The crying boy stuck with Qimir as he stepped around a dislodged stone. When he turned to look, the boy and his mother were out of sight. 

Sadness was heavy in a way that differed from other emotions. Anger burned. Fear was dizzying. The Jedi knew to balance their emotions, so anything from a non-Force-user was stronger to him by default. There wasn't this much to be felt at the Temple. 

And, not everyone was happy on Udut. A man walked briskly down the street, briefcase in hand, bleeding frustration that felt like a pinch. 

A Bith stood on the other streetside, dressed in tailored clothes that didn't match the casual style of the locals. He watched as the Jedi passed too, but from him, Qimir couldn't sense any emotion. 

There was anger somewhere. An argument? The street itself was quiet yet lined by two-story shops with living quarters above. 

He tried to focus on the light. 

Peace. 

But his own emotions tangled with the others. Now he was frustrated too.

Because of Dahn? He was further ahead, in conversation with Master Buseik and Master Kaarl, the other Jedi on their mission. 

Vernestra separated from them, turning to look at Qimir. She slowed her pace until they were walking side by side. 

“Qimir,” she said. “Remember what you practiced.” 

He could have investigated further. Pushed the limit of balance, just to see. Instead, he did his best to level his breathing, calm his heart. This made it easier to identify his own emotions, which had no trace of the frustration or sadness he'd felt. 

“What are you sensing?” she asked, her attention on him rather than the uneven street before them. 

“The Udutians,” he said and ran through the emotions he'd noted, ending with the boy. 

There was no reason in particular for the boy to concern him. At the Temple, Padawans sometimes helped with the younglings, and he'd seen them upset over all sorts of trivial things. A ration packet in the wrong flavor or a practice saber that wasn't the “right” one. (They were all the same.)

Children tended to feel strongly, regardless of the situation. Maybe that was what surprised him—how powerful any emotion could be. 

“Do you sense danger?” she asked.

Qimir looked to Vernestra. The black diamonds on her green skin by her eyes and on her head represented lives she had saved and her Mirialan family. He had no ties to his own family, save for his name, and was brought to the Jedi too young to remember them. 

“Do you sense danger, Master?” He didn't, so he wanted to know what he was missing. Or was that the test? She looked back at him, ever calm, and he grinned. 

A ghost of a smile crossed Vernestra’s face. “I'm asking you so you can learn.” 

He tilted his head to focus, reaching out with the Force again to be certain. “I don't sense any danger.” 

“Good,” she said, touching her hand to his shoulder so he'd turn with the rest of the Jedi. The heels of their boots tapped on the cobblestone. “It's important to consider the meaning behind what you sense, not just that you can sense it. That's how to know if your help is needed. 

“Like Imri,” she continued. “He dedicated his life to serving others by way of the Force.” 

Imri Cantaros was Vernestra’s first Padawan. They'd never met, yet Vernestra spoke of him often enough that he felt they had. 

There was a warmth to her voice when she spoke of Imri, and Qimir pushed down his longing for his master to be proud of him in the same way. 

He did well in his lessons—excelled at combat training in particular. His connection to others came easily. A gift that was also a challenge. There would never be calm in the presence of others. He was sociable as a youngling, but reactionary too—feeding off the emotions of his peers. 

Distressed, another Jedi Master had called him after a meditation session.

Qimir didn't agree with that or its permanent place in his file, yet Vernestra always assured him he could hone his ability for good.

He chose to believe her as long as it brought him closer to his trials. 

 

---

 

The Udut jungle had tall trees with broad, sparse leaves that welcomed the daylight, casting shadows across the soil. 

Master Buseik, a middle-aged Nautolan, was explaining the signs they would look for to locate the albeks. 

“They can’t climb the trees,” Buseik said. He had grey skin, large, dark eyes, and long tendrils growing from his head. “Their claws would aid them in theory, but their weight makes it impossible. So we’ll want to check any areas they can lay low.”

“Yes, by water sources maybe,” Master Kaarl said. He was around the same age as Buseik with long brown hair he kept twisted in a bun at the base of his head. Qimir was the only Padawan on the mission as Kaarl’s own had recently passed her trials. 

The jungle was buzzing with insects. Qimir's gaze fell to Dahn, and he smirked when he saw Dahn swat at some swarming near his face. Dahn noticed and frowned. 

“We’re here to observe the albeks,” Kaarl continued. “So keep a distance and let them do their thing. We want our observations to reflect their natural state.”

Buseik nodded. “This is preliminary research. If all goes well, the Council will approve funding for further studies. Force willing, that will include M-Count samples,” he said, smiling. 

Much of this, Qimir knew from their preparations. Albeks were a reptile found across the galaxy. They were Force-sensitive too, which was why the Jedi were interested.

Qimir wondered how easy it would be to find them. The jungle was scattered with foliage and splashes of brightly colored flowers. It was vast. 

“You’re leaving out the most important part,” said Dahn, cutting in. It didn’t seem like he’d been paying attention, instead searching the jungle around them too. For the albeks, Qimir assumed, even if they would sense their presence in the Force before they saw them. “They will attack if we get too close.” 

Vernestra was first to reply. “Which we will not. Part of our agreement with the Udutians is to not harm them.” 

Qimir looked at Vernestra. She was off to the side by a patch of orange blooms and held a datapad in her hands. 

“All life in the Force is sacred. Right, Master?” Qimir asked. Mostly because he knew it would please her. The Jedi could defend themselves, but violence was a last resort. 

She nodded, her gaze finding Qimir. “That is correct.” But the attention was fleeting as Dahn opened his mouth again. 

“But they're territorial, aren't they?” His brows rose. “We might have disturbed them already. I'm just curious what we can learn from that.”

Qimir glanced around and found no truth to the claim, only trees and the sway of the vines hanging from their branches. But Dahn caught him looking. He held the man’s gaze to prove he was being cautious, not fearful. 

“What do you mean, Dahn?” Kaarl asked. “You wouldn't suggest we provoke them.” 

He shrugged. “Did I?”

“That is not the way of the Jedi,” Buseik said. He looked up at Dahn from his own datapad, his grey tendrils shifting.

Qimir pulled at his Jedi robes. The air was cool today, but he was starting to feel too warm. 

“I am aware,” Dahn said, overly calm now. “But I think you underestimate the type of creature they are. Did you know they stow away on ships?” 

“We're on foot,” Kaarl said. “So that's not a problem.” 

“Point being,” Dahn said, “we are here to research aggressive creatures. The Jedi confuse me.” 

“You are a Jedi, Dahn.” 

Qimir studied the others, trying to understand the issue. If anything, research just became more exciting. 

“They use the dark side?” he asked. 

Immediately, everyone looked at him. Buseik and Kaarl seemed uncomfortable. Dahn, knowing. Vernestra was unreadable. 

“It's more complex than that,” she said. “The dark side is a deliberate path. The albeks are Force-sensitive and use the Force for their survival.” 

That sounded like instinct. 

“We will stay at a distance from the albeks,” she told the group. Her voice was clear, and this time, there were no objections. We're not far from town, and we will not bring danger in.” 

Qimir turned, drawn by the Force to the jungle behind them. He expected to see an albek, crawling low. 

Nothing was there. 

 

---

 

The stew was hot, but Qimir was too hungry to be patient and burned his tongue on the first bite. 

It had a mix of vegetables and a tough meat he wasn't familiar with, but he wasn't picky enough to ask when the stew did taste good. 

He and the Jedi were in the common area of the inn at the edge of town. The room was large and had dark wood floors that matched the walls. A fire crackled in the corner, surrounded by lounge chairs, and gave off a faint scent of smoke. They sat at a table close to the kitchen and the stairs that led up to the rooms available for rent.  

It was a quiet dinner. Buseik had elected to eat in the study so he could go over their notes on Udut's environment. Kaarl was more interested in the bread than conversation, and Vernestra likely preferred the silence after a day of travel. 

Qimir stole glances at Dahn between spoonfuls of stew, mulling over his behavior in the jungle. 

The dark side was a pull all Jedi faced. Qimir felt the beginning threads of it every day in the emotions of those around him. Intriguing sure, the way the albeks might use the dark side. That it gave them their strength. But in a Jedi, the dark side required darker emotions. 

As he scooped a cube of potato onto his spoon, he idly wondered if Dahn wanted to study the dark side of the Force. Would he dare tamper with it? 

He reached toward Dahn with the Force, probing for a connection to the dark side. None. Yet where he thought he'd find contentment, savoring a meal at the end of a long day, he found a whisper of anxiety. Or was it anticipation? If Dahn wasn't a Jedi, it would be easier to puzzle out his thoughts. 

Dahn's eyes snapped to him, and the link broke. He knew what Qimir was doing, and he would need to be more careful next time. Yes, next time, because Qimir knew better than to trust him.

Qimir went back to his stew and had lifted his spoon halfway to his mouth when he felt the presence of someone new at their table. He glanced up. 

A Bith, holding a steaming mug of what smelled like a strong herbal tea. He had a large head and large eyes, low on his face and set against pale orange skin. 

He seemed familiar, and Qimir remembered he saw him on the street earlier. Interesting then, that they cross paths again. 

“Hello, Jedi,” the Bith said, framed by the warm light cast by the fire. They were obvious enough, all grouped together in their identical robes. “May I sit?” 

Dahn had lost his easy-going expression and looked stony. Kaarl had a mouthful of food, so Vernestra was the one to answer. 

“You're welcome to. We're just finishing our dinner.” 

The Bith nodded in thanks and took the remaining chair at the end between Dahn and Qimir. He blew on his tea, the steam dispersing, then rising again. 

“I don’t see many new faces on Udut,” the Bith said. He took a sip. 

Kaarl dunked a piece of bread into his stew, soaking up broth. “Yes, we’re here for research on behalf of the Order. Do you live here?”

“I'm visiting for business and travel a lot. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

“I don't believe so,” Vernestra said. 

He set down his mug. “I’m Rugess Nome.” When no one said anything, no surprise there, he took the opportunity to explain. “I design starships. We're backed by the IGBC and made to order if you're in the market.” 

So Muun-funded. Qimir tried not to sigh at the sales pitch they were about to get. He didn’t have much interest in ships himself, but that explained the Bith’s tailored clothes. They were a show of his own wealth. 

“Oh, not my area of expertise,” Kaarl said. “We uh, have our own team for that sort of thing. Isn't that right, Vern?” 

Vernestra nodded. “Do you have buyers on Udut?” she asked.

The Udutians were a tight-knit community, so Qimir doubted they had much use for ships so pricy or high model. 

“Not quite. We’re looking to upgrade the energy systems for a new fleet, and Udut is intriguing for that.” Rugess glanced at Dahn, who was unusually quiet. 

“It is a beautiful planet,” Kaarl said, more to himself than the others as he scooped a spoonful of stew. 

“There’s a reptile here that uses the Force to hunt prey.” Rugess picked up his mug and took a sip of tea. “My top scientists are looking into how we might be able to harness their power.” 

Kaarl nearly choked on his food, the rest of the table silent. 

Qimir glanced at Vernestra and saw her expression had soured. 

“You want to power your ships with the Force,” Qimir said. “That’s not…” 

The Force was in all living things, but not everyone was sensitive to it. A ship… Well, a ship wasn’t living. But the Force, in technical terms, was an energy field. Could that be used to create power? 

“How does that work?”

“Qimir,” Vernestra said.  

Rugess stared back at him, and Qimir couldn’t tell what he was feeling. That wasn’t normal, yet the Bith clearly had some knowledge of the Force, even if he didn't appear to be sensitive to it himself. 

“The Force is what binds us and powers our service to others,” Vernestra said. “Not starships.”

“Yes,” Kaarl said, picking up a napkin to wipe his mouth. “You must misunderstand us. We wouldn’t use it for profit.”

“Because you don’t think like a businessman,” Dahn said, leaning back in his chair. “The albek are powerful. But so are we.” 

Rugess pointed a long, pale-orange finger at Dahn. “That is the heart of my research. To think bigger for the future. It's only a question of who will join.” 

Dahn stared back. 

Beside him, Qimir heard Vernestra take a breath. “Have you reported your research to the Senate?” she asked.  

Rugess turned to her. “Do you report all of yours?” He laughed low, then lifted his mug to take a sip. “No, there's no concern with the Senate. Many senators fly my ships. They are the galaxy's leaders.”

At the fireplace, there was a popping sound as one of the logs settled. The fire provided warmth and light—the street outside the windows dark by night. 

“Rugess,” Dahn began cautiously. He had his spoon in his hand, poking at a chunk of meat, and stopped when he spoke. “How long will you be staying?” 

“As long as it takes.” Rugess drank another sip of tea. 

“I'm sure the Jedi would like to hear more about your research.”

Qimir watched Dahn and the Bith, curious as to where this would go. There was no benefit for Rugess in sharing. Vernestra would never share their research now that she knew Rugess's intent. Yet there was something else at play here too. 

“Have the albeks attacked you?” Qimir asked. If Rugess was here, he must not care for the danger. It was worth asking when the Jedi had their lightsabers. Even the locals stayed away from the albeks’ known areas. 

Rugess looked at Qimir, studying him. “Good question. If they did, wouldn’t it be deserved? Albeks only want to survive.”

Qimir considered that. “Then I wouldn’t give them reason in the first place.” It wasn’t the puzzle Rugess was implying. All that mattered was what the albeks considered a threat. 

“That's a nice thought.” Rugess sipped his tea, casual in a way that seemed intentional. Like he wanted Qimir’s attention. “What if you already have?”

Qimir started to smile. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

The Bith laughed. 

Vernestra placed her hand on his shoulder. “Qimir, why don’t you go upstairs and see if Master Buseik needs any assistance?” 

Qimir glanced from Rugess to his master. The look on her face said this wasn’t up for argument, yet he could actually learn something sitting with Rugess and the other Jedi. He didn’t need to know about Udut’s weather. “I'd rather stay here and finish my dinner.” 

He'd entirely forgotten about it, yet there was some stew left in his bowl. A decent enough excuse. 

Her hand was heavy on his shoulder. “You’ve finished eating, and we’ve had a long day of travel.”

Dahn leveled his gaze on Qimir. “You should really listen to Vern.” 

Only her closest friends called her that, which Dahn was not. Qimir glared at Dahn to let him know his input wasn’t needed or wanted. He had no authority. 

Vernestra’s expression didn't change, and Qimir was disappointed she let him get away with that. “Go upstairs with Buseik.”

Qimir pressed his mouth into a line. “Yes, Master.” He stood from his chair, the legs scraping the floor, and hesitated at the sight of Rugess, watching this all unfold. Glad to meet you, didn’t sound right, so he nodded in place. 

Rugess smiled. “Our nicest thoughts? Those often hold little truth. Remember that, Qimir.”

 

---

 

Buseik didn't need assistance, but he did appreciate the company. Qimir spent the next hour listening to the older Jedi explain how climate influenced albeks’ growing patterns throughout the galaxy. 

When he left the study, it was late, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed. On his way, he found Vernestra in the sitting room and smiled at the sight of her waiting for him. Having a full team on this mission meant they were rarely alone. The small room had two couches with a low table between. 

“Hi,” he said. 

She gave him a tight smile. “Qimir, would you please sit?” 

He nodded and joined her on the couch. She looked tired, and he could sense that she was—a weariness that slowed her presence in the Force. 

“May I speak freely?” 

“You may,” she said, almost teasingly, as she knew he would.

He leaned against the cushions so he could face her. “Are you going to report him to the Council?” 

Her brow wrinkled. “The designer?” 

Qimir began to shake his head. He meant Dahn, but she continued talking. 

“It does concern me. To use the Force for such purposes, there could be ill intent. But I don't expect it's possible.” 

“Unless there's more to it.” 

“Such as?” 

Qimir shrugged. “With Dahn.” At dinner, he was nervous. 

“You should be cautious to turn suspicion on a fellow Jedi, Qimir.” Vernestra had removed her outer robes, and he saw her lightsaber clipped at her belt. “You need to focus on your own training.” 

“So I can take my trials soon?” He received the highest marks in all of his lessons. In combat training, he was often paired with the instructor. The other Padawans didn't provide a challenge anymore. 

“I sensed your emotions were unbalanced earlier.” 

A defense formed on his tongue, yet he held back. “I'm the same age as you were.” 

Vernestra made Knight at fifteen, a rarity to pass the trials so young. That was almost a century ago and not as widely known as it once was, yet Qimir believed she chose him as her Padawan because she saw the same promise. 

It was an honor to be mentored by someone so skilled, and he understood the expectations that fell on him. Everyone knew his master. He had a higher standard to reach than his peers to be noticed by her side.  

“Yes, but…” Vernestra hesitated, and he thought he heard worry in her voice. “There's more to being a Jedi than your trials. Being a Jedi and upholding the light is lifelong.” 

Qimir's brows furrowed. “I do draw from the light side.” As he was expected to. He wanted to make Knight. 

She gave him a small smile, an attempt to placate him, as it didn't reach her eyes. “Imri struggled with his emotions too,” she said. “Have I told you about the time we were stranded on Wevo?” 

“You haven't,” Qimir said, though he didn't want to talk about Imri again. Imri was her Padawan a long time ago. He was her Padawan now. 

Vernestra settled back against the cushions. The room was dim, and this was the most relaxed he had ever seen his master. Which, wasn't saying much. Her posture still had a poise to it. 

“Before I was Imri's master, he had another who was killed. When Imri grieved, he felt anger and sought revenge. He felt the pull of the dark side and turned to it.” 

Qimir tilted his head. This was new information. Imri always seemed perfect in Vernestra’s eyes, a means of comparison to Qimir’s own shortcomings. She'd even named her ship after him. Cantaros.  

“I was the one to pull him back to the light. To be a Jedi is to always choose the light over any negative emotions you feel. Over evil."

Negative emotions like anger presented a darker path. He thought of the boy crying on the street earlier today. The sadness that stuck with him. An emotion of the dark side, but the boy was a child.

What made an emotion evil? An emotion like anger, of course, could lead to violence. But what about the grief that Imri felt after losing his master? It was a natural response. 

Vernestra’s gaze was fixed on a point in the distance, near the stairs leading to the common area. Lost in the memory, maybe. "The dark side is essential to maintain balance in the Force. It's when we let our negative emotions grow stronger that we risk the temptation.” She glanced at Qimir. “Remind me of the first line of the Jedi Code.” 

He raised his brows. “You seem to forget it a lot for a master.” 

She shook her head slightly, smiling. “I am old, Qimir.”

He laughed, feeling a fondness for her. She was always so serious. Though, he supposed that came with her ranking and responsibilities. If Qimir had his own Padawan, which he imagined he would someday, he'd want to be himself. 

“There is no emotion. There is peace,” he said finally and could have recited the rest too. 

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the Force.

The Jedi Code guided the Order the same way the Force did. It outlined how to embody the light. In other words, rules to follow to resist the fall to the dark.

He didn't see how it was possible to feel no emotion when he sensed emotion in everyone. Jedi weren't meant to question the Code, yet Qimir believed Vernestra would understand why he did. She was always there to help him through what he felt.

“Sometimes I feel angry,” he admitted. 

It was in a way he shouldn't. 

The other day in combat training, he made a mistake with his practice saber, and it slipped. He struck his opponent’s nose with his fist to compensate—to the alarm of his instructor and peers.

And, that didn't bother him. Nor had the warm blood on his knuckles. 

He liked attention. In class, he was often the first to find the holes in a lesson or make a remark he knew would get his peers to laugh. A bad influence, maybe—his instructors were never pleased—but to Qimir, it was a game of wit.

Vernestra waited before speaking, her gaze on him in a way that made it harder to sit still, like she knew what he was remembering. 

“Jedi can feel emotions,” she began. Her face was half-shadowed where they sat. The only light came from the sconces on the wall. "But you have to remember they cloud your judgment. It's what you do with them that's important. That's why we seek peace. 

“When I'm feeling anything strongly, it helps me to remember what my master taught me. Sometimes we will fail. But all that will matter is whether we did our best to spread light.”

Qimir knew what that meant, representing the Jedi's role in the galaxy as peacekeepers. Yet the more the Jedi spoke of spreading light, the more peace sounded like a platitude. Failure was failure. Even Jedi could feel angry. 

Light would not stop a boy from crying in the street. 

Vernestra sighed, and it was as if she released a memory with it. She lifted her hand to massage her temple. The black diamonds by her eye crinkled. 

“But be patient with your trials,” she said to him. “You've come a long way in your training and…”

Qimir waited for what he wanted her to say. 

That she was proud.

“Your future will be what you make it.”

 

---

 

The jungle air had the scent of oncoming rain, and while it was early afternoon, the sky had the gloominess of evening. 

There were no albeks around, and Qimir was beginning to wonder whether there were albeks on Udut at all. 

The reptiles weren't supposed to be difficult to find, yet maybe the weather deterred them from their usual patterns. 

With little activity, their group split up to cover more ground. Qimir went north, deeper into the jungle. The Force kept them connected, so if an albek was located, it would be easy enough to spread word. 

An hour in, there was still nothing. Qimir could sense Vernestra in the distance, a steady and comforting presence in the Force. The others too, scattered. Someone…

Someone was closer. 

Qimir worked his way through a patch of magenta-colored plants. Their thorns were sharp and caught at his boots, scratching at the leather. Visibility was lower than what it would be under full sun, and he looked with his eyes for what he felt in the Force. 

Then, he found it. 

Dahn ran through the jungle at a speed that could only suggest a chase. The fabric of his open Jedi robes flowed behind him. 

Idiot, was Qimir's first thought. Running from an albek was just about the worst decision you could make. 

His second thought left his mouth. “What is it?” 

Dahn stopped, turning swiftly to Qimir. He looked surprised, like he hadn’t noticed he was there until now.

“I need your help, Qimir,” he said, rushing over. His voice was urgent. Serious. Dahn was rarely serious.

Qimir moved his hand to his lightsaber. He could sense darkness in the jungle. It had to be an albek. This was good. Vernestra and the others should be alerted. 

“Please.” Dahn stepped forward, reaching as if to keep him near. Qimir stepped back, taking his lightsaber from his belt. Better to be cautious. 

There was something off about Dahn. He was scared. 

The jungle around them was quiet apart from the buzz of insects and leaves moving with the wind. 

“What did you do?” Qimir asked. He called on the Force to find out. Dahn was searching the jungle too, waiting for something. Someone? His gaze snapped back to Qimir’s. 

“I made a mistake,” he said, his voice low and hushed. “It was just for credits. I didn't—” 

“Who are you working with?” Qimir asked. “That ship designer?” 

Selling Jedi research to him. That would explain the timing of Rugess Nome's arrival more than coincidence. Maybe this wasn't the first time either. 

Qimir couldn't help it. He laughed. So he was right. There was reason to suspect Dahn. Vernestra needed to know. He turned in her direction. 

“Where are you going?” Dahn asked. 

“To find my master.” Qimir continued on with Dahn at his heels, stepping over a fallen tree limb. 

“There isn't time.” 

His desperation amused Qimir. He was a Knight begging a Padawan to help him get away with treason. “I need a better reason than that.” 

He would tell Vernestra, and she would tell the Council. Best of all, he would get the credit. If she didn't think he was ready for his trials, this could change her mind.  

A low hanging section of vines blocked his path, and he ducked beneath. 

“Because you're like me.” 

Qimir stopped, turning to Dahn. He was right behind and almost bumped into him. “How?” 

His blue eyes were intent. “You want more than life as a Jedi. Don't you?” 

That wasn't true. Qimir wanted to be a Knight. Dahn wanted money. Where would that leave him when the credits were spent? What Qimir had as a Jedi would last. 

“You could help me,” Dahn insisted. “Help yourself before they realize you're different.” He pushed his blonde hair from his forehead. It was damp from his run and panic.  

Qimir took another step back, his ankle catching on a root. The darkness he sensed in the Force was closer now. “I'm loyal to the Jedi. When the Council hears about this, you'll see that.” 

Dahn shook his head. “You don't know half of it. The Jedi require more than loyalty. It's less about what you do than who they think you are.”

“I am a Jedi.”

The wind blew Qimir's hair away from his face. He still held his lightsaber, but there was no need to use it. 

Not yet. 

Dahn looked at Qimir, studying him. Qimir straightened, wanting to appear taller and older. More than a Padawan. 

It was because Qimir was staring back that he saw the fall in Dahn’s face. An acceptance.

“You'll realize someday,” he said quietly. 

Dahn held out his hand and called the Force to him. He didn't use the dark side. But the disturbance he created—Qimir felt. 

The new presence in the jungle arrived swiftly. 

Qimir turned. An albek lurked in the shadows at the edge of the trees. Tall spikes ran the length of its body. Whatever Dahn had done, the albek was focused on them.

The albek prowled forward. The spikes made the reptile appear taller. It had a narrow mouth, dark green scales, and was over a meter in length. 

Dahn pulled up the hood of his outer robes and ran. 

The albek paused. The orange of its eyes burned, flickering to Dahn and then back to Qimir. 

He hoped the albek would follow Dahn. 

It did not. 

Qimir was pulled to the ground by the Force. His hip took the impact. He was dragged through the dirt over rocks and roots, his robes tangling around him. 

Coward, Qimir thought of Dahn, trying to gain purchase. 

Soil caked under his nails as he scrambled for anything. Yet he had no control over the pull. 

Suddenly, he stopped. 

The Force's hold on him eased, and he looked up into the albek's jaws. 

He cried out. The reptile snapped. Sharp teeth missed him by inches as he threw his head to the side. 

Qimir needed his lightsaber. The hilt was in his hand before he fell. Now he didn't know where it was.

He reached out with the Force, calling his lightsaber to him. 

His hand stayed empty. 

The albek was using the Force to stop him. 

Qimir could sense the strength of its connection, the darkness there too. The albek had one goal in mind—to protect its territory.

The albek used its clawed foot to hold Qimir in place. Nails dug into his chest. The weight made it hard to breathe.

So he thrashed, forgetting his training as the albek snapped again, snout grazing his cheek. This was a game. Its breath was hot and smelled metallic. 

He managed to roll to his side. The albek pounced. A claw swiped close to his back, snagging his robes. 

Qimir called for his lightsaber again, trying to crawl away. Anything to save himself.

He didn't understand why the other Jedi weren't here. Someone should know. Someone should be here. 

For as often as he thought he was ready for his trials, he needed help. 

The albek snatched his robes with its teeth. He fell to the dirt, head first, and his vision blurred. The fabric ripped. 

If he couldn't use the Force, he would be killed. 

Was it himself or the albek preventing access? 

The Force required peace. 

For the first time in his life, Qimir was truly scared.

The albek lunged, mouth wide.

Qimir gave in to the pull. 

To the voice that whispered every time he was bored in his lessons, or annoyed by Vernestra's requests, or by the Jedi's rules. There were so many rules, and those rules wouldn't save him now. 

He wanted to live. 

Qimir felt the power of the dark side in a rush, like the wind picking up through the trees and the shadows in every corner of the jungle, growing darker. 

He used the Force to freeze the albek. The reptile's jaws were nearly around his thigh. Its teeth glistened with saliva. He felt the warmth of its breath.

This worked.

This made it angry. The albek's eyes brightened, and it snarled, unable to move and agitated. 

Qimir shook from exertion. 

In training, he had to be mindful of how his access to the Force was perceived. His emotions were always there, below the surface, but he wasn't supposed to use them. 

Only now did he feel without restriction.

When he called for his lightsaber again, it flew to his hand. Qimir ignited it. The blade glowed yellow, a bright spot in the gloomy jungle. He pushed the albek back and released his hold.

The albek rushed at Qimir. Its eyes were crazed.

With a reverse grip, he shoved the blade into the albek's soft underbelly. The blade hissed, slicing through flesh to its spiked back. 

The albek huffed when he removed the blade, slumping forward atop his leg. 

Qimir was breathing hard. Seconds passed. The albek didn't move again. 

The weight on his leg was crushing.

He tried to move it, but he couldn't. With the Force, he managed to ease the weight and crawled away to stand. 

Immediately, he felt a wave of dizziness. The leaves above and soil below merged, and the albek’s body appeared to rise. 

He blinked rapidly. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His lightsaber hummed in his hand. The moment passed, and his vision settled. 

In front of his feet, the albek lay still. From his new vantage point, he could see the size of its claws, larger than his fingers. 

He should find Vernestra. She would know what to do. 

There was something else he had to do first. 

His outer robes were in tatters, so he shrugged them off and dropped them to the dirt. 

He tuned into the Force and set off. Dahn had provoked the albek and left him to die. All because he refused to help a traitor. While Qimir was known to question the Jedi, he never questioned his loyalty. The Jedi had raised him. Taught him. They were the closest he had to a family. 

The jungle was alive around him. Insects buzzed, hidden in the nooks of the trees and flying past his face. His boots left imprints in the soft soil. He wound his way through a collection of hanging vines with orange flowers, using his lightsaber to cut a path. 

His head and hip ached, but he didn’t notice.

Instead, he thought of how wrong he was to think turning Dahn into the Council would work. He might have been stripped of his title and lightsaber. Or maybe there would be no punishment at all. 

What proof was there? 

It would be Qimir’s word again Dahn’s. No one was there to witness his confession or the moment he turned an albek on a Padawan. 

Qimir could remedy that himself. 

The dark side's energy coursed through him, hot and electric, and he was convinced he should. 

He slowed his pace when he felt a presence in the Force.

Trees and unruly plants with broad leaves filled the expanse of jungle in front of him. The canopy was thick here. It let in less light and created deep shadows. The further he looked, the darker the jungle was. It appeared infinite. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” Qimir asked. His lightsaber hummed, louder when he raised it. 

The other Jedi was nearby, and Qimir scanned the jungle. His senses were heightened, but that dulled his patience.  

“Come out and face me.” 

He brought his arm back and flung his lightsaber level through the air. It arced, the blade humming and spinning through an opening in the trees. 

The yellow glow illuminated its path. 

When his saber cut a notch in a tree at the end, he called it back to him. The hilt smacked into his hand. 

There was movement to his right. Someone with their hood up peeked out from behind a tree. A lightsaber ignited—casting a green glow. 

He rounded that tree and swung his lightsaber with a heavy hand. Their blades clashed, sparking, and immediately, Qimir knew his mistake. 

The Jedi’s hood fell.

This wasn't Dahn. Master Kaarl stared back, washed in green light. 

“I should have known,” Kaarl said, swinging forward. Qimir had no choice but to brace himself, locking his arms to block. 

Qimir didn't want to fight Kaarl. There was no reason. Yet he was fueled by anger and let it decide for him. He wanted to fight someone and Kaarl was here, striking a lightsaber against his. 

“Know what, Master?” Qimir asked. 

All he had done was discover his true potential. Peace let him connect to the Force. His buried emotions let him feel the depth of that power. 

He grinned at the melding flash of green and yellow, the blades whining as they met. The two broke apart, and Qimir slipped behind a bunch of hanging vines. Kaarl followed, pushing the vines aside with the Force. 

As a Jedi Master, Kaarl should have the upper hand. Qimir found it easy to keep up and struck his blade forward. Kaarl, predictably, used a horizontal block. 

“No Jedi fights like this,” Kaarl said. The bun he secured his hair in had come loose. Sweat beaded on his brow, illuminated by his saber's green glow. 

“Like I was trained?” Qimir asked. He was connected to the Force. 

The Force whispered anything he didn't know, telling him to watch his right foot as he neared a dip in the soft soil. Or to block at an angle when Kaarl spun his lightsaber high, then brought it down quickly. The shadows in the jungle danced with him.

Qimir relished in his connection to the dark side. It was in his every movement, and he used it to fortify his next swing.

Kaarl deflected and came back stronger—blade buzzing. This thrilled Qimir. Training never gave him the challenge he craved. He swung his lightsaber at Kaarl, the edge of it slicing leaves and burning into the tree he spun past. The bark sparked red. 

He had almost died, and instead, he had lived. Was this what it felt like to be invincible? 

Kaarl pushed Qimir with the Force, and he slid back, his boots leaving two tracks in the soil. He sensed a new, second presence nearby. 

Behind him, a lightsaber ignited. 

Qimir turned as Master Buseik sliced his lightsaber toward him, the blade a blur of blue. 

“I know what you've done, Qimir!” Buseik said, his grey tendrils swinging. 

The Nautolan distracted him from Kaarl, and it was impossible to watch both Jedi at once. Qimir felt safer when he could see both opponents. His movements became less decisive. He blocked Buseik's swing, then turned to block Kaarl’s.  

“I've done nothing,” Qimir managed to get out.  

Kaarl's blade came close to his shoulder, a burning heat, and he dodged just in time. “Where's Vern?” 

The question wasn't for him, but Qimir wondered the same. His master was absent when he was attacked, and she was still absent now. 

Buseik raised his blade, taking Qimir's next strike one-handed. “I was looking.” He twisted his blade forward in a humming, blue flash. “Then I followed the darkness.” 

Qimir ducked, then rose to meet Kaarl's next strike. 

Before, Qimir was able to strike first himself. With two opponents, all his focus went to defense. The clash of lightsabers filled his senses—electrifying and bright. Colorful light bounced off the broad leaves of the surrounding foliage. 

He stepped around a tree, trying to put more distance between them. 

Both Jedi swung toward him. Qimir raised his lightsaber to block—the two blades hitting at the same time. He tried to withstand their combined power. Yet it was two to one—hissing green and blue crossed with yellow. His arms shook. 

Qimir stumbled back, raising his lightsaber again in defense. They had him cornered. 

“Surrender yourself, Qimir,” Kaarl said. He powered off his lightsaber, the green glow disappearing. “You know what you've done.” 

“Where’s my master?” Qimir kept his lightsaber on and gripped the hilt tighter. He didn't trust them. 

Vernestra would sort this out. She would understand he did what he had to. Attacking Kaarl was a mistake, sure, but he shouldn't have been lurking in the trees. 

“Did you hurt her?” Kaarl asked. 

Qimir glared at him. His chest rose and fell from the duel. “Why would I?” 

He didn't have any reason to hurt Vernestra. She could be in danger herself, and here they were, suspecting him. 

“You're making a mistake. Dahn is a traitor to the Jedi. He set an albek on me.” 

The two Jedi studied him. Surely, they could tell he was attacked. His outer robes were gone. He was covered in dirt and his sleeve was torn. 

“Dahn was killed,” Buseik said. His gaze was steady on Qimir, watching for his reaction. “I felt it in the Force.” 

“I did too,” Kaarl said. “It was a quick death. He faded fast.” 

Qimir swallowed hard, the information sinking in. “I didn't kill him.” 

“You reek of the dark side.” 

“I didn't,” Qimir insisted. The leaves above them shifted with the wind. Through the sparser parts of the canopy, he saw the clouds were a darker grey. 

“You attacked me,” Kaarl said. 

“Because I thought you were him!” If Kaarl didn't believe him now, there was no saying whether he would have believed him then.  

Maybe Vernestra had killed Dahn herself. If she knew of his betrayal, and Dahn had turned on her— 

He tried to search for her in the Force, but there was too much to be felt, and he couldn't focus. 

Anger was flooding his senses. He burned with it and had since he was a youngling. He no longer tried to repress it. 

“Your emotions are betraying you,” Buseik said. He powered off his lightsaber, shadows taking the place of the blue glow. “Do you want to incriminate yourself further?” 

Qimir laughed, the yellow of his saber bright. “This is how I use my power.” 

The Jedi Code said no emotion. It said peace. Yet one of the Jedi’s own had tried to make him a traitor—had tried to kill him. He wouldn't be alive if he couldn't think for himself. 

It was time the Jedi learned their rules were restricting and were already being broken. 

“Hand over your lightsaber, Qimir,” Kaarl said. 

“No,” he said, sounding as young as he was. He powered off the blade so he could move it behind him. The wind blew again, disturbing the jungle’s canopy and foliage. 

Kaarl reached out with his hand, and Qimir drew his saber further back. 

“Careful,” Buseik said. 

“He's a child,” Kaarl said. 

There was a tree at Qimir's back, and he had nowhere to go as the two Jedi advanced. The shadows caught on their faces, and Qimir's heart beat heavily in his chest. 

Kaarl reached forward again, and when Qimir swerved from his grasp, Buseik ignited his lightsaber. 

All Qimir saw was the blue blade, moving toward him.

The decision he made was instinctive. 

He ignited his own—bringing it forward in a yellow flash. 

The lightsaber went through Buseik's middle. 

Buseik gasped, his eyes wide and grey skin flushing. He looked down at the blade piercing him and wheezed.

Qimir let go of the hilt as if it burned him. He tripped on a root as he stumbled back. 

The blade stuck in Buseik, bright yellow and humming. 

Buseik began to fall. When he hit the soil, the lightsaber powered off along with his own. Qimir’s lightsaber rolled to the side like a toy. 

The jungle was dark. 

Still. 

Insects buzzed. 

Kaarl turned to Qimir and held up his hand. A blast from the Force threw Qimir off his feet and into a tree. 

He slammed into the bark, falling in a heap at the tree’s base. It hurt, and all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. Kaarl collected both abandoned lightsabers, then was at Qimir's side. 

“I didn't want to,” Qimir said. His voice wobbled as he looked up at the older Jedi. “I didn't want to. I'm sorry.” 

“Be silent,” Kaarl said. He pulled Qimir roughly to his feet by the fabric of his tunic. 

Qimir swayed, but didn't fight Kaarl as he was led off. Kaarl had a tight grip on his elbow. As they passed Buseik, Qimir was drawn to the sight. 

The Nautolan lay with his left leg beneath him. There was a hole burned through his stomach. The surrounding edge of his tunic was black. His eyes were open, staring and blank. 

He had done that. 

He had killed someone. 

Qimir's vision blurred with tears. The dark side had gone from making him feel powerful to making him a killer. 

It ate at him now. His anger was replaced by shock and fear, but he tasted it, thick and unwanted in his every breath. 

He wished he was home at the Temple. Where he spent his days in boring drills, joking around without consequence, and hadn’t yet killed someone he respected. 

He wanted his master. 

“Where's Vernestra?” Qimir asked, his voice barely audible between his gasps for breath. The wind was picking up again, the foliage rustling. They had been walking for a while, and Qimir had no awareness of the direction they were headed. 

“I'm taking you to her,” Kaarl said. His hold on Qimir was so tight it squeezed. Qimir tripped over a large root, and Kaarl tugged on his elbow to right him. 

That comforted Qimir some. Vernestra always knew how to help. He repeated that in his mind like a mantra. 

Eventually, they came to a clearing in the jungle. The storm was close, and even without the canopy, little sunlight reached the ground. Everything in the jungle looked grey and shadowed. 

They found Vernestra there, standing guard beside something laid out on the ground. When they came closer, Qimir saw it wasn’t something but someone. 

