Chapter Text
Corellians have rocket fuel for blood.
It's an old saying, but one that is accurate seeing as most of her people share Han's predilection for reckless piloting and wanderlust.
Not Qi'ra of Corellia.
She doesn't have rocket fuel for blood. Ice runs through her veins, chilling and hardening her; protecting and isolating her all at once.
She is not like her people.
She suppresses the immediate urge to vomit when she realizes her mistake. She has no people of her own. Her fellow Corellians are too self-obsessed to care about her. Not that she cares about them, of course, but she's sure that would be different if she had been raised by a loving family instead of that vicious matriarch Lady Proxima.
Sometimes, she wishes her life was different.
She never tells Han that, though. Even though she loves him more than anyone. Even though they had grown up seeing each other as siblings. Even though they had begun to feel something more for each other.
Qi'ra of Corellia is not a sentimental child.
Qi'ra of Corellia is thirteen years old, and her heart is as cold as that of a thirteen-hundred-year-old statue.
That's what the other children think of her, and she revels in the image that they view her in.
All except for Han, with his stupid grin and stupider jokes making her heart warm and flutter all the while filling her with the urge to both kiss and kill him.
She has a vicious streak and she knows that even he can't object to that, as much as he cares for her.
It's not something either of them talk about very much, if at all. But it's also not something that she neglects. She nourishes it, lets her hate sit and fester and only brings it out when she needs to appear especially unapproachable. It keeps the darker parts of Corellia's underworld away from her, keeps her safe and warm when Han isn't there to protect her from those bigger than her.
Han. Dear, lovable, adorable Han with his soft eyes and softer heart.
She is not soft. Qi'ra of Corellia is not gentle nor loving nor adorable.
Her heart is as hard as stone and her touch as cold as ice. Growing up on the streets has taught that her any kind of warmth or compassion or gentility is a weakness that will get you killed. That is a fact of her life. And yet it perplexes her how Han has survived for so long. He's got street smarts, that's for sure, but not much else. He's not particularly big or strong for his age - and not very smart, if she's being honest - and yet he has survived for as long as she has, and that stupid grin of his has survived for just as long.
She loves him...
And as strange as it sounds, she hates him almost as much. Hates him for his mercy, for his goodness.
She hates herself for lacking that same goodness.
She tells herself that her experience on the streets had purged her of that love, of that compassion and hope. But a dark part of her whispers in her mind the possibility that she never had it to begin with.
Qi'ra forces herself to take pride in her coldness, lets the others call her "Ice Queen" and projects an image of regality befitting royalty to support the image, and does what Proxima asks of her, becoming the crime-lord's best thief.
She's a queen, a princess, even without a crown.
She thinks her success will be enough to protect her...
She is wrong.
>>>
Qi'ra of Corellia is fourteen years old when the world reminds her that trust and loyalty are weaknesses.
Qi'ra of Corellia is fourteen years old when she loses what little remains of an innocence she thought she had lost long ago.
Qi'ra of Corellia is fourteen years old when she takes a life for the first time.
He's a Twi'Lek. He's a man over three decades her senior, with skin as blue as the sea, eyes of the same colour, and teeth so sharp they jut from his oversized mouth. His nails are almost as long, and they cut her as they dig into her flesh.
She cries, and screams, and fights, and fights, and fights, and fails...
His name is Vormin, and he's a 'friend' of Proxima.
At least, that's what her 'mother' chooses to introduce him as when she calls her into her sanctum, empty of all save for a line of bodyguards and enforcers and of course, Vormin himself, standing tall over her. She hardens her gaze as the man when she feels his lecherous gaze sweep up and down her developing body. She resists the urge to cover herself.
Statues don't tremble!
She looks back up at her mistress, "You called me?" She asks with a steady voice, careful to keep her eyes away from the towering alien, whose eyes she can still feel studying her, watching her... wanting her.
"Yes..." The oversized worm croons, "This is my friend, Vormin."
Qi'ra doesn't even glance in his direction. Maybe if she pretends for long enough, he will simply disappear. She quietly chides herself for such childish hopefulness.
"He's going to do a favour for me. He wants a very particular kind of payment and only you can help with that."
The countless rings and plates lining Proxima's back clank and clink together as she sloshes about in her filth-ridden pool, but all that noise quickly fades when the realizing slowly but surely seeps into Qi'ra's mind.
She's met men like Vormin before. Not necessarily Twi'leks, but men - and even a few women - who look at her like a piece of meat.
Proxima had always protected her from such people. Never for any moral reason, of course. Qi'ra was never under any such delusion, but she had always understood that so long as she served the White Worms then she would be granted shelter and security. That is the way the world works. It is the way that the world has always worked. She's never had any reason to doubt it.
Until now...
For the first time in a long time, she finds herself speechless. Her mind reels in shock when she feels a large hand grab her bicep and pull her backwards. She fights him. She kicks and punches and scratches and screams.
