The Force Always Says Yes [Star Wars]

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 30: ...Double The Fall

​

Chey-Linn slid to a stop along with Nerim. "Just listen for once in your life!"

Nerim crossed his arms and stared down at her. "Why is it that I constantly need to remind my fellow Jedi that listening is not a synonym for obeying?"

She ignored the comment. "If you interact with the target in any way, you could say something that leads to her fleeing or destroying evidence."

"First off, she's not a target," Nerim scowled, "And secondly, I don't think she's done anything wrong, that's you. I'm not gonna say anything that upsets her. We get along quite well."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Chey-Linn mumbled, beginning to move forward again at a walking pace. Nerim followed after her.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that it is painfully obvious your thoughts linger on your attachments more than your duties as a Jedi," she said in an icy tone. "In the time we spent in the Temple, I often felt your mind center on...unhealthy fixations."

Nerim's frustration dropped out from him for a moment, replaced with sudden fear. He knew there had to have been plenty of times he inadvertently thought of Tetha; she frequently appeared in his mind unbidden. "You what?"

Chey-Linn noticed his sudden apprehension, and restrained a smirk. "Yes, I imagine it was much more obvious to Arwain and Haaka Mahn."

He grit his teeth, feeling his face begin to flush. He didn't respond immediately, quietly becoming angry with himself for letting his thoughts slip. Becoming even angrier at the invasion of his privacy, of his own mind.

Chey-Linn pressed the attack. "Is that why you're so keen on protecting the Cathar princess?"

She had misstepped with that provocation, and Nerim ever-so-slightly relaxed, feeling some relief that she hadn't caught on to Tetha's identity even remotely. "You spend a lot of time thinking about me, don't you?" Nerim asked in a tone as acidic as hers was icy. "It would be kind of flattering, if it weren't coming from a mynock like you."

"You just make yourself hard to ignore," she grumbled.

"Not helping your case."

"The last thing I need is whatever you would define as help."

"And how else can I interpret this constant obsessive need you have to get into my head, huh?" Nerim prodded her in the shoulder, causing her to jump and step away. "Fixating on my fixations. Makes you sound like some sort of weird voyeur when you think about it."

Chey-Linn showed some sort of disgust and horror at the thought. "No! There's nothing in your head that I want to see!"

"It seems almost as if you are jealous," Nerim continued, feeling a sort of malicious satisfaction from how visibly uncomfortable he was making her. "Are you searching for yourself in my thoughts? Because I hate to disappoint you, but I didn't even remember your name until a couple of hours ago!"

"Ugh! It is not of the least interest to me personally!" She grimaced. "I only wish that there was a button to turn your brain off!"

"You're really gross, you know that?! I don't even want to imagine what you'd do if you could—" Nerim suddenly stopped. He felt some sort of strange sensation, like a tugging string tied to the back of his neck, urging him to redirect his attention. "—Wait, personally? Are you reading my thoughts on behalf of someone?"

He saw her eyes momentarily widen, but before she could reply, a familiar figure opened a door and walked out in front of them.

"Why are you shouting...?" Aesha asked, rubbing her eyes. She was visibly sleepy, given that it was still early morning. Somehow the two of them had unconsciously wandered directly outside her room.

The two Padawans replied simultaneously. "I'm not shouting!" and "Because she's always angry!" they both cried.

Aesha stared at them uncomfortably. "...Okay. I will not interrupt your mission—" She said, beginning to turn around and walk back the way she came.

"Wait!" They both shouted.

Aesha froze in place and then slowly turned around, sighing. "Am I to play mediator?"

Nerim and Chey-Linn shared a nervous glance, and then Nerim spoke up. "Uh, actually I was intending to ask you some questions. She just tagged along because she's jealous—"

"Liar!" Chey-Linn said venomously. "I was on my way before your lunatic Master even let you—" She suddenly stopped herself, realizing she was letting too much information slip.

Aesha blinked. "Jealous...? You were searching for me?" Her eyes narrowed slowly, as if she recognized something about this behavior. "Lady Jedi...I am flattered, but..."

"For the love of—" Chey-Linn tugged on her hair. "What is wrong with you imbeciles?!"

Nerim put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Chey-Linn. It can't always work out," he said, as seriously as he could manage.

He had never seen a Jedi more visibly restraining themselves from getting violent.

Aesha crossed her arms with slight discomfort. "Err, you should know that Nerim and I aren't—"

"From the bottom of my heart I beg you," Chey-Linn said through grit teeth, "Please just stop talking."

"I just want to be clear that I am not arm candy!" Aesha replied indignantly. "I am so tired of people acting as though the most interesting facet of me is my marriageability!"

"I am entirely uninterested in every facet about you, least of all your marriageability!" Chey-Linn said in a tone that was somehow both pleading and furious at the same time.

"Hm," Nerim hummed thoughtfully, placing a hand to his chin and trying his best to keep a straight face. "Then the common denominator is that you're interested in my relationships. I wonder why."

Chey-Linn's face began to take a red hue out of anger, which only made the scene more suspect to Aesha, who was feeling more and more awkward. "Err," The Cathar princess started, "My knowledge of the Jedi Order is quite lacking, but is not that kind of affection forbidden, Lady Jedi?"

Chey-Linn took a sudden deep breath. "This must be a Trial of Flesh," she said, referring to the feared test of a Padawan's tolerance to pain and loss. It was not unheard of for Padawans seeking to become knights to suffer lifelong injuries from the test. Some even died.

Aesha's eyes widened. She crossed her arms over her chest as if covering herself from lecherous stares. "F-flesh?! Calm yourself, Lady Jedi! We are in public!"

Chey-Linn screamed, her voice briefly cracking. "Aah! Just shut up! Just shut the hell up, you cretins!"

Nerim doubled over laughing in sadistic glee. Even compared to his use of telekinesis earlier, he had never felt so powerful. He wasn't quite able to read her thoughts, but he took a greatly un-Jedilike pleasure in scrambling them up. It was almost intoxicating; once he started, it was very difficult to stop.

Fully losing her temper, Chey-Linn pointed at Aesha. "Look, you will escort me to your room and—"

Aesha grimaced and reared back.

"—AND REFRAIN FROM INTERFERING in our SEARCH for CONTRABAND!" Chey-Linn loudly added.

Nerim stopped laughing, and raised his head up in surprise. After all that, she gave the game away?

Aesha seemed similarly surprised. "Excuse me, contraband? What could you possibly—"

"Under article five section A of the Sith Containment Act, you are being detained!" Chey-Linn said forcefully, drawing her lightsaber hilt.

"Whoa!" Nerim raised his hands. He was shocked by the speed of escalation. That sludgy, crawling sensation only grew stronger. There was something thick in the air.

"Move!" Chey-Linn said to Aesha, gesturing her to move back into her room. Aesha kept her hands up and nervously walked backwards.

Nerim quickly fished his communicator out of his utility belt and pressed down on the button. "Master...?" He began, before realizing it wasn't on. He cursed. The battery had run out abnormally quickly while they were trapped in the Temple, and he hadn't had the time to recharge it since they returned. The others might have in the airspeeder ride back, but he passed out before he could plug anything in.

He was faced with the decision to run and inform the senior Jedi and leave Aesha alone with an angry Chey-Linn, and quickly realized it was no decision at all. He swiftly followed the two. "Calm yourself down, Chey-Linn!"

"Quiet!" She barked at him. "And stay back! You're obviously no help at all, at best! Do not interfere!"