Vernestra turned to them, her face solemn. “I found him here. There are albeks in the area so I couldn’t leave his body.”

Dahn lay on the ground with his lightsaber clutched in his hand. There was a clean hole burned through his chest, identical to the wound in Buseik’s stomach. A wave of nausea rolled through Qimir. This was done with a lightsaber. By a Jedi. 

Kaarl let go of Qimir, shoving him to the ground with the Force. Qimir fell to his knees. Vernestra stared at him, and he opened his mouth, ready to plead. She was the first to speak. 

“What happened?” she asked, glancing from Qimir’s tear-stained face to Master Kaarl. Qimir’s gaze drifted over and he saw Dahn, pale and unmoving. 

“I was searching for the dark presence we felt in the Force,” said Kaarl. “Your Padawan found me and attacked. Buseik stepped in, and he murdered him.”

“Master, I can explain,” Qimir said. He shifted to stand, but one glance at Vernestra was enough to keep him on his knees. The soil was dry and cool. He looked up at Vernesta’s unchanged expression. “Dahn is a traitor. I was attacked by an albek because of him, and then I tried to find him—”

“Dahn is dead, Qimir,” Vernestra said. “Did you kill him?”

“No!” 

Buseik killed him. Or maybe Dahn had done this to himself—to escape trial with the High Council. Could Kaarl have killed him? Kaarl stared at Qimir with a conviction he could sense. He might be lying, and Qimir would be blamed. 

“Then who did?” Vernestra asked, her voice rising. She was never angry. Even when Qimir tested her patience or questioned her lessons, she was calm. 

“He's turned to the dark side, Vern,” Kaarl said, gesturing at Qimir. “Can't you sense it? He killed Dahn.”

“We don't know that.”

“I told you,” Qimir said, relieved. His hands pressed into the soil. He knew Vernestra would understand. Only a lightsaber could leave a wound like that, and only the Jedi used them. 

The other Jedi would blame him rather than consider they had a second traitor among them.

“The proof is right in front of you,” Kaarl said. He was disheveled from the wind and duel. “What do you think the Council will say now that he's murdered two of our own?”

“The Council—” Vernestra said, turning to Kaarl. She struggled to get the words out. “The Council cannot know about this.” 

“Why?” 

Vernestra was tense, but her air of authority resurfaced. “This would cause irreparable harm to the Jedi's reputation.”

“This falls on you,” Kaarl said, pointing. “Especially after we all suggested his training be discontinued.”

Qimir's heart sank. 

If the High Council learned her own Padawan was a killer, Vernestra’s involvement as his master would be questioned too. When the Council learned what happened today, she could lose her liaison position.

She was doing this for herself. 

“You have to believe me.” Qimir shifted toward her. She stepped back as if the dark side was contagious. That was enough for tears to spring to his eyes again. “I warned you about Dahn, and you didn't listen. That's why he's dead.”

“So you admit to killing him,” Kaarl said. 

“How do I know it wasn't you?” Qimir asked, voice broken. He was on the other side of the jungle when he crossed paths with Dahn. There was time for Kaarl to kill him when the albek attacked. 

“You need to calm yourself before you make this worse.” Vernestra’s gaze was intense—putting a distance between them he'd never felt. 

Kaarl shook his head. “I'll go back to the ship and inform the Council we're returning. They need to know what happened.” The wind whipped, pulling at his and Vernestra’s robes. “Those are the rules.”

Qimir looked up at the grey sky, waiting for rain to fall. “Rules will be the end of the Jedi.”

Both Kaarl and Vernestra ignored him. 

“Kaarl—” Vernestra said, turning to follow. 

The darkness inside Qimir was too great, and his words meant nothing to them. Qimir needed to level his breathing and calm his heart as he'd practiced. Yet he had no control. 

“Why won't you listen?” Qimir asked. 

Vernestra stopped, turning slowly. 

“As my Padawan, you are an embarrassment,” she said, looking down at him. A moment had passed since she acknowledged him, and he wished she hadn't. “I did everything I could for you. I was wrong to believe there was time.”

“Did you know this would happen?” Kaarl asked. He had started to leave, and now he stood in place, eyes narrowed.

If Vernestra at all suspected today would come, she should have stayed by Qimir's side. Heard Dahn's words and witnessed his actions. 

Instead, she didn't believe him. 

“No,” Vernestra said quickly. The look on Kaarl's face was one of disbelief. “We all agreed. Qimir needed to be trained, and I was the one equipped to do it.” 

“You insisted you could change him,” Kaarl said. “Now look at what he's done.” 

Qimir stood and saw Kaarl’s hand move to his lightsaber. In the distance, thunder rumbled. The sky was darkening. 

Vernestra turned to Kaarl, moving in front of Qimir. “What are you doing?” she asked. 

“He's a danger!” Kaarl said. “He should be under arrest. We should be headed back to the ship.” 

“He's fifteen.” 

“Your Padawan has already killed twice,” Kaarl said, dragging out the last word. “You're displaying attachment.” 

Vernestra’s mouth fell open. “How could you even suggest that?” 

Kaarl grabbed his lightsaber then, facing Vernestra. 

She was still his master. 

Qimir lifted his hand, and Kaarl coughed once. 

Twice.

The hilt of his lightsaber fell to the soil as his hands went to his throat—eyes bulging. 

“Qimir!” Vernestra shouted and reached for him with the Force. The darkness inside him raged.

He spared her a second's glance as Kaarl continued to choke, his eyes dark and unbothered. Then he closed his fist. He wouldn't torture. 

Kaarl made a final gasp and crumpled to the ground.

Qimir smiled at Vernestra, tears falling down his face. “Do you see me now?” he asked. 

That was all he ever wanted. 

For the person he cared for and respected most to see him. Not a reflection of the past or her own reputation. 

He had killed for her. 

Vernestra stared at him. Thunder rumbled again. The wind and rustle of the jungle canopy filled the silence until she spoke. 

When she did, it was hollow and without emotion. “I do see.”

He felt for what he wanted in the Force, and his lightsaber rose out of the pocket of Kaarl's robes. 

In an instant, Vernestra pulled her lightsaber from her belt and ignited it. The purple blade transformed into a lightwhip, and she sent it through the air. 

Her blade sliced Qimir’s hovering lightsaber with precision. The hilt split and the pieces inside flew, scattering. 

He watched as the two halves landed on the ground. “That was mine,” he said, his voice low.

Vernestra’s lightsaber, a blade again, illuminated the jungle with purple. “Only a Jedi wields a lightsaber,” she said. “You are not a Jedi.”

Qimir laughed, feeling so much at once that it was as if he'd gone numb. 

There was no before for Qimir. He was brought to the Jedi young, without the faces of his parents or memories of his homeworld to tie him to anything else. 

His future as a Jedi was all he had, and now he was losing it. 

If he wasn't a Jedi, he was nothing. 

Vernestra was back in control. Her lightsaber glowed in front of her, humming with the wind that blew through the foliage. 

He needed a weapon. The dark side was with him. So he reached for it in a rush and used his strength to throw all his power at her. 

With a simple swipe of her hand, she blocked his usage of the Force. 

“I won't let you destroy everything the Jedi built. Everything I built.”

“Master, please,” Qimir begged. The Order didn't matter to him. He was slipping further and doing it alone. 

He searched her face for any sign of who she always was to him. A mentor he turned to for over two years for guidance and safety. Someone who believed in him. 

Vernestra held her lightsaber steady. “Those like you are not welcome.” 

Qimir stilled, taking one last look. At Kaarl on the ground. At Dahn, who ran through the jungle and now lay still. 

Then he remembered. 

He called on the Force, pulling a second and third lightsaber from Kaarl's body; the ones belonging to him and Buseik. 

This time, he was faster than Vernestra. The hilts flew into his hands, and he ignited both. 

Green. 

Blue. 

Qimir swung toward Vernestra, and she swung her lightsaber at him, clashing with the green. 

With a saber in each of Qimir's hand, the duel was intricate. He attacked Vernestra from the right, forcing her to block. Then from the left before she could relax. 

A flash of lightning lit the sky, and for a moment, the jungle was bright. 

Thunder followed, rumbling and shaking the ground.

Vernestra struck her blade against Qimir's. His teeth clenched. Purple sparked against green and blue, hissing. It took the use of both blades to withstand her strength. 

“You can end this now, Qimir,” Vernestra said. If she had any hope of holding back against him, Qimir made it impossible. 

They broke apart, and he spun the blades, directing them at her as they started again. Wind blew his hair back. 

“Why should I?” he asked. 

Two blades clashed. Then the other joined as Qimir struck low to high. Vernestra caught that blade with her own. 

He had already lost from the moment he chose to go after Dahn and revealed his true self to the Jedi. 

Yet his inexperience was showing. These lightsabers weren't his. The hilts were unfamiliar, not made for his hands, and that weakened his control. 

While he was skilled, Vernestra had almost a century of experience and a lightsaber—lightwhip she had crafted. 

When Qimir pulled the green saber back, she transformed hers into a whip. 

The purple blade crackled, flying out and wrapping around the green saber's hilt. 

Qimir growled as the blade's heat nearly singed his fingers. The lightwhip cut the hilt in half. The blade vanished. He dropped the halved hilt, moving his hand to his remaining saber. 

“Don't you get it?” Qimir shifted to a ready stance. “We can be so much more!” 

He swung at Vernestra, and she blocked his strike in blade form. Blue and purple clashed. 

“There is no we in this.” Vernestra brought her saber back and hit his saber so fast that Qimir had to use the Force to keep from falling. “I trained you! I cared for you.” 

“For me or yourself?” he asked. 

Her way of caring was never enough. It was a reminder to calm himself without teaching him what to do with those emotions. So he repressed them. She told him stories about Imri, and all that did was show him he came second to what was.

There was another flash of lightning. It cut across the sky. 

Then, thunder. 

Rain began to fall. 

Light. 

Qimir shook his hair from his eyes. He was starting to tire. To use the Force was to use your energy. He was running out, sore from his injuries with the albek, then Kaarl throwing him into the tree.

His lightsaber slid along Vernestra's. It drew purple and blue sparks. 

When the blade fell, Vernestra's lightwhip wrapped around the hilt in seconds, slicing it. 

Qimir dropped the remaining half, watching it fall to the ground. His chest rose and fell heavily. 

Vernestra's blade, still a whip, hummed alongside the raindrops tapping the broad jungle leaves. 

He traced the line of the purple glow with his eyes, watching as it rippled. 

The first time Qimir saw her lightwhip, he questioned the design. Vernestra told him about the night the modification came to her via the Force. She was young then and a new Jedi Knight. 

Lightwhips were rare now, though they were used by the Jedi during the Sith Wars. After seeing Vernestra’s, Qimir had wanted to modify his own. She told him to focus on his training and practice with the lightsaber he had. 

That lightsaber currently lay in pieces, scattered across the jungle floor. 

Qimir looked to Vernestra. Her green skin was bathed in the purple light. Raindrops slid down her bald head, the light catching on those too. 

What would she see looking at him? 

A boy of fifteen. A Padawan braid over his shoulder, and his hair—cut short, dampening by the minute under the rain. He wasn't particularly strong or tall. But he was supposed to be hers. 

For the first time, he was afraid of her. Her frown was deep. Disappointed.

“I don't want to ever see your face again,” she said. 

Thunder drummed across the sky, and the rain fell harder. Qimir's tunic was beginning to stick to his skin.

“Vernestra, please,” he said, too quietly to be heard over the rain. 

She was all he had left, and she didn't want him. The look in her eyes was cold. Distant in a way that made him feel like a stranger. 

He glanced from Vernestra to the weapon in her hand. The purple light of her whip waved in the air. 

His own hand was empty. 

So he took the only option he had left and ran. 

Qimir made it all of ten steps when he heard the sizzle of the lightwhip, racing toward him. The heat of the blade passed by his shoulder, missing narrowly. 

The shock of it was enough for him to falter. His foot slipped in the wet soil, and he righted himself. The treeline grew closer. 

When Vernestra struck again, he wasn't so fortunate. 

The whip licked across his back, slicing through his skin. It was excruciating. He fell to his hands and knees, crying out. 

His vision went black at the edges. The whip snapped up to his shoulder as she recalled it. He moaned and collapsed to the ground entirely.

There was a thick, burning smell in the air. His stomach twisted with nausea. He curled into himself, rain soaking his skin. It was his own flesh, cut open and cooked by the heat of the whip. 

His breath came in ragged gasps. The pain consumed his senses, radiating out until there was nothing else. It was impossible to feel pain like this and survive.

He was dying.

Somewhere behind him—Qimir was fading fast—he heard a scream. Sharp. Piercing. 

Thunder followed, echoing alongside it. 

The wound on his back throbbed.

He saw black boots, right next to his eyes. That was all he could see, barely able to keep them open. 

Vernestra knelt beside him, and it was as if he was watching her from outside his body. She had pulled the hood of her outer robes up. 

The rain was closer to a downpour now. What would ordinarily bring cool relief felt like flames across the open skin of his back. 

“I'm sorry,” Vernestra sputtered out. Emotional to the point it took several moments for him to even register the voice as hers. “I'm sorry I failed you.” 

She caressed his head, running her hand over his wet hair with a shaking hand. It was the most affection she'd ever shown him.

Qimir missed the moment she left, sliding out of consciousness. 

When he opened his eyes again, the sky was still dark, but the rain had stopped. It was night now. The soil he lay on was mud. Water dripped onto the foliage as the jungle dried. His clothes and hair were soaked. He was cold and shivering, his skin pruned. 

Hot breath brushed his cheek. 

He heard snuffling by his ear, then his head was pushed to the side by a rough snout. 

An albek. 

The reptile continued its investigation, prodding at his arms and hands, one stretched out before him. It spent a particularly long time pushing at his fingers, curled into the mud. He felt the end of its scaly tail brush his elbow as it passed.

The lightwhip had burned through his tunic, exposing his wound to the night air. The pain was so intense and deep that there was no way he could defend himself—nor did he want to try. 

When the albek killed him, he hoped it would be quick.

Through his blurry vision, he saw Dahn in the distance. More a lump of shadow in the dark. The albek was there now, investigating Dahn as it had him, prodding at his head and sniffing the hole in his chest. Moonlight caught on its spikes. 

Qimir watched as the albek walked off and at first, he thought it was because the reptile had lost interest. Then, Dahn’s body began to move, following after slowly. 

The albek dragged Dahn behind it with the Force. His body went over rocks and roots, his Jedi robes collecting mud and catching beneath him.

There was no sign of Dahn's lightsaber. Vernestra must have taken it. 

Qimir waited for the albek to return for him, but he fell into the darkness first. 

The next time Qimir woke, sunshine warmed his face. He peeled his eyes open, blinking against the harsh light. 

Above him, the sky was blue. The soil and his clothes were dry. 

There was no way to know whether he was unconscious for one night or several days. His mouth was parched, and his throat ached. Having lain here through the storm and after, his skin felt grimy. He heard insects buzzing above his wound, raw and festering. 

The pain was less. 

For a second, he thought his back had gone numb from nerve damage. That scared him, so he tried to get up. Pain struck like lightning—starting at his back and spreading. 

He whimpered, falling back to the soil. It was comparable to the moment the lightwhip first struck him. The pain was blinding, and he squeezed his eyes closed. 

There was nothing else for him to do then but lay here. If he couldn't get up, he would die. If he could, he still might. 

His cheek pressed into the warm soil, and he let it rest there, opening his eyes. An ant was crawling past. He studied its brown body, tiny legs, and antennas. 

There was nowhere for him to go. 

Not to a place nor to a person. 

Back in town, the Udutians might remember he was with the Jedi, and that was a new danger within itself. 

He had nothing with him but his ruined clothes. 

No weapon or credits. 

He could only assume Vernestra left him because she thought he would be dead by now. 

The ant left his field of vision, and his gaze caught on something shiny, half-lodged in the dirt. It glistened yellow under the sun. 

His lightsaber crystal. 

The crystal was kyber, and he remembered his trip to Crystal Caves of Ilum as a youngling, in search of a crystal attuned to his Force presence. He was proud to be a Jedi then and to construct his own lightsaber, dreaming of the hero he would become with it. 

Now, he saw the crystal for what it was. A remnant of a life taken. 

He stretched out his hand for the crystal, his hand trembling, but it was too far. 

Slowly, he pushed himself off the ground on shaking arms. Pain coursed through him, and he gasped. Black dots filled his vision. He had to wait several minutes before he tried again just to stay conscious. 

This time, he was successful. His hand wrapped around the crystal, and he collapsed to the ground there, unable to go any further. 

The crystal thrummed with power and connection to the Force. His connection to the dark side remained—stronger than ever. 

He was angry. 

Scared.

Alive. 

He was a ghost in his own body. 

While his future as a Jedi was gone, in a sense, he was free. 

The crystal’s sharp edge cut into his palm, and he clutched it tighter, watching through his fingers as he bled it red.

 

---

 

“You thought Vernestra would accept you,” Osha said quietly, the same way he spoke by the end. 

A breeze blew off the sea, and the sleeve of Qimir's tunic brushed her bare arm. 

He hadn't taken his eyes off of her since, and she wouldn't be the first to look away. 

It wasn't sadness in his eyes. There was a distance to the way he told his story. Like he did die that day, and someone else had crawled from his grave. 

“When you love someone, Osha,” he began, his voice low and rough, “isn't acceptance the least you should ask for?” 

His face was earnest as if he was asking her too.

She nodded. “It is.” 

Her mind drifted to Mae. Surrounded by Khofar’s looming forest, she had begged with shaking breath for Osha to see the Jedi for who they truly were. 

Please choose me.  

It was easy to see the fallacy in Qimir's belief now. Of course a Jedi would reject someone they viewed as different. Yet Qimir had been fifteen. Vernestra was all he had. 

He had orbited her, craved her attention, and was proud of his place in her life.

He had loved her. 

The gravity of the word lingered with his gaze. 

Osha never had to wonder whether Qimir accepted her. He offered understanding before and after she knew the truth—after she killed because of it. 

“How did you survive?” she asked. 

Despite the hatred she had for Master Sol, she still couldn't imagine him hurting her physically. Because he wouldn't. It was as simple as that. 

The breeze blew the loose strands of Qimir's hair across his face, and he pushed them back. “I figured out how to heal myself.”

Her brows drew together. “With the Force?” 

He nodded. 

“I didn't know you knew how.” The healer in her coven could using the Thread, but it was a difficult ability to master. It required focus and energy. One time, Mae twisted her ankle running through the fortress, and Osha had cried as if the pain was her own until it was tended to, the healer easing the swelling. 

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Do you remember Khofar?” 

Osha started to shake her head. The last memory she had of Khofar involved Mae shoving her off a ledge with the Force. The next thing she knew, she was waking in the cave here—unsure of where she was. 

Qimir pressed his hand to his side above his right hip, his eyes locking with hers to see if she understood now. “Your injury.”

“Was it that bad?” When she woke, there was a bandage around her waist. She couldn't remember how she was injured. Probably when Qimir or Mae threw her. If he never said—she never would have known he tried to heal her. 

“No,” he said, his gaze tracing her features. “But I don't like when you're in pain, Osha.”

A wave crashed, slow and up the beach. 

At one point, she may have suspected otherwise with how he pushed her to admit her failure as a Jedi and toward the truth. Yet he never celebrated her pain. Her fall to the dark side was met with a sunset, a steady presence, and a hand to hold. 

Qimir told his own fall in a factual way. He spoke of how he felt at the time, not from the perspective of someone who had eighteen years to ruminate over every miniscule decision. 

So she wouldn't judge him either. There was no use in wondering whether Buseik had meant to harm him, or Master Kaarl intended to use his lightsaber on Vernestra. That was in the past. They were together now, sitting side by side in the sand. 

“How long did it take to heal yourself?” 

If Osha's own wound was anything to go by, he wasn't great at healing. The bandage was bloody when she woke.

She rewrapped it herself later that night. The wound was healing fine until she reopened it fighting Mae on Brendok, and now she had a fresh scar as a reminder. 

His sigh was barely audible over the waves. “A long time.” He scratched his cheek with his thumb, looking at the sand and then at her. “I did what I could until I had to rest or blacked out. Then I'd wake up. Try again.” 

Her face softened, his name on the tip of her tongue. He was fifteen and left alone to die. There was nothing she could say to change that. 

Qimir was too busy grabbing the collar of his tunic and pulling the fabric over his head to notice. 

“Go look,” he said, dropping his tunic to the sand beside him. 

Osha pressed her lips together. “I know what your scar looks like.” 

She'd seen his scar plenty of times. Twice on her first day here, when he stripped his clothes at the lagoon—then again in the cave when he lifted his tunic. 

Maybe he had meant to impress her with what he survived. Or maybe it was to show he wasn't invincible, despite the bloodbath of his creation on Khofar. She wasn't certain, but he succeeded in making her curious. He didn't guard his body the same way he did his inner self.

Her eyes followed the line of his bicep over to his chest, defined by muscle too. In a way, his body was his armor. 

“I know you know,” he said, and there was a teasing edge to his voice that made her eyes drift back to his. 

“You're sure?” 

“I'm sure.” 

Osha watched him a second more, under the weight of his gaze, then moved across the sand until she was sitting behind him. 

His scar was a lifeless grey against the warm tan of his skin. It started at the lower left of his back, snaking over to his spine. Jagged, ugly proof of violence. Beautiful in the sense he lived. 

Qimir said Vernestra only struck him with her lightwhip once. Yet the scar split in two directions halfway up. From when she recalled the weapon, Osha guessed. The branch to the right was thicker. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

He shrugged, sunlight catching on his broad shoulder. Sitting this close, she could feel the warmth radiating from his bare back. “Sometimes.” 

Osha would assume it hurt. A scar this thick meant a deep wound. A deep wound meant internal damage. She knew more about wires and cogs than nerves and bones, but she was certain of that much. 

“Go ahead,” Qimir said. “You can touch it.” His head was tilted to the right. She looked past his shoulder to the low waves crawling up the shore and sinking into the sand. A greyish blue.

The other night when he had a nightmare, she touched his back and he flinched.

He sensed her hesitation. 

“You won't hurt me.” 

Right. Because Vernestra had enough for a lifetime. Osha felt a mix of sickness and anger thinking about it. Vernestra struck him when he was unarmed, and his back was turned. The Jedi were precisely what they claimed to denounce.   

So she did as he offered, starting at the bottom of his scar. Her touch was light, and she heard him take a slow, controlled breath. His muscles shifted. The scar tissue itself was as uneven as it looked, a rough texture beneath her fingertip. 

She dragged her finger from scar to smooth skin, then back, sensing the way he had knit his body back together. Their connection in the Force was strong, and especially now she could get lost in it, fascinated by the way he responded to her—the hairs on his back rising. 

“I'm sorry,” Osha said.

With no scar left to trace, she spread her fingers flat on his upper back. The heat of his skin soaked into her palm. She could feel the bumps of his spine beneath and the movement of his breathing. 

Sorry changed nothing. She was a child herself at the time, six years old, and two years off from her own life being disrupted by the Jedi. It was the sort of thing you said to fill the silence. Qimir was quiet, and there was only the sound of the waves. 

Her gaze drifted to the smooth skin below his left shoulder. Osha imagined pressing her lips there and knew it would be warm like his skin beneath her hand. She could trail her lips down his scar too, show him with her mouth what there weren't words for. 

If the time ever came, she would kill Vernestra. Between Qimir and Mae, she had reason. It didn't startle her, how easily the thought occurred. 

She brushed her thumb over the spot and dropped her hand, then crawled over the sand to sit in front of him. 

He watched as she settled, shifting her legs to get more comfortable. The sand was coarse and scratchy. It was a long walk to get to this stretch of beach. But it was nicer than the rocks and rough waves that lined most of the island.

“What do you think now, Osha?” 

“Of what?” She pulled her foot in, pushing sand. 

“Of me.” 

Her eyes went from the sand to his eyes, seeing how brown they were under the sun. 

“I think the same.”

For as long as he had waited to share his past, Osha found she didn't see him any differently after.  

It was the proof she wanted her first weeks here—that he trusted her. Along the way, it became more important that he wasn't alone in it. She didn't need to ask to know she was the first person he ever told. 

Qimir watched her for a beat, waiting, then leaned into her space. “Thank you for listening,” he said, voice low. 

She meant to say, of course. But he brought warmth and bare skin with him, and her mind went a little staticky, like a comlink with a weak signal. 

His eyes left hers, lowering, and she felt the back of his finger brush her wrist. With a focus it didn't demand, he dragged it up past her elbow and to her bicep. The trail of sparks left behind made her body hum. 

He stopped at the starship inked into her brown skin, unbending his finger to touch it fully. She felt the press of his finger into her muscle, then he dropped it and leaned back. 

“I like your tattoo,” he said casually, like she hadn't forgotten to breathe. 

The design itself was simplistic. There was nothing impressive about a drunken decision. Yet the tattoo gave her a slice of permanence in a life where she had none. It was a choice she made all on her own, even if it was in tandem with her meknek crew. 

For those reasons, she liked it too. 

Osha laughed. Her face was warm and not from the sun. “Thanks.” 

Qimir gave her a tight-lipped smile, his eyes flickering over her. His mustache was patchy. It reminded her of their meeting in the apothecary shop on Olega. When he studied her, snatching details like he was starved, though she was supposed to be seen as Mae.

There was a softness in his gaze too she never would expect from a man who was anything but. He looked at her like if there was anything she wanted, he would give it. 

Osha took a breath, breaking from his gaze. The largest of the island's hills loomed behind them. It was mostly moss-covered rock apart from the grass at the top. She scanned past the cliffside and found nothing. 

That didn't mean they were alone. 

“Qimir,” she began carefully. Because she didn't know how much he had figured out over the years. If he was anything like her, he had his own list of what-ifs. Hers was long and increasingly illogical as the years went by. 

What if she never told anyone she wanted to be a Jedi? 

What if she never told the truth?

Things that would make no difference, as she had been a child and the Jedi were the killers invading her home. 

“Qimir, I think Dahn saved your life.” 

He stilled but didn't necessarily react, his gaze steady on her. Osha was certain that Dahn sent an albek after Qimir to distract him with a lesser danger and keep him out of the way. 

It was clear to her what the Jedi were missing from the start. They weren't alone in the Udut jungle that day.

“How?” he asked. 

Osha took another breath, weary of the line she was walking now that she was the one with the secret. “What happened with the ship designer? What was his name?” 

The Bith who sat with Qimir and the other Jedi at dinner. There had to be more to the story than Dahn selling Jedi research to a corporation. 

Qimir bit the inside of his lip, his gaze lowering as he thought. “Rugess Nome. I looked into his company. They had a production facility on Merkat.” 

“When you left the smugglers?” Poy and Catro said it was because of Qimir that someone on their team died on the Merkat job. It lost them a ship and set them back six months. 

He nodded. “I broke from the plan. Went there instead to see what I could learn.” 

“And what did you learn?” 

Qimir gave a half-shrug. “Nothing. That I needed to move on. I did get myself caught on several cameras, though, which was stupid.” 

A breeze blew off the sea, shifting Osha’s locs and carrying with it the scent of salt and fish. Goosebumps rose on her arms, despite the sunshine. 

“But what happened to him?” 

“I found out he was dead.” Qimir stared at her a second, then continued. “The company was under different ownership, and everyone was surprised I was even looking.” 

“If I said Rugess might have killed Dahn, what would you think of that?” 

Qimir paused. 

From what Osha understood, it never occurred to him to ask who Dahn was running from. Dahn was scared for his life. Qimir's view at the time had been narrow. He believed the worst that could happen to a Jedi was losing your title. 

“How could he kill a Jedi?” Qimir asked.

“If he was a Sith.” 

“The Sith were defeated.” 

Osha shook her head. The explanation was as simple as telling him the truth. Yet she did what he would and asked another question: “Do you really think it's only us, or do you just want it to be that way?” 

He looked at her, then glanced over his shoulder to where she had earlier. Her heart skipped in her chest. He couldn't know, but did she seem suspicious? She needed to be more careful and felt a pang of guilt at that. 

But this was larger than them. Qimir might see the opportunity she was beginning to. They could make the Jedi pay. 

His gaze dropped to the sand, and she watched as he smoothed the uneven patch beside him with his hand. “Osha,” he began, then looked at her. “What do you think?” 

She focused on her breathing before he could sense it, then met his eyes. 

“I think…that I like what we have. But we shouldn't forget why this all started. Who the enemy is.” 

He nodded. 

“Now tell me what you think.” Osha shifted, grains of sand scratching her palm. He took his time answering too. The sun felt warm on her shoulders and the back of her head. 

“I want you.” His gaze was on her. “Does that answer your question?”

Her own gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth. Soft. She wondered if he kissed the same way or if it was more like how he fought.

“Yes.” 

 

---

 

Osha chopped the knife steadily through the carrot and against the wooden crate. Her slices weren’t as even as Qimir’s would be, but they would taste the same. 

They were out on the beach for most of the morning, and now it was afternoon. Qimir had asked her to chop the vegetables while he prepared the fish for tonight’s dinner. So here she was, dropping a handful of carrot slices into the boiling pot and reaching for another carrot to slice that one too. 

There was a lot to think about, and alone, she could think freely without the worry of Qimir picking up on how conflicted she was. 

When she first decided not to tell Qimir about Darth Plagueis, they were practically strangers. Later, it was that she didn’t want to worry him. Now, it seemed too late. 

She was fairly certain Rugess Nome was a Sith. It made for a simple explanation. The Sith carried lightsabers, and Rugess used his to kill Dahn. 

Which meant what, Dahn was a Sith too? 

That, she wasn’t as certain of. It was hard to say when she knew there were technicalities to being a true Sith. 

Annoying was the word Qimir used most to describe Dahn, and Qimir wasn't without bias. He was a teenager at the time, and it seemed they had a sort of rivalry going on.

Nearly two decades had passed since. Osha knew from experience that perspective changed with time. If she wasn’t a child when the Jedi came to Brendok, she might have seen them for who they truly were like Mother Koril did.  

Either way, if Rugess was a Sith, he probably knew Darth Plagueis. Which led her to wonder why neither made an attempt to recruit Qimir too. 

After Vernestra left him for dead, he had nowhere to go. He was young, skilled, and already questioning the Jedi’s ideology on his own. What more could the Sith want in a member? 

Unless that was the problem. 

Those same traits would make Qimir difficult to control. Maybe they thought it was too late to mold him for their plan. 

Things are in motion already, Darth Plagueis last told her. 

Which didn't bode well for how the Sith viewed her. She would not be a pawn in his game. Not after she spent sixteen years played by the Jedi. 

She wouldn't agree to anything with Darth Plagueis, but there was an advantage to keeping the option. The Jedi destroyed her life, Qimir's, and now the Jedi had Mae. 

Together, she and Qimir were two on an island. That was what Qimir wanted. But they were only so powerful against an institution. 

“Watch your fingers, Osha.”

The suddenness of Qimir’s voice startled her, and the knife slipped on the crate, scraping the wood. 

She looked up, finding Qimir a short distance away. He held a crate full of the cookware and dishes he left to wash after finishing with the fish.  

“I am.”

His brows lifted. “Didn't seem like it.” 

She sighed and went back to chopping the carrot. He was quiet, but she should have noticed when he entered the cave by way of the Force. Her thoughts had clouded her judgment. That couldn't happen again. 

The clang of metal carried over, and she glanced at him. He was plenty loud now, putting the cookware and dishes away by the wall of the cave. 

Between the two of them, they kept the cave organized. Their belongings were few and mostly necessities. After living on various freighters for six years, it was nice to have a space so large—with room for more than a bed and desk. 

With all the noise, it sounded like he might be reorganizing the entire storage area.

“Are you almost done?” 

The noise stopped. 

“All done,” he said, and she started chopping the carrot again. 

The cave was cool today, more than usual since it wasn't as hot outside. It was bright too. Sunlight filtered in through the mouth and bounced off the small pool of water in the center. 

“Hi,” Qimir said, sitting beside her. He reached across the crate and stole a piece of carrot.

She glanced at him. “Hey.” The carrot crunched between his teeth. He took another piece, eating that one too. “Those are for the soup.”

“I'm hungry.”

The carrot was at the end, so she added the slices to the pot and grabbed the last one. The first slice she chopped, he took. 

“Qimir.” 

“Osha,” he said, drawing out the vowels. Her stomach dipped. “What will you do about it?” He looked at her expectantly.

She paused her chopping. “I have a knife.” The sharp edge glinted as she held it up. 

He grinned. “Scary.”

She shook her head, listening to the crunch as he chewed and the steady hit of the knife's blade against the crate. 

There was half a carrot left by this point, and once she chopped that, she dropped the slices into the broth, bubbling in the pot. The slices joined the fish Qimir added earlier, and their last handful of cabbage—chopped into smaller pieces. 

Qimir slid a small basket of kebroot closer to her. She grimaced as she took one to cut into cubes and heard his soft laugh. 

It surprised her how normal he seemed after the morning he had. She could tell it wasn’t easy for him at times to tell her what happened and the choices he made. 

Mistakes, he had called many of them. This struck her as different from who he was today—unapologetic from the start—insisting he was justified in killing Jecki and Yord at a time when she was reeling and thought of them as her friends. 

He was quiet again, and she snuck a glance at him. She found him looking at her, and he didn't seem to mind being caught—meeting her gaze. 

That day felt like a lifetime ago. As she dropped a handful of cubed kebroot into the pot, she remembered what he had said about her relationship with Master Sol.

One-sided, he called it. 

In retrospect, that was laughable. If her relationship with Sol was one-sided, he never would have gone to such lengths to make her his Padawan, blaming an eight-year-old Mae for the deaths of their coven. 

Now, it was easy to see who Qimir was really thinking of. 

He acted removed from his past, but Osha knew there was no such thing. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking at him. 

Qimir pushed his hand through his hair, and the loose pieces fell exactly where they were before. He nodded, and she returned to the kebroot. 

The knife cut through the tuberous vegetable easily. It was softer than it should be, but they were nearing the end of the season. That she liked the sound of. The hot weather could be unbearable, particularly when they trained. 

Though it brought other worries too. It would be harder to live off the island if they couldn’t grow their own food. Baths would be colder too. The nights were freezing as is. 

Qimir cleared his throat. “There is one other thing I forgot to mention.”

Osha finished with the kebroot she was chopping and set down the knife. 

“Vernestra… Sometimes she would get visions. She didn’t like to talk about them, but when they happened, it was like she was no longer present.”

Her brows furrowed. “Like the vision I had?” She turned, her gaze drifting to his cortosis helmet. It sat where it always did on the workbench, grinning at them and keeping watch over the cave. 

Cortosis could short out a lightsaber. It also supported sensory deprivation. Putting on the helmet left you alone with the Force. In Osha’s case, it showed her the future. Mae, or herself, killing Master Sol. 

“No, not exactly,” Qimir said. He tilted his head, the light catching on the angles of his face as he looked at his helmet too. “It was only in hyperspace.”

“Did she have one about you?”

“I don’t know. If she did, wouldn’t she have done something?”

The wondering in his voice was so genuine that her heart sank. Qimir cared for Vernestra more than she deserved. 

“Maybe,” Osha agreed. That was what he wanted to believe, even after she had injured him to the point of near-death. “Does that mean she might be able to see us?”

“It shouldn't work like that.” Qimir adjusted the sleeve of his tunic. “I know she sensed me on Brendok. So she knows I'm alive. But we would have to be in her future.” 

“We might be.”

“We shouldn’t be.”

It was only a possibility, sure, but they knew Vernestra was looking for them. Why else would she keep Mae with her? 

On Kuval, Qimir froze at the mere mention of her name. He was really saying, I don’t want to be.

If the love Osha had for Master Sol was the source of her hatred, similar could be said of Qimir and Vernestra. His love was the source of his fear. 

“Maybe…” Osha looked at his helmet again. She hadn’t worn it since she saw herself killing Master Sol. Yet if there was ever a reason to, this was it. “I’ll wear your helmet again. So we know for sure.”

He tensed. “No.”

“No?” She smiled slightly, more out of confusion. With her training, she could handle it this time. She would be ready for the darkness to pull her under and wouldn't resist it. He could even watch if that made him feel better. 

Qimir shook his head. “It’s not a good idea.”

And that wasn’t a real answer. He had made it clear he believed she wasn't ready to train with sorcery, but this was different. She had already done this once. 

“It could help us prepare. We would know what to expect. It might even show Mae, and I’d at least know she’s okay.”

His voice was hard. “Mae made her choice.”

“So what, we’re just going to leave her with the Jedi forever?” Mae erased her memories for her. Beneath the bunta tree, Osha had held her sister and promised she would find her someday. “That’s not fair.”

“None of this is fair, Osha. Did you think it would be?” 

She ignored the question and went back to chopping the kebroot. The knife left indents in the crate. His gaze was still on her, but she ignored that too. 

Obviously it wouldn’t be fair. If the galaxy was fair, Osha wouldn’t have lost her coven, lost Mae, and lost sixteen years of her life to the Jedi's manipulation. 

Qimir was her teacher, but they were partners too. Equals. She deserved a say. 

If there was any chance to tip the scale in their favor, they should take it. 

Osha dropped the last of the kebroot cubes into the pot. Hot broth splashed up. Only then did she turn to Qimir to find his gaze had never left. 

His eyes drifted down and back up, stopping at hers. “Do you want to train while that cooks?” 

She almost said no, just to be petty. But if Vernestra found them, she needed to be ready. If she had to save Mae on her own, she needed to be powerful. 

Her frustration was loosening, and she leveled her gaze on Qimir, interest slipping in to replace it. 

“With lightsabers?” 

 

Notes:

Soooooo how are we feeling?

As always, I appreciate you reading and love to hear your thoughts <3

Find me on tumblr or on bluesky.

Chapter 6: Deny / Accept

Summary:

The moon seemed too bright. The hum of her saber was too loud. Darkness pulled at her, twisted inside her.

“Prove it, Osha.” Qimir's hand slid up to rest on her thigh, warm through the damp fabric. “Look me in the eyes and kill me.”

He looked at her with acceptance. The same way he had looked at Master Sol, but he wasn't smiling now.

She raised her saber.

--
Secrets are revealed.

Notes:

Happy holidays, happy almost new year, happy chapter 6 is finally up! *Speaking into the microphone* This chapter is for people who love oshamir and powerful women.

Enjoy! <3

The crash of the waves was quiet behind her. The sun above, bright and warm. 

Osha had asked whether he thought it was only them. Whether there was anyone else. 

She knew they weren't alone. 

Yet with how Qimir was looking at her, she thought maybe they should be. 