He slaps her in response. Proxima and her enforcers ignore her, the great worm herself disappearing in her pool once more as Vormin drags the girl into a backroom.
Han is elsewhere, like most of the other kids, no doubt away on one of Proxima's errands.
Qi'ra hates herself for wishing he was here. She shouldn't need him to protect her. She lets her anger and hate at herself - at Han for not being with her - fuel her strength, lets it take over until she's yelling and slashing like a wild animal.
Vormin only hits her harder, and begins to laugh and salivate as he tares at her clothes.
Qi'ra isn't exactly sure what happens next.
She feels the cold air of Proxima's lair envelop her skin, biting deeper and deeper into her flesh with each laboured breath she takes, but it's nothing compared to the spidery, savage gripping of Vormin's disgusting hands pulling and probing her.
And then there's light... and heat... and warmth... and power...
So, so much power. She wonders, absently, if this is what a hyperdrive would feel like if it was alive. It's like a door suddenly bursts open from deep inside her chest, and out floods a surge of starlight, illuminating her veins and wrenching free from her outstretched fingertips.
Lightning! Blue and beautiful, as bring as the sun.
Time seems to freeze, and in that fleeting moment she catches sight of Vormin's terrified expression. She commits the image to memory, stores it away in the deepest part of her mind where it shall remain for all time.
And then she watches as it forces him up through the air and against the dusty, stone ceiling.
She collapses when the last of her energy leaves her, and the smell of Vormin's dead, sizzled black flesh fills her nostrils as she succumbs to the dark embrace of sleep.
>>>
She never learns the nature of Vormin's favour to Proxima. But she learns that it was clearly very important to the Grindalid, otherwise the punishment she receives in the aftermath of the Twi'lek's death wouldn't have been so severe.
Proxima makes an example of her.
She has her enforcers haul the girl up, naked and bruised before the assembled White Worms... before Han, whose confused, teary-eyed gaze makes her want to comfort and criticize him at the same time.
Han is the one to do it.
Proxima leaves him with no choice and Qi'ra makes sure to use what little strength she has in her to tell him that it's alright. They all know that Proxima will kill her if Han doesn't do what he is told to do.
And so he does it, screaming and crying as he takes the bladed whip in his hand and whips her back bloody.
It's only when she loses consciousness does Proxima finally tell the boy to cease the attack. She ensures that the girl receives only what minimal medical attention she needs in order to make it through the ordeal before leaving her in the slums to recover on her own.
The princess loses her makeshift throne of rags and rocks, and everyone witnesses her fall.
"It's not your fault." She forces herself to say when Han finds her a few nights later, having finally managed to make it out of the White Worms lair to search for her. She manages to suppress the urge to protest when he insists on feeding her from a bowl of soup like a child.
"If it's not my fault, then whose is it?"
It's Proxima's, she thinks. She doesn't say it, barely any has strength to, but she hopes he understands it - if not yet, then one day. She isn't sure what it is that compels her to do what she does next, but she pulls him forward and kisses him. She locks their lips together and for a very brief moment, the pain in her back sizzles down. He is even more shocked than she is when they pull away from each other, but eventually that stupid grin of his returns and for the first time in a long time, her stone heart trembles and she smiles herself.
>>>
Qi'ra of Corellia is fifteen years old and she's finally returned to the nest.
Proxima acts as though Qi'ra has been on vacation rather than being almost whipped to death because she dared to resist a rape attempt. Qi'ra has never hated Proxima. She's never liked her, but she's never hated her.
Until this moment, when she stands before the sickeningly disgusting worm and practically tastes her arrogance.
For a brief moment, Qi'ra can feel a familiar flicker of power spark at her fingertips. But as she looks down at her hands, she sees no lightning. She still wonders where it came from, and as she looks back up at Proxima she can... feel something else.
Fear, she realizes after a moment of consideration.
She can practically taste it.
Proxima is afraid of her and rightly so. Qi'ra wields a power that neither of them understand. But something inside Qi'ra tells her that she's meant for more than this, meant for more than a life as a petty pickpocket, more than a life spent as someone's slave, more than a life spent as a simple Corellian.
But she doesn't understand, and so she waits. Weeks pass and Proxima foolishly believes that Qi'ra has been adequately 'housebroken'.
And then a man comes. A Besalisk named Murok Zarl who somehow gains an audience with Proxima and declares the birth of a new order, an order that Proxima can either join or be crushed by. The White Worms are nothing compared to the larger syndicates like the Black Sun or the Hutt Cartel, but they have immense influence on Corellia, influence that goes back centuries, if not longer.
Proxima resists, of course.
But the Besalisk is not surprised, and when he leaves that night Qi'ra's curiosity gets the better of her and follows him back to his ship, guided by some 'will' that seemed to be watching over her.
She wasn't sure what she was expecting to find on that ship. But a witch certainly wasn't it.
>>>
Her name is Asajj Ventress, and something about her feels so right that Qi'ra aches to be in her presence.