He bit the inside of his cheek. He had really pushed her too far this time. "This is even against Haaka Mahn's orders!"

"Those orders were given before you were sent to sabotage me!" She replied. She stepped into Aesha's room, and Nerim swiftly followed before she could shut the door on him. Chey-Linn closed her eyes for a moment. "I sense something Dark in this room."

Nerim tried his best to reach out, and was surprised to find he felt something too—albeit not what he would describe as Dark in nature. It was a small trickle of that same waterfall-like feeling he had in the Revanchist Temple. Aesha nervously swallowed, but did not respond.

Chey-Linn's eyes moved towards Aesha's desk, a large, opulent workspace set next to a tall stained glass window which streamed with early morning light. She moved forward and began ransacking the drawers in Aesha's desk, keeping one eye on the Cathar.

"Hold on, be reasonable," Nerim said as he attempted to remember back to his studies, to pinpoint what law she was referring to. He was made to study it prior to the mission as well. "You don't need to toss all of her belongings. I'm not sure that's even legal!" He objected, desperately trying to buy time to just think.

Chey-Linn pulled out a book and slammed it on the desk with triumphant glee. It was obviously ancient, made of some sort of heavily treated material that gleamed as if dipped in resin. The text on the front was archaic, but Galactic Basic was a highly standardized language, and even four thousand years would not render it unreadable. Even if it did, though, the indented picture on the front would leave little to the imagination. It was, without a doubt, a manuscript of the lightsaber Forms.

Nerim balked, staring blankly at it and then raising his gaze to Aesha. "You...took a manuscript from the Temple?"

Aesha frowned with desperation. "Nerim, it is as I said on Raxus! I...I wish to be in tune with the Force! To be a Knight, like you!"

"Finally," Chey-Linn said with pleasure, smirking confidently and keeping her hilt raised towards Aesha. "We have everything we need. We have the contraband, the genetic evidence at the Temple, and we have a confession. Just think about how much easier this all could have been if you weren't actively sabotaging me."

"Nerim..." Aesha pleaded.

"Hold on!" Nerim said, pushing Chey-Linn to the side to get a better look at the book. His mind was racing for the memorized information he was seeking. "This is...This isn't a Sith text! The Sith Containment Act only allows us to detain or penalize citizens for holding specifically Sith texts, not just any alternative view of the Force!"

Chey-Linn looked at him, clearly unimpressed, still riding high off of her vindication. The morning light streamed through the glass over her face, covering it in a cascade of bright colors that almost hid her facial features, as if she were a floating pair of eyes in a sea of stained glass, marred by dark rings of fatigue. "It's from a Sith Temple! It is obviously a Sith text."

"It is NOT!" Aesha loudly objected. "It is from a Revanchist Temple! Revan was a Jedi!"

"Darth Revan was a Sith Lord!"

"You watch your tongue!" Aesha hissed. "Revan is a hero to my people!"

"Your primitive superstitions are not my concern!"

Aesha's pupils narrowed into menacing slits. "You get one more chance, offworlder."

Nerim felt that electric sensation stronger than he ever had, like a lightning bolt striking his spine. Aesha began to growl, and Nerim jumped into the conversation again. "Just wait a moment! Master Arwain has repeatedly told us that they were not Sith at the time of the Temple's founding!"

"Arwain's insanity is of even less value to me!" Chey-Linn sneered at him.

"She's a Master!" He tried to reason. "Can you recall if there is any case law of artifacts of a pre-Sith people falling under this restriction? Because I have no idea if this is legal or not! Just call Haa—"

"Why are you defending her?!" Chey-Linn said, her triumph transmuting back into fury at his obstruction. "Re-examine your priorities! This is a matter of existential importance! Our utmost priority is to prevent the return of the Sith!"

Nerim stared her down. "That is where we disagree."

"Then you are lost! Just as lost as these Sith-worshipping cat—"

Aesha broke into a sprint, running the short distance between herself and Chey-Linn, jumping in the air, and then kicking both of her heels into the Padawan's chest. With a great shattering, Chey-Linn was sent flying through the tall window beside the desk, and disappeared below the edge of it, while Aesha dropped to the floor.

Nerim ran to the window and looked down in horror, to see Chey-Linn tumble to a stop on an airspeeder landing pad two stories down. The fall looked harsh, but not fatal—especially not for someone as acrobatic as her. After a moment, she got up and ran into the hangar out of sight. "Aesha, you madwoman!" He sighed in, well, not relief, but at least a release of the immediate panic of death. "I mean, I understand, but that was nearly a murder!"

He turned to see Aesha already standing again, holding a short tube of metal. It was polished to a sheen with new parts, and had a button on the handle. No matter how he looked at it, it was definitely a lightsaber.

"Aww, that is illegal!" Nerim whined. "Why can't you just make things easy on me?"

"It's a replica!" She quickly explained. "I made it. It is nonfunctional."

He breathed a sigh of actual relief this time. Replicas were legal, as long as they didn't produce a blade. "Okay, good. So—" She tossed him the hilt, and he grabbed it, immediately feeling a calming rumble from the inside, that rightness and balance he would expect from a lightsaber, only, just slightly off. Like his before he could use the Force to align it. He blinked. "You made it with real parts?! Is there a crystal in here?"

"I have tried many times to make it a real lightsaber," She admitted to him, with both desperation and resolve. "I give it to you as a sign of trust. And also as a plea. I am...I am not a real Jedi. If she tries to kill us, I cannot protect us. You are my only hope."

"That's ridiculous. She won't try to kill us."

"What would you do if you were convinced beyond reason I was a Sith?"

He thought for a moment, and decided not to answer it honestly. He grabbed her wrist. "Come on, we need to get to my Master."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 31: Could Use A Little More Training​

Nerim rushed out of the room with Aesha in tow. A concerned maid stuck her head out from a doorway, and Nerim pointed at her. "Call the guards!" He shouted, then ran down the hall back towards where he had come from. He only vaguely remembered the twists and turns they had taken to get here, and even then he realized after a few moments of running that the Jedi wouldn't even be where they had left them.

"Damn," he said sharply, turning to Aesha as they ran. "Where's your father?"

She thought for a moment. "He should be two levels up from here, in his study! He always—"

They slid to a stop as two guards rounded the corner, saw them, and drew their blasters. "There he is!" One said, leveling his pistol at Nerim. "Step away from the princess!"

"Whoa, whoa!" He raised his hands.

Aesha stepped in front of him. "Hold your fire!"

The guards, one a younger man and one quite a bit older, glanced at each other. "Excuse me, your highness, we were alerted to a kidnapping by a Dark Jedi—"

"Wait! I'm not the Dark Jedi!" Nerim whined. "I don't even think she is!"

"He's helping me, not kidnapping me!" Aesha spoke over him. "Arrest the Human Lady Jedi!"

The younger one had an expression of utter confusion on his face, but the older one kept it together. "That's quite the conflicting report with what the Lady Jedi said. If you are what you say you are, relinquish her to our custody—"

"Okay!" Nerim said happily, while simultaneously Aesha glared at the guard and shouted "I am not a thing to be relinquished!"

"Priorities, Aesha!" Nerim snapped at her, as they heard another pair of footsteps rush up a set of stairs.

Chey-Linn, with impressive alacrity—especially given her bruises—bounded to the top of the stairs at the end of the hallway. The two guards stood between the Jedi, and while the younger one was skittish and jumped to point his blaster at Chey-Linn, the older one kept steadily pointed towards Nerim.