He looked at her with certainty. A sharpness she understood because she knew the softness beneath. 

In a way that made her think, why would I want anyone else?

Because it felt good to be wanted for reasons that were true. 

Osha moved closer. The sand was coarse under her knees, and she touched his bare shoulder. He tilted his head back to see her.

“Hi.” His voice sank through her, and he smiled, his eyes inquisitive and warm. 

“Hey,” she said on a laugh, smiling too. Her hand slid from his shoulder to the back of his neck, her fingers curling up into the silky strands of his hair. 

It took a moment to remember the last time she felt this way. 

That night as a meknek.

When her crewmates put their arms around her, singing off key to a song she didn't know. She stumbled through the words with them, feeling the sting of her new tattoo and the burn of revnog down her throat—carefree and the loudest of them all. 

For the first time since she left the Jedi, she thought she would be okay.

She was happy. 

Until she was alone in her room on the freighter, staring at the viewport. 

Hyperspace blurred on the other side, and all she saw was her reflection in the glass. Mae if she was alive. She heard the echo of her coven in her head, singing her through Ascension. 

The voices of ghosts. 

She wore the face of a ghost. 

Osha felt like a ghost whenever she was alone. 

Her hand wove through his hair, clutching like she would disappear if she didn't.

Qimir's hand settled on her hip, something solid, reminding her she was too. He looked at her, his gaze searching. 

She'd said nothing, but she met his gaze, and he seemed to understand. He saw her—and had since the day she stepped inside the apothecary shop. Then, the Force had pulled them together. 

Now, it was choice. 

“I want you,” she whispered. Like it was a secret only for him. 

A wave crashed behind her. 

He nodded just enough to be noticeable, his eyes intent. “Is that all, Osha?” 

His thumb brushed over her hip, and she shivered. 

She leaned closer, and he wrapped his arms around her middle. Her head came to rest on his. His hand slid over her spine, warm through the fabric of her tunic. 

To Osha, Qimir was the sun, and she couldn't get enough. 

Their noses bumped. Then his grazed her cheek, the stumble on his jaw scratching hers as he lowered his face to the crook of her neck. She felt his breath, hot on her skin, and almost said please.  

Because she wanted his mouth on her. 

Wanted to bring his mouth back up to taste him. 

But another part of her knew—not here. 

Not now. 

Not like this. 

Her eyelids fluttered, her nails scraping his scalp, and she caught a flash of something black. Qimir's arms stayed around her like an anchor. 

The waves crashed louder, closer. 

They were on dry sand. 

A tall figure stood a distance off. 

With her hand still in Qimir's hair, he couldn't see who lurked.

It was a Muun with yellow eyes that burned beneath the shadow of his hood. His black cloak was moved by wind that didn't exist. 

Something smacked her shoulder, and she woke.

 

---

 

Osha inhaled. Her heart beat fast in her chest. 

Deep blue light came from the front of the cave. The air was chilly. It cooled her flushed skin, and she felt her heart begin to slow. 

She pulled her blanket up higher and turned onto her side. 

To her surprise, Qimir was there. 

His eyes were closed, and his breathing had the evenness of sleep. 

He lay close with his arm in the space between them; his hand was out like he had reached for her. 

The morning light was dim, yet she could make out some of his face. His features were relaxed, and his hair fell loosely across to hide some of it. 

Most mornings, he was gone when she woke. He'd appear for breakfast with a fresh basket of sweetroot or with a tool in hand, returning from his ship. 

Osha often wondered if it was possible to be that busy. She contributed her fair share, whether with meals or maintaining their supplies. There was no reason to be up before the sun when they made their own schedule. Ever since her sleep had improved, Osha took all the rest she could get. 

Maybe it was that he didn't know how to do nothing. 

Which, Osha understood. 

Between meknek shifts, she used to work out Pip's bugs or repair tech for other crew members. It never hurt to have a few extra credits in her pocket. Mother Koril used to say the best way to quiet your mind was to use your hands. Advice given alongside how to throw a strong punch, but it had merit. 

The only problem was now, her hands wanted to do something like brush Qimir's hair from his face and trace the shape of his brow.

She could have admitted a long time ago that he was beautiful. He'd built his body for survival. Shadows favored him in all the right places. He said as much with his eyes as he spoke aloud. 

Yet that could be dangerous too. Qimir knew how to use his body. There was intentionality to the way he held himself and a poise he made natural. He became whoever he needed to be. 

So it was more of a fact than an effect on Osha. Something that stuck with her after she followed him to the lagoon, driven by anger and maybe curiosity. It was another reason to distrust him.

A lot had changed since then. 

The masked man who handed her a lightsaber beneath the bunta tree now lay beside her—curled as if drawn to her in his sleep. 

Osha watched the soft rise and fall of his chest for a minute more, then slowly got up. She went on socked feet to their food storage, rummaging around as quietly as she could in the dim light. On the way back, she grabbed her boots and carried them until she was outside. There, she dropped them and slipped her feet in. 

The sun was rising now. Bright orange took the place of blue, filtering through the wispy clouds scattered across the sky. 

Yesterday's laundry hung over the railing and was left out overnight by mistake. It included a couple of old blankets and a cloak from Qimir's ship she tried to get the smell of grease out of. There was a section of cargo storage Qimir thought was empty until she checked, in search of anything to help with the colder nights. 

A deep purple glove lay on the ground. She'd only found one on the ship but couldn't bear to part with anything once belonging to Mae. She picked it up and shook off the dirt. The fabric was damp and cold. After time in the sun it would be fine. 

She followed the steps down to the beach and walked around to the other side. A smooth ledge of rock pressed up against the island there. She sat, cringing a little at how cold it was, and tugged her sleeves down to her wrists. 

The sea was as alive as ever today. Tall waves crashed up and over the rocks lining the shore, spraying seafoam that appeared orange under the sunrise. 

With the Force, Osha reached out to scan the island. She sensed fish, birds, and other wildlife. For days, she had been looking for Darth Plagueis.  

Her questions continued to pile the longer she went without answers. Part of her worried she'd missed the opportunity. The Sith seemed to be knowledgeable, and the more she learned of the Jedi, the more their threat grew. 

She continued to go back and forth on whether to tell Qimir. More and more, he seemed to shy away from her ideas: training with sorcery or wearing his cortosis helmet. It was an easier choice when she didn't know him so well. 

On the beach, he had said he wanted her. There were other implications there, ones her subconscious particularly liked to run with, yet the point stood: He was set in his ways. 

She couldn't sense the Sith, though.

If Darth Plagueis wasn't here, what was there to tell? 

Orange began to fade from the sky, replaced by the blue of daytime. The scattering of clouds stayed—a sign of a cooler day to come. 

To her left, Osha heard chitters and a quiet shift of stones. She smiled. 

“There you are! Are you hungry?” 

A family of skura worked their way over the stones and gathered around her. Two adults and a baby. The baby nudged at her boot with its long, orange nose. 

“Okay, okay,” she said with a laugh. “But you have to promise to share.” 

Before leaving the cave, she had grabbed a roll of crackers. The plastic crinkled as she untwisted the packaging. She took out a cracker and broke it into pieces, tossing them a short distance away. The skura ran off to eat. 

At first, the skura would hide as soon as they saw her. Yet she started sitting here more, and over time, they grew brave enough to venture over. Once she began bringing food, their friendship was sealed. 

The baby skura pushed at a stone larger than itself. A piece of cracker must have lodged beneath. Using the Force, Osha lifted the stone and moved it to the side. The baby collected the cracker with its snout. 

“You're up early.” 

Osha looked over. 

Qimir stood by the corner of rock that led back to the steps. His hair was mussed, like he woke and immediately came to find her. 

Probably because he had; his voice was groggy with sleep. 

“You're up late,” she said. 

The sky was blue now, and the sunshine eased the morning chill. He walked over. The skura froze, running to hide behind a piece of driftwood. 

He sat beside her, closer than necessary—his sleeve brushing hers. If she was cold before, she wasn't now. 

“You scared them,” she said. 

His brows furrowed. “Who?” 

“The skura.” She broke up another cracker and threw it. “You can come out,” she said loudly. “I promise he only looks scary.” 

She felt Qimir's gaze on her and glanced at him with a small smile. 

“What?” she asked innocently. 

Qimir’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “How did you sleep, Osha?” 

“I—”

A normal question, but her face warmed nonetheless.  

She held her gaze steady. “I slept fine. How did you sleep?” 

“I slept great.” He bit his bottom lip, his gaze flickering over her. Then, he laughed, looking away. The skura were returning. 

Osha didn't know what he found so funny.

The largest skura came first, followed by the other two. They went around, searching for bits of cracker in the stones with their long noses, eating what they found and chittering. 

She felt Qimir's hand brush her own as he took a few crackers from the roll. 

“Oh, I wouldn't—” 

But it was too late. He had already put one in his mouth and was chewing. 

His nose scrunched. “These are stale.”

“I know.” Osha laughed, more at the frown he gave her. “Maybe if you were patient, you'd have known that.” 

He swallowed, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. His eyes settled on hers, and he spoke with his voice low. “You don't think I'm patient, Osha?” 

She looked back at him, her smile gone. Though slight, his own smile seemed like a challenge. 

“Sure.” She bumped her arm into his to ease the tension. But of course, she was met by hard muscle. 

Qimir tossed the other crackers to the skura. The largest ran after them to collect both. Osha pushed the skura back gently with the Force.

“The big one will eat them all if you let him.” She opened the hand she held out, and the crackers broke into smaller pieces. The other two skura ran for the new pieces. “His name is Qimir.”

Up the beach, the waves crashed over the rocks. 

“Osha…” Qimir said, so slow it was practically a sigh.

“What?” she asked, turning to him. She tried not to laugh and failed. 

He shook his head, but she caught his smile. “Then which one are you?”

“I'm not any of them.” She pointed at the baby, who had lost interest in the crackers and was wandering off to explore a patch of moss. “That one’s Tiny.” Qimir said nothing, so she kept talking, feeling silly the longer she did. “Because he’s a baby. And tiny, obviously. He likes to chase bugs.” 

“Hmm.” 

Osha built up the courage to look at him, expecting he’d tease her. Her crewmates always did when she brought Pip everywhere and talked about him like he was a person rather than a repair droid. 

Yet all she found on Qimir’s face was soft affection. 

It settled over her like a blanket, and her stomach sank a little. 

Not in a bad way. 

But because she felt the same. 

“Um…” Osha searched for something to say, twisting the roll of crackers closed. The packaging crinkled. “What— what are we doing today?”

It took a moment for Qimir to respond. She stared out at the waves and the seawater that flew up at the rocks. He was warm and real beside her, and though they weren’t touching, it didn’t feel any different. 

“What do you want to do?” he asked. 

There were numerous ways to answer that question. Several involved analyzing her life up to this moment. A few didn’t involve clothing. She glanced at him and saw him push his hair back from his face. He was watching the waves. 

If only she was as bold as her imagination. 

“I want to practice with lightsabers more,” she said. “I think I'm still relying on my senses too much.”

The shift to training with lightsabers was easier than she thought it would be. Her lightsaber connected to the Force in a way a practice saber couldn’t. It supported her control over her movements, and she improved her reaction time. 

Yet there were habits that lingered from the six years she let her bond with the Force weaken. 

“Okay.” 

Osha turned to Qimir, another question on her face that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to voice. 

He noticed, tilting his head. “If you’re wondering, you should ask, Osha.”

“When do you think I’ll be ready?” 

“For?”

“When will I be done with training?” 

His gaze dropped to the stones, and he nudged one with the toe of his boot. “Well, it’s not something you complete. As long as you live, there will be more to learn. But,” he said, looking at her, “if you had to use your skills today—for real—I believe you would do well.”

“Thanks.”

He smiled softly. “Don’t thank me when it’s all your strength in the Force. Your dedication.”

Once, she would have doubted that. Found a way to credit Master Sol or anyone other than herself. Qimir never took credit for what was hers. 

She nodded, taking another breath to speak. “But if I’m ready, what will we do next?”

Her first choice would be to find Mae and Vernestra. It would be too risky to confront Vernestra on Coruscant. More Jedi were there than anywhere. But they couldn’t stay forever. Same as how she and Qimir couldn’t stay on Bal'demnic forever. Sooner than later, they would need to make another trip offplanet for supplies. 

“We do whatever we want,” he said.

It was a broader statement than what she expected. “You don’t want to go after the Jedi, though.” 

Qimir's brows lifted. “That sounds like revenge.” He hesitated, then continued. “Mae wanted revenge, Osha. I'll be the first to tell you that you would lose yourself to it. 

“When I say I want freedom to use my power how I like, I'm saying that I want the freedom to exist. Sometimes that means killing Jedi. But existence is a form of defiance too. It's choosing yourself. Do you understand?”  

Osha twisted the end of the cracker package in her hand. “Yeah. That makes sense.” 

“But…?” 

Her attention was on the waves, and she felt his gaze on her. 

She stood, turning to him. “Nothing. I'm hungry. Are you?” 

 

---

 

After leaving the Jedi, Osha never lived in one place for long.

Meknek assignments changed abruptly along with the supply and demand of the trade market. She went wherever work was available.

Some part of her had hoped life as a meknek would offer the adventure she sought as a child. New planets. New people. She wouldn't be a Jedi, but she would see the galaxy. 

Mostly, she saw durasteel walls, waiting for an alarm to go off, wondering what would happen first—a spiking pressure gauge or her brain melting from boredom. 

The freighters all looked the same after a while. She enjoyed the work itself, but those rare nights off with her crew became the only way to mark the passage of time. 

In comparison, life as a Jedi was almost luxurious. The Temple supported everything a Jedi could need from knowledge to guidance to training. A cozy room for sleep, study, and privacy. Meals shared with friends and elders. It was home. Another home where she never felt she belonged.

She wanted too much in her coven.

With the Jedi, she was a failure. 

Always the anomaly. 

Bal'demnic was home too. There was a peace to life on the island she never found elsewhere. From the steady crash of the waves to starting and ending her days with the sun, life was predictable in a way that soothed her past self. 

The waves looked smaller from here, at the top of one of the island's flatter hills. They crested over the rocks, and when she leaned into the Force, she could feel their strength. 

She took a breath of salty air and stretched her arms behind her. The Force told her Qimir was close, so she went to meet him at the rocky path she used to climb up. They had started the walk here together, yet halfway, he said he had “an idea” and turned back. 

“Hey,” Qimir said, climbing the last stretch. “Miss me?” 

Osha stretched her arms again, this time in front of her. “You weren't gone that long.” She scanned him—he was in long sleeves like her—yet she didn't find anything different.

He smirked. “You want to know what my idea is.” He walked past her through the short grass. 

“Are you going to tell me?” She followed to where he stopped more in the middle of the hill. The sun shined on them, but the breeze offset the warmth—cooler at this elevation. Her locs brushed her cheek. 

Qimir reached into his pocket. He pulled out a strip of black fabric and held it up. It fluttered with the breeze. 

She looked from the fabric to him. “Seems like it'd be hard to hold your lightsaber with your hands tied.” 

He huffed a laugh. “It's for you. A blindfold.”

She frowned. 

“That's what you wanted to practice. Did you forget?”

“Yeah, but—” She took a step back, looking over her shoulder to the far side of the hill. It was a sharp drop to the beach. “What if I...fall off the cliff?”

“Why would you do that?” 

“Because I can't see.” 

Qimir tilted his head, studying her. He'd secured the loose strands of his hair with ties, and she missed it a little—how he'd have to brush them back. 

“Why are you nervous?” he asked. 

“I'm not.” 

She'd put everything she had into nurturing her connection to the Force. In her early weeks on the island, she struggled to grasp it and her emotions. Now, the Force was a part of her in a similar vein to her heart or lungs.

Yet he was right in a sense. He knew her too well and waited for her to continue. 

Osha swallowed. “I'm just nervous that I won't be good at it,” she said quietly. 

If she was doing well, why ruin her confidence with something she couldn't do?

Qimir nodded, slow and understanding. “You're allowed to fail, Osha. You're with me, remember.”

Not with the Jedi went unsaid, but she heard it all the same. 

The Jedi were forgiving when she was a child. Master Sol shielded her from the harsher critiques. Less so when she was older. Word traveled, and she knew how to read between the lines. 

The worst part was—she wanted to do well. She stayed late after training sessions to speak with her instructors and trained on her own when her peers went out into the city to ride sky cars. But it was never enough because the Jedi had already decided she wasn't enough. 

He came closer and stopped in front of her. Behind him and down the hill were the skinny trees he made their practice sabers from—proof of how far she'd come. Their leaves rustled with the breeze.

“Do you want to try?” he asked. 

She looked up into Qimir's face. The lines were all sharp, but his eyes held a softer curiosity, searching as if to ensure her answer matched her face. 

“Yes, I'll try.”

“I figured you would,” he said, flashing a smile. His hand cupped her elbow, a move so unexpectedly natural she missed his touch the second it was gone. 

She thought he would give her the blindfold then, yet he was already behind her, looping his arms around. She got one last glimpse of grass, rock, and sunshine before there was only darkness. 

“Why do you fight like this?” she asked. 

Osha remembered what it was like to wear his helmet. Everything about it seemed impractical. It was heavy and uncomfortable. The thin slit at eye level provided no more visibility than the blindfold did. 

“You mean, why do I wear a helmet?” Qimir radiated warmth at her back. She was unprepared for how strongly she would sense him without her sight. His presence was a live wire, each of his movements an invitation to lean into the spark. 

He pulled the ends of the blindfold to the back of her head, mindful of the way the fabric lay over her locs. It was rough on her eyelids every time she blinked. 

“At first, it was to cover my face,” he said. With nothing to look at, she listened to his voice. Rough like the rocks and slow like the sea. “Then I found cortosis in the caves here and designed the helmet I use now. Sensory deprivation has many benefits. It improves your focus. There's only you and the Force.” 

He adjusted a crease in the blindfold and tied the two ends in a loose knot. 

“That's useful for me. Sensing someone else’s anger or fear, how they perceive you, their desires, the things they want to do to you…” He pulled the blindfold tight, leaning close so his voice was a rumble in her ear. “It's distracting.”

Though she was glad he couldn't see her face, she would have liked to see his. 

Qimir stepped back, and she took an easier breath. As he walked around her, she reached for him, catching the soft fabric of his sleeve. 

“Hey. Uh, any advice?” She moved her hand down to his, and he folded his fingers over hers. 

“The Force will tell you anything you need to know.” 

She would have rolled her eyes if he could see them. “You're the master.” 

He squeezed her hand once, then let go. “I learn from you too, Osha.” 

There was no sound or tangible sign to prove it, but Qimir moved about five paces away. Out of everything on the island, she felt his presence the strongest—as familiar as the back of her hand. He was relaxed. If she didn't know him, she would believe he was harmless. 

“Would you like one or two?” he asked.

“One or two what?” Osha peeled up the blindfold just enough to see. The sunlight was a shock, and she squinted until her eyes adjusted. 

Qimir held up his lightsaber and demonstrated, splitting the hilt into two parts. 

“One,” she said. A simple decision as he had never dual wielded in training sessions when she could see. 

He arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you could handle it.” 

She shrugged. “Another time then.” 

“Alright. I'll hold you to it.” He reconnected the hilt. Then all he did was look at her. 

She looked back. 

He grinned, and she caught the dangerous edge to it. “Are you gonna—” He gestured to his face. 

“Right.” Osha eased the blindfold back over her eyes, pulling the tie at the back to ensure it wasn't loose. The fabric was thick enough that no light shined through. 

It would be easy to misstep. Strike too early or late; miss a strike entirely. 

She did use the Force in combat. Plenty. It strengthened her movements and supported her decision-making—helping her anticipate. Yet now it was all she had. 

“Lightsaber, Osha. Turn it on.” 

“I know how—” 

Qimir ignited his, and Osha had no choice but to unclip her own. She powered it on just in time to block his heavy strike—lifting her elbows before she even knew he was in front of her. 

The blades clashed, and Osha stumbled back, caught off guard. 

“Why weren't you ready?” Qimir asked. 

“You didn't say.” 

“Have I ever?” 

She tried to strike first this time, but he was too fast—catching her blade when she held it high. The blades hissed together. 

He stepped away. She felt out of breath already. When he swung toward her next, it was from the other side. She turned to block, but he wasn't there. 

“You could be blinded in a fight for any number of reasons.” He was back where he started, spinning his lightsaber. The blade hummed louder as he brought it up to stop her swing. “An injury. Low visibility. Something in the air.”

His voice told her where he was, and she followed his retreat, her boots sinking into the soft grass. It was a fake out, and he rushed forward with a swing she ducked under rather than blocked. The blade sizzled over her head. 

“You can't predict the unexpected, but you can prepare.” 

“Why are you talking so much?” She adjusted her grip on the hilt as she stood, their blades meeting when she swung. 

“Why are you listening?” Qimir was pleased she caught on. She heard it in his voice.

A fair point. He was talking to distract her. Here she was again, relying on her senses rather than the Force. 

Osha let it all fade out. Qimir's comments. The hum of their sabers, the whisper of the breeze, and the crash of the waves down below. 

She saw nothing, but she had everything in the Force, right? 

Her boots dug into the grass as she lunged toward Qimir. Their sabers met with heavy swings, and she locked her arms. The blades protested with high-pitched whines. 

“Good, Osha,” Qimir praised. 

She swerved away, her locs swinging, and reset her stance to block his next strike. “Stop talking.”

He laughed, delighted. Of course this was fun for him. 

Osha smiled. More so when he blocked her strike late and had to use the Force. She slid back on the grass but stayed steady on her feet. 

That gave her unearned confidence. She tried to be tricky, go for one move when she had another in mind, yet he was onto her. 

Qimir's blade swiped close to her left shoulder, hot and burning through her tunic. 

She cursed under her breath. 

“If it hurts, then use it.” 

She growled. Her shoulder flared with pain when she slammed her blade against his. Forceful. 

Pain was an effective gateway to the dark side. It was easy to access in a fight when your muscles were overworked and you wanted it to be over. In terms of emotional pain, Osha drew on her past. 

Even without her sight, she was still thinking about how to win when she should be doing. 

The Force made it possible to operate without your senses. As a child, Master Sol had tested her on the Jedi's ship—pulling up images on a datapad for her to name. She didn’t need to see them for the answers to pop into her head. 

Granted, it was easier when there was no movement or danger. Knowing Qimir was swinging for her head, then arching his blade to prevent her own strike, left her on high alert. The intensity made it hard to lose yourself to the flow of combat. 

Decisions became instinct when you let them.

Using the Force should be instinctive. 

He caught her strike. She was strong and couldn't be moved—the blades sizzling.

All she saw was darkness, but she blocked when she needed to, swung broad to force space between them when there was time, or cut quick in retaliation before he could retreat himself. 

Their blades still hummed. 

The waves still crashed. 

Her boots tore up a patch of grass when she used the Force to throw herself into a well-timed strike. 

But she didn't need to know that. 

All she needed was the Force. 

Qimir was gone. 

Osha powered off her lightsaber, the blade hissing as it retracted. As her senses returned to her, so did the cool breeze on her damp skin and the distant wash of waves. 

But his presence wasn't here. 

She pulled the blindfold roughly off her head, blinking against the sunlight. The difference after wearing the blindfold was stark. 

Her breath stuttered when she saw how much closer she was to the cliff than when they began their duel. 

“Qimir?” She spun in a circle as if it was possible to have missed him. 

There was no sign of him on the hill, and there were no places to hide. The area was too flat. The rocks were too few and the trees too skinny. 

Osha shouldn't panic. It wasn't like he could disappear into thin air. Yet she felt the start of it anyway, a prickle across her skin. The adrenaline coursing through her encouraged it. 

Look down.

His voice was warm in her head; warmth spreading to her toes. He was close, and she glanced over her shoulder like he would be there. 

But he said to look down.

She walked through the grass to the cliffside. Gravel rolled over the edge when she stopped there. It was a long drop to the sand, bordered by a rocky wall that was too steep to climb and a calm stretch of sea further back. 

Qimir stood at the bottom. Small from here and looking up at her. 

“Did you jump?” she called to him. 

He must have. There was no other way to get down there so quickly. Why he would do that, she had no idea. 

The breeze caught at the blindfold clutched in her hand, and she tucked it in her pocket. 

“Come down!” He waved his hand for her to follow. 

She wasn't afraid of heights. If she was, she never would have become a meknek. On the outer hull of a freighter, there was nothing to catch you but endless space. 

This just seemed stupid when there was a perfectly good path to climb down to sea level. 

Osha turned on her heel in that direction. 

Trust yourself.  

She paused. It was still strange to have his voice inside her head—an illusion of closeness that was otherwise impossible. 

Yet he was right. 

If she wanted to do it, she could. 

Osha returned to the cliff, standing so the toes of her boots hung over the edge. 

It had to be at least thirty feet. She wasn't sure, but it was a sharp drop. 

Her stomach swooped when she leaned to look. Self-preservation told her to step back. The danger also excited her. This was the adventure she once wanted, and it was like rediscovering a piece of herself. 

What was the worst that could happen? 

Obviously, she could die. But she knew Qimir wouldn't let that happen. 

He was down there. A splotch of color in the sand—light tunic, dark pants—waiting for her. 

She trusted him as much as she trusted herself. 

So she clipped her lightsaber to her belt and jumped. 

Her stomach plummeted. 

Wind rushed around her. 

The blue of the sea and sky blended with the rock and golden sand below. 

The wind pulled at her tunic and locs. Stole her breath. She might have left her heart on the cliffside above. 

She fought for balance, her arms flailing. 

It felt like drowning but a hundred times faster, the air as cold as water.

The ground was coming too fast. 

There was no time to panic. 

Osha called on the Force and landed ungracefully with one foot back too far. She wobbled and fell to the coarse sand. 

“I did it!” She laughed, high and elated. 

“Not bad for your first time.”

Qimir was smiling as he walked toward her. He held out his hand, and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. 

She was still unsteady and stumbled. His other hand came to her arm to steady her with a warm, firm grip. 

“Easy,” he said, his eyes scanning her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Osha stepped back from him, brushing sand from her pants. The cliff loomed behind her, a wall of grey apart from patches of moss. She glanced up, in disbelief she jumped that high. “Did you help?” 

“I did not.” He watched as she checked her lightsaber at her belt. “Did you think I would?” 

“If I needed you.” She glanced over her shoulder, craning her neck again to see the clifftop. “Otherwise, I wouldn't have jumped.” She shrugged.

He nodded, though there was something hesitant to the way he did. “Let me see your shoulder,” he said, beckoning her over. 

Between the rest of the duel and the jump, Osha had forgotten about the injury. The skin on her shoulder was achy. Lightsaber burns were annoying like that, slow healing and irritated by any movement. 

Osha walked over, her boots sinking into the sand. She looked at her shoulder when she reached him. Though it was an odd angle to see herself, blistered skin showed through the hole in her tunic. 

“You need to come a little closer than that.” Qimir tugged gently on her arm, and she took another step in the sand. Her eyes flickered to his, brown and intent. 

She fixed her gaze on his shoulder as his attention shifted to hers. He slipped his fingers under the burnt edge of fabric to lift it away from her skin. Her gaze traveled over, tracing the column of his throat and the jut of his Adam's apple. 

The scattered cloud cover kept the sun from its full strength. Standing here with Qimir, he was warmer. 

“What's the prognosis?” she asked. 

There was a freckle on his collarbone, right above his tunic. She thought about running her tongue along it. 

He took a moment to reply. The quiet wash of the waves filled the silence. 

“Try blocking your opponent with your saber.” His voice was rougher than before. “You might find it more effective than your shoulder.”

“Funny.” 

“I thought so.” She heard the smile in his voice, and a glance at him confirmed it. “You're good. You just need to be slightly faster when you take risks.”

Qimir was faster. But he also didn't seem to mind the consequences. A lightsaber at his throat didn't phase him. Nor did any possibility of injury. 

His finger grazed the burn, and she flinched away. “Sorry,” he said quieter. He moved his free hand to grasp her upper arm. “Hold still.” 

“What are you doing?” she asked, twisting to see. 

“Osha, please.” A warning without any heat to it.

She was curious now, so she stilled. Her eyes drifted to his face. He was tense. Eyes focused. His tongue pressed to his top lip in concentration. 

“Are you—” Her sentence died there as the skin on her shoulder tingled. She angled her head and found his fingers hovering over the burn on her skin. 

He was healing her. Using the Force to encourage her cells to regenerate faster. 

It felt itchy.  

A burning sensation like the injury itself; both foreign and familiar. An accelerated version of what her body could do on its own. 

She was captivated, despite his hand blocking most of her view. 

“There,” he said, quiet enough it was more breath than a word. He brushed his finger over the healed skin, her shoulder tingling all over again. “How's that feel?” 

Her eyes found him and stayed there. It had been a long time since someone cared for her like this. Since she was a child and her mothers were alive to wipe her tears. 

The Jedi cared in their own way. They had to. But there was protocol to it. A portable scanner to check vitals or a bacta patch from the medcenter. Master Sol often shied away from her pain, in the sense he always insisted she let go. 

It amazed her—that someone cared enough about her to consider how she felt before she thought to herself. 

“Better,” she said. The word almost caught in her throat. “Thank you.” 

He still held her arm. All the awareness in her body seemed to center on that point and the fabric separating his hand from her skin. 

With the angle, Osha had to turn her head and look up to see him. 

Qimir was already looking at her. His lips were parted like he meant to speak, and his eyes traveled down, stopping at her mouth long enough for her to know. He seemed to notice what he was doing, noticed he was still holding her arm, and moved away to give her space. 

She didn't need space.

Waves crawled up the shore behind him. They were calm. Quiet. 

Osha rolled her shoulder a couple of times. She pressed her fingers into the skin there. Smooth. 

It didn't hurt at all. 

“Can you teach me how to do that?” she asked. 

Healing would be a useful skill to have. They could ration the bacta. She already noticed Qimir's avoidance of it the last time they trained. He let his wounds heal on their own, apart from when they were bad enough for her to insist otherwise. 

He nodded. “Sure. Next time.” 

“Assuming there is a next time.” She gave an exaggerated shrug. 

With how they trained, it was practically certain. Yet he seemed to have put distance between them in more ways than one, responding with another nod. 

Slowly, Osha walked over to him. Closer to the water, the sand was littered with seaweed. She stepped over a piece of driftwood. 

“Another question,” she began. 

Qimir's gaze settled on her. His hair was still tied on the sides, yet a strand had freed itself and brushed his cheek. 

“How do you speak in my mind?” 

This, she should have asked a long time ago. It would have been useful on Kuval, and that trip hadn't ended well. More so for the smugglers and the Jedi than them. 

He shrugged with one shoulder. “I don't know.”

Osha’s brows drew together. “How can you not know?” 

“All I do is think about what I want to say.” His gaze focused. 

Like this.

The sound of his voice was smooth in her head. Two words was all it took for her to feel that blooming warmth. An echo of his thoughts for her.

There was no other way to describe it but intimate.

Qimir’s mouth twitched. “Is it weird?” 

“I don't know if I'd say that…” Osha trailed off, wondering how to describe it so she wouldn't sound weird. 

A faint smile crossed his face. It spelled trouble. 

Do you…like it?

She swore he drew out the question. His voice sent a shiver through her, and she crossed her arms under her chest to hide it. “I'm not answering that.” 

He tilted his head. “Then what am I supposed to think?” 

The way he was looking at her, like he already knew, didn't help. 

Osha brushed her locs back, looked at the sea, the cliff, anywhere but him—then realized what that would imply and marched toward him. 

She wrapped her hand around his wrist and felt the muscles in his forearm tense. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little breathy. 

She stared up into his face and into his eyes. 

Dark, dangerous, curious. Yet she recognized something else too—a feeling that pooled inside her.

Want. 

His pulse was rapid under her thumb. 

“I'm speaking in your mind,” she said, inching closer to angle her face toward his. She could feel the heat from his body. 

His gaze burned into hers, and she didn't relent, despite the flush creeping up her neck. The Force thrummed like electricity between them. 

“What are you saying?” 

“Lots of things,” she murmured. 

“I'm ready whenever.” 

She stared back and did try. Really. She tried to say something about the weather, and then the skura. When that didn't work, she let her thoughts stray to things she wasn't ready for him to hear. 

“Anything?” she asked. 

Qimir shook his head but didn't take his gaze off of her. His eyes were more darkness for her to slip into. “Nothing.” 

Her gaze flickered across his face. To the piece of hair by his cheek. To his mustache and lips. 

“That's too bad,” she said lightly and took a step back. “You'd probably like it.” 

He exhaled, no louder than the waves, and stayed where she'd left him. “You're interesting, Osha.” 

The sun was coming out from behind a cloud and shined in her eyes when she looked back at him. “I'm many things.” 

“That you are.” His smile was slow as he walked past her, his steps careful as he watched for the larger rocks. A breeze blew, and she saw him tuck that piece of hair behind his ear.

“Where are you going?” she asked. 

He glanced over his shoulder once, at a point past her, searching. Then he continued on and left her to stare at his back. “You're always welcome to find out.”

It was such a non-answer, typical of him. She looked where he had but saw nothing. 

So she turned to the sea, watching the low roll of the waves up the shore. She brought her hand to her shoulder, running her fingers over the smooth skin, and smiled. 

A voice cut through the quiet, preceded by a sigh. 

I was beginning to think he'd never leave. 

Care to chat? 

 

---

 

Osha turned quickly, scanning the beach behind her. 

Darth Plagueis stood a distance back. The Muun's long face was partially hidden by the hood of his cloak. The black fabric shifted with the breeze. 

“You can't be here,” she hissed, walking over. Her boot kicked a stone in the sand. 

He looked back at her, and his lips curled into a smile. “What will happen if he sees?” 

Osha glanced over to the path Qimir took. He was gone. There was no reason to think he would return, unless he could sense the Sith. 

“You're not afraid for me, Verosha.” Darth Plagueis's eyes glowed yellow under the shadow of his hood. “What will happen if he sees you?” 

Her gaze lingered on the empty path that followed the perimeter of the island back to the cave. It was a long walk, so if he kept going, they would never have to find out.

In all honesty, she didn't know. It would be one thing if she came to Qimir first, but out in the open, there would be no chance to explain.

For certain, he wouldn't want Darth Plagueis here. But that was why she needed more information. 

“I'm going this way,” Osha said and took off, not waiting to see if the Sith followed. 

It took a moment, but he did—at first behind her and then beside her—matching her slower pace the further they walked. 

Darth Plagueis was tall. 

Taller than Qimir, though he didn't appear to be as strong. His shoulders weren't as broad. Almost thin. Osha knew that meant nothing when his strength in the Force was what mattered. She could sense it now and the way the island itself seemed to flow in the direction of his dark energy. 

Osha didn't let that intimidate her. The Sith was here because of her, after all.

“Where were you?” she asked. 

They followed the shore around a curve in the island. Flat rocks formed the path, and she stepped from one to the next, splashing through puddles of seawater when there wasn't a rock to step on. 

“Naboo.”

“Why?”

She was surprised he answered so easily. Naboo was a planet in the Mid Rim, and that was about the extent of her knowledge. It was also possible the trip was personal. 

Darth Plagueis waved his long fingers to dismiss the question. “Business.”

“For the Sith?”

He nodded. “Everything I do is for the Sith. If it's for myself, it's for the Sith.”

Osha stopped, turning to him. They were far enough from the beach now that they were hidden by the island's curve. A bird squawked somewhere behind her, flying overhead. “How many Sith are there?”

Darth Plagueis was unimpressed by the question. “One. As I've told you.”

“Then…” She tapped the toe of her boot against the rock beneath. It left a wet print. “Who were you doing business with?” 

He blinked. “No one of importance to you. Many work with the Sith. Often they don't know who they help. But they know who they're against.”

“Did you ever know someone named Dahn?” 

“No.”

Osha hesitated, her gaze traveling up the moss-covered wall to her right. She figured there was no harm to be done when Dahn was dead. Everyone on the Udut mission was dead apart from Vernestra and Qimir. “Dahn was a Jedi working with the Sith.”

Eighteen years ago to be precise. 

She tapped her boot again. This was where she hoped he'd fill in the blanks, but he said nothing. “He was on a planet called Udut. Studying albeks.”

“Hmm. Interesting creatures.” 

The sun was behind a cloud. Darth Plagueis's rough skin almost looked grey, and his eyes glowed brighter. Osha took a breath.

“What about Rugess Nome? Did you know him?” 

He stilled, his eyes widening. Then he laughed, his shoulders shaking. 

Osha's brows drew together. 

For as much as the Sith valued emotion, this was the most she'd ever seen from him. 

“I haven't heard that name in a—” His laughter faded. “Long, long time.”

“So you knew him?”  

“Knew him?” Darth Plagueis nodded. “As well as any apprentice knows his master. I respected Tenebrous until I realized he was no different than the rest. Then I left his shadow.” 

She took this in. “I think your master killed Dahn.” 

“That doesn't make your Jedi special.” He continued walking, and she stood in place. The sun came out from behind a cloud. Seawater slipped through the rocks and onto the path. 

Their first meeting, Darth Plagueis told her he killed his master. So that was one mystery solved. Rugess Nome was dead before Qimir’s search because his own apprentice got to him first. 

Osha walked after him. In front of her, the Sith was a looming figure cloaked in black. “Did your master have more than one apprentice?” 

The Jedi Code ensured a master could only train one Padawan at once. With the Sith, there were so few of them—it would be logical to assume that wasn't always possible. 

According to Qimir, Dahn was paid for whatever information he was giving the Sith. Yet he was also a Force-user. Maybe he was being trained in the dark side too. 

This time, Darth Plagueis stopped. He turned to her. A breeze blew, colder off the sea, pulling at the fabric of his cloak. He adjusted his hood. 

“Centuries ago, the Sith were at war with themselves,” he said. “We were close to extinction. Darth Bane saved us with a simple rule. Only a master and an apprentice can exist. No more, no less.” 

She thought of their last meeting. “One who holds the power. One who craves it.” 

“Yes.” He seemed pleased she remembered. “A survival of the fittest.” 

So the only way to become a Sith Master was to take the place of yours. It was different from how the Jedi operated. Mentorship lasted to the point of when a Padawan became a Knight. Often beyond. 

The Sith’s ended in murder. 

“But why?” Osha pressed. If there were many Force-users on the dark side, there would be strength in numbers. Why not train anyone who wanted to learn? There were hundreds of Jedi in comparison, and she knew what it was like to be outnumbered and different.  

She knew what it was like to be alone. 

Darth Plagueis smiled, his teeth sharp. “I've asked the same question. But the Rule of Two won’t be necessary anymore. Not with what we'd achieve together.” 