She finally feels like she belongs and so she listens to Asajj, helps her even. Helps her infiltrate the White Worms and personally rips Proxima apart with her powers before restructuring the group to serve the Shadow Collective.
Ventress welcomes her into her ranks, and even allows Han and their fellow orphans to join in a variety of roles.
Her greatest gift comes with a ship and an invitation to her homeworld.
And so, with Han at her side, the two leave Corellia behind and find their way to Dathomir. Ventress is there, at the peak of a great cliff, surrounded by armoured warriors and red-robed women, waiting for them as their ship touches down. "Welcome." The Witch-Queen says with a silky voice and a fanged smile.
Qi'ra can feel Han cringe at her side, but something inside her warms at the sight of her friend.
The months that follow are the fastest and strangest of Qi'ra's life.
Qi'ra of Corellia dies there, and Qi'ra of Dathomir is born.
Qi'ra of Corellia had no family, but Qi'ra of Dathomir has a thousand sisters, both dead, alive, and... something else.
Qi'ra of Dathomir doesn't tattoo herself with the white and black markings of her new people.
But she learns of their culture, of the Force, of magick. She learns how to cast curses that singe the flesh and animate the bone, how to cast illusions and deceive the stars themselves. She summons the ancient Sleeper from Dathomir's depths and invokes its power, and feels her body erupt with orange flame instead of the green common to her sisters. It's a unique quirk of hers that Asajj comments on, announcing it as a sign of her potential.
Han doesn't like it. He doesn't like the Force or the magick she can summon from it. But she does, and that's all the reason she needs to keep doing it.
Despite his reservations, Han serves the Collective alongside her, and even shares her feelings for the young Clone bounty hunter that draws their attention. The money definitely helps, she supposes, perhaps as much as Boba's comforting presence for them both does. They never want for anything as agents of the dreaded Witch-Queen, of the enigmatic Dark Hand of Mand'alor. Not that the Collective's true, secret affiliations with the increasingly powerful and ever-expanding Mandalorian Empire are ever talked about.
It's only a year later when she finally comes face to face with the woman behind it all.
Qi'ra of Dathomir is sixteen years old when she meets the Empress of Mandalore for the first time.
Qi'ra of Dathomir is sixteen years old when she meets Ahsoka Tano.
>>>
The Togruta is only a few years older than herself. Qi'ra is sure of it. But she is so much more powerful. She could feel it even before they dropped out of Hyperspace, before they even boarded the remote space station in Imperial territory that had been chosen for their meeting.
She keeps herself tall and still as the Empress studies her closely. "She's powerful." The Empress declares with a tone that Qi'ra can only interpret as approval. Her senses are usually flawless but she can't feel anything from the Mandalorian across from her. She isn't sure if it's just the Aurodium-gilded Beskar she's wearing or if it's the woman's own prodigious abilities blocking her. It's probably both, she reasons.
"She is indeed." Asajj agrees with a smirk. "Not the strongest, but definitely among the most skilled."
Ahsoka smiles at them both, "I'm sure she'll prove to be incredibly useful to us both, Asajj." She then speaks to her directly, "I foresee you achieving great things in the future, Qi'ra. Don't doubt yourself and nothing will be able to stop you."
She takes the Empress's words to heart, and remembers them when she's on Dantooine eight months later.
She's helping the Collective establish a secret network of bases and outposts on the planet. It's proving quite a fortuitous endeavour when she suddenly feels an inescapable pull to an old mining shaft. At its base, she finds a glimmering Kyber crystal that's all but calling her name and returns with it to Dathomir.
Under Asajj's guidance, she crafts a black and red hilt around it, adorned with runes from the Nightsisters and the logo of the Crimson Dawn, having just been appointed the syndicate's leader. She wears a medallion with the same symbol, but on the other side rests the twisting sigil of the Collective.
Asajj hides her surprise well when she sees the completed weapon, and Ahsoka smirks when she lays eyes on the golden-yellow beam herself. Qi'ra of Dathomir is the only Nightsister, aside from Ventress herself, to wield a saber of her own. She becomes quite proficient with it, training with Ventress, a few of the Chevaliers, some Mandalorians, and occasionally even the Empress herself.
Even without it, she's more than capable of using the Force to set a person's blood aflame by igniting the oxygen, burning them from the inside out; or tearing them limb from limb at a distance; or turning them to ash with a well-directed bolt of lightning. Her true power lies in her manipulation of the mind, a skill that proves incredibly useful in her role as head of the Crimson Dawn.
Qi'ra of Dathomir is eighteen years old, and she sits in her chair in her office aboard the First Light.
Qi'ra of Dathomir is eighteen years old, and she turns to a holo-picture of her lovers; a grinning Han with his arms flung around the shoulders of their ever-stoic Boba.
Qi'ra of Dathomir is eighteen years old, and she realizes that she is finally - truly and utterly - a queen, and she needs no crown to prove it.