Chey-Linn limped forward, defiant of the silent threat pointed at her. "Stand down. In the name of the Republic, the princess is under arrest."

The young guard blinked. "Under arrest?" He turned his head slightly, keeping his eyes on Chey-Linn, and spoke to the older guard. "I thought it was—"

She drew her lightsaber hilt and pointed it at Nerim. "That one is also defying the law. Who knows where he's taking her."

Nerim frowned. "From my point of view—"

Aesha stamped her foot. "Stop gawking and arrest her!"

The younger guard nervously began to lower his gun, and then raise it again, unsure of his next action. "W-what do we do? She's a Jedi. They have the right to..."

The older one spoke in a level voice. "We're loyal to the chieftain. Both of you, drop your swords. We'll handle this like civilized people when order is restored."

"Okay," Nerim said as Chey-Linn simultaneously said "No."

Chey-Linn continued. "You have no authority to demand that. I am acting as a representative of the central body of the Republic, and you must yield."

Nerim began to sense something, a rumbling in the room, a great anger emanating from Chey-Linn. A deep, roiling disquiet that was beginning to boil over. He felt flashes of rage and resentment, words rising to the back of his head unbidden, as if from another mental voice. Unfair, it growled. A quick mental checklist flashed in his mind, a list of laws and procedures, checked boxes. No, worse. Insubordinate. Illegal.

He placed a hand to the side of his head at the sudden shock of the alien thoughts. It's crystal clear, the voice snarled, Done everything right. Savages. He felt the pain of joints and bruises. Even attacked me. Cannot happen. Cannot be allowed. Cannot stand. Can't. Can't. Can't.

It was all too much. There was something else, too, some sort of...writhing. Retching, even. Something was deeply wrong in a way he couldn't account for, even beyond the energy she was putting off. Nerim cast his eyes down for a moment, and then raised them. "I can't give you my lightsaber if she gets to keep hers."

Chey-Linn ignited her lightsaber, a cold blue glow engulfing the hallway. "This will be settled in a high court, not in this tree by a bunch of palace guards in the Outer Rim. I will consider any further resistance a form of insurrection."

"Sir..." The young guard said nervously.

The older one flicked a switch on his blaster. "Set to stun. We have to ensure Aesha's safety."

He felt it again, that sudden flicker of vindication turning into rage at being denied. That sensation of victory being snatched out from under you, that burning fury of deserving something and having that thing taken away. Chey-Linn began running forwards.

Nerim suddenly felt a sensation actually meant for him, that electric tugging, and ignited his lightsaber just in time to see the stun ring flying towards him. He deflected it sideways, searing a circle into the wall next to him. A split second later the younger one fired at Chey-Linn, who deflected it directly back at him. The guard was tossed into the back of his older companion, sending them both to the floor.

Aesha grabbed the back of Nerim's collar and pulled. "Follow me!"

Nerim began to run with her towards the edge of the tree's structure, throwing a quick glance behind to see Chey-Linn momentarily distracted by dealing with the guards, swinging her lightsaber down and cutting the younger's blaster in half. He then looked back to Aesha and kept running with her. "Where are we going?!"

"High gardens! We'll climb up the branches to the next floor!"

He stayed a step behind her until they ran right through a pair of glass doors that were, mercifully, already open. The exterior platform was almost like the gigantic half-circle balconies on Utapau, and were absolutely covered in flowers and vegetation of all sorts. A series of strong branches, varying in width from about that of his leg to about that of their airspeeder snaked through the gardens and above them, where he could see another smaller balcony that, hopefully, would lead to his Master.

Aesha wasted no time jumping from one branch to another, clearly already practiced in this shortcut. He scrambled after her, wasting precious seconds having to either strain himself to follow her steps or plan out alternative routes more suited to his skill set. He tried to focus on Chey-Linn's energy, sense where she was in relation to him, but distance and distraction made it grow faint. He cycled his mind through every different facet, hoping to lock on to her anger, or her train of thought, but each individual attempt failed.

Except...he still felt that retching. Now that he focused on it, he felt it all around him, in every direction. It was ill and draining, repulsive and enervating. It made him want to stop reaching out with the Force, it made using it feel as if he were trying to climb a ladder with a pair of broken arms. Could...everyone feel that? Is that why, he wondered, neither Haaka Mahn or Arwain had sensed this turmoil?

They had only managed to make it about a third of the way there when Chey-Linn ran into the gardens with them. She began climbing after them with great alacrity, and Nerim immediately realized he wouldn't be able to make it before she caught up. She was just faster than the two of them. He landed on a relatively wide and flat branch, and ignited his lightsaber.

Chey-Linn jumped up and landed to his left, about a dozen feet away, and ignited her own blade. The branch was wide enough to properly stand on, but not enough for two people to walk by one another. It was perpendicular to the City-Tree, and Chey-Linn stood between him and the tree. Behind him was only Aesha and a couple dozen more feet of branch before it widdled away to a few twigs hanging over the edge. Below him were a tangle of brambles that would drop him back down into the garden, if only just barely.

He felt that rage flowing through Chey-Linn again, like rapids pulling her forward. She pointed her blade at him. "I'm giving you one last chance to return to your duty!"

Nerim nervously raised his blade in front of himself. He really wasn't sure he could beat her if he had to. He agreed with almost everything that frustrated her; she was better than him. Stronger in the Force. Even when he could only intuit that fact from context clues he knew it, but now as they stood apart from each other, he could feel it, he could feel the difference in pressure. He considered surrender.

Refuse, he heard her echo. I have the advantage. The skill, the environment, the law, the Force. Refuse, and let me prove it.

Aesha shuddered behind him. "Nerim...?"

Her lightsaber was most certainly not set to training mode. Neither was Nerim's. He swallowed. "You've already assaulted multiple people. I can't let you hurt her. We need—"

Heat. He felt burning heat across his face, like he just looked in a furnace. "She attacked me!" Chey-Linn yelled.

"We need to contact our—"

She stepped forward, and Nerim stepped back in fear. "No more stalling, not after what you did the last time!" She shouted. "Drop it or I will make you!"

Nerim took a deep breath. He stood there, still for a moment, letting the wind pass over him. The words 'I surrender' hung in his throat, but then, between the anger and retching and fear, he felt something from behind him. Aesha's nervous energy, the shivering of her muscles, tenseness of her core. The same exact thing he felt from her in the freezer on Raxus Secundus. She needed him then, and she needed him now. He hadn't thought he could help her then, but he did. He wasn't sure he could help her now, but...

He kept his blade raised. There was nothing else to say.

Chey-Linn's face darkened. "Haaka was right about you. You were always a time bomb waiting to go off."

Nerim's eyes widened, but he didn't have time to respond in any way before she stepped forward and swung at him. He deflected the attack, careful not to let the momentum carry him to the side where he might fall. She was highly trained in Shii-Cho, the most fundamental form of lightsaber combat, well-suited to this clash on a limited tree branch. Meanwhile, Juyo was absurdly risky in this circumstance; Nerim thought that it was at best a coinflip—and worse, it would almost certainly end in a lethal blow.

He defaulted to the basics of Makashi, making quick swipes and jabs in response, shuffling backwards and forwards on their limited axis of movement. He did not know his style as well as she knew hers. Each clash favored her, leaving him primarily on the defensive. Her superior speed let her swing from a multitude of angles, and he had to keep his hands close to his core to make up for it, limiting his offensive options.