Osha shook her head. “I've told you that I already have a master.” 

Qimir couldn't be replaced. He'd become too important to her.

“So what do you seek?”

She apparently wasn't as subtle as she wanted to be. Her gaze drifted to the sea. The further she looked, the more difficult it was to differentiate the water from the cloudy sky. 

“Power,” Osha said simply. She turned back to him. That he would understand. 

Darth Plagueis studied her. “You want to be taught.” 

A breeze blew, chilly through her tunic. She resisted the urge to cross her arms. 

“No. I want to know what your plan is. How you'll face the Jedi.”

The Sith had connections and resources she and Qimir would never have on their own. A head start of centuries. The enemy of their enemy could be their ally. 

He ran a long finger under his chin. His nails were sharp. “The Grand Plan is underway. It has been, and it will be until I see it through.”

“But what is it?” she asked. A plan was what she really wanted. 

He took a breath that sounded like a sigh. “I'm afraid that plan is for Sith only.”

Osha bit the inside of her lip. If he wouldn't tell her the plan, how could she believe in the Sith's influence over the galaxy? 

Darth Plagueis looked past her to the sea's steady, blue-grey current. “Just because something is hidden doesn't mean it isn't there. You might find it much like your own power.”

The Sith held out his hand, and the sleeve of his cloak slid back to reveal the length of his fingers and a bony wrist. His skin reminded Osha of tree bark. 

Slowly, fish rose from the sea. Dozens. Darth Plagueis lifted them higher and higher until they blocked the sky. Osha saw their silver tails twitch. They would suffocate in the air. 

“Remember what I told you? The true strength of the dark side will make you think you are dying.” 

He curled in his gnarled fingers. The fish drifted together to form a cloud. Sunlight caught on silver scales—in the sky where they shouldn't be. 

“But what is death to one, gives life to another.”

Darth Plagueis dropped his hand, and the fish dropped too. Their silver bodies hit the sea's surface with a splash. 

Osha stared at the sea, calm again. 

“You are special, Verosha. Powerful enough to create life.” 

She turned, her boot scraping the rock she stood on. “That's what you want.”

Giving Darth Plagueis immortality was of no interest to her. Being special was nothing new either. Empty words from him.

Their coven had always celebrated her and Mae's existence. Mae embraced the attention. The novelty wore off for Osha when she decided life outside the fortress walls would be more special. 

“It's for the galaxy,” he clarified. “Unraveling the mystery of your birth would tip the scales. You would have the power to do whatever you wish. Even the power to…” A faint smile crossed his face, and he lifted his shoulder. “Save your sister.” 

Osha's heart beat heavily in her chest. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, staring back at the Muun. 

“You'd allow that,” she said. He made it sound so simple. She still didn't trust him. But it also sounded workable. 

Darth Plagueis gestured toward her. “Why are you wondering when you could demand?”

Her mouth pressed into a line. That was a question worth asking. For sixteen years, she deferred to the Jedi—even after she left the Order. With Qimir, she was new to the dark side and had joined his way of life. He had experience, so it always made sense to leave certain decisions to him. 

Yet that couldn't hold true forever. Not for things as important as her future or Mae. To say that now would be to undervalue herself and how far she had come. 

“My master would work with us,” Osha said. This she had no proof of, but she needed to gauge the Sith's reaction. “He's strong in the dark side too.”

Darth Plagueis's gaze was unwavering. “You should be careful with your emotions, Verosha.” 

She pursed her lips. “I thought emotion is what makes the Sith stronger than the Jedi.” That was sort of the whole point. 

“And infatuation can make you compassionate to a fault.”

Seawater washed over the stone path, wetting her boots. 

“He's my master, so I don't see your point.” She kept her voice level. Her gaze drifted to the green moss creeping up the island rock like that was more interesting. 

“Would you deny yourself power to please him? 

She looked back at the Sith. “Never.”

“Have you?” The fabric of his cloak whipped with a stronger breeze. The wind caught on her locs.

Osha took too long to answer. 

“It's disappointing for me too, to see wasted potential.” His eyes burned. “You were created for a purpose. Do you want to fulfill your destiny?” 

I already am, Osha wanted to say, but she didn't know that to be true. 

She failed as a Jedi. Then she lost Mae to the Jedi. Now she was living on an island just waiting for something to happen. 

“I'll admit, it wasn't a difficult decision for me to part ways with Tenebrous.” Darth Plagueis tilted his head in thought. “He was growing old. His views didn’t grow with him. But there comes a time for every Sith when they must decide what's best for themself. 

“Could you kill Qimir?”

The blood in Osha's veins ran cold, and she took an involuntary step back. Her boot splashed in the seawater.

She wasn't surprised Darth Plagueis knew Qimir's name. But it sounded wrong from his mouth—like he stole something that until now was only hers. 

Could you. He wasn't asking whether she would, but whether she was capable. If she was strong enough. 

His gaze bore into her as he waited. 

She took a sharp breath through her nose. This was a test, and already, she was failing. 

Darth Plagueis nodded as if she had answered. It was unsettling how he saw through her. His face was shadowed, but his eyes were alight. 

He studied her a moment more. Then he walked past without asking her to follow. She watched as he stepped across the wet stones, his cloak and shadow trailing behind. The island to his left and the sea to his right. 

Her heart sped in her chest. This felt like a free fall all over again. 

“I could,” she said, pushing down every part of her that rebelled.

Qimir had said it himself. 

He believed she was ready. 

Darth Plagueis turned to look at her. The black fabric of his cloak fluttered in the wind. He was tall, and he was powerful. 

A Sith Lord presenting an opportunity. 

“Find me when you believe it yourself,” he said. 

Osha said nothing because she knew words would fail her. The shape of him grew smaller until he disappeared around the corner of the island. 

She blinked, swiping at the tears that fell when she did. 

 

---

 

Your heads are full of sugar, Mother Koril used to say when Mae and Osha ate one spice cream too many. 

They'd chase each other around the courtyard of the fortress—bumping into the witches—giggling and old enough to know better. They were meant to behave as the daughters of the coven's leader. But they were children too with sticky fingers and tongues stained blue. 

This went on until Mama came outside, surveyed the sight, and eased Mother Koril’s frown into a smile with quiet whispers. 

Heads full of sugar and bellies too, she'd say and usher them to bed to the sound of their much louder protests. 

Now, Osha wondered if the same thing was happening to her again. 

Being with Qimir didn't feel so different when every time he touched her, caught her gaze, or said her name a certain way, she had that same feeling. 

A feeling that everything was as it should be and as it would always be. Nothing could go wrong. 

But that didn't hold true for her coven, and it couldn't hold true now. 

The Jedi invaded. The fortress burned. Her mothers died. 

Part of her knew Darth Plagueis was right. She didn't push for what she wanted as much as she should. Being with Qimir made it easier to settle for less because he made her feel more.

Waves crashed over the rocks, spraying her with seawater. Osha took her time walking back to the cave. Stones shifted under her boots, and she listened to that rather than the Force. 

Part of her hoped Qimir wouldn't be there, but as she climbed over the last rocks, hopping to the ground, she saw him already. 

He knelt in the flat, rocky area past the cave's steps. If she turned around now, he would know. So she kept walking and stopped when she reached him. 

A fishing net was spread out across the ground in front of him. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Hello.”

Qimir leaned over a corner of the net. He hadn't looked at her yet. “I'm just repairing it again. The last time didn't hold.”

She watched his fingers, careful as he secured the new knots. This was technically their backup net. The other had washed away in the rainstorm weeks ago. 

“Where were you?” His hair was loose again, hanging across his face. He tucked the strands behind his ears before he pulled on the net, testing the strength of the repair. 

“Nowhere,” she said. The word came out more defensive than it should have.

His gaze traveled up to her, his brows raised. 

She held his gaze for as long as she could, then looked out to the stone path that led to the Exile II, brushing a loc away from her face. 

“I was just asking,” he muttered. 

The sky was slowly clearing, and the metal of the ship glimmered under the sun. 

Osha turned back to Qimir as he was standing. 

“Can you grab the other end?” he asked. “Please.”

She nodded, moving around the net to grab the corners. He picked up his side, and when they met in the middle, he took it from her. Their fingers brushed. 

“Your hands are cold.” He folded the net in half two more times and dropped it to the ground. “Are you feeling okay?” He pushed his sleeves past his wrists, turning to her. 

“Not really.” Which wasn't a lie. 

His mouth curved into a frown. She found it hard to look at him but had to when he came closer. 

Too close. 

He lifted his hand, pressing the back of his fingers to her cheek. 

Osha stilled.

“No fever,” he said quietly. His eyes flickered across her face. “That's good, right?” 

She nodded, leaning into the warmth of his touch. It wasn't enough, and it was too much. 

The wind blew, cold through her tunic, and she shivered. 

He trailed his hand down and let it fall to his side. The warmth in her face stayed. “Why don't you go rest for a while?” 

“I was going to.” 

She didn't move, though. 

The memory of what she told Darth Plagueis was a knife in her side, and looking at him twisted it deeper.

Qimir's gaze softened. The wind lifted a strand of hair across his cheek. “Osha.” He reached for her arm, and she took a step back in the stones. 

“I'm fine.” She gave him a tight smile. “I'm going.” 

Osha walked past him and felt the weight of his gaze at her back. Just a bit further, and she could be alone. 

“Hey. You haven't—” He cut himself off, sounding uncertain. 

She turned to look at him, taking another step backward. Waves crashed up on the rocks to her right. “Haven't what?” 

Qimir pushed his hand through his hair, glancing over his shoulder. “Nothing.”

The knife twisted more. 

“Don't worry about it,” he said, reaching down to collect the net. “You can go.” 

“Okay.” Osha took another step back. “Let me know if you need anything.” That seemed like the right thing to say. 

She was already worried. 

 

---

 

Osha didn't think she would, but she slept for hours. 

Around late afternoon, she woke to Qimir preparing dinner. The clang of pots and shifting supplies carried over to her. She was fairly sure he was loud on purpose so she would wake to eat. 

Dinner was quiet. She managed to eat most of her bowl of rice and fish. Qimir didn't push to see how she was feeling. His mind seemed to be elsewhere too, and as soon as Osha finished, she left to bathe before the temperature dropped. When she came back, he left.  

An hour later, he was still gone.  

Osha walked out to the railing and scanned the length of the beach. It was empty in both directions. Only rock and the crash of the waves. The air was cool. 

Everything was calm in the Force.

No sign of Darth Plagueis. 

That didn't stop the slither of anxiety she felt. But if he wanted her, the Sith would know to leave Qimir alone. 

The shadows around the island were tall. A sign that the sun would set soon. On any other night, she wouldn’t have wondered where Qimir was.

Osha went back inside the cave and wandered around. She neatened the stack of blankets that made up the bed. They were disheveled after her nap. 

She restacked the dishes. Qimir organized them by type rather than size, and that made it harder to fit everything in. 

There was a pile of old wiring in the corner. She went through that, setting aside anything usable. 

Qimir still hadn't returned, and her gaze drifted to his workbench. It was the only part of the cave she never touched. His tools were scattered across the surface. Some on the cave floor.

Her attention caught on the cortosis helmet on top. It grinned at her, taunting with its sinister smile. The same as the night Qimir told her to try it on. 

Oh, how times had changed. 

She glanced at the mouth of the cave. Looking would hurt nothing. She walked over to the workbench. The metal of the helmet was dented in places; cracked and refilled with cortosis in others. Scars that spoke of battles won and lives lost. 

The grin stretched the entire front of it—eerily permanent. She ran her finger over the rounded shapes of the teeth. The metal was cold. 

Osha took a breath, glancing at the mouth of the cave again. 

She could hear its whisper now. 

The dark side called to her the same way she called to it in training. It begged and pleaded for her to lose a little more and see how much she would gain in return. 

A trap she willingly fell into again and again because power tasted good too. 

The flames licked at her, and she pressed her finger into a raised stretch of cortosis until it indented her skin. 

Qimir told her no. 

He wasn't here. 

He didn't always know what was best for her. 

For them. 

She stood at the fork between two paths, and the helmet could give her the direction. 

Osha picked up the helmet and sat on the stool, sliding it over her head.

Her breathing echoed back in the dark. She heard the pump of her blood. The cave was dim already, and no light shined through the slit at eye level. 

The last time she wore the helmet, Qimir was here to remove it. This time she had to give in. 

She called to the Force and let the dark side guide her. 

 

---

 

Sunshine filled her vision, bright in the sky and deceiving. The air had a bite to it. 

Around her, the market was thick with chatter. Two young girls ran by, almost bumping into her, and she watched with sorrowful eyes as the older of the two reached for the hand of the younger. 

The man she was following continued on through the crowd. 

His steps were unsteady, and the line he walked in was more of a wave. The other market-goers moved around him like he didn't exist. He blended in well with his shabby clothes and the mess of his hair. 

An easy target. While he was tall, his cloak was at least two sizes too big. By the time he was sober enough to realize his pocket was empty, she would be in the next town over—eating her first good meal in days. 

Her stomach ached. 

It was a mistake to bet all her credits in that last round of sabacc. The thought of buying her own ship and finding a nice planet to make a life for herself was always short-lived. 

She drew close to the man, weaving through the crowd with him. A simple lift of her hand and credits began to float from his pocket. 

Clink. The credits hit her palm, and she closed her fingers. 

A strong hand wrapped around her wrist. 

She screamed and tried to pull away. Sometimes the attention this drew was enough for her to slip away without a fight. Sometimes with the credits too. The grip tightened.

The man wasn't phased. His gaze was dark. Intent. Dangerous. 

Changed so quickly she thought she imagined it as his features relaxed into something looser. 

His face was all angles. Greasy hair hid most of it. A sharp jaw and cheekbones. Hair on his chin and above his lip.   

“If you'd like my help,” he said in an airy tone, “you should probably stop screaming.”

He arched a single brow, and immediately, she decided she hated him. 

 

---

 

She hit the ground hard, scraping her back as the Force pushed her along the rocks. 

“How do you expect to kill Jedi when you are so weak?” Her master loomed above her, his hand outstretched to keep her pinned to the ground. 

He wore all black and a helmet that grinned. She suspected the man beneath never did. His voice was low and robotic, making her feel more prey than pupil. 

“I'm not!” she said, gritting out the words as she tried to move. 

“Then stand.” 

She struggled against the Force, her growl turning to a whine as she grew more desperate. 

This was her one chance, and she needed it. 

She needed it no matter how much she hated it. 

Her master released the Force and turned his back to her, walking down the beach. 

Crashing waves lined the shore. The planet was grey and gloomy. 

She jumped to her feet and called a dagger to her hand, running steady over the rocky ground. Her breathing was ragged. 

Before she reached him, he turned and threw her back. 

This time, she slid back over the stones but held her ground. 

 

---

 

“Fire! Mama, help!”

The dark sky above the fortress was sprinkled with stars. She didn't mean to start the fire. Well, she did—but not like that. She didn't mean for it to spread. 

Her mothers stood with two of the Jedi. The man named Sol who tested her and the Padawan who poked her arm and stole her blood. 

“Osha!” Sol said. 

“Help me,” she pleaded. Tears flooded her eyes. 

Mother Koril poised her staff to strike, and the Padawan ignited his lightsaber yellow. 

Mama took a breath, spread her arms wide, and transformed into shadow. 

She began to turn to shadow too. Her feet disappeared, then her legs and arms. 

Sol ignited his saber and shoved the glowing, blue blade through Mama's stomach. 

She screamed like the world was ending. 

“Mama!”

“It's what she wants. She chose you.” With a hand on the killer's shoulder, Mama fell to the ground. 

She rushed forward and pulled on Mama's arms. Sobs wracked her small body. Her world was ending. 

“Mama!”

The arms that had embraced her so many times were heavy. Maybe if she was stronger, she could help her. 

She needed Mama to move. 

To smile. 

To wake. 

Her Mama wouldn't move. 

Mother Koril's voice rang out. 

“Mae, run!” 

 

---

 

Osha sat in the darkness. 

Mae's screams echoed in her head. A loop of cries. 

She chose you.  

Mama unmoving. 

Mae, run!

She pulled the helmet off and stood quickly. It slipped from her hands, and she scrambled to catch it. Tools and scrap metal scattered as she dropped it on the workbench. 

The cave was dim. 

Empty.

She went to her crate and rummaged through. Several tunics. One pair of pants. A roll of cloth. 

Mae's dagger fell from it and clattered to the floor. 

The poncho she wanted lay at the bottom. It was simple, black, and warm. She pulled it on and turned, pausing. 

Mae would need a weapon. She added the dagger to her belt and left the cave. 

Cold air stung her face. At the horizon, the red of the setting sun bled into the blue of the sea. 

Her vision tilted, and she caught herself on the cold rock of the cave's exterior.

Blue. 

Master Sol choking, and the squeeze of her fist. 

Red.

Qimir rounded the corner from the steps, freezing when he saw her. His lightsaber was in his hand. 

“Osha. What's wrong?” He moved toward her, and she felt his hand brush her shoulder. But she was already pushing past him and moving down the steps. 

He followed after, his footsteps heavy. 

“Osha!” 

Gravel crunched under her boots. The metal of the Exile II was orange under the setting sun, the ship growing little by little the closer she walked. 

It was muscle memory now, after the hours she'd spent there. 

Running through maintenance checklists. 

Fixing that light Qimir always complained about. 

Keeping her hands busy so her mind would quiet. 

Fire! Mama, help!

Stars above the fortress. 

The sea in front of her. 

Osha. Sol's voice. 

She took five steps where the stone path should be when she realized there was no path at all. 

High tide. 

Waves rushed up to her knees, soaking her pants with frigid water.

“Osha!” Qimir hadn’t stopped calling her name and splashed through the water after her. 

She turned to him, her eyes wide and frantic. “I have to go!” 

“Stop. Wait!” He reached for her as she took another step back. A stronger wave washed up behind her, and she lost her balance. 

Qimir lunged to grab her, almost falling himself. 

Osha squirmed from his grasp, pushing at his chest. “I need to.” Another strong wave rolled in against her legs. 

He kept his grip as she fought to get away, pulled with her. “Osha, you're not thinking. Stop.”

“I have to. Mae.” She broke free of Qimir for a second, kicking up water, and he wrapped his arms around her. 

Her back hit his chest. He half-carried, half-dragged her to the shore as she struggled against him, begging for him to let her go. 

Back on the rocks, she fell to her knees, taking Qimir down with her. She was shaking, her teeth chattering. 

The sky was bleeding red. It reflected on the sea like blood. 

There was blood on her hands. 

“What happened to Mae?” Qimir leaned over her shoulder with his hand on her back. “How do you know?”

She heard his intake of breath as he realized. 

“What did you see?”

Her breathing was erratic, and she wanted to crawl out of her skin. 

“Don't touch me,” she said, shoving him back. The rocks dug into her knees. 

Qimir didn't touch her, but he didn't leave either. He was shivering too. 

“You need to tell me what's wrong.” He kept his voice calm, but there was a bite to it. She'd disobeyed him. 

“No.” 

“Osha, tell me so I can help you.” 

She curled into herself, a sob escaping her throat. “I need my mother.” 

Her mother with her beautiful smile and braid of locs as her crown. 

Courageous and their leader. 

Always the first to embrace her daughters and the last to let go.

The last time they spoke, Osha told her she wanted to be a Jedi.

Her mother, dead on the ground, and her sister—eight years old and blamed. 

Left at the bunta tree again sixteen years later.

All her fault. 

Always her fault. 

She was gasping for breath—choking on her own tears. Her fingernails dug into her knees as she bent over them. 

Qimir’s hand was on her back again, and she was too far gone to do anything about it. 

“Osha, hey. Hey,” he said, leaning closer. There was a tinge of urgency to his voice. “You need to breathe.”

No, what she needed was to go back and decide differently. 

She would never tell the truth. 

She would never want anything again.

Her mother would be alive. 

“Can you breathe like this?” He took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Osha lifted her head and stared at him. The angles of his face were sharp, and his eyes reflected the dying light. All of his attention was on her. 

The breaths she took were shaky and loud.

He rubbed her back and nodded, encouraging.

She took in more air. They repeated that until she wasn't fighting to fill her lungs. 

“What did you see?” he asked cautiously. His eyes stayed on hers like he could find the answer there. 

“Mae.” Her voice was scratchy. 

“Did something happen to her?”

Osha started to nod then shook her head, sniffling. “No.” 

Nothing she saw was recent, anywhere from a year to sixteen years ago. But she knew now that Mae's memories hadn't been erased from existence.  

Somehow, they were a part of the Force. For some reason, she could access them. 

“Okay.” He sighed. His hand rubbed her back again. “That's…that's good.” 

Her gaze stayed on Qimir. Waves rushed up the shore and over the rocks. 

She didn't understand why he was so gentle with her when he had never been with Mae. 

She didn't want to lose him, but she would if she kept him close. 

Everything that was hers, she lost. Except for one thing. 

“I need to do this.” Osha pulled away from him and stood, taking a few stumbling steps back. Her pants were soaked to her thighs, but her poncho was thick and relatively dry.  

Qimir stayed kneeling in the rocks.

The sun was nearly set. All the light had left with it. 

She wiped at her tear-streaked face. Every couple breaths still came as a gasp. 

There was nothing left to lose.

The dark side answered her call in a rush—wrapping around her and flowing through her. 

“Osha, don't.” Qimir stood. The hem of his tunic was wet on one side and so were his pants.

She looked back at him. A killer, teacher, and friend. 

Almost more. 

He was outlined by the dark of the sea. “It's too dangerous.”

“I don’t care.”

“If the Jedi discover what you're capable of—”

“Then why would you bring me here?” she demanded. 

Her skin was frigid, but she felt like she was burning.

It was decided from when Mae left her in Khofar’s forest for Qimir to find. Or before that, when she first woke up on Sol's ship and he lied through his teeth. 

This was always the way the story would end. 

He looked sad. “To keep you safe.”

Osha spread her arms like her mother, and the dark side consumed her. 

Wind whipped that wasn't there before—pushing her locs and pulling at the fabric of her clothes. 

Qimir moved forward, bracing himself against the force of her.  

“Osha!” 

She had sought power, but this was more.

He was strong, but no one could stop this because her pain was her life. 

There would be nothing but pain and power, and it would need to be enough.

Darkness materialized. 

Unstable shadows, flickering like they had on Kuval when she killed Tasi and lost control. 

As the darkness pulled her under, she didn't fight it and accepted the way it filled her. 

Heat raced across her skin. She cried out. The fire on Brendok had never stopped burning, and sixteen years later—she might still burn with it. 

Qimir pushed against her power, saying something she couldn't hear. His hair and tunic were blown back by the strength of it. 

It was agonizing. Every atom in her body resisted, and she forced them to reshape and give in because she was choosing this. 

She locked eyes with him, and it was just them on the beach. 

The sea went silent, and the sky empty. 

A glimpse of herself lying on the sand. Qimir looked down at her under the sunshine as she laughed. 

The thick forest of Khofar. His hand wrapped around Mae's throat and her eyes wide with fear. 

Osha's head slumped against his chest as he carried her up the steps to the cave.

A purple flash. 

Yellow kyber bleeding red. 

One thumb brushing another. 

The shadows stabilized, and she let go. 

The force of her power vanished so quickly Qimir stumbled forward in the rocks.

Waves crashed over the shore, loud again. 

He stood, looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time. 

Never a witch, no longer a Jedi, and not yet a Sith. 

“I knew I could,” she said simply. Because it was true. Whether or not he wanted her to—believed she could—she had believed in herself. 

If he wanted her safe, this was how. 

If she was to survive, she would make it so the Jedi had to survive her. 

He hadn't moved, and she wished he'd say something—anything. 

She took a few hesitant steps toward him.

His gaze drifted from her to the hill behind. He said the last thing she thought he would: “Someone’s on the island.”

Osha's stomach twisted. 

“Stay here,” he said and walked off. He reached for his lightsaber as he scanned the hills. 

She ran after him, kicking up gravel, and grabbed his arm. 

“Don't. Qimir, you can't. He'll kill you.”

Qimir tensed, turning to face her. “Who?” 

“I— I can explain,” she said, holding his forearm tight. “This is how we can stop the Jedi and—”

“Who is here, Osha?” His voice was hard. 

“Please,” she tried. “I'll explain.”

He pried her fingers from his forearm and left her standing there. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, close behind. 

“Where do you think?” 

“Qimir! Stop.” She grabbed his arm again, and he spun to face her so fast she shrunk back. 

“I wouldn't do that.”

His eyes looked like they belonged to someone else. Sharp and dangerous. A hunter ready to strike. 

She held her chin high. “I'm not scared of you.” 

“Maybe you should be.” 

They stared at each other, neither relenting. Osha barely breathed. 

“How long?” he asked. 

“Qimir, I can explain.” Fear, rage, and guilt boiled inside her, and she knew he could sense every bit of it. 

“So a long time,” he said, nodding. “Great. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“You told me not to trust you.” She jabbed her finger at him. 

For six years, her life was error codes and steel walls. She could pretend her past didn’t exist and pretend she felt nothing for it. 

Then within the span of a week, Mae was alive, Sol was dead, and she was living in a cave with a stranger who had the blood of eight Jedi on his hands. 

Qimir groaned. “I never said that.”

“My first night here.” 

“Osha, that was so long ago.” His voice was angry, but she caught the hurt in his eyes. “You don't trust me?” 

Her heart pounded in her chest. “I— I do trust you.” 

That was what she always came back to. 

Why she stayed and listened to what he said even when she questioned it. 

“Then why didn't you tell me?” He was demanding answers Osha barely had herself. 

“I don't know. I—” She had to do better than that and winced. “I needed time to decide. He has an actual plan, and you have nothing.”

His eyes narrowed, and he turned to look up at the dark hills. “Who is he?”

“A Sith.” He opened his mouth, and she cut him off. “They've been in hiding.” 

“Sith?” Qimir grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, his grip so tight it hurt. “He will kill you, Osha.” His voice was low, and the moon provided enough light to see every bit of the disappointment on his face. “What were you thinking?”

Osha wrapped her hand around his wrist. “He won't because he needs me. My birth. I was created in the Force, and he wants to learn how.” 

She didn't know if Mae ever told Qimir, but Sol explained some on Brendok. She never did herself because it never seemed inordinary when it was all she knew. 

“And what happens after you give him that?” Qimir’s brows rose. The air was chilly, and their clothes were wet, but somehow, he burned. “He doesn't want you, he wants to use you, Osha. The second he gets what he wants, that's it.” 

Osha took a step back in the rocks, pulling her arm free. “You wouldn't even train me!”

“I have trained you.” His face was cold in a way she wasn't used to. "Stop saying that when you know that's why you're here.” 

“You wouldn't let me train with sorcery,” she reminded him. 

When she asked, he refused. All that did was prove Darth Plagueis right. There was an imbalance between them. 

He shook his head. “I told you why.”

“Because it's dangerous?” She could laugh. So was everything outside of this island. After Kuval, he said it himself: She needed to know how to protect herself. To do that, she needed to learn. “You wouldn't let me wear your helmet either.” 

Qimir did laugh, exasperated. “And then you did anyway!”

Osha ignored him. “And what about Mae?” His relationship with Mae was difficult, but if he cared about her at all, he should help her save the only family she had left. 

“She made her choice. That was the deal.”

“Well, it's not fair.” 

“Be realistic.” He drifted closer, his eyes on her. “If you went after Mae, the Jedi would have you outnumbered in seconds.” 

“No.” Osha stared up into his face, steeling herself for what she was about to say. “I think you're a coward.” 

His jaw flexed. “How's that?” 

“All you do is hide.” Her blood was running hot, and she couldn't stop now. “You hid yourself from Mae, and all she wanted was your help. You hide your face with your helmet. You're hiding from Vernestra like you're still fifteen.”

His eyes were impassive, his mouth pressed into a line. 

Qimir claimed he wanted the freedom to use his power how he liked. If that was the price of freedom, Osha wouldn't pay it. 

“This?” she said, gesturing to the island. “This is not real life.”

Maybe he was fine pretending the rest of the galaxy didn't exist, but she wasn't. 

Life here was like a game she and Mae played as children. They made soup from mud and rocks and used sticks as swords to fight each other. The real monsters were outside the fortress walls, and they weren't allowed to go there. 

Qimir’s face melted into amusement. He looked out to the sea and then back to her. It was like watching him return to himself. “I think this is more real to you than anything you've ever had.”

Waves crashed up the shore behind her. 

His gaze had a weight to it that almost made her forget why they were standing here in the dark, between the hills and the water. Her face burned. 

“See?” He shrugged. A strand of hair brushed his cheek, and he pushed it back. “Now you’re not going to say anything.”  

He wasn't right, but all the words she wanted to say had caught in her throat. 

“You don't know me,” she said. 

“I can prove it.” Qimir's eyes flickered across her face. He moved close enough that the night seemed warmer. “First, you don't fit in with your coven. You're too different. Then you join the Jedi, and it's a second chance. But they don't want you. You fail. So when you meet me—it's too easy, isn't it?

“Being with someone who understands you feels too good.” He tapped his fingers to her elbow. “And you're not used to feeling good. So you start looking for a way for it to go wrong. Because everything always does.”

“It's not about me,” she bit out. This was about Qimir. This was about not doing enough to stop the Jedi. 

“It always has been.” He tilted his head. “What if it is just you, Osha? Something broken inside you that can't be fixed.”

Her eyes were glassy. “The Jedi made it so I failed. They killed my family.”

She knew she failed, but they were the ones who set the standards and pushed her to forget the past they created.  

Qimir nodded as if that explained everything. “I blame the Jedi for many things, but I don't blame them for who I am. That's my choice. Why do you let everyone else decide for you?”

“I don't,” she insisted. “I left the Jedi. I made my own life. Being here is my choice. What more do you want?” 

“What do you want, Osha?” He looked at her, expectant. “Do you even know?”

Osha shook her head. “I don't need to tell you anything.” She didn't need to listen to him at all and turned to walk down the shore. 

Tall rocks bordered the path. The water was dark, and the current was violent. Seafoam from the waves flew up at the smaller rocks lining the shore. Gravel mixed with wet sand squished under her boots. 

When she glanced over her shoulder, Qimir was a distance behind her, walking at a slower pace. 

“Don't follow me!” she said. 

“No, I think I will.” He spoke casually, like they did this every night and were only here to appreciate the view. “I'd like to meet this new master of yours.” 

“He doesn't like you.” 

Darth Plagueis had never said that. Not in those words. But he'd called Qimir troubled and implied he was weak. The point stood, and that was why Osha was walking with no destination in mind other than to get away from him. 

Qimir laughed, loud in the quiet of the night. “I'll be sure to offer him my condolences.” 

Osha kept walking. It annoyed her how he was turning this into a joke. A wave rushed up to her left, and cold water sprinkled over her. The night itself was cold, and her breath froze in the air. 

“You know, Osha,” he began. “I tried to give you everything you needed to be happy. Within reason, of course. But I see now that it never would have been enough.”

She stopped abruptly, turning to face him. Her locs swung. “Then leave. Go anywhere else.” 

“And leave you to join the Sith? You know me as well as I know you.” He leveled his gaze on her. “We had a deal too.” 

“Oh.” She smiled. “So what, you're going to kill me now?”

His hand drifted to his lightsaber, slowly like he was making a show of it. “Is that what you think I'll do, Osha?” 

She took a step toward him. Her boots unstuck in the sand. “Qimir.” 

“Would that make it easier for you to decide?” he pressed. “Is that who you think I am?”

“You tried to kill Mae,” she shot back. “Why should I think otherwise?”

He tilted his head, and his hair fell by his face. “Seems like you have a lot to figure out then.”

Osha was unimpressed and continued walking.

She knew who she was. 

Lost witch, failed Jedi, aimless meknek, Acolyte. Her life was a collection of broken pieces. Qimir only said what she feared to be true. That even with those who cared about her—or with all the power in the galaxy—she still wouldn't feel like she belonged. 

Another wave rushed up, as angry as the air between them, and she moved to the right—under the shadows of the tall rocks and away from the cold spray of water. 

The night air stung her cheeks and crept through the damp fabric of her clothes. Qimir was wearing a tunic, and idly, she wondered if he was cold too. She scolded herself for that thought. In fact, she hoped he would freeze. 

He followed after her, his presence an anchor in the Force. The tie between them tightened with every step. 

“Have you decided yet?” His voice was a pull for her to stop and a reason for her to keep going. “I can wait all night.”

She turned to him. He was right behind her as she had known. 

“What?” she asked, her voice sharp. 

He gazed at her. “You really want to be a Sith?” 

“The Sith have a plan.” 

He sighed, sounding tired. “Make your own.” 

“I could save Mae.” She lifted her chin. With a real plan, with more power, no Jedi would stand in the way. 

His face softened, but to her it looked like pity. “I'm sure that's what you've been told, but at least I'm honest with you.”

He moved toward her, and she took an instinctual step back. If she needed to think, he couldn’t be so close. 

“How can I be sure you aren't just saying that?”

She was there on Khofar when Qimir tried to kill Mae and saw it again in his own mind. Mae's memories revealed no difference. She was terrified of him. It benefitted him to abandon her. 

“Because I care about what you want.” His eyes searched her face. “Just tell me one thing.”

“Power.” 

He smirked. “You have power. What else?”

“To stop the Jedi.” This was what she'd spent weeks mulling over. There had to be a next step, and it was a natural one. 

His brows furrowed. “How much blood do you want on your hands, Osha?”

He reached toward her, brushing her hand with his fingers. She pulled back like she'd been shocked. 

A hesitancy crossed his features. 

She shrugged, crossing her arms under her chest against the cold and against him. “How much blood is on yours?” 

Qimir smiled, glancing out at the dark waves for a second, then back at her. He held up his hands for her to see. His fingers were long and slender. Pale under the moonlight. 

Clean. 

Looks could be deceiving. Her hands were stained.

“You can tell me,” he said. 

“Why don't you believe me?”

He shook his head and stepped closer. She stepped back. Then again when he advanced quicker and brought his forearm to her chest, pushing her hard into the rock. 

Her breath whooshed out of her in a frozen puff. 

His arm was heavy and pinned her in place. They gazed at each other. Qimir looking down at her, and Osha up at him. 

The heat from his body warmed hers. He was too close. She wanted to hate him for it, but she didn't. There was nowhere to go and rock dug into her back. 

Qimir lifted his hand, and her heart sped. 

He settled it on her throat, wrapping his fingers around. Her pulse jumped against him. The heat from his skin sank through her. 

“Do you think I'd hurt you, Osha?” he asked. 

He tightened his hand in a squeeze, and his fingers pressed into her neck. 

She swallowed against it, watching silently as he tracked every little movement in her face. 

When he exhaled, she remembered to breathe and sucked in air through her nose. 

His eyes were dark, the sharp angles of his face blurred but no less familiar. Everything was shadowed except for the moon above. 

He bent his thumb and pushed it up the hollow of her throat. Calloused and rough on her soft skin. So slowly it was teasing.

Her head fell back against the rock to expose more of it. She looked at him through her lashes. 

His body burned this close to hers. She was burning. Maybe they would burn together, and there would be no decisions to make.

When he reached her chin, he turned his hand to drag his finger along her jaw, pressing but just as slow, stoking her desire for more. 

“Osha. Do you?” 

“No,” she managed to get out, breathy and almost a moan. 

His eyes darkened, and he took an uneven breath.

Not once since Khofar had she thought he would hurt her. Even now—between him and the rock, knowing he was so much taller than her, stronger physically—she trusted him. This was good.

He lowered his hand to rest on her collarbone. Her heart thumped in her chest. 

“Then what are you afraid of?”  

“Nothing.” 

“You're lying.” 

She scrambled for a handful of his tunic and pulled his body to hers. He came willingly, caging her in tight between him and the rock. His weight pressed to her, and that was good too. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, his breath warm on her face. 

She found his eyes, thinking yes yes yes, and wetted her lips.

Any closer, and he would be. He moved his hand to her chin, brushing his thumb beneath the curve of her bottom lip and then hooking the soft flesh of it. 

Now she did whimper, and it was such a pathetic sound that she looked up—catching the stars scattered across the night sky. Waves crashed along the shore, but the sound seemed dull and distant.  

The problem with wanting was that it always ended badly, and it was always her fault. 

“Look at me.” He held her chin. 

When she did, she saw him—no more than a breath away. It was so dark his eyes looked black. His hair was loose by his face.

“I don't know what you're afraid of,” he whispered. 

“I—” It took two tries for her tongue to form words. Her voice sounded scratchy, her throat still raw from crying and arguing. “I thought you could join me.”

Her heart was beating so fast, she wondered if he could hear it. 

“We both know I'd never do that.” 

“You could,” she said, not even knowing if that was what she wanted herself. If that would ever be allowed under the Sith's rules. It would just make it easier to decide. 

“Osha,” he said on a sigh. “That's not what I want.”

He tilted his face toward hers, just a little, and she wound her fingers through the hair at the side of his head. 

All that did was pull him closer. His cheek pressed to hers. Her other hand tightened on the fabric of his tunic, and her nails dug into his side. His breath stuttered near her ear. 

She was breathing hard, trying not to turn her mouth and take more. The rock was cold and pressed into her back, but he was hot and fit perfectly to her. She tilted her head to the side, and his hair tickled her face. 

Maybe they could just stay like this forever on the precipice of something, stopping someplace safe before it could inevitably end in disaster like all good things did when she touched them. 

Osha was so warm—he was so close already—that she almost couldn't tell the difference when he spoke in her head. 

Do you want me?

She growled and pushed him back with the Force. Her hand went to her lightsaber, and she ignited it, swinging it toward him. 

Qimir was quick to ignite his saber and blocked her strike. The blades clashed—glowing bright in the dark.  

Their gazes met, and she found no surprise in his eyes. His face was washed in red. 

Osha took a step back, her elbow still raised to block. Her boots sank into the rocky, wet sand. 

The hum of their blades filled her ears, competing with the waves for attention. 

He looked at her, his saber held low. His hair was disheveled, and there was a wrinkle in his tunic from where she'd twisted the fabric. 

She tightened her grip on the hilt, waiting for him to strike. 

This needed to end.

She needed this. 

All he did was stand there, still and watchful. 

“Fight me!” she said. 

He shook his head, his hair falling around his face. “You sound like your sister.” 

“Does that bother you?” she asked. “Does anything?” Her hands were shaking. 

“Osha,” he said, his voice softer. 

She pressed her lips tight and ran at him, swinging her blade. 

It was an easy block. The blades clashed, and he managed to push her back with strength alone. 

“Don't do this,” he said. 

Osha sniffled, adjusting her grip on her saber. “I want to.” 

She moved toward him again with a heavy swing. Their blades slammed together, sizzling.

He shoved her back again and didn't advance. 

Her body ached for more. This wouldn't do. She needed him to try. 

So she swung to the left and diverted at the last second. He caught the end of her blade with his. It sparked as it slid off. 

“Is that all you got?” she taunted him. 

A darker, dangerous look passed over his eyes. “If that's what you want.” 

Qimir split the hilt of his saber in two. A second blade ignited. He swung both in a downward cross. 

She angled hers to block them. The three blades screamed. With the Force, she threw him back. 

He slid a few feet at most. She rushed to him. It was like she hit a wall, thrown back. Her boots carved through the rocky sand. 

The strip of shore they were on was narrow; bordered by the sea and the tall rocks. Too narrow to move past him. 

She sprung forward. Swung sharp. He caught her blade with one. Swiped the other toward her. She leaned back. The red light came close to her face, blinding. 

This was an improvement. 

Her skin gleamed with sweat that the night air chilled. 

When she righted herself, she hit with a short, fast strike. He only had time to use one blade. 

Anger curled inside her, deep, and she preferred it that way because then she could focus and forget. 

The moon illuminated the night, and their sabers left red stripes on the sand. Their shadows merged, as close as they were moments ago. 

“Does this help, Osha?” Qimir crossed his blades to ward off her attack, spinning them after as he anticipated her next move. “Do you feel better?”

He did that often in training, and it frustrated her now because it meant he had the time to be flashy. As a child, the beauty of combat came from precision. The Jedi valued practicality, violence supposedly a last resort. 

Qimir was in a category all by himself. Sometimes so smooth and subtle, it was more like a dance. On Khofar, she got an up close look at the uglier, rougher side to that—when his body became the weapon too.  

She arced her blade, glaring at him. A difficult block. He was ready and swung both blades at her.

Their boots kicked up gravel and wet sand. They clashed in a humming flash of red.

No, she didn't feel any better. Because anger never stuck with her the way she needed it to. Instead, pain leaked back into her heart. 

Mae. Her mother. Mae. Her mother. 

She saw both their faces as she blocked Qimir's strike, then twisted her blade around and to his shoulder. The blade swiped close to where he had burned her earlier today—a lifetime ago. 

He dodged just in time. 

Master Sol killed her mother, but Osha wanted to become a Jedi, wanted to be tested in the Force, wanted to leave the fortress walls. 

Mae made a choice, but Osha was the one breaking a promise. 

The dark side ate at her, encouraging her to go deeper, hate herself more, take more, lose more—an endless cycle of grasping power, and realizing there was no other part of her left worth keeping. 

A failure in her coven. A failure as a Jedi. No one as a meknek. With the Sith, she could be someone, but what if it still wasn't enough? If she drowned in the blood of the Jedi—would it be enough?

“Osha.” The strain in Qimir's voice cut through the noise. She had her arms locked, forcing her blade against both of his. They emitted a shrieking sound. 

He looked at her with a concern she didn't understand. His hair hung loose, damp with sweat. The night itself seemed more defined—the air crisp and the waves reminiscent of the power within her. 

When she looked at him, she felt how much weaker he was than her. To Qimir, the dark side was an access point to the Force. 

To Osha, there was nothing else. 

Qimir pulled his blades from her own. 

Her eyes were burning.  

She fell forward at the loss of balance, raising her lightsaber to slice toward him. 

He caught it—shoving her back with one blade. Then swiping the other low. She jumped over.

While he blocked her next hit, she could tell he didn't want to fight her. She saw it in his eyes. Focused but resigned. 

So she followed and fought harder. He was a coward. This was her proof. 

Her blade hummed loud. In a blurred flash, she swiped toward him. 

He deflected. Just as he did, she pulled back and struck again. Then again, driving him back. 

Gravel crushed into the sand under their quick steps. They struck high to low. Head on—all three blades colliding. 

Qimir spun past her, blocking a strike from behind. A wave rushed up nearby, sprinkling water that reflected red. 

She stayed on him, close, and cut fast through the air. He ducked. As he stood, she raised to strike. He captured the blade of her saber between both of his, forcing the direction. 

Osha fought to control it as he drove her blade down, sparks of red jumping as it burned into the sand. 

To end this. 

So she kicked at his wrist, using his momentary surprise to free her blade. 

“Is that fair now?” he asked. 

They tended to skip hand-to-hand when Osha's training already went back to childhood. 

“Nothing ever was.” She swung, and he deflected. 

It was so cold that steam rose from their sabers—warming the moisture in the air with each clash.

Qimir tried to push her with the Force. She withstood the pressure and swiped toward him. Her blade hit one of his. He used the other to strike at her. 

She turned to block late, feeling the heat of it pass by her arm. A mistake and normally when he'd give his advice. Watch your blind spots. He said nothing, and she preferred that.

Her broad swing forced Qimir to step back, and he continued that way, retreating. Putting the distance between them he hadn't allowed before.

She sprinted forward, leaving prints in the rocky sand. As she neared him, she called on the Force, springing up. She twisted through the air in a graceful arc. 

Above Qimir, she struck her saber down. He held his own blades above his head. Her blade pulled sparks from them.  

She landed on two feet facing him. He held his blades low. 

Instead of preparing to block, he powered off his sabers and dropped them to the rocky sand. There was a soft clack as they hit, rolling. 

Osha ran into him, half-pushing, half-falling with him. 

They landed hard, Qimir taking most of the impact. She was sprawled on top of him and sat up, thrusting her lightsaber to his throat. 

“This brings back memories.” His chest rose and fell before her. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Power looks good on you, Osha.” 

Her knee pressed into his side. She leaned over him, forcing her lightsaber closer. “I could kill you.” 

He should push her off, call for his saber, call to the Force, anything. 

Instead, he was reminiscing. 

The blade was close to his skin, closer when he swallowed, his throat bobbing. He strained his neck to avoid it, his head falling back in the sand. “I know.”

“You should be afraid of me,” she said. “This is who I am.”

Someone who could take lives without a weapon. Who lied and abandoned to create opportunity. Who brought ruin to everything she touched. 

He would be next. 

Qimir was staring up at the stars. The line of his jaw was sharp, washed in red. His eyes found hers the best they could, and he spoke with his voice low. “Then prove it.”

The moon seemed too bright. The hum of her saber was too loud. Darkness pulled at her, twisted inside her.

“Prove it, Osha.” His hand slid up to rest on her thigh, warm through the damp fabric. “Look me in the eyes and kill me.” 

He looked at her with acceptance. The same way he had looked at Master Sol, but he wasn't smiling now.

She raised her saber. 

One strike. 

That was all it would take, and there would be nothing left for her to lose.

No light left. 

She gripped the hilt so tight her hand hurt. 

Qimir waited under the red glow, his hand still on her thigh, and his breathing as even as the waves.

The intensity of his gaze was a tangible thing she matched. 

He squeezed her thigh. “I'm not afraid to die."

She swung, the blade cutting through air.

He closed his eyes. 

Osha dropped her saber. The hilt hit the rocky sand and rolled, powering off. It immersed them in the dark.

He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath. “See? I knew—” 

She reached forward and grabbed the front of his tunic, jerking him toward her. “Qimir, you're a liar.” 

“I'm not.” He put his hands over hers. “I knew you wouldn't.” 

“No, you did not.” Her eyes blurred with tears, not from sadness but from anger. “Don't do that again.”

He needed to live; he wanted to live—so why was he so reckless? 

She needed her reason. Her reminder there was more to life—more to herself than the dark. 

“Me?” Qimir laughed. She let go of his tunic, and his head fell back in the sand. He gazed at her, and even in the dark, she recognized the warmth of it. “Osha, with you, I'm defenseless.”

That unraveled the last of her resolve.

She leaned down, and she pressed her mouth to his. 

He was surprised, and she knew by the way he breathed in. But like her, he was a quick learner. His lips responded soft and warm on hers—an answer to what she had wondered all along. 

The night was frigid. Their clothes were still damp. There was nothing soft about the way he grabbed her hip and pulled her closer, claiming her as she claimed him. 

She cradled his face with her thumbs on his cheeks, keeping this angle because it felt good, and he could kiss her harder. 

Her lip caught on his teeth. It stung, and she moaned against his mouth. When he bit her lip again, on purpose this time, she parted her lips to slide her tongue against his. 

They took breaths between tastes of each other, trying to get closer. Chest to chest. There was no space between them already but their clothes. His fingers pressed into her back. Her knee ached from the way it dug into the rocks. 

She didn't care when she started to roll off of him, Qimir turning with her so he wouldn't have to let go. 

The sand was wet and cold. Rocky. She didn't care. 

He pulled away from her mouth, and she grabbed the front of his tunic, worried he’d leave. But he only moved his mouth to her jaw, then down her neck, pressing hungry kisses that would leave a mark and left her out of breath again.

Her fingers twined through his hair, pulling at the roots until he groaned hot against her skin. That ruined her patience, and she pulled his face up to kiss him again—more desperately to make up for the minutes of lost time. 

Though there was something Osha should remember. 

It poked at her from the back of her brain, even as Qimir’s tongue swiped her lip and she held on a little looser to logic—thinking maybe it wasn't too cold outside and one less layer of clothing wouldn't hurt. 

That feeling grew stronger until she couldn't ignore it. 

“Qimir,” she said, after his mouth pressed the corner of hers. Somehow he was above her now, and she ran her hands over the muscles of his arms, memorizing the curves and wanting to do the same skin to skin. 

He was moving again, his hand on her jaw to tilt it how he wanted, and she felt his lips brush the sensitive spot by her ear and took a shaky breath. 

She entirely forgot what she meant to say. 

A minute later, she remembered. 

“Qimir,” Osha tried again, combing her fingers through his hair at the back of his head—seeing if that would get his attention like it did before. "We're not alone."

He heard her this time, and she heard his murmur from where his mouth was on her neck. “I don't care.”

She pushed him back lightly so she could be sure he understood. 

His eyes found hers, a question there, and she saw how flushed he looked—his swollen lips surely a mirror of her own. 

“Do you know what I said?” 

He started to nod as if in a daze and untangled himself from her to sit up. His gaze drifted to the dark hills of the island. She saw it play out on his face as he worked through what she just had. 

“Now?” he asked, glancing at her. 

She nodded.

This couldn't wait. 

Not when she was certain she'd just made a new enemy. 

 

Notes:

70k later and they finally kissed. WHO CHEERED!?!?!?!?

I'd love to know your thoughts - comments are always appreciated!! I'll be back in the new year to get rid of Darth Plagueis lol.

Find me on tumblr or on bluesky.

Chapter 7: Connect

Summary:

Moonlight filtered into the cave. Osha's eyes were watering, and tears fell. She squinted into the dark. Most of the ceiling was gone. The air was still too hazy to see. Large rocks littered the path between her and where she thought he was.

“Qimir!” Her voice was ragged.

She reached out with the Force to see if he was alive.

--
Osha and Qimir face Darth Plagueis.

Notes:

Hi!! I did not want it to be this long between chapters but... life. And also, it turns out for Osha and Qimir to fight Plagueis, *I* had to fight him first and that was not so easy lol. So @oshamir, you're welcome.

Here's the playlist for this fic again if you're interested! You might notice I also added show-esque chapter titles, which I'm VERY excited about.

Ohhh and that summary?

Hope you enjoy! ;)

Qimir’s breath froze in the night air. His hair was in disarray from her fingers, and he pushed it back. 

Osha's cheek itched. There was sand there, and she brushed the wet grains away. Her skin was cold. 

Waves crashed up the shore.

They sat in the dark, beneath the moonlight and the shadows of the rocks.

It felt like they had entered a liminal space. Feet apart when a moment ago they pressed together however they could. Her mouth held the memory.

The sea pushed in.

The sea pulled out.

Something had changed, and yet everything was the same.

When she glanced at Qimir, he was standing. He came over and offered his hand. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. Her lightsaber was still in the sand, and she went to grab it, the metal hilt like ice. 

Qimir called to his saber with the Force. The two halves rose from the rocky shore and clicked, smacking into his open hand as one.

She joined him there. His face was sharper in the moonlight, a renewed focus in his eyes to match her own. He looked down, reaching, and she laced her fingers with his. Cold air crept through her damp clothes, but beside him, she was warm. 

They stood together, still and silent, watching the waves and the crash of seafoam. 

Two on the shore.

 

---

 

In the cave, Osha went to her crate and found a clean pair of pants. The pair she wore now hadn't dried much in the cold. The damp fabric chafed her skin. She toed off her boots, one tipping to the floor. 

With her hand hovering at her waistband, she glanced over her shoulder at Qimir. 

He was on the other side of the cave and removing his tunic. The cave was dim. They hadn't bothered to turn on all the lanterns. 

Under the warm shadows, she saw the broad line of his shoulders and the curves of his arms. The muscles in his back shifted as he pulled the fabric over his head. She traced the jagged snake of his scar across his spine, following it down. 

When she looked back up, he was staring at her with a heavy gaze. Her face flushed, and she turned away. It only burned more at the click and snap of him undoing his belt, then the soft fall of damp clothing to the stone floor. 

She changed quickly and avoided that side of the cave as she walked out.

The island was the same as when she'd left it. Seawater sprayed over the rocks, caught under the moonlight. She breathed in the salty, night air and sat at the top of the steps to wait. 

Despite everything, she was alert and didn't feel tired in the slightest. The Force was with her—stronger than it had ever been.  

She sensed it in the molecules in the air, the crash of the waves, and within herself. 

The dark side still whispered. A strong pull she had given herself to fully the louder it spoke. 

In that moment, with her lightsaber held to Qimir's throat, he couldn't have known she wouldn't kill him because she hadn't known herself. 

There was a new path she saw. One where she would be invincible, hold all the power, and need no one. 

Not her sister, a partner or lover, nor the help of the Sith. 

For the first time in her life she had choices—infinite choices—and she could feel the consequences of them freely, sometimes before she even chose. 

So she swung her saber.

His eyes closed. 

It was terrifying. 

The knowledge that in some form, it was true: She did want to become a Jedi, and her mother died by the Jedi's hand. 

In order to be here, Mae was left behind and so were her memories. 

But choosing to want after years of repressing her past and denying her reality was liberating too. 

If she kissed Qimir, he kissed her back. 

If she accepted her pain, she discovered she was powerful. 

Where the Jedi saw dark magic—unnatural and forbidden—she saw possibility—and her family, who had loved her and simply wanted to survive the galaxy that feared them. 

The Jedi were an institution too blinded by their rules to see the fault in their own belief. 

If the dark side was required to maintain balance in the Force, why must they reject it in themselves? 

There was more than one form of balance. 

Only darkness could give meaning to light. 

Osha sensed a presence and looked up. Qimir stood behind her, his helmet tucked under his arm. He wore a cloak and was dressed in all black like her. 

She met his gaze. “Hey.”

“Hi. Are you enjoying the view?” 

“Yeah, it's nice.”

His mouth twitched. “Mind if I join you?”

She smiled slightly, shaking her head, and shifted over on the step. He looked at her a moment longer, then took the space beside her. He set his helmet behind them. Metal clunked on stone. 

There wasn’t much room, so their legs and arms pressed together. He was warm, and she leaned into him more. The steps leading down were difficult to see in the dark. It was impossible to tell where the beach began, giving the impression they led to nothing. 

Qimir’s hand rested on his knee. She took it in her own, turning it over. With her thumb, she traced the lines in his palm to the rougher, calloused skin by his thumb. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She turned her head to look at him. He was already looking at her with that searching, knowing expression she always found. 

“I feel alright,” she said. “I’m ready.”

For what—she didn’t clarify. 

To be herself, to be with him, to face the Sith. 

All three, she supposed. 

“And you?” she asked. 

He met her gaze with a small smile—more a press of lips. “Good.”

“Good,” she repeated. 

He nodded, his eyes flickering over her face. The dark blurred the sharpness of his, but at this point, his features were as familiar to her as her own, maybe more so. Memory could fill in the rest.

His eyes focused on hers for a long moment. In the distance, waves crashed over the rocks. The silence between them was deep, and she didn’t want to disturb it. 

“I like your eyes, Osha,” he said, his voice quiet and low; a point of warmth in the cold. 

She kept her gaze on him. It didn't feel like a compliment. Instead, an end to a conversation she had missed the start of. 

Before she could ask, he curled his fingers over her thumb, his gaze falling to the nothing of the beach below. 

“Is there anything I should know?” he asked.  

She nodded, her own gaze falling. It was a long story, but some would be useful. Everything to be known about them already was. It was only fair he knew the enemy too. 

“When you told me to meditate,” she began, her eyes trained on the darkness, “that night I had a vision.”  

 

---

 

They moved across the island as one. Osha led them north, picking her way down the steeper ground, stones rolling out from under her boots. 

Qimir was her shadow, following close behind. Moonlight reflected on the cortosis of his helmet. She had placed it on his head and watched as his eyes disappeared beneath the Stranger. When she pressed her forehead to his, the metal was cold. 

A large boulder came into view. The hill looming behind it was tall. Dark against the darker sky. She walked around it to the opening of the cave. The darkness there was opaque. 

She looked at Qimir and found where his eyes would be. It was her fight, but he had made it theirs. He looked back and nodded.

This time, she didn't hesitate when she stepped inside the cave. The dark enveloped her. If she waved her hand in front of her face, she wouldn't be able to see it. She knew because when she glanced over her shoulder at Qimir, there was no sign he was there. 

The Force told her otherwise. It was the Thread her coven spoke of when she was a child. A connection woven from forest to rocky beach, to the yellow petals of the bunta tree with a handshake beneath. An understanding that she was in the dark, but she wasn't alone. 

Water dripped from the ceiling of the cave. A steady tap, tap, tap. A cold drop plopped on her head. The cave's initial tunnel split off into several more. She chose the middle one and took its winding, narrow path. 

The air had a charge to it that reminded her of when the sky went grey and the waves turned rough—a storm rolling in over the sea. 

It said danger.

This was the moment she would run for the fortress walls as a child or alert Master Sol as a Padawan, met by questioning words and an eventual order to wait with the ship. 

Trust your instincts, Qimir had told her a dozen times over.

In the face of danger, she no longer felt fear.

Her boot scraped the stone floor, and she stopped. The tunnel had opened to a larger room. 

She released a slow breath. Qimir stood at her right. His presence in the Force was a warm pull of gravity. The darkness opposite kept her from drifting toward him. It was more like a black hole. 

“When I discovered your existence, Verosha,” Darth Plagueis's voice cut smooth and deep through the dark, “I knew I had found something extraordinary. 

“For years, I had studied the Force. I dedicated my life to my research. There's no mystery that can't be solved with perseverance. You were the proof I'd been seeking: If power is eternal, the Sith can be too.”

“I won’t give you anything.” Osha set her hand on the hilt of her lightsaber, clipped to her belt. “Leave now, or we will kill you.” 

Darth Plagueis chuckled. “How kind. A Sith wouldn’t offer a choice.” 

“Then consider yourself lucky.”

Qimir stepped closer to Osha, and she sensed his gaze on her. His voice was robotic beneath his helmet. “You won't get one from me.”

“A better master would have taught her the same,” Darth Plagueis said. “A better master...would have noticed his pupil being taken before him.” 

An unsettling silence filled the space between them. 

“She was never yours to take.”

Qimir ignited his lightsaber in a flash of red.

It illuminated the room. The space was cavernous with shadows in every far corner. Cortosis glimmered in the ceiling. It reminded her of stars.

Darth Plagueis wasn't here.

Qimir's saber buzzed. Osha could hear his breathing beneath his helmet. 

A spinning hum started, growing louder. 

Osha turned. A lightsaber sped down the tunnel behind them. Red light bounced off the walls. 

It was headed for her. 

Fast.

She ignited her saber.

Qimir shoved her to the side with the Force. Her boots skidded on the stone floor. 

“Qi—” she began, intending to tell him off. If he was protecting her, he wasn’t protecting himself. 

He was already gone. 

Her heart pounded. 

The cave was silent except for her saber's hum. She reached for the Force and took off down the closest tunnel into the dark. The red glow of her saber illuminated her steps and the silver veins of cortosis in the walls. 

At the end of the tunnel, she turned and was met by a red flash. She lifted her elbow and blocked the strike in a clash of sparks. 

“You've come far!” Darth Plagueis said. He grinned at her beneath the hood of his cloak. His face was washed in red light; his veins stark beneath his skin. “What would you have done without me?” 

Their blades disconnected. She struck again. 

“I didn't need you.” 

All Darth Plagueis taught her was to lose herself. To the dark side and its infinite depths. As if to be powerful, she had to become someone else. It was from within she found her true strength. 

Watch out. Qimir’s voice, in her head. 

She didn't understand until he emerged from the shadows in a swirl of black cloak.

Qimir split his saber in two—swinging at Darth Plagueis. She slipped past their sizzling blades. While Darth Plagueis was distracted—she sliced at him. 

He turned and stopped her hit smoothly. Their sabers met in a bright clash. Then he was pulling away to block Qimir. 

The three of them moved in a blur. 

Red light jumped across the stone. 

The uneven hum of sabers was constant. 

Darth Plagueis struck at Osha again. She braced against the force of his swing, swaying on impact. He had always looked gangly to her. Tall with thin limbs like he could fold into himself. Now he moved without effort. 

Quick cuts. 

Contorting to avoid Qimir's saber, then attacking her like he had never left. She hit back harder. He was a machine. The way he bent and dodged seemed automatic. 

She thought together, she and Qimir would have the upper hand. As a Padawan, he bested two Jedi Masters. On Khofar, he faced a legion of Jedi at once. On Kuval—two more as they tried to protect the Padawan she killed. 

That had been an accident. 

Osha was in control now. 

Every use of her saber came with intention. With a heavy block, she gave Qimir time to strike. He swung one blade, then the second. The fabric of his cloak parted, his arms flexing. 

Darth Plagueis met him halfway. Their blades connected in a short scream. His hand was out. An easy target. Osha's blade was nearly to his wrist when he turned. 

A blast from the Force shoved her back—rough like the sea’s current. She clipped her shoulder on rock and took the pain. 

Qimir jumped between them, sabers blazing as he struck.

Osha called on the Force and leapt forward. With the newfound momentum, she spun past Darth Plagueis. Her saber sliced his arm.

“Ah!” he said. The single cry dissolved behind bared teeth. His eyes glowed bright. He swung in retaliation. 

Qimir was ready and caught it, arm taut. The sinister smile of his helmet reflected red. 

In some ways, he and Darth Plagueis weren't so different. 

Two masters of the dark. Two enemies of the Jedi. Once, Osha would have seen them the same. Both approached her—wanted her for their own gain. But Qimir was content to just exist in a way Darth Plagueis would never. Power was his tool. For Darth Plagueis, it was the endgame. 

The tunnel continued to narrow. 

Osha pulled her saber back, then hit again. Their sabers crashed together. She was smaller than Darth Plagueis and Qimir and used that to her advantage. As Qimir swung, she could duck under to strike Darth Plagueis opposite—keeping him moving. 

There was no time between volleys. 

Qimir spun his sabers in an upward arc. Darth Plagueis's blade sizzled along them and to Osha. She swung sharp to block, capturing the edge. 

His saber sliced her poncho. She felt the blade's heat by her hip. The scent of burnt fabric filled her nose. 

They were at the tunnel’s end. 

When Darth Plagueis moved to strike, Qimir brought his head forward and smashed it into his blade. Sparks flew. Darth Plagueis's face twisted into a scowl as his lightsaber sputtered. 

Osha swung at him. 

In that split-second, he was gone. 

There was a bend in the tunnel. It split in two directions. Osha stared into the darkness. At once, she realized how heavy she was breathing—her body buzzing with adrenaline.  

Still ready? asked Qimir. His voice was warm and familiar in her head. The air in the cave was cool, though she no longer noticed—hot and sweating beneath her clothes. 

Osha turned to him and nodded. He was staring at her, and she met where she knew his eyes would be. 

“I'll go right,” she said.

Qimir gave a single nod, and they broke off. He went left. 

She kept her lightsaber on. The blade hummed with her steps. Water dripped. She walked through a shallow puddle, the splash quiet. A mirror of herself reflected on the floor. 

In the Force, she could sense Qimir and Darth Plagueis. Qimir was an outstretched hand. Darth Plagueis, a blot of ink soaking into fabric. Difficult to locate as he spread everywhere. 

Suddenly, there was a clash of lightsabers. The fight echoed down the tunnel. 

Her steps faltered. She started to turn. 

The sound cut off. 

“Hello, Verosha.” 

She spun back sharply, her saber humming louder. Darth Plagueis stood at the end of the tunnel. A cloaked figure in red light. His saber was ignited, highlighting his sunken eyes and their yellow glow. 

Osha held hers ready. “Only my mothers called me that.” 

The story was always the same. Their coven was hunted and forced into hiding. On Brendok, they found new life. Verosha and Mae-ho Aniseya were born. 

It was Mae who called her Oshie. When they were learning to speak, the nickname stuck like the sap of the bunta tree. 

She didn't like the name her mothers gave her in the mouth of the Sith.

His lips curled to reveal sharp teeth. “Names can be powerful. Wouldn't you agree?”

Osha rushed forward. He leapt into her path, cloak flowing behind like a second shadow. 

The dark side was hers to command. It was her turn to take.

She looked up at him, towering over her, and pulled her arm back. 

Her saber swiped clean through him. 

“You should have learned,” he said, eyes flashing. 

Darkness took his place. He had never been there at all. 

Osha stepped back, her boots scraping the floor. The tunnel’s shadows shifted around her. Her breaths echoed back. She could only see as far as her saber's humming light. 

He was right.  

She took off down the tunnel.

The knowledge sank heavy like a stone. All the ways Darth Plagueis pulled the strings and continued to. Telling her what Qimir wouldn't had almost brought her to his side. It wasn't a matter of who could outbest in combat, but who would outsmart. 

Hadn't that been the way of the Sith from the beginning? 

Darth Tenebrous had worked with Dahn—infiltrated the Jedi for information. It was the Jedi who suffered in the end. They were turned against each other—three dead and a fourth presumed on Udut alone. Qimir, a Padawan, not solely responsible—but entirely blamed. 

By the time the Jedi realized what was happening—the call would come from inside the house. This was the Grand Plan. 

The tunnel opened to a larger room. There were chunks of cortosis in the ceiling. She had circled back to where they started. 

Someone appeared behind her. She relaxed, lowering her saber as she turned.

It was Qimir. His saber was off, but the red of hers reflected on the scarred metal of his helmet. He stared at her, tilting his head. 

“We need to—” she began, her voice low. 

“I can hear you.” Darth Plagueis emerged from the shadows of the tunnel opposite them. 

Qimir ignited his saber. He sent the blade past her, spinning at the Sith. 

She didn't wait to watch. The hairs on the back of her neck had risen. A saber buzzed behind her, and she twisted around, swinging to block.

Darth Plagueis's blade slammed into hers. His eyes burned just as bright. “So you can be a good student.” 

“Of course. Just never yours.” Their sabers met again. She drew him further into the room. 

Qimir had recalled his saber. She struck at Darth Plagueis, then made space for him. He spun his two blades in a cross, slashing them down at Darth Plagueis.

Osha cut in. He couldn't hold Qimir and defend himself from her at the same time. 

Their blades clashed. 

It was short-lived. Qimir swung his blade broad. A distraction while he jabbed the other toward his torso. 

Almost effective. 

Darth Plagueis twisted, catching the first blade. Qimir pushed back, his bicep straining. Osha advanced and swung her blade hot.  

He turned to her at the last second with a heavy strike. It forced her back enough for him to deflect Qimir's retaliation. 

This went on, the clash of sabers echoing off the cave walls and high ceiling. The only light came from their sabers. Blurs of red that cast them all in the same color; a taste of dawn at midnight. 

The hits were steady. Darth Plagueis divided his time between the two of them, but it felt simultaneous.  

Whenever Osha drew close enough, he found a way to evade. It was different from dueling Qimir, who often lured her close on purpose, waiting for her to slip up. 

Darth Plagueis was constantly moving. Too fast to pin. He reminded her of the insects she and Mae chased through the Brendok woods as children, their blue wings iridescent under the sun. 

Eventually, one would land long enough for her to creep toward it, careful to not make a sound. But they always noticed—fluttering away the second she was close enough to reach out and touch. 

There was a way to stop them. 

Her saber clashed with Darth Plagueis's. She threw her strength behind the hit. He deflected and turned swiftly. Qimir’s strikes were getting broader. Stronger.

Darth Plagueis slashed his saber, and on the return—it grazed Qimir's arm. Qimir didn't so much as flinch, spinning to block from behind. His cloak flowed with him. 

Osha ducked under Darth Plagueis's swing, then saw the tail end of Qimir’s attack, a consecutive swipe of both blades. There was too much open space. It was too easy for Darth Plagueis to avoid them. She pushed him back further with her strike, and Qimir followed her lead to corner him. 

A vein of cortosis was embedded in the wall; red under the light of their sabers. She lifted her hand as Darth Plagueis pulled his blade from hers to Qimir's. 

For a moment, she was a child, reaching out with the Thread. 

In the Brendok woods, the insect stopped.  

She called on the Force now. 

The dark side was like the current of the sea at its roughest. Strong and reaching. Below the surface, there was no light. Part of using the Force was learning to work with it. As a Jedi, that meant centering on peace. Qimir had taught her to use everything.

She targeted the bones of Darth Plagueis's wrist. He lurched toward the wall. The blade of his saber cut stone, then cortosis, sparks flying. 

“You should have learned,” Osha said.

It fizzled out. 

Darth Plagueis snarled, turning to her. His saber slowly reignited. Qimir had already dove forward, blade arced for his neck. Darth Plagueis's attention shifted. 

Osha faltered. 

His blade came back to life mid-swing. 

Qimir!

She didn't mean to speak in his mind. But she knew she had from the way his head snapped to her. The eerie grin of his helmet was painted in red. 

He moved to block too late, stumbling to avoid Darth Plagueis. 

Osha swiped at Darth Plagueis from behind. 

He turned to block her, and she kicked out. Her boot connected with his leg—shoving him toward Qimir as he swung again, sabers blazing.

“Another lesson for you, Verosha.” Darth Plagueis's hand shot out and Qimir froze.

He was thrown into the cave wall. 

His body hit, the metal of his helmet knocking into stone with a horrible clang. He landed on the floor, unmoving. His sabers turned off. 

Time stopped. 

Her heart was still beating. 

She reached out with the Force, but Darth Plagueis was charging toward her—saber ignited.  

Osha screamed, slamming her blade into his. He stumbled, but it didn't last. When he struck again, she felt the impact to her bones. 

“Even the Jedi understand bonds make you weak.” His eyes burned yellow over the red of his saber. 

She arced her blade to block and swung fast. Her teeth were gritted, and her face was damp with sweat. “Then I pity the Jedi and the Sith.”

Darth Plagueis spun his blade in an upward slash. Osha dodged and hit back. 

He moved so quickly, she couldn't rely on her sight to keep up. Only with the Force did she manage to. Their blades clashed together, emitting a high-pitched shriek.

In the Force, she called to Qimir as much as she dared. His breathing was shallow, but he was alive. The sound of his helmet on stone echoed in her head. 

This needed to end. 

She needed to end this. 

Without Qimir in the fight, Darth Plagueis directed the entirety of his focus and strength at her. He knew her decisions before she made them. 

When Osha swung, his saber was already there. 

“The Sith would never share power. To share power is to sacrifice it.” His saber swiped closed to her head. She avoided it by falling back. “Only the Sith will stand in the end.” 

It was the first time in her life she knew she would either win or die trying.

If she died, Qimir was next. Left unprotected as he was meant to die years ago. There would be no one to save Mae. At least with the Jedi, she might be safe from the Sith. 

If she died, someday, Darth Plagueis would too. 

“You can't kill me,” Osha managed to say between swings. Their blades clashed in a flash of sparks. “You need me.”

He was here because he wanted to be immortal. It couldn't be done without her power in the Force. To kill her was to kill himself and the future he claimed couldn't exist without him at the helm. 

She called on the dark side. The pain of Master Sol's lies. The grief of losing Mae for a second time. She had made her choice, and now she would see it through. 

When she swung, Darth Plagueis powered off his saber, immersing himself in the dark. 

"I can learn from death too.”

The cave lit up with blue light. Every shadow dwindled to nothing. 

She saw Qimir, sprawled on the floor by the cave wall. 

Darth Plagueis stood before her. Electricity—bright and brilliant—sprung from his hands. 

He shot it at her. 

Osha raised her saber. 

Lightning connected with the blade, and she jolted back, crying out. It hissed and screamed. She felt the current across her skin like static as she tried to contain it. 

Some long-ago memory tugged at her. The voice of a Jedi teacher droning on about a centuries-ago war and an ability only the Sith possessed. 

The Sith weren't extinct, and she had mastered the dark side too. 

“I'm more powerful than you.” 

With all the strength she could muster, she sent the strikes back at Darth Plagueis. 

He jerked on impact, and lightning shot upward. 

Time seemed to slow as the current traveled to the cave's vaulted ceiling. The cortosis there sparkled. 

It hit, and the ceiling exploded. 

Osha was thrown from her feet. She landed hard on her side, ears ringing. 

Stones rained down on her body. The air was dust—obscuring her vision and filling her lungs. She rolled onto her side. 

“Qimir!” she screamed, coughing. 

Moonlight filtered into the cave. Her eyes were watering, and tears fell. She squinted into the dark. Most of the ceiling was gone. The air was still too hazy to see. Large rocks littered the path between her and where she thought he was. 

“Qimir!” Her voice was ragged. 

She reached out with the Force to see if he was alive. On shaking arms, she pushed herself to her knees. 

Suddenly, she collapsed—a force pushing her down. 

“There's no strength in the temporary.” Darth Plagueis emerged from the dust and shadows. His yellow eyes glowed. A deep cut ran from his eye to his cheek. “How long did you believe your ‘partnership’ would last?”

Osha struggled against the Force, trying to free herself from the crushing pressure. Stones dug into her back. It wouldn't obey her call. “You don't know anything,” she spit out. 

He'd never understand because he had chosen the way of the Sith. In their efforts to save the galaxy, they couldn't even maintain peace among themselves. Power at the sacrifice of all else.

“You can't tell, can you?” Darth Plagueis chuckled, low and grating. “Your master is dead, Verosha.”

She stared at him. 

“You're lying.”

He came closer. Shadows clung to his long face. “I've never lied. We agreed to be honest, remember?”

“No. I would know. I—” The dark side was near, as powerful as it was on the beach. But she couldn't reach it. “I didn't— agree to anything.”

Darth Plagueis shook his head slowly. “Then let me show you.” He waved his hand in a casual gesture. 

The pressure released. She sucked in air like she'd been underwater. The Force rushed back. 

Tentatively, she reached out, searching…

Searching… 

Everything about this was wrong. 

She became more frantic. The Force was slippery. She couldn't grasp it. 

Her hold snapped. 

Fear swept through her, icy and cold. 

“No.” Her eyes burned with tears. It wasn't possible. This was what he wanted her to believe. Any second Qimir would appear, and they'd fight together. 

That was the deal they made. He wasn't allowed to be taken from her like Mae and her family. She wouldn't let it happen. 

But the cold stuck. 

It settled in her bones, and she was certain—something was missing. 

She began to cry, calling to the Force again. It was so close. A flickering start of shadows that wouldn't take.

Darth Plagueis watched, his gaze burning and unsympathetic. “Be grateful he died quickly. When I lost my master, I watched him die slowly, suffocated and crushed by stone.”

“You killed him,” she insisted. Tears fell from her eyes, hot and angry. “You told me it was you.”

Darth Plagueis didn't care for his master. Under the Rule of Two, the loss was a step toward greater power. He didn't care for anyone but himself. This was a last-ditch effort to make her think they were the same. 

“I won't join you.” Her throat was raw. 

Darth Plagueis's face didn't change. “Then I'll take what I can.”

He raised his hands. Electric sparks—vibrant and blinding—jumped from his hands. He threw them into her. 

Osha screamed. 

It was unlike any pain she'd felt before. Like being set on fire inside and out. She tried to call to the Force, for her lightsaber, anything—but couldn't. 

For all she knew, her saber was crushed. 

Darth Plagueis came closer, looming over her. A nightmare come to life. His face was illuminated in the bright light, skin nearly translucent. The aftereffects danced in her vision. 

“Did you know when a Force-user dies, their midi-chlorians return to the source?” He angled his hands, and the lightning struck her like needles. She was whimpering. “I've learned to manipulate them. When you die, you won't join the Force. Your life will be mine.”

“No,” she moaned. It was all she could manage. This was how the Jedi left her coven sixteen years ago—to burn in the flames. 

Now she was burning too. 

The lightning battered her. An attack on her nerves. There was nothing but agonizing pain.

Blinding light.

It crackled, consuming her senses, and she'd never wanted anything more in her life than for this to end. 

Her vision was fading at the edges. It was starting to hurt less. She understood now, she was dying. 

There was no one to save her. 

She looked through the sparks of lightning to the ceiling of the cave. 

It was open to the sky.

Scattered with stars. 

She was a child again, peering out her window on a sleepless night, wishing for a glimpse of where the stars met the sea. 

Osha reached to her belt. Her hand wrapped around the hilt of Mae's dagger. With the last of her strength, she called to the Force. 

Darth Plagueis lurched forward. The dagger went through his chest. Lightning still struck from his hands. She stabbed the blade into his heart. Warm blood gushed out. She didn't let go. 

He cried out maniacally, almost laughing. 

The lightning flickered. He couldn't maintain it. 

She pushed the dagger deeper. The blood made it slick. Her body was shaking. 

In seconds, she would black out. If she was going to die, she was taking him with her. 

Darth Plagueis stumbled back, and the lightning cut out. By the moonlight, she saw his teeth stained red. His hand pressed to his chest. Blood soaked through his cloak. 

When he spoke, he sounded far away, fading himself. 

“Muuns have three hearts, Verosha.” 

She let go, and the dagger clattered. 

 

---

 

Thunder rumbled across the sky. 

Osha shot up to a sitting position. Green leaves and thin branches swayed above her in the wind. The sky was a deep grey past the canopy. 

Her fist was clenched. When she opened it, yellow petals fell to the grass. They turned to ash. 

She stood, taking a few unsteady steps back. The bunta tree was visible in the distance. It glowed bright in the darkening woods. Someone small sat on a rock by the trunk, their face turned so she couldn't see. 

A child. 

“Mae?” 

Osha took off running. Her boots sank into the soft grass. 