He immediately felt that oppressive anticipation of failure, that knowing that he was going to lose. There was nothing to exploit here, no environment, no time to pull any tricks, no distractions. The time it would take him to draw his blaster would be suicide, and all of his other gimmicks were either something she knew about, or something that required lateral movement that was impossible on the narrow branch.

Nerim felt the crawling of electricity on his back, a tug towards Aesha. He somehow knew she was about to try something. "No!" He called back to her, a mere moment before she attempted to jump to another branch to circle around. "Don't fight her! You'll only get hurt! Even if she defeats me," he huffed, batting the blue lightsaber away with a clash of yellow sparks, "Even if she kills me, surrender immediately!"

Aesha hesitated, as Chey-Linn moved in and chopped her lightsaber down towards Nerim's waiting guard. He intercepted it, clashing with her blade. They moved and shifted in the bind, pulling and pushing each other, trying to get to some sort of advantageous position as the plasma fields of their blades slid in jumps and starts, intertwining and sticking together.

Nerim leveraged his strength and pushed, trying to get their bind in a position where he could safely deliver a kick to his opponent, but Chey-Linn pushed back with surprising strength, empowered by the Force. Nerim grit his teeth. "Are you really...trying to kill me?"

Chey-Linn looked him in the eye, her face alternating in color rapidly as their blades discharged golden light against one another. "I will do what I must."

"Mar'e," Nerim grimaced. They broke from the bind, and three short clashes followed. Nerim knocked their blades off of the center of battle, and attempted to use the opportunity to ram into Chey-Linn with his shoulder, hoping to begin the process of knocking her off the branch. He miscalculated, as she used her lower center of gravity to duck underneath him, causing him to stumble over her and nearly fall himself.

He twisted his body to stay on the branch as they nearly traded places. His desperate attempts at balancing were brought short when Chey-Linn slashed at him. His awkward positioning made him rely solely on his left hand to defend, and it wasn't enough. She broke right through his guard and cut into his bicep, and Nerim felt the searing blade pass through his flesh as if it wasn't even there—and then he realized, it wasn't, not anymore. A deep, primal animal panic took hold of him as he recognized the inch-deep gash in his flesh, almost to the bone. The edges of the tunic it had cut through were burning, and he involuntarily let loose a scream of pain and terror. He vaguely recognized that, at the same time, Aesha screamed out his name.

Chey-Linn took the space in the center of the branch he had been standing on, and planted her heel in his stomach, kicking him off. He felt smaller branches batter his body as he fell between them, some snapping around him and others buffeting him off in another direction. He attempted to reach out with his left hand and grab a passing branch to stop his fall, only to realize his arm didn't respond properly, half of the muscles he was attempting to use were simply not there.

He tumbled to a stop in a net of vines, hanging precariously over the long drop to ground level, and looked back up. His lightsaber had slid to a stop on the branch they were fighting on, precariously balanced, and Chey-Linn looked down at him, an expression of relief and triumph on her face. He could feel, she was not only glad that she won, she was relieved that it was easy.

His heart jumped to his throat as he saw Aesha bend down to pick up his lightsaber and ignite it, taking a battle stance. Chey-Linn's smile dropped and her eyes widened, her pupils shrunk to a pinprick, and she slowly turned her head to the Cathar princess. "So...You are training in the Sith arts. You are a meager, savage imitation of their evil."

Aesha held up Nerim's lightsaber, bathing her face in its yellow-green glow. "I may be just a fake," she said with a wavering voice, "But I am a fake Jedi."

Chey-Linn sneered at her. "We are NOT the same," she said, and then began to march towards Aesha.

Nerim's heart pounded faster and faster as he scrambled amid the branches, grappling for anything he could get a hold of and scrambling upwards as fast as he physically could with his left arm only partially functional. Maybe even faster. "No, no, no, no, no..." he muttered to himself, feeling a pit in his stomach, as if the sludge in his soul had coalesced into a black hole. Fatigue, searing pain, and most of all panic swirled and crashed in his mind, his weary limbs dragging himself up bit by bit, as he heard the first clashes.

Chey-Linn engaged Aesha cautiously, attempting to tease out any hidden tricks or skill she had. Aesha engaged heartily and bravely, casting her fear aside and pressing the attack. She was almost as fast as Chey-Linn, and even though her movements were stiff and she overcommitted to her swings more often than not, she was much stronger, and her range was much greater. Even with her nearly-nonexistent skills at lightsaber combat, she was dangerous.

Nerim was still desperately climbing as he felt as sudden foreign pang of fear. He glanced up to see Aesha bring down a formidable diagonal swipe, which Chey-Linn only barely leaned back and dodged in time. The Padawan's breath caught as she realized the sudden danger, her mind focused on what she perceived to be a threat—a Dark Sider in training, what she was sworn to destroy. In her mind, there was no room to hold back.

Aesha tried to catch her on the backswing, pulling the blade in a horizontal slash at Chey-Linn's shoulder height. It was a terrible mistake, made only more terrible by the fact Nerim could see exactly where it would lead a moment before it did. Chey-Linn quickly dodged underneath it, dropping to one knee while rushing forward and letting loose her own horizontal slash.

Chey-Linn's blue blade sliced directly through Aesha's legs, just above the knee, burning through her flesh with an electric hum and a hiss. He could almost swear he heard the bubbling and popping of her flesh at the point of contact, as the Cathar Princess let out a silent, shocked breath and fell to the branch beneath her with a sickening thud. Nerim's lightsaber slipped out of her hands and deactivated, beginning a long fall down the hundreds of stories to the savanna floor.

"NO!" Nerim screamed. He summoned all the strength he was capable of and made the final jump, soaring onto the branch a small distance from the two of them. Aesha was silent in shock, her eyes aimlessly staring forward at the branch beneath her as she struggled to breathe and Chey-Linn slowly turned to face him.

He pulled Aesha's uncompleted lightsaber from his belt and sent a surge of power down his arm, through his hand and into the hilt. He heard several sharp clicks, and then pressed the button, igniting a blade just as brilliantly blue as Chey-Linn's was cold. He glared forward at her, feeling a swirling in the air, an upwelling of power from somewhere within him. All of his fear had transformed into fury.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 32: Going To Get Us Both Killed​

Nerim stepped backwards, inviting Chey-Linn to step forwards and away from Aesha as she silently writhed on the branch, trying to move legs that were no longer connected to her. Chey-Linn took the opportunity, swiftly advancing, raising her lightsaber with a short flourish.

"Are you looking for a repeat?" She said, without a hint of mirth or a smile. Whatever ability he had to read her mind was gone now, drowned out by the thumping of his heart in his ears, the clench of his teeth and the speed of his breath.

Nerim pointed his blade at her, his left hand noticeably shaky in its grip, mostly relying on his right. "Are you?"

He saw her tense up, and then rush forward with the intent to attack. Nerim decided he was ready for a coinflip. He ran directly at her, surprising her with his aggressiveness, and put his momentum into a vicious slash from below to cut diagonally across her body upwards. She blocked it without much effort, but the inertia carried their blades upwards, giving him a clear shot to kick her directly in the gut.

Her center of gravity tilted backwards, making her have to pull one foot behind herself to stop from falling on her rear. He was ready for it, and slashed at the leg that remained forward, catching her in an awkward position where she couldn't move her leg out of the way without falling forward. She relied on her strength to block his blow, turning her wide stance into an advantage, evenly distributing the force across her entire body in a way that was almost impossible to overpower.