The bunta tree's willowy arms embraced her. Almost gold now with rays like the sun. Blue fungi crept up the bark. She walked around the trunk, but the child was gone. 

Thunder rolled. The air had the sweet scent of oncoming rain. 

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. 

A flash of purple. 

She turned and saw the child running.

“Hey!” Osha called. “Wait for me!”

The child didn't wait, and the faster she ran—she came no closer. 

Tall grass brushed her ankles. The ground was a blur under her feet. She'd run this path a hundred times. When leaving the fortress walls to explore and on trips to the meadow where they’d hunt Nuna and pull tubers from the bottom of the creek. 

The woods were ending. Blue light filtered in past the shadows of the treeline. Osha broke through and into the courtyard of the fortress. 

It was crowded. 

Witches passed by her. The storm was coming, and the sky had the hue of dusk. One witch carried a basket of freshly laundered robes, another—cut logs for the hearth. 

“Osha,” they called to her in greeting. 

The air smelled of roasting meat and herbs as preparation for a later meal began. In the corner, three witches sat together—stringing their moon bows. 

“Osha,” they said with waves and soft smiles. 

“Spice creams?” asked a witch in an earthy brown vest. Daria, who could always be found in the kitchen. The blonde pieces of her hair were braided together at the front. She held the spice creams out. Rectangular cookies decorated with a dab of frosting and a flower on top. 

“Oh, um.” Osha glanced behind her, expecting Mother Koril to appear. Scold her for sneaking off into the woods or for taking sweets when she hadn't earned them. 

It's not safe out there.  

Her mother was nowhere to be seen. 

Daria pushed the plate closer. 

“Thank you,” Osha said. She slipped two of the blue cookies into her pocket. 

The witches didn't seem to notice the dark clouds or thick air. Any moment, rain would fall. Their quiet chatter enveloped her, interrupted only by the occasional lift of a louder voice—a request to borrow the shears or an offer to assist with a heavy weight. 

Lightning cracked across the sky.   

She flinched. 

The courtyard was empty. 

Overgrown weeds crept up from the ground. Scorch marks spread along the fortress’s inner wall. The stone had crumbled in places, larger rocks scattered throughout the courtyard. 

“Osha.” A clear and warm voice cut through the silence. 

Mother Aniseya stood under the fortress arch, dressed in a knit robe. Her long locs rested over her shoulder. 

Osha took a breath. It tasted like ash. 

“Mama?” 

They walked through the fortress. Their footsteps scuffed the stone floor. Osha looked up at her mother, feeling small again. She was small. Her hand was smaller in her mother's. 

“You shouldn’t be up so late,” Mother Aniseya said, leading her down the winding hall. There was a seriousness to her voice, but Osha knew she wouldn’t be in trouble. “Growing girls need their sleep.”

They turned the corner into her bedroom. It was colder this time of year. Rain drummed on the windows. Mother Aniseya led Osha to her bed. 

“Where’s Mae?” Osha asked. The bed across from hers was empty. 

“Come on, I'll tuck you in.” 

Osha climbed into her bed. The blankets were twisted at the bottom, and Mother Aniseya got to work neatening them. She pulled the blankets up to Osha's chin. 

“The scratchy one,” she reminded her. 

Mother Aniseya smiled, shifting the top blanket down lower. It had tassels along the border, and Osha didn't like how they tickled her nose when she slept. 

“There. How's that?” 

“Better.” Osha rested her head on her pillow. “But I'm not tired. Can you tell me a story? Please?” She started to yawn and clamped her mouth shut to hide it. 

Mother Aniseya laughed softly, sitting on the edge of Osha's bed. Osha moved her legs to give her more room. “What story do you want to hear?” 

“Um. The one about the bunta.” 

She nodded, and Osha snuggled under the blankets, waiting for her to begin. The rain tapped steadily. 

“Years ago,” Mother Aniseya said, “there was a coven of witches. All they wanted was to live in peace. But others thought women shouldn't be allowed power like theirs. They didn't understand their way of life and were afraid.”

Osha plucked at a loose thread at the edge of her blanket. Mother Aniseya rested her hand on her leg.

“The witches were hunted,” she continued. Her voice was strong, and her eyes held an accepted sadness. “They fought very bravely, but many lost their lives. And so they had no choice but to leave their home.” 

“And find a new one,” Osha said.

“Yes. The witches searched far and wide across the galaxy. It was…” Mother Aniseya smoothed her hand over a wrinkle in the blankets. “It was up to me to find a place where they would be safe.”

Brendok. 

Osha often wondered where else the witches might have lived. Maybe a planet with desert and a hot sun that rarely set. Or a planet with the sea, where they could swim and build castles in the sand. 

She liked the woods, and she liked the meadow, but she often wondered what existed beyond. 

“The first months on Brendok were difficult,” Mother Aniseya said. “The land was barren, and it was unusually cold. The planet was sick. It made us sick too. We were safe, but we still needed a way to survive. So I called on the Thread.”

Thunder rumbled, followed by a flash of lightning. The room lit up. Osha felt a prickling fear. 

“The Thread connects all living things.” Mother Aniseya's voice lulled Osha along with the rain. “In the dead of winter, the bunta tree bloomed with bright yellow petals. We used them to hunt. Finally, there was enough food for us to eat. When spring came, we had survived. 

“We were blessed with life.”

“Me and Mae,” Osha said quietly, her gaze drifting to her sister's empty bed. 

Mother Aniseya's face softened in the dim light. “That's right. I created you. Mother Koril carried you in her belly. When you were born, we celebrated for love, our legacy, and the leaders you would become.” 

“But…” Osha pulled at the loose blanket thread, twisting it. “What if I don't want to be a leader?” 

She found it hard to picture herself in Mother Aniseya's role. The coven's leader had to be wise, courageous, caring, and strong. Someone the witches could count on. Mostly, Osha preferred to spend her days in the woods, venturing a little further past the fortress walls each time. 

A leader was someone like Mae. 

“You are a powerful girl, Osha, and someday, you'll be a powerful woman.” Mother Aniseya placed her hand atop Osha's, easing the night's chill. “The Thread ties you to your destiny. When the time comes, you will be ready.”

Osha traced the mark of Ascension on Mother Aniseya's forehead. Her eyelids felt heavy.

“Okay, Mama,” she said quietly.

“What the Thread ties together, no one can separate.” Mother Aniseya leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to Osha's cheek. 

Her eyes closed. 

“Now you can sleep.” 

The rain fell harder. 

She was drowning. 

Osha.

 

---

 

Sunlight shined directly into her eyes. 

Qimir leaned over her, cupping her cheek. He turned her head so she had to look at him. 

Everything was too bright and everything hurt. 

Osha saw his mouth moving, and it took another moment for her ears to catch up. 

“Where are you bleeding?” His thumb pressed into her cheek. “Where are you hurt?” He sounded frantic, his other hand hovering over her like he was afraid to touch her more. 

His hairline was caked in dried blood.

“You're bleeding,” she said. The words hurt her cracked lips.  

He paused, his gaze finding hers. 

His hair looked more brown under the sunrise, haloed around him. The cave was open to the sky—streaked with orange and red. Settling dust particles floated in the golden light. Grey dust coated his cloak.

All at once, she remembered the night. 

Qimir thrown into the wall, the cortosis exploding, pain—bright and sharp, Darth Plagueis above her.

She had stabbed him. 

In the morning light, she saw the aftermath. Blood stained the stone beside her, trailing off to one of the tunnels that was still accessible. The dagger was further like she'd thrown it. 

A large crack ran from the edge of the cave's broken ceiling down the wall. On the other side, the cave's wall had completely collapsed. Not far from where she lay, the sun reflected on the dirty metal of her lightsaber. The hilt didn't have a single scratch. 

“It's not mine,” she said. “I thought…” Her eyes tracked Qimir's face under the morning sun. “I thought…” He was staring at her, breathing, alive, and the rest of her sentence was lost to her sudden tears.

“Shh,” he said, pulling her toward him, less cautious now that he knew she hadn't been slowly bleeding out over the course of the night. She met his chest. 

Her arm was crushed awkwardly between them. She gripped a fistful of his cloak like that would keep him from being taken from her again. He was warm, his hand settling at the back of her neck. 

“I— I didn't kill him,” she said, her words muffled by his shoulder. 

But she had managed to injure Darth Plagueis—badly. It gave her a certainty he wouldn't be back. He'd slip into the shadows, recuperate, and write her off as another failed experiment. 

The Sith would continue on, just not with her. 

“I thought…” She breathed in deeply. His arm was wrapped tight around her, and she felt the erratic beat of his heart. He smelled coppery like dirt and blood, or maybe that was her. The outside of the cave had fallen in. He was far enough to the side that he had survived the explosion. 

Her mind still spun. 

When Darth Plagueis disrupted her ability to access the Force, something had been missing. She had thought it was Qimir. There was no way to confirm otherwise when she couldn't use the Force. 

Yet with his presence wrapped around her now, he felt different from the connection she had lost. 

It was something she'd been bound to from the start and hadn't known was there until it was gone.  

Now the Force flowed to her freely, not as the violent rush of the sea, but as the golden rays of the morning sun. 

The arms of the bunta tree embraced her in a dream-like place between life and death. 

What the Thread ties together, no one can separate.

She pulled back from Qimir and reluctantly, he loosened his hold on her. 

“I can sense Mae.” 

 

---

 

Osha and Qimir walked into the cave. 

“If I can sense her, she might be able to sense me. She'll tell Vernestra where we are.”  

It was impossible to be certain. Maybe the realization was one-sided, Mae knew nothing at all, and there was still no path forward. 

If it wasn't, they wouldn't be safe here much longer. 

“I'm staying,” she said. 

Qimir stopped to look at her. His boot scuffed loose stone. He looked more weary than she'd ever seen him. Both younger and older at once. He held his helmet in his hand. She tried not to think about how much worse things would have been without it. 

“We can talk tomorrow,” he said. “Okay?”

She had opened her mouth to say more, and it fell closed. Early morning light filtered in through the cave's entrance. It already was tomorrow.

He was watching her with a careful expression. His gaze drifted lower, and she followed it to her hands. They were shaking at her sides, the right one stained. She curled her fingers in. 

“Why don't you go sit down?” he asked, reaching to touch her arm.  

Her eyes stuck to the blood on his hairline. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.” He didn't move until she started to make her way across the cave. 

Even now, she felt strange. Like she hadn’t fully woken, or it was her first time here, and everything was unfamiliar again. Her footsteps and the gurgle of the water pool in the cave's center sounded duller.

He was probably right. It would be better to decide what to do later when last night was a little more distant. 

But she didn't know how much time they had. A day or two at most if Mae knew. Which only gave her more questions: What would that mean for her memories? What would that mean for Qimir? 

She sat on the smooth section of rock. He was at their storage on the far side of the cave and knelt there. The noise of him rummaging through the crates carried over. It was where they kept the medkit. 

Would he stay? was the loudest question of them all. 

Osha pulled her gaze away, reaching to take off one of her boots. There was a sore spot on her ankle, and she prodded at it. Maybe a bruise from when she was thrown. It hurt more when she pressed on the bone. She removed her other boot, her lightsaber belt, and pulled her poncho over her head, shaking her head to free her locs. 

The fabric was filthy. A hole was burned into the side, and it was covered in dust. She stared at the dark stains at the front. It was no wonder Qimir mistook the blood for hers. 

There was no pain now, but the memory of it lingered like flames that wouldn't extinguish. The more she thought about it, the more she could feel it. A sharp static that was impossible to pinpoint because it was everywhere. 

Pain was an access point to the dark side, but beyond a certain threshold—it became useless. 

Her chest felt tight, and she curled her fingers into the fabric of her poncho. 

“Hey.” 

She blinked.

Qimir stood before her, his head tilted. He had taken off his cloak and cleaned his face. His hair was wet by his forehead—a smear of bacta along his hairline. He usually needed convincing, so it must hurt. “Are you alright?”

Osha looked at him. “Fine.”

The furrow stayed in his brow, but he didn't push further and sat next to her on the rock. He had brought a damp cloth with him. 

She looked down at her right hand. The lines of her palm were stained with blood. 

“Here,” he said, reaching out, and she gave him her hand. He glanced at her, then used the cloth to clean her palm. He wiped it between her fingers and scrubbed around her nails. The material was dark, and the blood didn't show. She gave him the other, and he cleaned that one too. 

When he was done, she turned her hands over to look at them like they were new. 

He shifted closer, his knee pressing to her thigh. His eyes found hers. 

“There's blood on your face,” he said quietly. 

She nodded, and he folded the cloth in half, lifting it to her cheek. The material was rough and a little scratchy. But she could tell he tried to be gentle, wiping some unseen combination of blood, dirt, tears, and sweat from her face. The cloth cooled her skin, making the air in the cave seem sharper. 

He worked the cloth around the creases of her nose, then took her chin between his fingers as he cleaned the bridge. She watched him silently. This was how she liked him best. Steady. Attentive. All for her. His breathing was even, and hers calmed to match. 

“Close your eyes,” he said. 

Her eyes closed. 

She felt the damp cloth over her eyelids, impossibly careful, then the swipe of it across her brows. It was soothing. His hand on her chin. His knee by her leg. He moved the cloth to clean her forehead, and his fingers slid to her jaw. 

Only when he pulled away did she open them. 

He was still scanning her face. His eyes stopped, and he reached forward, wiping the cloth below her chin. She felt a droplet of water slide down her throat. He traced the path, and slowly, his eyes found hers.

She met his gaze. “Take off your shirt.”

Qimir looked at her for a long moment, then smirked. He set the cloth down, pulling his tunic over his head. It disheveled his hair at the top. He dropped his tunic beside them. 

Her eyes flickered from his stomach up to the smooth skin of his chest. He watched her, comfortable under her gaze. This version of vulnerability was easy for him. There were no visible injuries, and she took his elbow, turning his arm to check the one she did remember. 

A stretch of blotchy, red skin was on his left bicep. The lightsaber burn wasn't as bad as she thought it would be, but it would peel. 

“Does that hurt?” she asked. 

He shook his head, stray hair falling by his face. “No.” 

“I knew you'd say that.”

He almost smiled. “Then why did you ask?”

Osha exhaled and shifted closer, moving her hand to his shoulder. The cave was chillier in the morning, but he was warm and radiated heat. He dropped his forehead to hers, and she slid her hand to the back of his neck.

“You should be resting,” he said, his voice low, turning his face so his nose brushed hers. She felt his breath on her lips, and her breath hitched. 

She slid her fingers into his hair and turned her face so their noses brushed again, slower. There was only a bit of space between them where she stopped. “So should you.” 

He pushed his mouth to hers and kissed her softly. 

It was like after the last time, he realized he had forgotten to truly learn the taste of her. Their lips moved together, and she placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath her palm. 

He pulled back, and she followed after his mouth. “Come here,” he said, his hands on her waist. She moved her legs to straddle him.  

His eyes were dark, his gaze intense. She held his face with her hands, smoothing her thumbs over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. 

“Osha,” he said, almost pleading, like he could only pretend he wasn’t starving for so long.

She nodded and pressed her mouth to his. His hands were tight on her hips. She kissed him more deeply, and he responded, parting his lips so she could slide her tongue with his. 

Tomorrow became the distant thing where she pushed all her worries. 

There was nothing to do about it now for that matter. They had almost died, they were alive, and Osha wanted to feel something other than pain. 

Qimir moved his mouth to her neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there. At the scrape of his teeth, she moaned, her fingers digging into his bare shoulder. 

“Do you think about me, Osha?” he asked, his breath hot on her neck. His hair tickled her jaw. 

She started to nod, responding with something close to “Mhmm,” as he pressed a wet kiss to her skin.

“I know you do,” he said, kissing her again. The stubble on his face scratched her. “When you think about me, where do I touch you?”

Osha’s head was bent toward his, her hand on his neck. She shifted her hips, and his breath caught by her ear. He was hot beneath her. “Guess.”

“Tell me.” Qimir brushed his nose along her throat, kissed, then bit at her pulse point. She inhaled shakily, sliding her hand down his arm to squeeze his bicep. “Maybe I don't like to play games.” 

“I know you do.” She tugged on his hair and pushed her mouth to his roughly. He slipped his hand under her tunic, and she gasped as he dragged it over her ribcage. She arched into him, rocking her hips to his, and he moaned against her mouth.

It was difficult to get any closer, but they tried. Her arms were around his neck, his hand high on her waist. They kissed, and he swiped her lip with his tongue. With her fingers clutching his hair, she kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, scraping with teeth and kissing to soothe. 

“Osha,” he said, breathy. 

She pulled back, breathing heavily. “Do you ever think about me?” 

His eyes found hers. He was out of breath too. “What else is there?”

She pushed her mouth to his hastily, then stood from his lap. He did his best to stay with her, which made for a broken kiss—Qimir leaning down to capture her lips as Osha stepped back. 

There was something on the floor behind her, and she stumbled. It didn’t matter as his arm was wrapped around her. 

“Not the best place to leave your boots,” he said, his mouth leaving hers. She laughed. He cut the sound off with another kiss. His mustache scraped her upper lip, and she felt his smile. 

The cave was bright, and the sun had fully risen. It was warmer, or she was. He kept his hands on her, stealing inconvenient kisses as she led him back.

“Okay,” she said, breaking to see where they actually were. They were closer to the bed now. It was just blankets piled on the floor, but sometime along the way, this cave, this island, Qimir, had become her home. 

Qimir let her go to take off his boots. Osha sat on the blankets and pulled her tunic over her head so she was down to a thinner undershirt. 

She lifted the fabric and smoothed her hands over her stomach, not entirely sure what she'd been expecting. Maybe burn marks that would later scar like a web of electricity. Some tangible sign of the pain she had endured. 

But her skin was the same soft brown. Unblemished except for the scar from Khofar on her side. 

After everything, she should have known. Not all pain left a visible trace. It stuck with you in other ways—an absence, a presence—the memory as a reminder. 

Qimir knelt in front of her, examining too, though he didn't know what she was looking for. 

“Do you feel okay?” he asked.

She looked at him. His hair was a mess, and his face was flushed. Her nails had marked his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” she said, wiping at her nose. “I’m okay.” 

He raised his brows. His eyes were serious. “Osha.” 

Seconds passed with their gazes locked. 

“Not now. Please,” she said quietly. “I want you now.” 

He looked at her an instant longer and nodded, already leaning to kiss her. His hand found her waist as they lay back. She shifted closer to the heat of his body, her ankle sliding between his legs, and he moved his hand to caress her cheek. 

It was a slow kiss, deep and searching, with a warmth that spread to her chest. A kiss where they could pretend they had all the time they wanted. The tides of the sea wouldn’t change because time was theirs to control. 

There was an inevitability to this Osha couldn’t deny. 

Cards set to fall from the moment she left the fortress as a child. Mae lit the spark, but Master Sol ignited the blade. Years went by, and she never did let go. An attempt to pick a stranger's pocket turned into the first of four Jedi killed. 

The Jedi went to Osha, leading her to Mae—alive again, and an Olega apothecary shop where Qimir studied her, his eyes knowing and her heart pounding, and she'd known somehow too, felt something that couldn't be explained. 

It was like her mother used to say. 

Pull the Thread. 

Change your destiny. 

If Osha had changed her destiny, there was no saying when. Even Sol's death was decided before she knew the truth, a vision in a helmet of what was to come before she ever held out her hand. 

As a child, she might have believed in fate. Awake in the middle of the night, looking out only at stars and endless trees, she had known there was a galaxy out there waiting to be discovered—beyond the path the coven laid out for her like stones. 

If this was inevitable, it was an inevitability she chose. 

Qimir had his arm around her, his body flush against her own. His eyes were on hers, warm and intent. He took a soft breath. 

“Osha, I love you.”

It was the unspoken thing between them made real. 

She placed her hand on his jaw. A tear slid from his eye, and she caught it with her thumb, moving to press her lips to his forehead.

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“I trust you.” 

“Then let me in. Please.” She brushed her thumb over his cheek. “Like you said.” 

The Force was tangible between them and always had been. A gravitational pull—strong and alive. It could be more. 

He held her gaze, and in his eyes, she saw conflict as he argued through eighteen years of the wall he'd built. 

The one time he opened his mind to her was by accident. It was after their trip to Kuval. A stormy night when he woke her with his nightmare. Since, she had often wondered at the effort it took to close yourself off. She wanted to give him what he had given her. 

A chance to just be.

Finally, he nodded.

Osha looked directly into his eyes, brushing his hair back to tuck it behind his ear. 

“I love you,” she said. 

It was possibly the easiest truth she'd ever recognized. 

The sensation she felt was so warm and pleasant, she thought she might be dreaming. It was the same as when he spoke in her mind but infinite. 

He moved toward her, and she met his mouth halfway, reaching to tug off her shirt. 

Skin to skin, two felt more like one. 

 

---

 

Boots tapped on polished floor. The stone reflected sunlight, filtering in through the tall windows lining the Temple hall. They gave view to Coruscant's skyscrapers, reaching into the atmosphere. 

The Temple was a hub for the Jedi, a place where they lived, learned, and trained. Home to vast archives detailing the Order’s knowledge. 

Home to Mae too, ever since her coven's fortress went up in flames. 

The man had killed Mama. His saber cut through her in a blue flash. She had pulled on her mother’s arms, but she wouldn't move. Mama wouldn't wake. 

There was someone she needed to tell. 

Mother Koril said to run so she did. All the way to the bunta tree.  

The Jedi found her and told her she was under arrest. 

Master Indara, murdered on Ueda.  

Master Torbin, murdered on Olega.

Then there was discussion. 

What happened on Khofar, Ms. Aniseya? 

She didn't know.  

She didn't know anything.

Then she was seated before Master Vernestra, and as long as she agreed to help her—it would all go away. 

Yesterday became sixteen years ago. 

The someone she couldn't remember, the someone she needed to tell, became her sister. 

Vernestra showed Mae an image of Osha, and she might as well have held up a mirror. The only difference was the mark of Ascension missing from her forehead. 

But Mae couldn't remember. 

She couldn't remember anything. 

Two-thirds of her life were missing, and the third that remained was all wrong. Torn at the edges, smudged at the center, shards of a whole. 

Kind. Brilliant. Compassionate.  

All words Vernestra used to describe Master Sol. They didn't sound truthful.

Mae couldn't imagine justifying murder with love, but it seemed she had. Two of the four were her doing. A revenge plot part of a larger plan. Something to tip the scales. Her and Vernestra’s secret to keep.  

Vernestra held up a second image. The datapad showed a boy about fifteen years of age. A thin braid lay over his shoulder, just like that of the boy who had poked her arm and taken her blood. Dark hair fell across his forehead. He was smiling—a toothy grin, though something in his eyes made her think he shouldn't be trusted. 

“Do you recognize Qimir?” Vernestra had handed her the datapad. They sat across from each other in the control room, separated by a table of blinking lights and buttons. She was the picture of calm and poise, her green skin smooth. Black diamonds lined her head, and Mae wondered if they were for her family too. “This is from when he was my pupil, so he will look older.” 

Mae tapped to the next slide in the file. “It says he's dead.” Killed eighteen years ago on a planet called Udut. 

Vernestra shook her head. “He was your master, and I have reason to believe he's taken Osha.” 

My sister, Mae thought. A stranger. 

Qimir had killed three Jedi as a Padawan. Then he vanished for nearly two decades, resurfacing to train her and kill eight more. In accordance with their secret, Master Sol would be blamed for the massacre on Khofar. 

“Why?” Mae asked. She didn't care for Master Sol's reputation. He had killed her mother. But she didn't understand what help she would be in finding Osha and Qimir. The Order had resources, and she didn't recognize the boy before her, even less—know the man he had become. 

“Because the Jedi Order is in danger. Your sister too,” Vernestra said. “Things have gone wrong for far too long. You and Osha have suffered far too much. Together, we can make this right. Do we have a deal?” 

Mae stared at Vernestra. Her eyes were wide and glassy. The civilian robe she wore smelled like mud, and she missed the purple of her coven. She'd felt she could cry ever since she was taken from the bunta tree in restraints, but her tears wouldn’t fall. 

“Can I…” Mae began uncertainly, “have my droid back?”

The PIP droid was returned to her promptly. 

Along with him, Mae received a private room at the Temple. It was small but comfortable with a bed, a desk, and a circular window opposite the door. The closet was filled with the white and gold attire worn by the Jedi and a pair of new leather boots.

Her first night there, she sat at the window in the dark. The Galactic City shined on the other side. So much light that it was impossible to see the sky like the city never slept. 

Mother Koril once taught her the names of the constellations above Brendok, but there were no stars here to guide her home.

The PIP droid chirped, and she looked down at him in her hand. She ran her finger over the scuffed red stripe in the corner of his frame. Vernestra believed he had belonged to Osha, but like her own memories—his were gone. 

Erased. Left at the bunta tree. The dangerous man had her sister. 

She tried to remember him. His face, his voice, the planet where they met. But it was all blank. Her eyes burned, but still, no tears fell. In the window, Osha's reflection stared back at her. 

“You're welcome to join the Padawans in their exercises,” Vernestra told Mae. They were walking together after a shared meal in the dining hall. 

The food was different here. More variety than she could ever imagine to cater to the various species and palates of the Jedi. On Brendok, they hunted and harvested from the land. The lemon cakes didn't taste like spice creams, but they were just as sweet. 

“I don't want you to think you have to stay in your room all day,” Vernestra said. They slowed as they reached her door. The Temple seemed warmer in the evening, the lighting softer. “What's available to the Jedi is available to you.”

Mae nodded, quiet in the way she'd been since her arrival. Two weeks had gone by in a haze. No matter how many meditation sessions Vernestra led her through or how many nights she spent reading Osha's many files from her time as a Jedi, nothing changed. 

It was a strange feeling, reaching into the dark for what should be there but never was. Like floating untethered through space. 

Vernestra gave a patient smile. “Physical activity can be good for the body and mind.”

The next morning, Mae took her place at the back of the class. Dressed in gold and white, she looked like she belonged. The Jedi Master leading the class told them to grab a staff, and the Padawans showed her where, shared their names, and invited her to watch a holodrama that afternoon. 

Her memories didn't return, but as she kicked, swung, and called on the Thread, she learned she could fight. 

She learned she was strong. 

Mae didn't want to be untethered forever. 

So when there was a report of three Jedi killed on Kuval, suspicious enough for Vernestra to investigate herself, Mae begged to come too. 

Kuval was a small trade planet in the Outer Rim. The Jedi were stationed there after a request from the Republic. Kuval's leadership was concerned about the response to their new trade contract. The Jedi would help maintain peace. 

Mae went with Vernestra and her assistant. Mog Adana was the only other Jedi privy to their search. He was around Mae's age, maybe a few years younger, often tasked with escorting her around the Temple. She found him to be anxious and a little odd, but she didn't mind his company. 

When they arrived, a Kuval official led them to a clearing in the woods just outside of town. The bodies of the three Jedi were covered, and Vernestra pulled back the sheets. Two Jedi Masters and a Padawan. 

The Padawan was a young Zygerrian who didn't look much older than sixteen. 

Mog identified her as Tasi Lowa. Observant. Focused. His friend. She had an interest in art and could often be found in the meditation gardens, taking in the shapes and colors of the flora for her sketches. Younglings would gather around to watch and scribble their own drawings. 

She had recently lost her master. 

Yord Fandar. For once, a name came to Mae easily. He was killed on Khofar. His neck broken in three places. Yord came up a lot in Osha's files. 

Mae listened idly to Vernestra and Mog’s conversation with the Kuval official. There were two others found dead in town. Their IDs were counterfeit, but after more searching—they came up in an open investigation for gunrunning in Hutt space. 

As the Jedi discussed the possibility of a connection, Mae wandered over to study the bodies. She wasn't afraid of death. It had already taken from her more than most. Her mothers and her coven were gone. 

She saw where a lightsaber blade had cut through the two masters. One in the chest, and the other in the stomach. Tasi had no visible wounds. 

Mae reached out with the Thread—the connection between all living things. The Jedi were dead, but the woods still had a story to tell. She expected violence, maybe fear, and found neither. What she did feel was so strong she fell to her knees. 

“What happened?” Vernestra asked. She had rushed over and crouched in front of Mae. Her forehead was wrinkled with concern. 

Mae realized she had dug her hands into the dirt. She was crying, her first tears since she left Brendok. 

“There's so much pain,” she said. 

That was when she began to suspect that at some point along the way, Osha had gone from in danger to dangerous herself. 

She began to wonder if she ever knew her sister at all. 

That was how she found herself speaking to Vernestra late one night. 

“Did Osha kill Master Sol?” she asked. 

Vernestra had looked up from her desk. The office was dimly lit. She looked tired with her shoulders drooped. For the first time, Mae saw her for who she truly was. Someone with mistakes and regrets—not proud of who she was, but facing it.  

“Close the door.”  

Beep! Chirp. Chirp.  

“What's that, Pip?” Mae glanced at her belt pouch as she walked down the Temple hall. It was a sunny day, and she had plans to meet with Mog. 

Beep. Boop.  

“No,” Mae said, somewhat defensive. Her brows furrowed, but a hint of a smile crossed her lips. “It's not like that. We're playing holochess.” 

There was a pause, then Pip spoke in a string of sounds so quick Mae had a hard time keeping up. 

“I know I’m bad at it.” Mae glanced over her shoulder, glad no Jedi were around. She knew it looked like she was talking to herself, but she'd grown fond of the little droid. “That's why he's teaching me.” 

Beep? Beep. Beep. Chirp!

“Pip, I'm telling you—” 

Mae turned the corner and smacked directly into someone else. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” a deep voice said. “Excuse me.” 

“Sorry,” Mae said, stepping back. The man she'd run into was tall with dark brown skin. He was dressed formally in gold and maroon. She recognized his face immediately. “Sorry, I—” She took a few more steps back. 

“Mae, is it?” Senator Rayencourt asked. “I believe I've seen you with Master Vernestra.” 

“Maybe.” Unease curled through her. She glanced over her shoulder, but they were alone. Vernestra had mentioned the senator in passing and simply told her, Don't speak to him. 

Senator Rayencourt smiled kindly. “I'd like for us to chat. It won’t take long at all if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I…” Mae risked another glance. It didn't seem she had a choice. She nodded, following him into one of the open rooms along the hall. 

The room served as an available space to the Jedi, either for private meetings, study, or meditation. Circular seating pads were in one corner of the room, while a low table and chairs were off to the side. A long window showed sunshine and skyscrapers. They sat in the chairs. 

“I’m going to be blunt with you, Mae. I take you for a smart young woman.” Senator Rayencourt folded his hands in his lap. “The Jedi Order is under external review. As the senator leading this initiative, I am tuned in to the happenings at the Temple.”

Mae nodded. She felt stiff in her chair. 

“What is your role at the Temple? You aren't a Jedi, are you?” A question, though the way he spoke made it sound like knowledge. 

“I'm here with Master Vernestra.” That was usually enough to cease further questions. The name meant something, especially to the Jedi. Vernestra was high ranking, and her name was an explanation within itself. 

Senator Rayencourt nodded but stayed silent. She took that to mean he expected her to continue.  

So she tried. 

“I'm…under her care.” 

“For how long?” His gaze was curious if not calculative. Mae wrapped her fingers over the armrest of her chair. 

“I don't know.”

He smiled at her. It looked false. 

“When I'm better. I think.” She hesitated in saying more. 

There was a chirp at her belt, and she glanced down. 

“Ah, that's a PIP droid!” Senator Rayencourt's smile turned into one that seemed genuine. He laughed as if reminiscing on a fond memory. “Handy little guys, aren't they? I'm repairing an old corvette back home. Though, I don't have as much time to work on my ship as I used to. My partner seems to be happy about that, but it is the Senate work that keeps me busy.” 

“Pip belonged to my sister,” Mae said, clearing her throat. “She's much better at fixing things than I am.” 

That had to be true. Osha was a meknek for six years, after all. 

Mae was still learning what she was good at. She could throw a knife and hit any target she wanted. Best an opponent in hand-to-hand combat in a minute flat. 

She was terrible at chess and found holodramas boring. 

Her sister was lost along with her memories. The fire had been her fault. She hadn't wanted it to spread. The details were fuzzy apart from the horror of watching the flames grow. 

“What about your sister?” Senator Rayencourt asked. “Is she a Jedi?” 

Mae's eyes snapped to him. “She was. But she was recently killed and…I can't remember what happened. So if you're hoping to get information from me, you're not going to find any.” 

He nodded. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

She stared at him. 

“Have the Jedi been kind to you?” 

“Yes.”

They had been kind. Despite knowing what the four did to her family, every Jedi she'd met since seemed to oppose that. It made it harder to understand who she was before losing her memories. 

Mae shut the door and slowly walked into Vernestra’s office.

“That is true,” she said. “Osha did take Sol's life. I believe the actions of the Jedi led you and your sister to believe you had no other choice.” 

“And now?”

Vernestra smiled faintly. It was more of a wince. “My pupil, Qimir, struggled with the dark side. He sought to train you in it. I fear he could be leading Osha down the same path.” 

Mae thought of Tasi, lying in the dirt in the woods of Kuval. Mog showed her Tasi’s sketches—pages of blooms done in charcoal. They were burned with her body.

“Is…is that who I am?” 

“It's my job to make sure the Jedi are following the rules too.” 

Mae's gaze had drifted to the window, and she looked back at Senator Rayencourt. He was tapping his finger against the back of his hand. 

“The Jedi are a powerful system,” he continued, “and sometimes, it's an inverse relationship. The stronger you become, the more that rules seem to weaken. They're easier to bend.”

A silence settled between them.

“What do you make of that?” 

“I don't know,” said Mae. 

As a child, rules meant staying inside the fortress walls and behaving in front of the coven. The Jedi had broken the rules when they invaded her home. Then they conspired to keep it a secret. Rules were only effective when followed. 

“I know what the Jedi did to your family, Mae.” His face was grim. “If you ever have reason to, I'm available to talk. Or, a simple comms message away.” 

“Okay.” She started to nod when she felt her blood go cold. 

Senator Rayencourt leaned forward. “Are you alright?” 

“I— don't feel so well.” Mae stood, reaching for the chair as her legs gave out. 

“Woah, careful!” Senator Rayencourt jumped from his chair. “Let me call a medic.”  

“No.” She pushed past him. 

He was saying more, but she couldn't hear, already at the door. Her breathing was labored. Pinpricks of fear consumed her. She was dizzy. 

“Mae!” called a voice from down the hall. Mog was jogging toward her, out of breath and his face red from exertion. “I thought we agreed to meet—” 

She grabbed at the wall to stay upright, her hand slipping. 

“Mae?” 

Footsteps to her left. A voice calling from behind. 

Pain struck through her. Sharp. Blinding. More than she'd ever felt in her life. 

Her vision went black as she collapsed to the floor. 

 

---

 

Beep. 

Beep. 

Beep. 

Mae peeled her eyes open. A silver meddroid hovered over her, a needle poised in its hand. 

“She's awake. Give us privacy.” 

Mae looked over to find Vernestra seated at her bedside. She was in the Temple's medcenter, a place she was familiar with after the numerous brain scans she underwent to rule out causes of her memory loss.

“Of course, Master Vernestra.” The meddroid pulled the curtain closed around the bed and left. 

“How are you feeling?” Vernestra asked. 

A thin blanket rested over Mae. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Maybe from whatever medications they had given her. There was an IV in her arm. 

“Better,” she said, her voice scratchy. 

Vernestra reached for the side table and handed Mae a cup of water. She took a sip. The water was room temperature and helped some to soothe her throat. 

“What happened?” 

Mae began to shake her head, unsure how to explain it. “There was pain like lightning.” 

A wrinkle formed in Vernestra’s brow. “I'm not sure I understand.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Has anything changed with your memory?”

“There's something there. In the Thread.” 

“The Force?”

“I—” 

It wasn't her memories. Not exactly. Instead, shapes of what once were. 

A second pair of hands, small like her own—sticky with spice creams. 

Sunlight and a man weaving unsteady through a crowd. 

Salty air and a rocky beach. 

The sky was grey. 

Mae held Vernestra's gaze. 

“I think I know where Osha is.” 

 

Notes:

ONE MORE TO GOOOOOO!

Thanks for reading! I very much appreciate the support and patience between chapters <3

Do please leave a comment?? I'd really love to know your thoughts and if you're still here :')

Find me on tumblr or on bluesky.

Chapter 8: Endgame

Summary:

Osha wrapped her hand over Qimir's wrist. “Promise you'll fight beside me,” she insisted.

His gaze flickered over her face, finding her eyes with intent. “My Acolyte, my Osha, I will always fight beside you.” With his hands on her face, she couldn't look away, even if she wanted to. "Anywhere you go, I will follow. Anything you ask for, I will give. I'm yours.”

--
Osha and Qimir reunite with Mae and Vernestra.

Notes:

Hello hello!

Five months later (and over a year since chapter 1), I'm so excited to say this fic is FINISHED. Tears were shed. Sleepless nights were had. When I started writing it, I knew I wanted it to be "season 2" but I truly did not know what I was getting into.

I was really like hehe oshamir will kiss and Darth Plagueis will be there. I ended up reading like 4 books just for research and that's not even counting reference guides lol. And, this is the first time I've written 100k in my LIFE! I learned so much throughout the process and the main piece of advice is that if you rewrite something 482,338,892 times, eventually you will figure it out. Every time.

A very special thank you to everyone who has stuck with this fic through the cancelation and everything else, whether that be leaving comments here or saying hi on tumblr or elsewhere. It's been... a journey and the support is so appreciated. Long live the acolyte fandom.

And the BIGGEST thank you has to go to Keti. Ilysm and sorry not sorry for momentarily making you a star wars fan. The next thing you read of mine that's this long will be my first novel <3

Enjoy :)

Osha slept well. 

It was a dreamless sleep. A depth of rest and nothing that could only be reached through pure exhaustion and a knowledge of true safety.  

When she woke, it was to Qimir's arm draped heavily over her waist and one of her legs slotted between his. She breathed in and rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. The cave was bright. She blinked against the light and saw Qimir watching her. 

His eyes were soft, his head propped in his hand like he'd been watching her for a while. She could tell how he slept. His hair was flat on one side and messy on the other. The corner of his mouth quirked up.  

“Hm,” she said, rolling to press her face to his chest. Her eyes fell closed. The air in the cave was cool, and his bare skin was warm. He slid his hand up her back. It was too easy to let sleep take her again—like giving in to the current that carried out to sea. 

“Are you still sleeping?” he asked. 

It took her a moment to respond, so there was just the sound of their breathing. A distant tap of water. He massaged below her shoulder with his thumb. 