However, Nerim could easily improvise with that. The horse stance, though it has powerful benefits when blocking, effectively cripples your range—somewhere she already suffered compared to him. He was safe from any counter-attack, and let his blade deactivate, swapping the hilt to his crippled left hand. Chey-Linn's lightsaber wildly swung to the side and she leaned forward off-balance, surprised by the sudden move.

Nerim grabbed her sword-hand with his right arm and pushed it outwards away from him, and moved in. He placed Aesha's lightsaber hilt under Chey-Linn's chin, and pressed the button. In the minuscule delay between pressing the button and the blade extending, he saw her eyes turn wild with fear, and in an incredible burst of speed she threw herself backwards. The blue blade singed her bangs as she fell back, tossing herself off the branch entirely at the mercy of gravity.

Nerim was unable to keep hold of her with his other hand, but any attempt she could have made at a counterattack was rendered moot as she fell. They broke apart, and found that luck was on her side; a quite small branch had found itself directly below her, and she landed on it unsteadily with both of her feet, rapidly attempting to regain her balance. She looked up at him, her expression having entirely changed to one of shock. The ease at which she was fighting earlier had entirely disappeared, replaced with the horrible realization; she could die here.

He paced impatiently, swapping Aesha's lightsaber back to his right hand and letting it trail along side him, humming as it cut the air. It briefly occurred to him, too, that he had just tried to kill her. The thought trembled in his head, as if it were a nervous child raising its hand in question. Something else in his brain, a snarling creature, snapped back at it, and it quietly retracted its objection. The lightsaber buzzed in his hand, eager to return to battle.

From below on the garden floor, a group of palace guards arrived, pointing their blasters upwards and squinting through the occluding sunlight to make out the two Jedi. From their position, Aesha wasn't visible, and so they confusedly began speaking into their communicators asking for instruction. He realized that at this rate, Jarroa either was or would quickly be informed, and by extension, so would their Masters. It wouldn't take them more than a minute or two to arrive.

Suddenly, he realized something poking at the edge of his consciousness, a brief glimpse into Chey-Linn's mind. In her, he found the exact opposite thought; her hands trembled as she came to the conclusion that she was truly, deeply alone. He felt...a flicker of what he had experienced in his nightmare, somewhere within her.

It was entirely irrational, but she was somehow convinced that she was never going to see Haaka Mahn again. Her senses had fooled her in some way, as if she had vertigo, like her inner ear was convinced she was spinning and falling even though she was still, and she could not help but heed the visceral sensation over cold rationalism.

Chey-Linn steeled herself, and crouched onto the branch, letting it drop with her weight and then spring back up with her leap. She soared through the air and flipped above him, landing on her feet on the side farther from the City-Tree. He moved forward and swung his saber with both arms, clashing with her. She breathed in sharply as she mustered her strength, attempting to push his blade back into himself.

He stared her in the eye, trying his best not to lose control, when he suddenly saw over her shoulder; Aesha's body, now unconscious—or worse—limp on the tree branch. Both of her legs scattered behind her. Suddenly, he felt that waterfall sensation from the Temple again, that white-water current now pushing him forwards. He didn't shy away from the conflict, putting his full weight into it. Chey-Linn's eyes widened as she felt him begin to overpower her in the bind, and she broke out of it, stepping backwards and then forward again for a quick counterattack.

She slashed at him several times in rapid succession, pushing him backwards, utilizing every ounce of her strength and speed. In one last maneuver, quicker than the eye could see in a well-practiced motion, she moved to one side and then the other, spinning to slash at him. It was faster than he could possibly respond, faster than Arwain had ever gone against him. And her slash went completely wide, as she over stepped and her foot slid halfway off the branch, throwing her balance off completely. He didn't even have to defend against it. For a brief moment, suspended in motion, he saw her eyes flatten with recognition, and her confidence leave her.

With half as much supernatural speed, Nerim responded by lunging forward, keeping his blade between himself and hers, and stomping on her foot. She grit her teeth in pain, but maintained control, readjusting her footing and trying to wind her lightsaber behind his defenses. He took advantage of his closeness and stepped in between her feet, twisting to place his back to her as he did so. He blocked her lightsaber with the blade in his right hand, and then used his left hand to grab the hilt of her lightsaber between her own two hands. He then began to push with both arms, away from the both of them.

Somehow, his crippled arm was outputting just as much—no, more force than he normally could muster with either arm in perfect health. Chey-Linn began to panic, attempting to knee or kick him, but his closeness ensured she couldn't get any proper leverage. Both of her hands were firmly trying to hold the lightsaber hilt, and she was unable to circle around due to the narrow branch. If he were in her position, he would've bit his crippled arm at the lightsaber wound, but the thought apparently either didn't occur or didn't appeal to her.

Instead, Chey-Linn suddenly let go of her lightsaber, and kicked him forward. Before he could turn around, he felt a familiar wave of strong pressure, and slid even further forwards, threatening to fall over entirely. He whipped around to see her thrusting both her hands out, and the air rumbled around him in a way that he felt more than heard. Suddenly it reversed, and Chey-Linn's lightsaber writhed out of his hand, beginning to fly back towards her.

"No." He reached his arm out, and the lightsaber froze in mid-air, shuddering back and forth. He realized a moment later that the voice had come from him. That sensation was growing stronger, and stronger still. He realized what it was, what his Master had described in the Temple: Righteous fury.

Chey-Linn was obviously surprised by the resistance, and the lightsaber slid in the air towards Nerim, before she regained her form and redoubled her efforts. Nerim stepped forward, pulling harder. Chey-Linn's voice escaped her throat in a strained groan as she used every last drop of her strength, but perhaps she was fatigued from overuse of the Force, or perhaps that righteous fury was stronger than either of them had realized. He stepped forward again, and it jiggled yet closer, until it was close enough.

Nerim slashed the hilt in half, splitting Chey-Linn's lightsaber down the middle. There was a brief explosion of blue energy as Aesha's blade passed through Chey-Linn's crystal, small arcs of azure plasma jetting in opposite directions out the top and bottom of it like a quasar, thoroughly melting all the components. The crystal fell to the branch superheated but unharmed, bouncing off and somewhere into the garden below. Nerim huffed in exertion, deactivating Aesha's saber and continuing to move forwards.

Chey-Linn's face paled. "My bla—"

She was cut off as Nerim's fist found its way into her jaw. He heard a crack as she dropped to her back on the branch. "We are not even CLOSE to done, chakaar!" He shouted, sitting with one knee on either side of her, his fist raised threateningly.

She coughed, sputtering and choking until a tooth was expelled from her throat and drooled out onto the tree in a mix of saliva and blood. His left hand shot out and wrapped around her throat, his right fist, still holding the deactivated hilt of Aesha's blade, ready to punch her directly into the branch below. That animal in his head snarled again. Cripple her, it growled. She deserves to lose something too.

His left arm, still shivering with pain and alien in its operation to him, missing some of its structure and relying on the Force to remain functional, pressed into her throat, cutting off her air. It squeezed as tight as it could, and her face began to turn red from the pressure.

But somehow, his right hand hesitated. He realized something felt wrong in his palm. The crystal of Aesha's blade was humming dissonantly. It...disapproved. Somehow, as he focused on it, he heard it speak in Aesha's voice in his head. Not me. Don't use me for this. I am a tool of a Jedi.

Nerim's mind snapped back into place, and he broke out of the stream. The righteous fury still swarmed around him, pouring down from the sky directly onto Chey-Linn, as if the world itself were trying to pummel her. But it broke around him, splashing off of his skin instead of flowing through him.

His left arm relaxed, at first voluntarily, and then very much not as whatever vitality he had been pressing into it left him. It hung limply at his side, throbbing with pain exceeding almost anything he had felt before. He leaned back on his heels and exhaled sharply at the sensation, while Chey-Linn warily looked up at him.

Suddenly, he felt a flare of anxiety behind and above him. "Chey-Linn!" He heard Haaka Mahn's gurgling voice shout, and then a series of flexing branches as the Knight jumped through the foliage down towards them. It was followed by a series of steps that were lighter, but no less quick.

Nerim climbed off of Chey-Linn and then fell backwards, his weary knees giving out and rolling him onto his back, his legs still resting on top of hers. He clenched his teeth in pain and closed his eyes, and when they opened, the blurry image of Haaka Mahn stood above him, the Knight's blue lightsaber active and pointed downwards.

"Get...Aesha...bacta," Nerim huffed.

"What did you do?!" The Knight asked, his tone clearly accusatory.

Arwain rushed up behind him, poking her head over his shoulder like a curious parrot that just so happened to have a sword at the ready. "This is rather bad. All three of them need medical—Nerim, whose lightsaber is that?"

"Arwain. Priorities." Nerim said through grit teeth.

"Right," she said. "Haaka, you grab Aesha. I'll—"

Nerim didn't hear the rest, as he was suddenly preoccupied with a ringing in his ears and a feeling of his peripheral vision blurring and then turning black. For a moment he felt like he was falling, and then he was unconscious.


--------------


Nerim had awoken from his dreamless sleep with his left arm in a hefty, bacta-packed cast, and immediately stood up and got out of bed before he had even realized he was in a bed. Arwain, who had been sitting on a chair next to him, immediately shoved him back down into the bed.

"Whoa there. You need to take it easy," Arwain said cautiously. She looked him over while he twisted his head to try and get an impression of where they were. It was a hospital room of some sort, small but private. It was afternoon outside. He must've been out for at least several hours.

"Huh," he said. "I'm not in jail. Or..." He glanced to Arwain. "You're in jail with me."

She lightly exhaled in amusement, but didn't smile. "Good instinct, but no. We're...I hesitate to say 'okay', but we're not in immediate danger right now. The—"

Nerim bolted upright in the bed again, his heart racing. "Where's Aesha? Is she okay?"

His Master stared at him for a moment. "I...hesitate to say 'okay.' But she's stable. She actually woke up a few moments after you passed out. Thanks to her swift testimony, you're not currently under arrest. I'm not sure if she's awake right now, she may still be suspended in a bacta tank. I don't think they'll be able to reattach her legs."

Nerim took a deep breath, and tried to relax again. His left arm was entirely numb, so the pain was mostly gone from his body. He stared at the ceiling, not sure what to make of it all.

Arwain continued. "Aesha said that Chey-Linn went crazy and attacked the two of you. Is that true?"

He uncomfortably shifted position. "It's...Not exactly. Aesha threw the first blow. The first physical one, anyways."

Arwain looked at him, her expression neutral, examining him closely as he continued the story from the beginning. He told her how they had argued on the way, admitted he was needling her as best he could. He explained their difference in legal opinion, to which Arwain offered no commentary even when Nerim prompted her with a short silence. Then he continued, describing how Aesha lost patience with the insults, and a fight broke out.

His hands—or well, his one hand that was free—trembled as he finished the description of the fight. "I disarmed her using the Force, and pinned her to the ground. Master, I...I wanted to cripple her. I think I wanted to kill her."

His Master slowly blinked, leaned forward and studying his expression. "And?"

"I—I don't think I would've stopped myself," he admitted weakly. "I didn't stop because I wanted to. I stopped because...Something like a voice told me to. If Aesha's crystal wasn't there, I don't know if..."

He trailed off. For the first time in seemingly so long, Arwain smiled, and placed her hand on his head comfortingly. "Nerim. Remember what I told you, on Raxus Secundus? A Jedi draws strength from the world around him. Don't think yourself deficient because you regained control of yourself from listening to an outside source. Take confidence in the fact that you can listen, even when you don't want to."

Nerim looked up at her, feeling his throat contract. Tears started falling from his eyes, and he tried not to sob. "Master, what's happening?" He asked, not even entirely sure what he was referring to.

She gently rubbed the top of his head. "I don't know, my Apprentice. There is something...wrong in the Force. Not just here, but everywhere. It is as if..." she trailed off, and then shook her head. "I have become aware of a great Darkness, somewhere. But I cannot pinpoint it. I will have to bring this to the attention of the Council."

Arwain's expression suddenly became pained. "Ugh," she sighed, "The Council. Master Fae is going to kill both of us."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 33: Always Two​

After another hour of Arwain grilling him for every detail he could remember about the altercation, Nerim wiped away the last remnants of his tears. "Where are Haaka and Chey-Linn?"

"Chey-Linn is in holding, currently. Her wounds weren't that bad," Arwain leaned back in her chair. "I imagine Jarroa will want some form of justice, which will probably mean transporting her back to Coruscant to hold a trial in a high court, to determine if there was any actual wrongdoing."

Nerim looked down at his cast solemnly. "...Master, was I in the wrong? Legally speaking?"

She took a deep breath. "I actually don't know. I searched for an answer while you were unconscious. I don't think that a piece of Mandalorian Wars-era Revanchist literature has been recovered by a non-Jedi since the Ruusan Reformation. There may well be no precedent as to whether or not this counts as a Sith artifact. There will have to be an in-depth study into the author, as well as every other facet of the Temple. The trial, even if expedited, will probably take years."

Arwain tapped her foot for a moment and continued. "If it does end up being considered a Sith Artifact, then you were in the wrong for defending Aesha, and she was in the wrong for possessing and defending it. If it ends up being recognized as something else...Aesha is still probably in trouble for starting a physical altercation, but it may get dismissed because of Chey-Linn's behavior."

Nerim stared at the cast, and then looked up to his Master. "Well then, I hope it's not a Sith artifact."

She chuckled. "It's not. They were still recognized members of the Jedi Order at that time, as anxiety-inducing as the current Order finds that statement. But who knows? Regardless, I don't think you were wrong for defending Aesha. Although, I wish you could've found a more peaceful solution..."

"Me too," Nerim said, quickly and bitterly. He reached down and held the hilt of Aesha's lightsaber in his lap.

"You underestimate your power, young Padawan," she said, standing up. "You have the ability to greatly affect others. For good, or for ill. Chey-Linn may very well have acted drastically without your antagonism, but that is hard to say. A little easier is that I don't think Aesha would have pursued Jedi artifacts so vigorously if she wasn't so impressed with you."

"So..." Nerim frowned. "You're saying this is all my fault."

She thought for a moment. "It would be easy to make that case. For any of us, really. You, for affecting people in the way you did. Chey-Linn, for her lack of self control. Myself, most certainly, for putting the pieces in position for us to make these mistakes. What's important now is for everyone to reexamine themselves and correct our own mistakes. And also..."

She was interrupted as the door opened. A protocol droid waddled in, stiffly bowing to the two. "Excuse me, Lady Jedi, Master Jedi. Your presence has been requested by the royal family. If, that is, you are well enough to attend?"