“Yes,” she mumbled. 

His response was something between a hum and a laugh. She heard it as much as she felt it in his chest. 

Qimir shifted to hold her, Osha curling into him to tuck her head under his chin. It really would be easy to sleep more. His arm fell across her back, his thumb rubbing in a slow line at the base of her neck. 

This level of comfort was new, and already, she was addicted. A feeling of total ease and relaxation. If it was possible to get any closer to him, she would—sharing his warmth and breathing in his scent. She wouldn't mind melding. 

It was unfamiliar in the sense she'd never wanted someone so wholly.

Darkness pulled at her, and it had nothing to do with the Force. Only a desire to sink into this moment and remain there. 

She definitely dozed for a few more minutes.

The cave was the same calm quiet when she woke. Qimir's chin was pressing into the top of her head, and his hand had fallen to her shoulder. 

Osha slowly untangled herself from him. He stirred, and she heard him inhale as she shifted to her back. She scrubbed her hand across her face. The cave's ceiling came into focus above her—a smooth flow of stone.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Mm.” Qimir's voice sounded groggy. “It's afternoon.”

“That's…” She dropped her hand. “Late.”  

Half of the day was over. Time needed for rest and taken for themselves, but impossible to reclaim, nonetheless. She didn't know how much time they had. 

The blankets rustled. Qimir moved closer to Osha, throwing his arm over her stomach. His head fell on her shoulder. 

She looked at him the best she could with the angle. His eyes were closed, and she brushed his hair back from his forehead. There was bruising by his hairline. The bacta must have helped, though. 

He opened his eyes, tilting his head to meet her gaze. 

“Hello,” he said. 

She smiled. “Oh, hello.” Her fingers caught on a tangle, and gently, she pulled them through.

A hint of a smile crossed his face. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” she repeated and laughed, not entirely sure why. 

He grinned, setting his head back on her shoulder. She continued to comb her fingers through his hair. Not that she wanted to move, but he made it hard to sprawled over her. She could feel every breath he took.

Seconds ticked away with every one. 

Her hand paused on the back of his head. He still looked so peaceful, his eyes almost closed, and she didn't want to ruin that. But she had to be sure.

“Are you going to stay?” she asked.

He blinked his eyes open, lifting his head to peer at her. “Did you think I wouldn't?”

She was quieted by the sudden intensity in his gaze. 

“Osha,” he said softly, propping himself up on his arm. 

“If Mae knows I'm here,” she began, her eyes on his, “Vernestra knows too.”  

His lips pressed into a line. “I know.” 

“And?”

“I'm staying.” 

Without waiting for a response, he pulled away from her to sit up. 

Osha watched him, outlined by daylight from where she lay. He stretched his neck, then shoulders. The muscles in his back flexed. She traced the jagged path of his scar to his spine, where it branched off thicker to the right. 

It reminded her of a lightning strike.

She exhaled shakily and sat up. Her blanket was falling off of her. The air was chilly on her bare legs. She shifted forward and rested her cheek on his back. He was warm like sunshine. 

“What are we going to do?” she asked, smoothing her hand up to his shoulder.

His answer came slowly. “I think you already know.” 

If only it were that easy. Maybe it was. After everything, Mae and Vernestra would come to them. 

She picked her head up to look at his scar again. It was a ghostly grey, raised across the warm tan of his skin. An eighteen-year-old wound that had healed on the surface, but she knew the pain that resided beneath. 

On Kuval, Osha learned the High Council had blamed Master Sol for the recent Jedi deaths. But Qimir said Vernestra had sensed his presence on Brendok. A lost Padawan returned to life. The Jedi were aware Mae had a master.

What would the Jedi know of Osha? If they thought she was killed on Khofar, that lie was coming from somewhere. It had to be Vernestra, hiding her search with Mae. 

Even now, she was aware of Mae in the Force. Their connection was stronger, and Mae had to feel it too. It was like recognizing her own reflection, and after all these years, all she needed to do was open her eyes. 

Mae was in the swell of the sea, the breeze through the grass, and within herself; at the end of the Thread that tied them before they were born. 

There were moments during her earliest days on the island when she thought she could sense Mae. Mornings she spent staring at the waves. 

But just as she had doubted her strength in the Force and herself—she hadn't believed. 

How different life would have been if she knew Mae was alive from the start. 

If she had known the truth. 

Osha leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Qimir's scar.

If. 

If. 

If. 

He shivered as she pulled away. 

There was only now. 

Qimir turned to face her, leaning on his hand. She drank in the sight of him. The sharp lines of his face. Disheveled hair. The skin on his bicep was blistering. He should have put bacta on it. 

His eyes flickered over her. She felt her tunic slipping off her shoulder, and he reached to adjust the collar, his thumb brushing her skin. 

He looked at her like he had something to say. 

“What?” she asked. 

“I like when you wear my clothes, Osha.”

She was wearing his tunic now. The one she first borrowed and happened to never return. “You do?”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip. “It's actually my second favorite thing to see you in.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What's the first?” 

He kept his eyes on her, his brows lifting. 

“Qimir.” She laughed. “That's— terrible.” Maybe she’d given him too much credit in the past. Spend five minutes at the bar of a cantina and you wouldn't hear much better. 

“Then why did you laugh?” 

She shrugged, watching him and trying not to smile. “Out of pity.” 

He tilted his head. His gaze made her body warm. He wanted her, and the feeling coiled through her. 

“Come here,” she whispered.

He moved toward her. His hand found her thigh, sliding up her bare skin. He tugged on the fabric of her tunic. “Am I ever getting this back?”

Her eyes met his. They were breathing the same air—close enough to kiss. His hair fell loose around his face. 

“Try and take it,” she said. 

He studied her for a few seconds, then smiled, his hand tightening on the fabric to pull her toward him. She met him halfway, pressing her mouth to his. His hand moved to her waist, and she pushed her hand through his hair at the back of his head to better the angle and deepen the kiss. 

“How much time do we have?” he asked, breaking from her mouth. His forehead bumped hers. 

Not enough. It would never be enough. 

“Enough,” she said, moving her hand to his jaw, leaning to capture his lips. 

He kissed her back, reaching to pull her tunic over her head. 

 

---

 

Osha dipped her foot into the water and yelped. 

“You get used to it,” Qimir called. 

She held her hand up to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. He was further out in the lagoon, treading water to stay afloat. It was a bright day. The cloud cover was sparse, but it wasn't hot enough to warm the water. 

“I don't believe you,” Osha said, taking off the rest of her clothes. She dropped them in a pile near Qimir's and waded in. The water was icy, a clear blue, and she shivered as it came up to her waist. Once she was deep enough, she swam to Qimir. 

“See?” he asked when she reached him. “The perfect temperature for a relaxing bath.”

“It's freezing,” she said. Clearly, they had different definitions of perfect. Her skin was pebbled with goosebumps. She kicked her feet out so she wouldn't sink.

“You can handle it,” he said, moving his arms to create a subtle current. The water slipped over his broad shoulders, lapping at his collarbone. 

She let her eyes roam over him. If she was going to freeze, she might as well appreciate the view. “You just wanted me to join you.”

“Always, Osha.” He smirked, pushing wet hair from his face. A droplet of water fell from his chin. “Is that so bad?”

She didn't answer and dropped below the surface. The cold was sharp. It was only a little more tolerable with her eyes closed and the darkness surrounding her. She scrubbed her hands over her face and popped back up. Her locs were dripping, and she shook her head, blinking water from her eyes. 

Qimir was still watching her, his movements lazy as the water calmed around them. This time of day, the tall rocks surrounding the lagoon cast no shadows. In the distance, she could hear the rush of the waterfall. 

She looked that way. Out over the sea, there were grey clouds rolling in. It seemed the blue sky wouldn't last forever. 

“Has anything changed?” he asked. 

“No.” Osha swiped more water from her face, turning back to him. Mae didn't seem any closer in the Force than she was this morning. “I'm certain, though.” 

It was only a matter of time. Coruscant was a distance away from Bal'demnic, but distances could be crossed. 

Qimir nodded. “I believe you.” He combed his fingers through his wet hair. The water splashed as he lowered his hand. “Are you ready to see her?” he asked carefully. 

“Yes.” 

His head tilted. “Mae will be different from when you last saw her. You realize that, right?” 

Osha leaned back in the water, submerging her locs, then pushed her arms to right herself. The water's surface shifted against them. “Obviously. She doesn't have any memories of you and I.”

He almost smiled but not quite, digging his teeth into his lip instead. It made her feel defensive. 

“I know what the Jedi are like,” she said. “But Mae is my sister.”

“Did that matter to you before you knew the truth?”

Osha stared back at him, silent. She moved her arms through the water, feeling it pass between her fingers. The surface rippled. That seemed so long ago. Time and time again, she chose the Jedi over Mae. Yet she hadn't known the truth, so it wasn't a fair comparison. 

Mae would know what the Jedi did. She was the living witness to their crimes. 

“It matters to me now,” she said. 

Qimir nodded, though it seemed more like he was letting it go than that he believed her. 

“When I first met Mae,” he began, drifting closer to her, “you were the first thing she told me about.” 

“What did she say?”

“That you were dead. And that it was the Jedi's fault.” 

Osha wondered what led Mae to believe she was dead. On Brendok, Mae told her she had gone to the bunta tree to wait for her. It was the place Osha always went when she snuck outside of the fortress walls as a child. 

But Osha would never show. Instead, she would wake aboard the Polan, face stained with ash, to a hug from Master Sol and the first of his lies. 

Likely, Mae couldn't imagine Sol saving Osha after he killed Mama and let her fall. Mae could never imagine her sister abandoning her by choice. So she must be dead.

Twice Osha had left Mae. Once they were reunited, she never would again. They were family, and Osha was all Mae had left. 

Her eyes flickered over Qimir, stopping at his eyes. They were warmer under the sun. 

“Do you remember your family?” she asked. 

It took a beat for him to respond. The crash of the distant waves and waterfall filled the silence.

Qimir pressed his lips together. “I don't.”

“Not at all?” she asked, searching his face. 

He shook his head, wrapping his arm around her waist to bring her closer. She leaned into him as he moved his face to her neck. He pressed a soft kiss there, and she felt the scratch of his mustache. 

“Not enough to tell,” he murmured, pulling back to look at her. 

His eyes were thoughtful. They were too far out in the lagoon to cling to each other like that, so he let go, keeping his fingers where they could brush her waist—his other arm keeping him afloat. 

“I’m not sure what’s real,” he said, “or what I made up when I was young.”

Osha nodded. While she had been old enough to retain memories of her family, every time she thought about her childhood, the memories were more worn. It was harder to differentiate between reality and the hazy time after their deaths, holding on while the Jedi insisted she let go. 

“Did you ever look for your family?” She moved her arm through the water, feeling Qimir's fingers brush her waist again. 

“No,” he said slowly. “I never did.”

“After you left the Order—” 

“No.” He was already shaking his head, because there was no happy ending to the story of the fifteen-year-old boy almost killed. In no universe would he find his family there to save him with open arms. 

For an unknown reason, his family had placed him in the Jedi's care. It was an honor for many families. The Jedi were seen as the galaxy's heroes. For others, it was an opportunity to give their child a better life. 

To learn how to properly use the Force was important. Yet it didn't have to come at the expense of all else. The Jedi's rules didn't need to define the galaxy for everyone. Her coven was more than equipped to instruct her and Mae, even if she didn't acknowledge the value of those lessons until much later. 

“Sometimes I thought of the Jedi as my family,” Osha said. 

As the years went by, it became easier to. Life became routine. The faces became familiar until she thought they cared about her as much as she cared about them. 

But family wasn't always a good thing. 

Qimir's eyes settled on her. Again, his hand touched her waist. “Now you know better.” 

 

---

 

The cave was warm with the glow of the lanterns, but it didn't feel as much like home tonight. 

Osha and Qimir had spent the afternoon sorting and packing their belongings into crates. Then they took what they could out to the Exile II before the tide came in. It wasn't very strenuous work—the Force made it light work—but it was time consuming. 

It left Osha feeling strange. Bal'demnic was home now, yet as the cave emptied, it looked less like they had ever been here at all and more like the cave it was. No matter what happened, it wouldn't be safe to live here anymore. 

“Why here?” Osha asked. She was sitting on the floor, rummaging through a pile of power cells. They were a portable energy source, commonly used in weapons and droids. Useful to have in a pinch. 

“What do you mean?” Qimir’s footsteps slowed, and he stopped near her. She glanced up at him. He had a crate of ship parts that could be modified for the Exile II in his arms. 

“Bal'demnic,” she clarified. “Why did you choose to live here?” 

Qimir looked down, nudging a power cell back toward the pile with his boot. “The location. The resources,” he said, nodding his head at a silvery vein of cortosis in the cave wall. “There's no one else around.”

“That's all?”

“I didn't spend as much time here before you joined me.” He set the crate down, crouching beside her. “What did you expect me to say?” 

“I don't know,” she said, meeting his gaze. The lanterns cast warm shadows on the angles of his face. “Maybe you like living on the beach. So you can have your relaxing baths.” 

“Maybe,” he said, huffing a laugh. He reached across the pile and picked up a power cell. The metal was corroded. “Will this work?” he asked, holding it up to show her.

“Unlikely.” She called on the Force. The power cell flew from his hand into hers. She held the energy scanner to it and waited for it to load. 

Beep. 

The tool's light flashed red. 

“It's a dud," she said, tossing the power cell onto the growing reject pile. “Are you going to miss Bal'demnic?”

“It's not a bad place to live.”

“Life is different here.” 

Qimir settled beside her, pulling his feet in. “How so?” 

“It could never be real.” The rest of the galaxy didn't stop existing when they weren't a part of it. They had hid for months, and now, their time was finally running out. 

“But you want it to be?” 

“Some of it.” She reached for another power cell. 

The good parts, she wanted to be real. But not the sinking feeling that by standing still she was still running.

He touched his fingers to her face so she would turn her head to look at him. 

“It was all real, Osha.” His eyes were dark and attentive. “You don't get to decide what was or wasn't.” 

She knew he was right. As a Jedi, she had tried to repress her past along with the anger and grief she felt after losing her coven. Regardless of whether she accepted her pain—her darkness—it was there.  

The fire, the deaths, Mae's own deadly return, the bloodshed on Khofar, the goodbye beneath the bunta tree—it was all real. 

But so were the moments after. 

The time spent with Qimir on the beach, his reminders to lift her elbow as their practice sabers struck, lying on the sand, and making him laugh under the sun. 

Darth Plagueis had believed there was no good in the galaxy. He would be its sole savior. The Jedi, on the other hand, swore themselves to the light side and denied all else. In doing so, they would never be whole. 

“The Sith and the Jedi are wrong,” Osha said, reaching for another power cell. “Peace is a lie. There is no emotion.” The opening lines of the Sith Code and the Jedi Code respectively. “We are proof that there's more than one path. But Darth Plagueis didn't believe in compassion. The Jedi reject us for who we are.”

The existence of an alternative path was the first lesson Qimir taught her. While she had criticized his use of the dark side then, she later came to understand it was more complex than light and dark. One couldn't exist without the other, and neither could she without both parts of herself. 

Qimir nodded. “The Jedi reject us because it's easier to blame someone else than to recognize your own faults. We become the anomaly rather than the reflection. Their rules only work if you believe in them.”

“The Jedi broke the rules, and my family died for it.”

“Were they ever followed?”

“No.”

At eight years old, she and Mae should not have been tested nor should she have been taken in. Master Sol claimed he had kept the truth from the High Council so she could have the life she dreamed of. 

Of course she wanted to be a Jedi as a child. She never felt she belonged in her coven, and she was curious about the galaxy—the adventures it could unleash. The Jedi were her ticket past the fortress walls.

“Our existence disproves the Jedi's rules,” Qimir said. “By living as we are and using our power as we please, we set the Jedi free. Only we can provide them with what they really need.” 

“What do they need?” Osha asked, her eyes finding his. 

“To accept reality.” He gave her a half shrug. “We give them absolution.”

She used the energy scanner to check the power cell in her hand. 

Beep. This one was green, and she added it to the keep pile. 

“Why do you have so many of these?” she asked. 

“They're from another life.”

“It seems you've lived many lives.” This afternoon, she had helped him pack weapons from his time smuggling for the Hutts onto the Exile II. They were stashed in a tunnel of the cave she had never ventured into. He was a Force-user and had little need for blasters. His answer to Why take them? was Because I could.

“Enough lives to lead me to what I wanted,” he said, his voice both soft and rough at once. “It was always going to be you, Osha. All I had to do was wait.” 

Osha could feel his gaze on her as she worked. “You wanted the power of two.” 

On a quiet night, not unlike this one, he had explained what the power of two meant to him as she watched him put the pieces of his lightsaber back together. 

There was more to it than power, of course. The power of two was a deep connection. It provided insurance against the Jedi. With greater power, came more freedom. 

“Yes, and the legacy to go with it.” 

Osha drew in a breath, glancing at him. “And how do you expect I'll give you that?”

He was already looking at her. She felt warmer under the heat of his gaze. “In whatever way you'd be willing.” 

“That's a lot to ask of one person.”

“Even if the person is you?” 

The tension between them made the air thick. She redirected her gaze to alleviate it, reaching for the nearest power cell. “When you say things like that, I find it even less surprising that things didn't work out between you and Mae.” 

“Mae and I didn't want the same thing.”

Beep. Another green. 

She turned the power cell over in her hand, running her thumb over its ridged metal case. “Do we?”

They had made it this far. There was still the question of what came next. She no longer sought the revenge the path of the Sith would provide, but she knew she wanted more than Qimir—who, in defiance of the Jedi, was content to simply exist. 

“I don't know,” Qimir said. “Have you decided what you want, Osha?”

“Not yet. But I'm getting there.”

A soft tap on stone started, the sound carrying over from outside the cave. 

Osha dropped the power cell on the keep pile and stood, walking to the cave's mouth. The rain was light and steady. It wasn't a storm. Only rain and an answer to the day's oncoming clouds.

She looked out at the dark island. The light from the lanterns didn't extend far. It was difficult to see much, however, she knew where the railing and steps to the beach would be. She heard the crash of the sea. Cold air filtered into the cave, and she crossed her arms under her chest. 

The pitter-patter was dreamlike. She thought of Mama. Her larger hand atop her smaller one, the gentle kiss pressed to her cheek, and the assurance that preceded: When the time comes, you will be ready.

Boots scuffed stone behind her. Then, strong arms wrapped around her. Osha leaned back into Qimir's chest, soaking in his warmth, and rested her hand over his forearm. 

Larger rain drops dripped from the edge of the cave's opening. There was a line across the stone ground, dividing what was dry from what the rain could reach.

“Tomorrow, do you think?” he asked, his voice low by her ear. His hair tickled her face. 

“Yes, tomorrow,” she said, feeling his nose nuzzle her cheek. His breath was warm on her skin. 

She sighed, tilting her head as his mouth brushed her jaw in a lingering kiss. The air was damp and cold, but he was warmer, and she would be content to stand here forever. 

He held her, moving his face to press his lips to her neck, painstakingly slow. Her hand tightened over his forearm.

But she couldn't lose herself, as she could sense his unease in the Force.

“What's wrong?” she asked quietly. 

“It's the rain,” he murmured against her skin. 

She allowed herself another moment, savoring the press of his mouth as he kissed her again. He already knew how to turn her breath unsteady—his lips finding the spot by her ear. Either he wanted to distract her or needed a distraction. She turned to face him. His hands fell to her waist. 

There was an openness to his expression as he gazed at her. He wore a white, long-sleeved tunic and seemed relaxed. Their connection in the Force was the only way she could tell he wasn't. 

“You don't like the rain,” she said. “Because of when you were a Jedi?” 

He nodded, his thumbs rubbing over her hips.

It had stormed the day Vernestra nearly killed him and left him to die in the Udut jungle. He told her he didn't know how long he had lain there—a single night or days. Long enough for the ground to dry. 

The night he woke her with his panic, it was storming too. Those days of rain prior, spent huddled in the cave, must have been hell. Suddenly, his impatience with her made sense. 

“If it comes to it, I'll do what needs to be done.”

“Osha,” he said softly. 

“I will.” She couldn't take her eyes off of him. “The only way Vernestra walks away from this unblamed is if she kills you.” 

The last time Qimir fought her, he was fifteen. He was older now. Stronger. No longer alone. But their fight against Darth Plagueis told her all she needed to know. Even together, they weren't invincible. 

But if Osha could defeat a Sith—what challenge would a Jedi Master pose? 

She'd made the decision long ago. Knowing Vernestra had Mae was enough, and learning what she did to Qimir only made her more certain in her choice. 

Qimir looked at her, a little in awe, a little like he was already in battle and losing.  

She stared at him, chin held high. 

They were in the dark. Caught in the shadows. Their breath froze in the air.

The rain continued to tap. 

Qimir released a soft breath. “I'm sorry I failed you.” He leaned toward her, his hands squeezing her hips.  

Her brows furrowed. “How did you fail me?”

“Last night. I— I'm proud of you. You need to know that. But there was so much blood. I didn't know whose it was. I didn't know what had happened. Then when you told me—” His voice was hushed, dangerous.  

She had told him this morning about the explosion; the lightning. Snuggled close with their limbs tangled together, she had lied again, saying she was fine. There was no other choice this close to the end. 

“That wasn't your fault,” she said. 

He had been unconscious. If it was anyone's fault, it was her own. She sent Darth Plagueis's saber into the cortosis without a plan for what came next. 

Qimir hesitated for a second, then seemed to make a decision, moving his hands to cup her face. They were warm on her chilled skin. “I promise I will always protect you.”

She held his gaze. “Don't make promises you can't keep.” 

“You can’t stop me,” he said, lower. The rain tapped. His thumbs pressed into her cheekbones. 

Throughout her training, he had never offered his protection. It was more the opposite. She remembered his frustration after Kuval, when her inaction forced him to jump between her and the Jedi to save her life. 

You need to know how to protect yourself. 

What had changed?

Osha wrapped her hand over his wrist. “Promise you'll fight beside me,” she insisted. 

His gaze flickered over her face, finding her eyes with intent. “My Acolyte, my Osha, I will always fight beside you.” With his hands on her face, she couldn't look away, even if she wanted to. "Anywhere you go, I will follow. Anything you ask for, I will give. I'm yours.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She felt as if she stood on a precipice. 

The rain fell steadily. 

They both knew she was stronger. She didn't need his protection, but she would take his devotion. 

“Promise you'll love me,” she said.

His eyes were as dark as night. “Osha, I do.” 

“Show me.”

He grinned at her, almost wild. He still held her face, tilting it up. His lips were a breath away from hers. “I have waited a lifetime to show you.”

 

---

 

The crack in Osha’s lightsaber was filled with a simple alloy. She had soldered and sanded it smooth at Qimir’s workbench during her earliest days on the island. 

It was comforting to use the skills she perfected as a meknek, her hands moving on auto-pilot as she lit the torch, felt its heat, and melted the metal—blinking the flash of bright light from her eyes. 

That was before Darth Plagueis. Before she ignited the blade to kill. Only to swing broadly at Qimir, forcing him away at the brush of his fingers on her shoulder. It was consolation she couldn’t bear, the gentle touch as painful as the askew kyber cutting into her hand. 

Maybe more. 

Now, she smoothed her thumb over the repair she had made. The metal was shinier there, not yet tarnished by time. The saber was older than her. It wasn't made for her hands, but she had molded it all the same. 

A weapon used to kill her mother, a remnant of the Jedi Master she once adored, and a symbol of who she had become. 

Osha clipped the hilt to her belt. Her front locs were pulled back from her face. She wore a black, sleeveless cloak and tunic with black boots and pants. The cloak had an asymmetrical cut.

She pulled Mae's fingerless glove up her right arm. The fabric was tightly-woven and a deep purple. It went past her elbow and ended below her tattoo; a welcome warmth in the cool cave. 

Grey, early morning light filtered through the cave's opening. Their day had started before dawn, but she felt as if she was still waking. Her night had been restless, spent drifting between thoughts and dreams. The waiting was tangible to her in a way she couldn't shake. 

Qimir's boots scuffed the stone floor. He was dressed in his signature black. The tied pants were billowy, and his arms were exposed through his cloak. He held his helmet in one hand, and his other hand, he held behind his back. 

“Hey,” he said, stopping. She sat on the smooth section of rock, fastening her boots. “I made something for you.”

“For me?” She glanced at him curiously as he knelt in front of her, setting his helmet down beside him. The metal clunked on the stone.

“I thought you would like a piece of Bal'demnic to keep with you,” he said, watching her closely.

Her gaze fell from his face to the silver object he pulled from behind his back. The cortosis gauntlet was warped in places, but overall, smoother than the one he wore on Khofar. His gauntlet then had been a brittle patchwork of metal, easily broken. This gauntlet was stronger with a thicker border on either end.

He took her left hand to slide the gauntlet up her forearm. The metal was cool on her skin. 

A perfect fit. 

It was armor and a tool, but it also meant more knowing he had made it for her. She could tell he had taken his time to shape and polish it. The smallest dents were buffed out. He must have started long before she was ready to wear it.

“Thank you,” she said, meeting his gaze. 

His features were sharp, but his eyes were soft and unguarded. They were her window before he gave her more. He had always seen her, even when she wasn't ready to acknowledge what he found. 

“For everything,” she said.

There wasn't time to say more, but she hoped he would understand. 

Qimir nodded, his thumb brushing her knee, and she knew he did. 

Their connection in the Force was strong. It was both unlike and like her connection to Mae. While she could trace her bond with Mae to birth, her and Qimir's was forged. 

If there was such a thing as destiny, she was bound to him by choice. 

Outside, there was a change in the atmosphere. 

Her eyes went to the front of the cave, then locked with Qimir's. He was already standing, his helmet back in his hand. 

She stood, and together, they walked toward the cave's mouth. Osha paused to look over her shoulder. Everything worth keeping was on the Exile II. That left the odd pipes and infrastructure here long before Qimir. Plus, the odd thing or two they could part with, like the workbench. 

The pool bubbled in the center, reflecting the weak outside light. 

Once, she had awoken here injured, in search of answers and an escape.

She left unrecognizable to who she had been.

Qimir was already outside, and she found him standing at the railing with his helmet under his arm. She rested her hand on the rope. A thick fog covered the island, concealing anything outside of her immediate purview. The sky was gloomy. She heard the waves crash over the rocks, but she couldn't see the water. 

There were new life forms nearing the island. She sensed them in the Force and recognized one in particular.  

“Qimir,” she said, turning to him. “I need you to swear something.” 

His eyes found hers, dark under the cloud cover. He stood poised, the light breeze pulling at the loose strands of his hair. 

Her fingers curled over the rope. “Swear that you won't touch Mae.”

He clenched his jaw. 

She knew his relationship with Mae was complicated. They were never quite friends, never quite partners. Something in between and never with trust. On Khofar, Mae had narrowly escaped with her life. 

“If it's between you and Mae, I choose you, Osha.”

“I told you to swear.”

They stared at each other.

She wouldn't be the one to break. 

Qimir's nod was subtle. “Okay,” he said, his voice low. “I swear,” he added, soft in a way that didn't match the fierce look in his eyes. A reflection of her own. 

Osha nodded, the tension in her body easing. She turned back and watched as a ship broke through the clouds, its thrusters burning orange. The ship was a Starcutter, known for its experimental design and integrated hyperdrive. The body was a rounded shape, with a stout nose and thick wings.

Exactly the type of ship Osha dreamt of flying as a Padawan.

It flew toward the stone path—the bridge to where they typically landed the Exile II. Qimir had moved it across the island early this morning. 

“That's her,” Qimir said, his voice calm, though she could sense the tension beneath. 

Now, she watched as the Cantaros cut above the water, clearing a path through the fog and disturbing the natural pattern of the waves. 

All she could think of was the Jedi's invasion on Brendok and the death they brought with them. 

This was her home. 

It was happening again.

“I know what I want to do,” Osha said, staring out at the sea. The ship's metal gleamed dully as it disappeared into the fog, landing in their place. 

“It shouldn't be like this,” she said. “It shouldn't only be us.”

 

---

 

Fog swirled around their boots as they walked down the path to the landing pad. The stones were damp—a deep grey from high tide. Waves sprayed up and misted Osha's skin, water seeping through the cracks and under her steps. 

They stopped side by side, eyes trained on the Cantaros. Its outer hull was spotted with water droplets. The air smelled of fuel from the cooling engine. 

Osha glanced at Qimir. When he sensed her gaze, his head turned to her, tilting in his helmet. The sinister teeth grinned at her.  

Hiss. 

The ramp of the Cantaros began to lower. Smoke shot out as it settled on the stone, creaking. 

Vernestra appeared. A single silhouette in the doorway of the ship. She looked the same as Osha remembered her: smooth green skin and a composure that could only be described as Jedi. 

Her boots tapped down the ramp, and her robes flowed behind her. She walked with purpose and stopped a distance away, her blue eyes trained on them. 

“It seems once a Jedi, we can never stray far from what's familiar,” she said. The breeze caught at the fabric of her robes. Her saber was clipped to her belt. “You were difficult to find, but I imagine you had an easier time finding each other.” 

A wave crashed up over the stones, sending water across the path.

"You're not welcome here," Osha said.

"I expected as much. But the trail of death left by my old Padawan couldn't be ignored.” Vernestra's gaze settled on Qimir, and she took a small breath. An emotion close to grief passed in her eyes, quickly concealed. 

Osha tried to imagine this from her perspective. The last time she saw Qimir was eighteen years ago. He was only fifteen. The boy she left to die was now a man.

But he was faceless. 

“A master can never forget her pupil, especially one with so much promise. I believed you had died,” Vernestra said quietly. 

Qimir's head tilted. The weak sunlight reflected on the metal. “Do I look dead to you, Osha?” he asked, glancing at her. His voice was robotic, filtered through his helmet's vocoder. He turned back to Vernestra. “You must be so disappointed.”

“I did what I had to,” Vernestra said. “You left me no choice.”

“Is that what you've told yourself all…these…years?”

“You had killed three of our own.” 

“That's a matter of perspective. They deserved their fate, Master.”

Osha glanced warily between the two of them. Qimir was as still as the rocks lining the island. Vernestra's patience hadn't cracked, even as he tried to get under her skin. 

Her fingers itched for her saber. 

"Where's my sister?" she asked, starting to move forward. 

Qimir grabbed her, pulling her back roughly by her arms. She slammed into his chest.

“Not so fast,” he said, voice low.

“What are you doing?” she asked, struggling out of his grip. He tightened his hold, and her arm bent at an odd angle. She gasped in pain. “Qimir.”

“You thought this would be fair, Osha?" His distorted tone filled her ears. He unclipped his saber, pressing the cool hilt to her throat. She stilled. “Another step, and I kill her.”

Vernestra watched carefully. “It would be wise of you to let her go.” 

“What's in it for me?” 

Osha tried to get away, biting back a whimper when he twisted her arm to keep her in place. “Qimir, let go.” 

“No, no, no,” he said, voice crackling. “I don't let go of what's mine.” The hilt of his saber dug into her throat. “I knew you would be more useful than your sister.” 

She couldn't help the slither of hot anger she felt at that and jerked in his grasp. Her boot slid on a slick rock, and he pulled her back to him. “You never deserved her.” 

Vernestra took a step forward. 

“Testing me?” he asked. “Just like old times.” He pushed his saber harder into Osha's throat. Instinctively, she closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling. “You could say I learned this from you.”

“Osha is your pupil?” Vernestra asked. 

“She's my offer.” 

“In exchange for what?” 

“For my freedom.” 

Vernestra exhaled. Still, her face gave nothing away.  

“Otherwise,” he said, drawing out the word, “I will kill her.” 

“No. I— Qimir,” Osha said, struggling again. He was warm at her back but as stiff as stone, so unlike how he had held her as recently as last night, practically molding to her. “You promised.” 

“I told you not to trust me, Osha,” he said, forcing her chin up with his saber. All she saw was the cold grin of his helmet. She couldn't see his eyes. A flicker of doubt crossed her features. 

He wouldn't.

Would he?

“Did you forget?” he asked. 

“Please,” she whispered. Her arms ached, but he wouldn't loosen his grip. “Vernestra,” she said, redirecting her attention. “Please. He took me here, and I—”

Vernestra met her gaze. “Okay,” she said to Qimir. “We have a deal.” 

Qimir let go of Osha. She stumbled forward to where Vernestra stood. Vernestra scanned her in assessment. 

“Where's my sister?” Osha asked. Her heart pounded in her chest. There had to be a second ship on the island. She was confident in what she had sensed in the Force. 

“Mae is here,” Vernestra said.

“Where?” 

Vernestra touched her finger to the comlink in her ear. “Ralwin, Osha is alive. Take her to Mae. It's as we anticipated.” Then, she turned to Osha. “You may go. Follow the path, and we'll talk after.”

Osha met where Qimir's eyes would be behind his helmet. 

This isn't over, she spoke in his mind. 

He gave a subtle shake of his head. 

Her body knew to move, but it wouldn't. She couldn't leave him. 

“And Qimir?” Osha prompted, turning back to Vernestra.

“You will be safe from him.” Vernestra's gaze gave Osha the same uncanny feeling as when Qimir looked at her, like they both had the ability to know more than they should. “Is that what you choose, Osha?” 

Go, Qimir said. Now.

It wasn't the time to argue. 

“Yes.” 

Osha broke into a run, splashing through the puddles of seawater. 

Behind her, a lightsaber ignited. 

She didn't have to look to know whose it was. This was him protecting her. 

 

---

 

Rocks kicked up from under her boots as Osha ran down the beach. The fog was thicker here, and it reminded her of how clouds would obscure the viewport of a ship as it broke through the atmosphere, leaving the pilot dependent on the navicomputer.  

She knew this island and didn't need her sight to know the way. 

“Help! Help,” Osha called, sounding out of breath as she followed the island's natural curve. Ralwin appeared amid the fog. She didn't know the man. He had receding auburn hair and wore brown Jedi robes. Once he spotted her, he stepped forward, coming to attention. 

“Osha Aniseya?” he asked. 

Smaller stones scattered under her boots as she came to a halt. 

Vernestra had given her a choice. Osha didn’t trust it. But if there was any doubt left as to where she stood, now was the chance to use it. 

“Qimir is attacking Vernestra,” Osha said in a rush, desperation bleeding into her voice. “You need to help her. He threatened to kill me.” 

Ralwin's hand had paused midway to his lightsaber. Uncertainty came off of him in waves. 

“You were once a Jedi,” he said. 

“I was, but I never passed my trials.” She took a step toward him. “Take me to my sister.” 

He studied her, suspicious. “Last month, three Jedi were murdered on Kuval. What was your involvement?”

She stared back. 

His hand closed around his saber. “On behalf of the Republic and the Jedi Order, you're under arrest for—” 

In seconds, she freed her saber from her belt. It hissed to life just as he unclipped his. She was faster and swung. Her blade went clean through his chest. He choked on his breath, his eyes widening, and he let go of his saber. The hilt dropped to the rocks. His body followed. 

“You should have trusted your instincts,” she said.

The red glow of her saber reflected off the fog. It hummed steadily. 

She stepped back from the body. The air was chilly, and her nose was running. She sniffled, lifting her elbow to a ready position as she crept deeper into the fog. It enveloped her. The sea was hidden down the shore to her right. She could hear the crash of the waves. The breeze carried the scent of seasalt. 

Her steps were quiet. 

Osha listened closely to the Force. It was no longer something she had to think about. The Force and her body were one. She just used it, leaning into her connection to every living thing on the island and letting it guide her. 

A hazy, yellow glow appeared in the fog.

She continued her careful pace. The rocks beneath her boots were wet, littered with seaweed and scraps of driftwood, either from high tide or last night's rain.

The yellow glow brightened and solidified into a line. A darker, shadowy shape accompanied it. 

She urged her presence in the Force to shrink. The light from her saber would give her away, but it was a trick Darth Plagueis showed her to be useful—a mind game. 

The shape slowly defined. Brown robes. Two hands clutching the hilt of the saber. She waited until the last possible moment—

Close enough. 

She tugged the Jedi forward. 

Her blade sizzled through their torso. 

All that came from the Jedi's mouth was a startled gag. She pulled her saber out. They fell to the ground in a heap, concealed by their robes and the fog. 

Osha took a breath, flexing her fingers over the hilt of her saber. The air was cold on her skin, but her adrenaline warmed her body. The Force thrummed through her veins. She ran forward, rocks crunching under her boots. 

There was an indecipherable shout. 

Two blue sabers ignited in front of her.

Then a third that was green. 

“Stand down!” called a female voice. 

Osha was tossed into the air. She lost her saber as she hit the ground, her body scraping over rocks. Her cheek stung. She swiped her fingers over her face. They came away wet with blood. 

The three Jedi emerged from the fog. 

There were two humans: a dark-haired man and a woman with two brown braids down her back. The third Jedi was a Tholothian, white tendrils sprouting from her head. She was the first to speak, the same Jedi who spoke previously. 

“Stay where you are!” she said, pointing her lightsaber at Osha. The blade hummed blue. “Cuff her,” she told her companions. 

Osha staggered to her feet. 

The three Jedi advanced. 

She raised her hands, gathering the strength of the Force. Smaller rocks dislodged from the stretch of beach in front of her, rolling and picking up speed. She threw the Force at the Jedi in a powerful blast. 

They flew back, struggling to gain any ground against her strength. The rocks pelted them, and they used the Force to shield themselves.

Osha dropped her hands. The rocks dropped to the beach. She called her saber to her hand, igniting it as she charged forward through the fog. 

The woman reached Osha first. Green clashed into red. Osha's block was weak. She was drained from her fall and the effort it took to move three Jedi. The woman's blade nearly clipped her shoulder as she swung and spun out of the way. 

Then the other two Jedi were on her. 

A blur of blue passed by her face. Osha met the man's attack and kept the Tholothian at bay with the Force, turning just in time to deflect the woman's next swing. 

The drone of their sabers was constant, the humming louder with every clash. 

Red met green, then blue, and blue again. The blades painted the fog with color. It surrounded them like a curtain.  

Their footsteps were quick across the rocky shore. The Jedi's robes swept the ground. Osha kicked the man as she deflected the Tholothian's strike, her cloak swishing. 

He stumbled back with a soft grunt, his blade swiping past her head—so fast that she heard its speed by her ear. 

Osha caught the woman's saber at a sharp angle. Her blade drew along it—vwoom—as she turned to defend against the swing behind her. 

“You fight like the Sith,” the Tholothian said. 

“How would you know?” Osha asked, shoving her back with strength alone. 

The man was attacking again. Osha redirected her attention to him. Their blades clashed in a brilliant flash of red and blue. She pulled away to block the Tholothian.

As she did, the woman struck at her from the side. Osha threw out her left forearm. The woman's saber hit her cortosis gauntlet. Green sparks flew. Some burned her exposed upper arm. The blade fizzled out, the women's eyes widening. 

She was mid-swing. Her saber sputtered uselessly in her hand, yet she followed through anyway. 

Osha plunged her saber through the woman's abdomen. 

“Dia!” the man said, faltering. His blue saber buzzed.

“No!” the Tholothian cried, striking at Osha with a heavy swing before the woman had even hit the ground. Osha could sense her anger, her grief, her darkness. 

“You came here,” Osha said, their blades sizzling on contact.  

She and Qimir had made no plans to go after Vernestra and Mae. It would have been impossible to reach them at the heart of the galaxy—the Coruscant Temple. They knew their limits.

Here, in the Outer Rim, alone, and on Bal'demnic, what threat could they pose? 

By seeking them out as threats, the Jedi left them no choice.

It was either that or surrender, and Osha would sooner die. 

At the Tholothian's next swing, Osha ducked, twisting to meet the man's blue blade. She shoved him back with the Force. His boots skittered over the rocky beach, and for a moment, he was concealed by the fog.

As she turned, the Tholothian was swinging at her again. Osha lifted her elbow and stopped the hit. Their sabers pressed together in a high-pitched whine. The muscles in her arms burned. 

Osha met her gaze. Red and blue reflected on the Tholothian's soft features, catching on her headdress. If things had played out differently, Osha could have been her. 

A Jedi.

A follower. 

They were one and the same. 

The man had advanced toward her. Osha moved to strike first. Their blades clashed. Red on blue. Then she flipped her saber over her shoulder to block the Tholothian's strike. The fabric of her cloak swayed. 

She didn't want to fight them. 

Power did have an appeal. Revenge was easy to crave. Regardless of what Qimir claimed, she suspected he took a satisfaction from it too. On Khofar, he had seemed joyous. 

But right now the Jedi merely stood in her way. 

When she defended against the attack of one Jedi, she had seconds to avoid the attack of the other.

It was a question of could she be faster? 

Could she best them before she tired? 

Yes and yes. 

The Jedi struck at her at the same time. Rather than fall back, Osha met the Tholothian's saber with her own and the man's with her gauntlet. 

His blade clashed against the cortosis. Blue sparks flew. The blade fizzled out. He moved back, and Osha swung at him. 

The Tholothian dove between them. Osha cut her saber toward her chest, blade humming. The Tholothian dodged the blow and quickly swung. Osha raised her saber and blocked. The Tholothian's saber sliced the edge of her cloak. She felt the heat of it.

The man's blade had reignited. 

Osha swiped at the man. He caught her blade, and when she shoved him, twisting toward the Tholothian, a blur of blue swept toward her. 

The saber hit her right thigh.

Her leg nearly gave out from the sudden intensity of pain. Spots filled her vision. Osha screamed, pushing the Tholothian away with the Force and turning as the man swung for her head. 

It was close. 

She fell back, almost falling as the Tholothian swung at her from the side. Her thigh protested as she turned, slamming her saber into the Tholothian's. 

A few of her locs had fallen loose and hit her cheek. She fought harder, using the pain, and swung at the man. Their sabers met with a hiss. Her blade hummed as she spun to block the Tholothian's strike. 

“Return to the ship!” the Tholothian ordered.

As the man stepped back, Osha moved with him. She swung at him recklessly.

“Sidom!” he said, barely blocking her strike. 

The Tholothian drew closer behind Osha. Her intentions were plain. The Force gave Osha the foresight to act. 

In a clean swoop, she twisted her wrist, reversing her saber. 

Her blade cut through the Tholothian’s body. The man gasped. Osha heard the Tholothian hit the ground. There was no time to look as the man lunged toward her. 

“You'll pay for this!” he said, striking at her head. Sweat beaded on his brow. 

She ducked and stood, using the momentum to strike at him before he was ready. “I already have.”

Osha shoved the man with the Force, and he hit the ground. His saber fell to the rocks, landing half in a puddle. 

Absolution, Qimir had said.

She thought of it more as mercy as she swung for his chest. 

The beach went quiet as she retracted her blade. Waves rushed over the shore. Seafoam sprayed up at the larger rocks lining the water. Some of the fog had cleared, and the grey of the sea matched the sky. 

Osha continued down the beach, rocks crunching under her boots. Every step sent pain through her right leg. The flesh on her thigh was cauterized where the saber had burned her. It hadn't cut to the bone, but the wound was deep. The fabric of her pants around was melded to her skin. 

A GX-6 transport waited in the distance. It was an older model of the ship Master Sol had piloted. Most had been rotated out of operation over the years as the Order upgraded their fleet. The hyperdrive cradle had a tendency to malfunction, so it wasn't as reliable for long-distance travel.  

As she reached the ship, she called on the Force. The main door protested as she slid it open. 

She stepped up into the ship's cargo bay. It was mostly empty save for the seating along the wall. The durasteel floor had scuff marks from all the Jedi boots that had walked this path before. She went down the hallway, hearing the familiar creaks of a ship settling after a journey. The lights were dim and flickered. 

The hallway opened to a brighter room with additional seating and a booth-style table in the corner. There was an analysis station—marked by buttons, switches, and a small screen. The cockpit was partially visible through another doorway. 

A young man wearing Jedi robes appeared in front of Osha. 

She threw him back with the Force. He smacked into the maintenance panel. She ignited her saber. It buzzed in her hand.

“Please, wait!” he said, speaking frantically. He struggled to break free of her Force hold. “I— I mean no harm. I was just told to wait with the ship. Just let me explain—”

She raised her saber. 

“Osha!” 

Her heart stilled. 

She dropped her hand. The man fell to his knees, breathing erratically. 

It felt as if she had gone underwater. 

Everything around her was muted. Less real. 

“Mae?” she said quietly. 

Slowly, she turned around. 

Then she froze. 

The ship creaked. Her saber hummed, casting its red glow on the floor. 

Mae stood a short distance off, gripping a dagger in her hand. She studied Osha with wide, cautious eyes. Her tunic was white, and she wore a utility belt around her waist. Pip was tucked inside a small bag. 

All she was missing were the goldenwool tabards and a saber.

It was like looking into the past at herself. 

Or a version of the future that never was.

“You look like them,” Osha said. Her voice sounded flat and far away.

“Don't hurt him.” Mae’s voice shook. She was scared, and Osha needed to know why. 

“Did he hurt you?” Osha moved forward. 

“No.” Mae took a step back, her grip tightening on the dagger. “Mog is protecting me.” 

Mog. Mog. Mog. 

The name was familiar, but she couldn't place when she had heard it. 

She glanced at the man. He had light brown hair and a narrow face. A Padawan braid over his shoulder.

Protecting Mae. She might have laughed. The man was cowering in the corner. 

“You call yourself a Jedi?” she asked, stalking toward him.

“I haven't taken my Trials yet.” He had started to reach for his saber but stopped the closer she came. 

“Neither had I.” The Jedi made her leave because of how she felt—because of who she was. She never had a chance to prove herself, and here this man was, older than she had been and allowed to fail. 

“Why are you here?” she demanded, pointing her saber at him. “What do you know?”

Mog looked up at her, bathed in the red light. “That— That you've fallen to the dark side!”

She turned off her saber and smashed the hilt into his head. He moaned, slumping to the floor. Blood dripped down his forehead. 

“Mae, we need to go,” she said, turning.

The other side of the room was empty.  

Osha exited the ship, her boots pounding on the durasteel floor.  

To her relief, Mae hadn't gone far. She was just outside the ship, down on the rocks and staring out at the beach. The fog had lifted. 

Osha walked over to her. “Mae,” she said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She wanted to hug her. Hold her. Tell her how much she had missed her and how she had wanted to find her sooner, like she had promised beneath the bunta tree all those months ago.

Mae turned to her with a deep sadness in her eyes. “What have you done?”

Osha looked past the rocks and the crash of the waves and down the shore. 

The island's beach was littered with bodies. 

“I did this for you.” 

“No,” Mae said, shaking her head. She broke into a run. 

“Mae!” Osha screamed, running after her. The pain in her thigh slowed her, but she had determination on her side. She grasped Mae’s arm as she caught up, and Mae stopped, shoving her off. Osha stumbled back. 

“You're a killer, Osha.” 

“I killed Jedi! You know what they did. You were there when they killed our family.” 

“Those Jedi did nothing to hurt you.” 

“I did what I had to. Just as you did. You tried to explain it to me too, and I didn't understand either,” she said, her expression seeking. “But I do now, and I'm going to help you get your memories back.” 

Mae stiffened.

“You did this to me,” she whispered. She took a step back. Her eyes shined with tears. “You took my memories.”

“It was what you wanted.”

Mae’s face morphed into a cross between shock and disgust. “Why would I want that? Why would I want to lose sixteen years of my life?”

“Sixteen?” Osha’s brows drew together, her stomach sinking. That wasn’t supposed to happen. “Do you remember killing the Jedi?”

“No.”

But she knew about it at least. 

Was it any different from when Sol took Osha to Coruscant and offered her the same shiny new life?

She was missing reality. 

“You just don't remember.” Osha reached for Mae again. Rocks crunched under her boots. “You agreed. You told me to choose. I—” As Osha drew closer, Mae's hand went to the dagger at her belt. She froze mid-step. “I did this for us.” 

That was the deal. She would train with Qimir, and he would let Mae go. It was always more than wanting to train, wasn't it? 

“You chose a monster.” Mae sniffled. There was so much pain and conviction in her eyes. Osha didn't recognize her, even as she looked at a reflection of her own face. “Vernestra tried to tell me you were in danger, but I knew it wasn't true.” 

“It's not how you think,” Osha said. They were all monsters, including the Jedi. The question was whether Mae would see it. The Jedi didn't, and it would be their downfall. “Qimir. He trained you too. He…”

The start of the sentence hung between them. The light breeze pulled at Osha's torn cloak, carrying over the crash of the waves. There wasn't a point to make because Qimir had never been to Mae who he was to herself. 

Her voice or her face had given away too much. 

Mae stared at her in disappointment. 

“You're my sister,” Osha insisted. “I love you.” She might not have chosen Mae then, but she was choosing her now. “I love you no matter what you've done. I've forgiven you,” she said, dropping to a whisper. 

She had forgiven Mae for locking her in their bedroom, for starting the fire, and for never wanting her to leave. 

For becoming the very thing she believed had ruined her life. 

That couldn't be further from the truth. If Mae had never murdered Master Indara, Osha would forever be the girl who took a pair of shears to her Padawan braid, in denial of her past and ashamed of who she was. 

As a meknek, she often wondered who would care if she floated off the outer hull and into oblivion. No one would. The Jedi saw her for who she was, and they didn't want her. Mekneks were as easily hired as they were replaceable. 

She wasn't a permanent part of anyone's life. Until she knew Mae was alive. 

Osha's eyes burned with tears. Her thigh ached. Her heart ached. She wasn't going to let go of the one part of her past worth keeping.

“Please. Forgive me.” 

Mae's hand rested on the hilt of her dagger. Her eyes were locked on Osha. “If you love me at all, you'll turn yourself in.” 

“I'm not doing that.” 

“I saw what you did on Kuval. That Jedi was a child.”

“It was an accident.”

“Why should I believe you?” 

“Then I chose to survive,” Osha said, stepping forward. She wouldn't be afraid of her own sister. “As did you. You spent years doing what I should have all along. You don't remember enough to understand.”

Mae stood her ground. “I know plenty. I know that you're wrong. The Jedi have been good to me.”

Osha shook her head. 

It wasn't that simple. The Jedi were a system that failed to protect them as children and still blamed them as adults. There was nothing in place to stop it from happening again. 

“You can't trust them. They killed our family and blamed you.” Osha set her hands on Mae's arms. “Do the Jedi know what you're capable of? Do they know you have power like Mama? Let me help. You need to get away before it's too late.” 

Mae glared at Osha, her eyes filled with tears. “I don't need your help.” 

“I know you, Mae. The Jedi don't. I know how you're feeling. This isn’t you. You can be happy again.”

“I am happy.” Mae tried to step back, but Osha held on. 

“The Jedi used you as bait. Do you think you can stay with them forever? Do you think they won't throw you away?” Osha gripped Mae's arms. “If they know what you've done, what's stopping them from blaming everything on you?” 

Mae's lip wobbled, and she shoved Osha back with the Force. Smaller rocks scattered. Before Osha was ready, Mae's fist was flying toward her face. Osha blocked with her forearm. 

“I won't fight you,” Osha said, grabbing Mae's elbow to stop her. That gave Mae the chance to knee her in the stomach. 

Osha grunted, throwing a punch that Mae easily dodged, her locs swinging with her turn. Mae kicked out, and Osha did too—a mirror image. But she was injured, and her kick was weaker. 

Mae noticed. 

“Ah!” Osha cried out as Mae's boot connected with her thigh. The pain was blinding. Her leg gave out, and she fell to the rocks, scraping her hands. 

“You could have blocked that,” Mae said and took off running down the beach. 

In the distance, Osha saw flashes of red and purple light on the stone path and forced herself to her feet. Qimir needed her. 

Mae was already there by the time she reached the walkway, standing off to the side like she was unsure what to do. 

Vernestra swung her blade at Qimir. He blocked her. Their blades sizzled. Light reflected on his helmet. He had split his saber and struck at Vernestra with the shoto blade. She spun to deflect it, then swung at him with a heavy strike. He narrowly avoided it, then struck again. 

Watch out, Osha said in his head.

Her cloak flowed behind her as she walked past Mae and toward them. She called to the dark side as she had on the beach two nights ago. It came to her in a rush—burning and alive within her. 

She might have never become a witch, but she was the daughter of her coven. 

Vernestra fell to her knees mid-swing, her eyes turning black. 

Osha blinked, and they were alone, standing face to face on the stone path. Both weaponless. The sea was still and silent. Bal’demnic felt empty. 

“You've lost,” Osha said. Her words seemed to echo.

All but one of the Jedi on Vernestra's team was dead. She was outnumbered. This would end today. 

“I know.” Acceptance lined Vernestra's features, even with Osha inside of her head. 

“What is it you're planning?” she asked. Casually, like this was a conversation they might have any day. Perhaps next, they would discuss the weather. 

Osha smiled. It was joyless. “Nothing.”

A wrinkle formed between Vernestra's brows. “Qimir has trained you and your sister for something.” 

“To survive. That's all my family wanted, and the Jedi killed them.” It was her wound that wouldn't heal, and it pained her even now.

“I'm sorry,” Vernestra said softly. “Your family should have been left alone. You deserved to know the truth. The Jedi failed you.”

Osha shook her head, stepping forward. Vernestra made no move to retreat, and that irritated her more. “You don't get to say that now when it changes nothing.”

Justice should have been served sixteen years ago. Instead, the Jedi buried the truth deeper, and she was the fool who believed them. 

“It's never too late to change your path,” Vernestra said. “I assume you've been taught this is who you must be. But your anger. Your pain. It doesn't need to define you.”

“If that were true, I would be a Jedi.” How she felt was exactly why they made her leave the Order. “You don't know me.”

“I know your sister. Like you, she felt she had no choice. We've all—”

Osha's eyes darkened. “It's because of you she hates me.”

“We've all made mistakes,” Vernestra finished. “The Jedi, you, and I.” 

A mistake was a child sneaking past the fortress walls and being seen. Not a man killing a mother in her own home as her daughter and wife looked on. Not a Jedi Master intending to kill her teenaged pupil.

“Was it a mistake when you almost killed Qimir?” Osha asked. 

Vernestra breathed in. “I didn't believe he could be saved.” 

“Did you try?” Osha was in disbelief. “Did you listen to anything he said?”

“He had turned to the dark side,” Vernestra said, harsher. Her eyes flashed with anger, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone. “He left me no choice.”

“He needed you,” Osha said, “and you wouldn't listen. I know the truth of what happened that day. I know who was there.”

Vernestra’s blue eyes were calculating. “Who?” 

Osha stared at her. She had no interest in aiding the Jedi and pushed forward. “Do you regret it?” 

Vernestra took a moment to reply, still waiting for an answer. 

She blinked. “Rarely…has a day gone by when I haven't thought about that day.”

“Do you regret it?”

“I've made peace with my actions,” Vernestra said. “That's all we can do.”

“We,” Osha repeated. How could she make peace when the actions were never her own? The Jedi were the ones to invade her home and throw her away. “Master Sol killed my mother and lied!”

Vernestra spoke carefully. “He made a mistake and selfish choices. But he wanted you to be a Jedi.”

“No. No. Don't defend him.” This was supposed to be about Vernestra trying to kill Qimir, but Vernestra was making it about her.

“What would Master Sol think of what you've done here today?” Vernestra asked. 

Master Sol would be disappointed. He would be sad, and he would be afraid for who she had become. 

Osha felt tears in her eyes and pressed her lips together. “I don't care.” 

“He loved you. Sometimes the people we love fail us, and sometimes we fail them. But the Jedi are not your enemy.” 

“That's not true. Stop lying.” Her voice was thick, and she sniffled, refusing to cry. She was supposed to be in control. 

All the Jedi ever did was lie. They would never accept her power. The sea was silent, but the air seemed to buzz in her ears. 

“I wouldn't lie to you,” Vernestra said with sincerity in her eyes. 

“Then why are you here?” 

“I came for you.” 

Osha was breathing heavily. She looked at Vernestra, not understanding. “To kill me. Or—or—to arrest me.” 

Of course it wasn't for Qimir. If Vernestra couldn't kill him eighteen years ago, how could she kill him now? To reveal he was alive would ruin her name and the Jedi's reputation. 

But Osha, she had killed Sol. They could blame it all on her—clear his name of Khofar and the deaths of Indara and Torbin. She was a failed Jedi who never should have been trained. If she was capable of all of that, they could justify the action taken against her coven too. 

Her mind stopped spinning to focus on a singular conclusion. When she and Qimir escaped, who was left to be blamed for today? 

Mae.

“You shouldn't have brought her here.” 

She blinked and the crash of the waves returned. Vernestra gasped for breath, back on her knees.  

“I want to leave,” Mae said, walking toward Vernestra. Qimir stood in place—true to his word. 

“Mae, no!” Osha said. 

She spread her arms wide and called to the dark side of the Force. 

Shadows, flickering and smokey, began to appear. 

Her legs began to disappear. 

Mae began to disappear too. 

Vernestra gasped. She jumped to her feet and ignited her saber as a whip. It soared in a brilliant arc. There was nothing Osha could do but watch the purple race toward her. 

Metal sung through the air. 

The shadows vanished. 

Mae stood frozen with her eyes wide. Her hand was empty and extended. 

Vernestra’s hands went to the dagger in her stomach. Her tunic bloomed with blood. 

She lowered to her knees, then fell back on the stone. 

Qimir reached Vernestra and collapsed to his knees at her side. He pulled off his helmet and dropped it. The metal clanged on the stone. 

“I'm sorry,” Vernestra said. She scanned his face, snatching at the details. “Q—Qimir.”

He leaned over her. His hair was sweaty and matted. “Did you know?” 

Vernestra coughed, and blood dribbled from her mouth. “I failed you.”

“Did you have a vision about me?” he asked urgently. 

“I—” She reached for him with a shaking hand, slick with blood. “N—no,” she said, struggling to breathe. 

Qimir moved his hand, and at first, Osha thought he would take Vernestra's. Instead, he wrapped it around the dagger's hilt. 

Seconds passed. 

“I'm…”

He pulled the dagger free and dropped it to the stone. It clattered. 

Blood flowed from the wound, and Vernestra sputtered a final breath. She went still, staring at the sky. 

A wave crashed up at the side of the walkway, sending seawater across the path. It was dyed red where Vernestra lay. 

Osha walked over to Qimir slowly, like he was an animal she didn't want to spook. Carefully, she set her hand on his shoulder.  

He flinched. 

When he looked up at her, his eyes were cold and unfeeling. Tears stained his cheeks.

There was no right thing to say, so she merely watched as he stood and took several steps back. He looked down at his hands, red with blood. 

Osha watched him for a moment, then turned to kneel beside Vernestra. Her gaze was blank, and gently, Osha closed her eyelids. 

The lightwhip rested on the stone. She picked it up and brought it to Qimir. He hadn't moved from where she left him.

“Here.” She held it out. 

He shook his head. “I don't want it," he said roughly. 

She didn't drop her hand or her gaze. A beat passed, and he sighed, taking the lightwhip. His attention went to the sea, considering, then behind her. She turned. 

Mae stood there quietly. Her own face was wet with tears. 

Qimir walked over and held the lightwhip out to her. She stared at it in his hand. Her confused gaze flickered from him to Osha. 

“I'm not a Jedi.” 

 

---

 

To Worus Rayencourt, the Senate Chamber was a stage. 

It was housed inside the Galactic Senate Building, a dome-shaped structure that was short by Coruscant's standards, where many of the buildings towered among the clouds. What it lacked in height, however, it made up for with a simple blue color palette, clean lines, and enough room for senators, aides, and reporters to gather. 

This was where the magic happened. 

“We will now hear from Senator Rayencourt of the Thusa Sector,” Supreme Chancellor Drellik announced from the center podium. 

Senator Rayencourt's repulsorpod disconnected from the wall, drifting out to where he could be seen and heard. It stopped with a gentle lurch.

“Thank you, Chancellor,” he said, folding his hands at the front of his maroon robe adorned with gold. The Chamber was almost full today. It was a highly anticipated meeting, the date shifted upon emergency request. Many senators had made the trip to Coruscant when they otherwise may attend via holo or not at all. 

“As you know,” he said, his amplified voice filling the Chamber, “I had been tasked to lead a review of the Jedi Order after our formal vote earlier this year. The decision did not come lightly. Many believed it unnecessary. Others, like those of the Expansion Region, believed it long overdue. Today, I am here to reveal the findings.” 

Murmured conversations rose around the Chamber—anticipation or predictions. Some, surely, noting their distaste of him.

Senator Rayencourt waited for the murmurs to pass and then waited a moment more. He didn’t mind a bit of drama. 

“I first grew concerned about the Jedi’s operations when I learned of their failure to report on a murder investigation. Master Vernestra Rwoh…” 

There was more chatter at the mention of her name.

To be expected. 

“Order, please,” Chancellor Drellik said, holding out his hand. The Tarsunt had a long beard he dyed brown to hide his age. He fooled no one, of course, but for now, most seemed content with him in power. 

The chatter faded, and Senator Rayencourt gave a small smile before continuing. 

“Master Vernestra Rwoh, as the liaison between the High Council and the Galactic Senate, was quick to say it was an internal matter—all victims were Jedi—and soon the suspect would be apprehended. This concerned me immediately. For if the Jedi govern themselves, who will check their own power?” 

“This is a grasp for power for yourself!” someone shouted. Their microphone wasn't on, and their voice was faint.

Senator Rayencourt searched the Chamber, his eyes settling on Isedwa Chuwant in the second row of platforms. A representative of Abednedo, a gossip, and a close ally to the Jedi. 

He continued like no one had spoken: “In total, ten Jedi were murdered across three planets. We were told it was the work of one Jedi after the truth came to light of a mission sixteen years prior. Over fifty women were murdered on an Outer Rim planet where the Jedi had no jurisdiction.”

There was more to the story. Two Force-sensitive children. A law that gave the Jedi the right to test potential Padawans with parental permission. The legality was murky as Brendok was not a part of the Republic. 

That's not why he was here today.

“So I ask you, fellow senators: If the Jedi hid this for sixteen years, what else is there? Rwoh assured us this was an isolated incident. Yet in the time I spent at the Temple, I fostered connections and heard from those the Jedi hoped we wouldn't. I was recently made aware our liaison hadn't been so truthful herself.

“Eighteen years ago, she led a research mission to the planet of Udut. Of the five who went, only she returned to Coruscant. Four Jedi were killed, each death listed as an attack by a local reptile. One of those Jedi was her fifteen-year-old Padawan. What Rwoh failed to report was that she herself had killed him.”

Gasps rose around the room. 

“Why?” shouted a senator. 

“What's your proof?” 

“Lies! She's a hero!” 

“Which leads us to this past week,” Senator Rayencourt said, “when on a planet in the Auril sector, six more Jedi were found dead, including our very own Vernestra Rwoh.”

It was late at night when his aide alerted him to a comms message he had received with no name, no explanation—only coordinates leading to an oceanic planet tucked inside the Outer Rim. The message couldn't be traced, but he had his suspicions as to who it was from. 

The Republic recovery team he sent found a sole survivor. Unfortunately, his head injury prevented him from sharing any information of value. But the scene of the crime told a clear enough story: five Jedi with lightsaber wounds and one Vernestra Rwoh who had bled to death. 

Did it make sense? Not quite. There was no lightsaber found with Rwoh's body. Her own injury was carried out by a knife. Perhaps high tide had carried away the weapon. 

Mae Aniseya's involvement was not his problem. 

Sometimes questions were more useful asked than answered. 

“Was Vernestra Rwoh the killer? The investigation is ongoing, but her past actions speak for themselves," Senator Rayencourt said thoughtfully. He had everyone's attention now and relished in it. 

“What we don't know is precisely why we cannot allow the Order to continue as it does. The Jedi are a powerful system posing as a religious cult. It's only a matter of time before they go from turning on themselves to turning on us.

“When the Jedi Annexation Act was introduced over thirty years ago, it was too soon. Today, the facts are apparent. That's why I'm proposing a vote to make the Jedi Order a permanent branch of the Republic.” 

The Chamber erupted. 

 

---

 

“May the Force be with you.” 

“And you, Master.”

The whispers were quiet, and the room was somber as the gathered Jedi, politicians, and friends began to leave.  

Mog Adana followed them out, taking one last glance at the ashes and embers upon the funeral pyre where Master Vernestra’s body had rested. 

Days ago, when he was found by the Republic recovery team, he didn't know where he was. They had questioned him and administered first aid—concerned by his pounding head and blurry vision—then he'd stumbled out of the ship to find a grey, rocky beach. 

On any other occasion, the oceanic planet would have been beautiful. 

Five Jedi were found dead along the shore. By the time the recovery team reached Vernestra, a task made difficult by high tide, it was much too late to save her life. 

The mission wasn’t logged, and Mog couldn’t remember why they were there. A side effect of his concussion, no doubt. Though, there were other memories missing too. 

Everyone at the Temple kept asking him where his friend, Mae Aniseya, had gone. He couldn’t recall a thing about her, other than the fact he had no idea who she was. 

It was all too confusing, he decided as he continued down the hall. His Jedi Master was expecting him for his afternoon studies. He was ready to return to preparation for his Trials and now pictured his time as a Knight spent pouring over holofiles in the library. That sounded perfectly unexciting. 

“Padawan Mog Adana?” 

Mog startled at the sound of his name and turned. The hallway behind him was empty. Maybe he needed another day in the medcenter after all. 

“Ahem.” 

He looked down.

“Oh, Master Yoda!” Mog exclaimed. 

It was rare to see Yoda outside of his private chambers. He was busy. Important. Much too important for a conversation with Mog, yet he slowed his steps so Yoda could walk beside him. Both Jedi were dressed in their formal white and gold attire. 

Yoda’s species was unknown to Mog. He had a short stature, wispy grey hair, and large green ears. 

“A shame it is to hear about Master Vernestra,” Yoda said. “One with the Force she has become.” 

“Yes,” Mog agreed. 

They stopped at the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the meditation garden. The flora was blooming this time of year with bright colors. A group of younglings sat under the shade of a tree, chatting amongst themselves. 

“Know Vernestra well, did you?” 

“Sort of. I was her intern.” Mog had assisted Vernestra and her work as liaison between the Order and the Senate. It wasn't supposed to be a complicated role. His master said it might help him find his place at the Temple, when it appeared combat would never be his strong suit. “People often mistook me for her Padawan.” 

“Hmm,” Yoda said. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked up at Mog. “Remember Vernestra's Padawans, I do. Imri Cantaros was a noble Jedi. Helped many in the galaxy throughout his life. Remember her second Padawan, do you?”

Mog hesitated. “Vernestra did have two Padawans. Imri Cantaros and…” The second name took a moment for him to recall. His mind wasn't the same since his injury, but he had been reading Vernestra's files in an attempt to get his memories back. “And Qimir…Qimir Ren.” 

Out in the meditation garden, the younglings stood, chasing each other around the tree in a game of tag. They were blissfully unaware of the events that had transpired over these past months. From the Jedi deaths to the senatorial review, and now, the reintroduction of the Jedi Annexation Act. 

He hoped the galaxy they inherited would be a better one. 

“Both of Vernestra's Padawans have died,” Mog finished. “The Senate has been investigating her life.” 

According to their investigation, Vernestra was responsible for the deaths on Bal'demnic. The Jedi themselves were in disbelief. Tensions between the Jedi and the Senate were rising. 

He knew it wasn't his place to bring up politics with the head of the Order himself, yet he'd never been great at holding his tongue. 

Yoda nodded wisely. "More than one form of death there is. Better to let some things rest." 

 

---

 

Osha knew from the moment she walked down the stone path with Mae and Qimir that things would never be the same. 

It wasn't a profound realization. Instead, one she might have had a dozen times throughout her life. After the fire. When she left the Jedi. The day the door to her room aboard the Fallon slid open and she found Yord perched on the edge of her bed, waiting to tell her she was under arrest for murder. 

Bal'demnic turned from planet to speck outside her viewport. The stars of realspace surrounded them. She had one hand on the controls and used the other to check the coordinates on the navicomputer, ready for the jump to hyperspace. Qimir's voice crackled over the comlink from the second cockpit.

“Where to?” 

Ravolo was located in the far reaches of the Outer Rim. 

It had snowy winters that froze the lake, and springs when everything turned green. Compared to Bal’demnic, it was a different way of life. Osha missed the sea but grew to appreciate the rustle of the wind through the leaves and how it reminded her of the woods on Brendok as a child. There was a market to shop. The people spoke little. They all had pasts to run from. 

For a long time, Mae looked at Osha like a stranger. Her memories didn't fully return. Those that did were fragments of a whole. Shattered glass. She was angry at Osha for the loss of herself. Angry at Osha for the dagger she had thrown.

They argued a lot. Osha coddled Mae too much. She argued with Qimir when he wouldn't. After Vernestra's death, he didn't sleep and spent the nights watching her instead. He disappeared for days, and she worried herself sick, thinking he was dead, thinking she might kill him herself if he ever returned.

He did, and she didn't, pulling off his bloodstained clothes the second they were alone, and they never spoke about it again. 

Osha came to understand that regardless of memories, she and Mae would never know each other like they used to. Time had shaped them differently. Their paths had split too long ago for them to live the same life again. 

Eventually, they learned to live their new lives together. They sat shoulder to shoulder and whispered in the dark. There was a window above the bed. If they craned their necks, they could see the stars. 

"Which one of us liked to draw?" Mae asked. 

The moon was full tonight. It cast a glow across the wooden floors, the wooden walls, and the threadbare sheets.

"Me," Osha replied. 

"Who twisted their ankle?" 

"You." 

These were the moments when Osha thought she should feel guilty. Because in the end, she did get what she wanted: a galaxy open to adventure, power to hold, and the two she loved most. The sacrifices made were rarely her own, but if given a second chance, she knew she would make them again. 

 

---

 

“Take this one too,” Osha said, handing Mae a tunic. It was a thicker material and would be good to have for colder weather. 

“Okay, but that's the last one.” Mae folded it inside her backpack. “I have plenty, and I want to travel light.” 

The pile of clothes on the bed dwindled as Mae packed the rest. Osha watched as she added the handful of other belongings she had acquired during their time on Ravolo. A canteen, a medkit, credits, and her new daggers were the last to go in. 

Mae grabbed Pip but hesitated before placing him in the front pocket of her backpack. “Here,” she said, sitting beside Osha. She held Pip out to her. “You probably want him back.”

Pip chirped, his head tilting in greeting. 

“No. You should keep him.”

“He was your droid.” 

“He chooses you.” Osha tapped Pip's metal frame, and he gave an annoyed chirp. “See?” 

“He's joking,” Mae said. “Is that right, Pip?”

Beep. Beep. 

Osha laughed, fairly sure that meant no. “I'll feel better if I know you have company. Even if he's a traitor.” 

Pip was suspiciously quiet at that. He wasn't as responsive to Osha as he used to be. A quick tune-up had confirmed his memory was erased. Whether from the damage on Khofar or done by intention, Osha could only guess. His tool carousel was missing too, replaced by a computer interface. 

Mae smiled and tucked Pip into the pocket of her backpack. 

A silence settled between them. Early afternoon light shone through the window and onto the scratched floorboards. The cabin they were living in came dusty and sparsely furnished, but the more that time passed, the more it felt like a home. 

Osha studied the side of Mae's face. The slope of her nose and warm brown skin. Locs that fell to her shoulders. She no longer needed a mirror to see her reflection. 

“Do you ever think about her, Osha?” 

“Who?” 

“Mama,” Mae said, meeting her gaze. Between the locs falling across her forehead, Osha glimpsed her spiral tattoo. The mark of Ascension was their one difference.

Osha took a breath. “I had a dream with her after I fought the Sith. She told me the story of when our coven came to Brendok and how they survived the winter.” 

“With the bunta tree.” 

“Yes. She made it bloom. Using the power of the vergence, I think.”

As the story went, Brendok was barren when their coven arrived. Part of Osha wondered how much of the life on Brendok was because of the vergence—how much of it was because of Mama's power—whether there was a difference at all.

She didn't completely understand what a vergence was apart from Force energy. Master Sol had insisted upon the importance of proving its existence.

Mother Aniseya had created her and Mae using the Force, but what did that make them?

It didn't matter, Osha decided. Because they were still sisters. 

“The fire is what I remember most clearly,” Mae said, her eyes on Osha but also distant. “When the Jedi found me, it was all I remembered like it had just happened. Sol killing Mama. The bodies of our family in the flames. Thera, Eurus, Shima, Elder Nassa…” 

“Mother Koril?” 

Mae shook her head. “I didn't see her. I went back the next day but…” The pain in her voice was evident.

“It's not possible,” Osha finished so she wouldn't have to. 

“No.” Mae's gaze fell to her hands, and as Osha placed her hand on top, she turned her hand over, locking their palms together. “Mother Koril would have found us.”

It was comforting for Osha to have Mae to share her grief with. As a Jedi, she had grieved in secret. Qimir supported her, but he would never understand the way Mae did—who was there the night the stone crumbled and smoke rose into the sky.

They no longer had a coven to lead, but they had each other.

Through the window, Osha saw movement on the lake. She met Mae's gaze, questioning, and Mae nodded. 

The sky was a bright blue as she walked down the hill from the cabin. Tall grass brushed her boots. Sunlight reflected on the lake,  stretching far beyond the trees. The water seemed to sparkle. Qimir finished docking the canoe, and she met him on the shore. 

“Hi,” she said, eyeing the bag slung over his shoulder. “Did you get anything good from the market?” 

“Hey.” He smiled, dropping it to the grass. “I have something for you.”

His hands found her waist, and she stepped into his embrace. He ducked his head, kissing her. She smiled against his mouth, clutching the fabric of his tunic so she wouldn't fall when he took a turning step. 

He pulled back to look at her. “There was a family in town with two young kids. At least one of them was Force sensitive.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“No, I wanted to wait for you.” 

She nodded, smoothing her hand over the front of his tunic. When she told Vernestra they didn't have a plan, she wasn't entirely honest. 

It was more the start of an idea. A network of Force-users like them who didn't follow the ways of the Jedi. She knew it would be difficult. Many wouldn't want to be found. But it could provide intel, inform parents of their rights if the Jedi discovered their children, and offer training to those who wanted to learn. 

There was power in many.  

Osha's eyes flickered over his face. His eyes were a warm brown under the sun. She smiled. 

Qimir arched a brow, his mouth quirking up at the corner. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she said, her hand on his chest. “I'm just happy.”

He smiled, leaning to kiss her again. His lips were soft on hers, and she wound her hand through his hair. 

Someone cleared their throat. 

They broke apart to find Mae standing nearby. She had her backpack on and walked toward them, the fabric of her cloak shifting. It revealed the lightwhip clipped to her belt. 

Osha met Mae halfway and threw her arms around her. Mae melted into the hug, holding her tight. 

“I wish you weren't leaving,” Osha said, resting her chin on Mae's shoulder. “I'm going to miss you.”

“I know. I'll miss you too.” Mae curled her hand in Osha's locs. “But I need to make new memories. Ones that are my own.”

“You will.” Osha knew what it was like to dream of a bigger life and be kept from it. “You're going to make so many memories, and I want to hear about all of them.” 

She wouldn't be the one to stop Mae from becoming who she was meant to be. They had loved each other, hated, lost, and found. Their connection wasn't one that could be broken. 

They would see each other again. 

Mae pulled back and met Osha’s eyes. “You are with me?” 

Osha's lips curved into a smile. She blinked away her tears. “I am with you.”

“Remind me again why Qimir has to take me into town?” Mae asked. They walked down to the shore together, their boots sinking into the soft grass. 

“He knows a guy who can get you offplanet.” 

“Right.” Mae rolled her eyes. 

“You're welcome to swim,” Qimir said with a shrug, waiting by the dock. “I hear the fish bite.” 

“I don't see why I can't take your ship.” 

“Because it's my ship.”

“So?” Mae gave Osha a glance that said, This is what you put up with?

“It's not that far,” Osha said, reaching for the bag Qimir had left on the shore. It was heavy, and she hoisted the strap over her shoulder. “I promise you'll survive.” 

“Yeah,” Qimir said, stepping onto the dock. “Osha doesn't mind my company.”

Mae stopped. “Actually, I've changed my mind. I'd rather take my chances with the fish.” 

Osha laughed, shoving her forward. “Go.”

Reluctantly, Mae continued toward the dock.

The sun was warm on Osha's skin. She held her hand up to shield her eyes, watching as Qimir boarded the canoe. The boat rocked gently as he sat and started to unwind the dock line. 

After all her searching, she knew she was where she belonged. It was more than this place or the people she was with. It was a feeling. 

“Hey,” Osha called out to Mae. She was halfway down the dock now. “Where will you go?”

Mae looked back at Osha, adjusted the strap of her backpack, and smiled. “I was thinking wherever the galaxy takes me.” 

 

Notes:

THE END!!!

Thank you so much for reading! If you made it this far, do please leave a comment? Kudos really only tell me you read the first chapter :')

We all know the acolyte deserved so much better, and I hope this fic could at least give you some closure for the story like it did for me.

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