--------------------------


Nerim awkwardly entered the large antechamber, just outside of an operating room. Inside the smooth white room, stacked with medical equipment and several droids and sentient doctors alike, laying back on a thin medical bed was Aesha. Or at least, most of her. Her legs were cleanly amputated just above the knee, bandaged up for now.

She looked dreadfully tired, and her fur was slick and slimey with bacta residue. Her eyes were red, and her pupils were flat and lifeless. Jarroa stood over her, holding her hand in his, his face etched with deep worry. Nerim briefly noticed, set out on the table next to them were two cybernetic legs, currently being worked on by a medical droid with what seemed to be a dozen small arms.

He slowly moved up to the two Cathar, as if expecting to be attacked, and Arwain somberly followed behind. When Aesha noticed them, her ears slightly perked up. "Nerim!" She called, not quite enthusiastic, but moreso relieved.

Nerim made small, demure steps up to her. "Aesha. I'm so, so sorry. I failed you."

She gave him a weary smile, which quickly faded. "It is okay. The doctors told me that compared to the past, cybernetics have progressed much recently. This is a good time to lose some limbs."

"Tomorrow would always be better," Nerim sullenly quipped. Aesha's smile reignited again for a moment, and she chuckled.

"You did all you could," she reassured him. "It is not as if you got away unscathed."

He looked down at the cast, knowing that his arm would heal and be good as new in a couple months. Unable to meet her eyes, he looked sideways to the table next to her bed. A datapad displaying a readout of her medical charts sat there, automatically scrolling through readouts of her various vitals. His eyes suddenly focused on one particular line.

Aesha's midi-chlorian concentration. It was just about 7% lower than his. He was just above the cutoff for a Jedi recruiter to begin the process of analyzing him for Force Sensitivity, and she was just below it. Midi-chlorians fed off of the Force, and where it was in abundance, they would multiply in reaction. It was no guarantee of true sensitivity, let alone suitability for the Order, but it was a marker. Infants with higher counts than him had been judged unsuitable and passed by before. He couldn't help but wonder...

He turned to Arwain. "Master, her midi—"

"That's not our job, Nerim," Arwain immediately replied, placing a hand on his shoulder and winking at him. She looked up to Jarroa, and nodded. "I apologize on behalf of the Order, Elder Jarroa. Nerim did his best, but we have failed you."

"Yes. You have." He nodded gruffly. "We will see to it that justice is done."

"I'm pleasantly surprised you did not execute Chey-Linn on the spot," Arwain said, placing her hands on her hips. "She would not have been so lucky on most Outer Rim worlds."

Aesha lifted the stumps of her legs experimentally, cringing in pain. "We are no stranger to this concept. One of our greatest cultural heroes, Juhani, was once a Jedi who fell to the Dark. But Revan refused to kill her," she said, looking at Nerim and smiling—this time a real, genuine smile of admiration. "Just like you."

"Um," Nerim's eyes darted to the side and back. "I'm not sure how to feel about that comparison," he admitted. Then something important occurred to him. "Oh, right!"

He pulled out Aesha's lightsaber, and held it in his hands for a moment. Aesha's eyes widened, and she began to reach out for it. Nerim quickly pulled it back.

"Uh, you know I can't give it to you in working order, right?" He said apologetically. He called upon the Force, and it clicked sharply out of alignment. It was utterly bizarre how that process had become second nature to him. Then he handed it over.

She laughed quietly and took it. "I know. But now it is a real weapon of the Jedi."

Jarroa looked down at the lightsaber, and then sternly at his daughter. "You regularly invite disaster on yourself and our house, child," he said, holding her hand tighter.

She gave him a toothy grin.

The group talked for a time, until Arwain crossed her arms. "I believe we best leave now. The Council is more than anxious to hear our report in person, I'm sure. Thank you dearly for your hospitality, Elder."

Jarroa nodded stoically. Nerim placed a gentle hand on Aesha's shoulder. "Goodbye, Aesha. Until we meet again."

She nodded, leaning back into her bed, letting the fatigue return. "Last time, you said we probably wouldn't ever meet again. Don't be wrong again, this time."

He smiled, and turned to walk out with his Master. As they exited the medical suite and began to make the trek down, he sensed something...familiar approaching them.

"Master Jedi! Master Jedi!" A familiar young voice called out. The two turned, to see a young Cathar flanked on either side by guards run towards him. It was one of the kids Nerim had hung out with on his first day, when Aesha was showing him around. "Master Jediii!" he called out excitedly.

He sheepishly approached. Arwain had told him repeatedly to just accept that laypersons would refer to any Jedi as 'master', but it still felt so wrong to hear. He was one of the ones that fell from the branches quite often. "Hello there!" He greeted.

The Cathar was holding something in his hand, which Nerim quite suddenly realized with a shock was the source of that familiar energy—his lightsaber hilt. "I have your sword!" The Cathar said, presenting it to him on both palms upturned like some sort of holy relic. "I found it in the tall grass!"

Nerim carefully took it from the Cathar, and grinned. "Thank you so much! That makes things a lot easier."

The young Cathar beamed with pride, swaying forward and back on his heels and toes excitedly. One of the guards smiled somewhat apologetically to Arwain. "The young lad alerted us right away, but he wanted to return it himself."

Arwain grinned at Nerim, as if to say 'See? Sending you on a wild bantha chase was a good idea', and pat the Cathar on the head. "Well done! We should get you a medal for this."

The child's eyes sparkled with glee.


---------------------------


The trip back to Coruscant was mostly quiet. It seemed that Haaka Mahn and Chey-Linn had actually arrived half a day earlier, expedited as quickly as possible thanks to the dispute. Arwain seemed rather tense as they landed at the Temple in the Coruscant night, and Jianno ditched the two of them as quickly as she could, before she could get wrapped up in another Council meeting.

It was a smart move. As soon as the Jedi walked into the Temple, they were already being requested to ride up to the High Council chambers. Seeing no reason (or viable excuse) to refuse, they sucked it up and began the long elevator ride.

Nerim looked out the thin glass window that let in the moonlight as the lift whirred. "They have to produce faster elevators than this."

Arwain nodded. "They do."

"So why don't we use them?"

"Perhaps the point is to wait. It's a meditative technique."

"It's also an interrogation technique!"

She laughed softly. She hadn't told him what to expect, but it was clear she was anxious. After a few more moments, they reached the top, and the door silently slid open. They exited into the center of the High Council chamber, to find it completely empty...save one figure.

Grand Master Fae Coven stood in front of a large window, her hands clasped behind her back. Three of Coruscant's moons hung in the air around her, still catching sunlight even as the planet's surface around them was a mixture of dark gunmetal gray and beaming electric lights. Her stance appeared almost military to his eyes, entirely unlike anything he had ever seen from her.

"I have read your preliminary reports," Fae said evenly, without turning to them, "And I have already spoken with Haaka Mahn and Chey-Linn."

Neither Nerim or Arwain spoke. Something about the situation felt like they didn't quite have permission to. The silence hung ominously in the air.

Fae quietly sighed. "I trust you understand how gravely serious it is for two Jedi to cross blades?"

"Yes, Master," both Nerim and Arwain answered simultaneously.

"Arwain. Why did you send Nerim along with Chey-Linn?" Fae's voice was not quite icy—she was incapable of such a thing—but there was definitely a cold ring to it.

"A failure of foresight," Arwain said simply. "I sensed danger. I failed to imagine that the danger would come in the form of conflict between the two. I believe our time immersed in the Revanchist Temple is a partial explanation, but—"

"In due time," Fae interrupted. "Nerim. Why did you engage in combat with Chey-Linn?"

Nerim thought about the answer for a few moments. Because she drew a blade on him? On Aesha? Because she was maybe breaking the law? What was the core reason? "Because I...I sensed she wanted to harm someone. I felt it was my duty."

Fae continued looking out into the field of moons, stars, and skyscrapers. "...In the time when I was a Knight, your behavior would have gotten you promoted, Nerim. You displayed bravery, skill, and you resisted temptation to fall to the Dark Side."

He dully realized she was referring to the Trials, of Courage, Skill, and Spirit, that one would have to pass on their way to Knighthood. She slowly turned around, looking Nerim in the eye. Her gaze was steely, but pained. Perhaps pain wasn't the right word. It was more like a pain that once was: Her eyes were weathered.

"You would have been inducted into the Army of Light," she said wistfully. "A few millennia earlier, into the Revanchist crusade, no doubt. There wouldn't be a Knight alive at that time that did not see you as a prime example of what a young Padawan needs to be."

He swallowed. It didn't feel like praise.

"It cannot be accepted in the modern era," Fae said with finality. "What you've done is a gamble we cannot—ever—afford to lose. By crossing blades with another Jedi, you run the risk of sowing the seeds for another Schism. But it can be worse than a Schism. For eight hundred years, the servants of Dark have had no place in the Galaxy. For eight hundred years, the only grand threat the Republic has faced has been from within. From us."

She strode up towards Nerim. They were practically the same height, now. He had always remembered her being taller. She stopped a few steps away from him, and he felt the great weight of her presence press further around him, as if the Force itself were telling him to take heed of everything she said.

"Nerim," she said softly, "The Jedi Order as it is today, is the greatest threat the Galaxy has ever known. We alone hold all knowledge, power, and control of the Force. If we were to fall, there would be nobody to stop us. We would be a greater scourge than any attempted Sith Empire ever was. Understand?"

He slowly nodded. He had never seen her this serious before.

"It is because of that, that I have spent my life teaching the Jedi Order to obliterate its self before venturing into meddling with the Galaxy."

A sudden memory appeared in Nerim's mind. Darth Machina's holocron. The Jedi Order deliberately holds its students back, teaches them to handicap themselves at every opportunity.

Fae nodded along to the rhythm of the words as they played out in his memory. "Yes, yes, the Sith can unintentionally give us insight from time to time."

He jumped in place. She could read his thoughts?! He immediately began the Litany of the Formless. How deep did his memory go? Did she know about Tetha—

"Nerim," she said wearily, "Please do not insult me. Of course I know. I'll get to it in due time."

His heart dropped and, internally defeated, he silently waited for her to continue.

"It has always been my belief that it is the place of the Order not to steward the Galaxy, but rather to prevent such domination entirely. The Galaxy is quite capable of providing for itself, but it is our solemn duty alone to oppose any and all conscious, malicious manipulation of the Force. And in an era where there are no Sith, that can only mean that our enemy is the Jedi."

Nerim struggled to move on from the morose realization that his mind had betrayed Tetha, but Fae had a way of speaking that just made him want to listen. He had never once gotten the impression that she was giving him now. If anything, the Jedi Temple seemed to be one gigantic monument to patting themselves on the back. It was certainly not as opulent as the palaces of secular royalty, but there was always a certain...pride in their humility.

Fae snorted derisively. "This is a lesson I have failed to consciously imprint on the vast majority of my students. I can't entirely blame them. It is a bizarre and contradictory one. But it is deeply necessary. Each and every one of my reforms has been centered around it. I have passed up on immeasurable goods, just in order to ensure an absence of evils. I've reassigned ten thousand well-intentioned Jedi just like yourself, to prevent a single Fall. I've exiled fewer, but upon learning of your actions—of tapping into the Revanchist nexus, and battling your fellow Padawan, I put it into consideration."

His pulse quickened, and he nervously swallowed, readying himself for the worst.

"There are three reasons that I am not immediately exiling you," she said sternly. "The first is that you pulled back from the Dark Side. The second is that you have a very stupid Master, who irresponsibly lead you into this situation."

Nerim's expression hardened. "Arwain is not stupid," he firmly rebuked, instantly, before he even had time to think about if it was a good idea. Arwain's eyes widened in surprise, but she remained motionless otherwise.

There was a brief, tense pressure between their eyes. Then, Fae reached up and stroked her whiskers, slightly smiling. "The third is that I like your guts."

He blinked. "Huu—um, what?"

Fae laughed like the old woman she was, turning and pacing across the room. "Nerim, in you, I see two possibilities. In one, you are a troubled kid, who is a trouble student, and finds himself both in trouble and causing trouble for other people. You refuse to gel with the Order, because in your strife, you are compelled to fall to the Dark. You are exactly what I fear."

Nerim shuddered. Not at her disapproval, at the thought that Grand Master Fae Coven could fear something. That she could even not know.

"In the other," Fae said, turning and pacing in the other direction, "All of that is still true, except the last bit. You refuse to gel with the Order, because in your strife, you are compelled to rise to the Light, and you are more committed to it than to us. I would be remiss not to note, you don't get along well with us in either version!" She giggled playfully. "You see, Nerim, you are far too much like young Arwain."

He slightly turned his head towards Arwain, keeping his eyes on Fae. "Master, what does she mean by that?"

A bead of sweat trailed down Arwain's brow. "Master, what do you mean by that?"

"You're utterly impossible!" Fae said, swinging her fist with the statement. "No matter what, you are a Bantha I simply cannot lead to water, no matter how much I try, no matter how much I'm right!" She turned and looked out the grand glass window, at the three moons, and smiled wistfully. "And especially when I'm wrong. I think, if I fell, I could take a great deal of the Council into the Dark with me. But not you two. I imagine Nerim would treat me much the same way he treated Chey-Linn..."

She turned back to them. "Nerim. Arwain. I've been wrong about a great many things. One of these great errors has revealed itself."

Nerim and Arwain shared an uncertain glance. "What is it?" The Master asked.

"You've already felt it. That which clouded your vision during your mission. It has revealed its nature to the Council."

Nerim looked to the floor. "That...retching?"

The Grand Master nodded solemnly. "I was wrong. The Jedi are not the only masters of the Force. Not anymore. Somewhere, somehow, a Wound has opened in the Force. This can mean only one thing. Somewhere, there are servants of the Dark which have attained deeply forbidden power."


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Spoiler: A/N

And that wraps up Arc 4, Cathar. It was a little delayed because I've been mad busy, and was also difficult to write and edit, but I'm happy with how it's gone. There are some questions left unanswered, but I figure I got at least two more arcs left in me before this is over. As always, though, I'm not going to start uploading the next arc until I'm pretty certain of where it's going. Last time I said that, it took a week, and the time before that, it took a year, so I truly do not know when I will next upload. But I think I still have the bug, and I plan to start writing the next arc actively tomorrow morning, so I'd tentatively say I hope it'll be a lot closer to a week than a year.

I really appreciate any thoughts people can share, about anything really. Every comment I get is a lot of fun to read, and I think this story has quite a few things to notice and discuss or speculate on, and I quite like being able to give insight into the writing process--since for me, that's the really fun part! It's kinda like I'm a diabetic willy wonka. I just like making candy and showing people how I make the candy. I also like them eating it, of course!