Star Wars: Vergence IV, Chapter Four

 CHAPTER FOUR

Ord Talavos, eight years ago

“Hmm. Not exactly the most ideal location, but I suppose it will do.”

Drakmos watched as the spindly limbed Pa’lowick paced around in his chamber, tapping away on the device in his hands. It took everything within him to not grab the pathetic creature and hurl him out the balcony that was only a few feet away. Sal Tyrius observed the Pa’lowick from the other side of the room, his white eyes occasionally darting to Drakmos. Each glance carried a silent appeasement, suggesting to Drakmos that this was unfortunately normal and that there was not much either of them could do about it.

Running a hand along the stony wall, the Pa’lowick said, “The architecture of this facility is rather… archaic. Dare I say primitive. When was it constructed?”

“This fortress has stood for over a thousand years,” Drakmos snarled. “Even after the Jedi and the Sith destroyed the rest of Vostal in their war, it has continued to stand strong.”

“A simple number would have sufficed. I didn’t ask for a history lesson.” With a haughty sounding huff, the Pa’lowick spun around on his heel to face Tyrius. “As archaic and primitive as it may be, this building should be adequate for our operations. Once I get Malvis’s approval, I will begin reallocating resources to this planet.”

“Do so as quietly and covertly as you can, Orbego,” Tyrius warned him. “I may be Prince Xalren’s top lieutenant but even I can only do so much to keep this hidden from him.”

“Believe me, Xalren wouldn’t be able to notice us if he had a pair of macrobinoculars strapped to his face.”

With those words, the Pa’lowick marched out of the chamber. As soon as he was gone, Drakmos rose from his throne and stormed over to Tyrius.

“You should pray that I do not end up regretting my decision to agree to this,” the Despised One growled. “I only agreed to align with this Malvis individual to get myself out of Xalren’s thumb; I will not trade one overbearing guest for another!”

“Trust me, Malvis is generally hands-off when it comes to his associates,” Tyrius replied. “The process of joining his Cabal is only grueling because of the fact that he won’t let just anyone join. There are many criteria that need to be met.”

“I still fail to see why my domain needs to be assessed as part of that ‘process.’”

Tyrius shrugged. “Who knows why Malvis does what he does. This could also just be something Orbego is doing on his own accord. He likes to stick his proboscis in other people’s business.”

Drakmos bared his sharpened teeth. “I am only willing to put up with that for so long.”

“Well, if you’re serious about joining the Cabal, you will have to tolerate it for a little longer. Once your membership is finalized, I assure you that you will be left to your devices.”

“Let us hope,” Drakmos said darkly, “for both our sakes, that you are correct. Otherwise, Prince Xalren will have to pick up the pieces of his top lieutenant on every corner of the city.”

Tyrius smiled back at him with an equal lack of mirth. “Charming, to the last.”

The Errant Venture, now

“Have they done anything so far?” Booster Terrik asked as he and the rest of his entourage stepped onto the bridge of the Errant Venture. As soon as he had received Jast Kyjar’s alert about the Cabal ships’ arrival, he had recalled everyone back to the crimson Star Destroyer. Valrisa had no idea anyone his age could move so quickly, and even she and the other Renegades needed to quicken their pace to keep up with him as they followed him onto the bridge.

Standing at the helm of the ship when they had arrived, Jast Kyjar watched the stationary Cabal ships with a wary expression. “Nothing,” the Tarisian smuggler said. “They haven’t even made contact with us. We tried hailing them but no response.”

“They’re toying with us,” Booster grunted, folding his arms. “They know they’ve got us outnumbered and outgunned. I’ve seen this tactic plenty of times.”

“What do we do then?” asked Kyla Kishanti, standing nearby with the rest of the Renegades. Most of them in any case; Kadar and Vessin had elected to stay behind on Takodana, saying that they had found an alternative means of transportation. Valrisa currently wasn’t in much of a state of mind to ponder their absence.

“We wait,” Booster said to Kyla. “We wait for them to make the first move. If we act first, it would spell the end for us.”

“And… how long is that going to take…?” asked Bedo.

Before Booster could reply, a Togruta crew member called up from the comm station. “Captain, they’re hailing us.”

“Well, that was fast,” Booster grunted in amusement. “Put them on.”

A moment later, the viewscreen situated over the bridge turned on and everyone present was greeted with the sight of a dragon-like being. Upon seeing him, Valrisa shifted uncomfortably.

“That would be Drakmos the Despised,” she muttered.

“Errant Venture,” the draconian figure growled. “You are in the presence of the Despised One himself, Drakmos the Second, ruler of Ord Talavos.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Despised One,” Booster said dryly. “What are you doing here at Takodana?”

“Do not bother acting coy with me, smuggler,” Drakmos snarled. “I know of everything that happens in this sector. I am fully aware of the fact that you and your ‘Smugglers’ Alliance’ have been making attempts to track me down. Rather than have you come to my doorstep, I decided to save you the trouble of having to find me. So here I am, Booster Terrik. What do you want of me?”

Booster narrowed his eyes at Drakmos. “You’re with the Malvis Cabal, are you not? You’ve been causing a fair share of trouble for us.”

“Have I? Because I don’t believe we’ve ever met before. I fail to see how my actions could possibly have affected you personally.”

“Now who’s acting coy?” Booster snapped. “You guys haven’t exactly been keeping a low profile recently. Need I remind you of what happened at Corellia?”

“I had no involvement in that,” Drakmos objected. “Believe it or not, not every member of the Cabal is in the know on everything it does… or even necessarily approves of everything it does.”

“Whatever. Point is, your Cabal has been causing us headaches and we’ve just about had enough of it.”

“I’m sure you have.” Drakmos paused for a moment, his golden eyes regarding Booster evenly. Valrisa made sure that she stayed as far out of the viewscreen’s visual range as she could, hoping that the Despised One would not see her.

Drakmos then leaned back in his seat, a gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps there is a way for us to make amends,” he said, forming a steeple with his clawed hands.

Booster arched an eyebrow. “Amends?”

“While I may not be involved in everything the Cabal does, my rank within the hierarchy provides me access to all the details. I can give you anything you want to know about the Cabal, in exchange for the promise that you will not disturb my planet.”

“And how do we know we can trust you?”

“You don’t,” Drakmos admitted. “You can take or leave any information I give you. But know that I am being sincere when I say that I will do anything to defend my homeworld should you intrude on it.”

“Don’t worry, I believe you on that.” Booster stroked his beard in contemplation for a moment. “All right. What can you give us?”

“I am transmitting an encrypted message from my ship to yours,” Drakmos replied. “I trust that the smugglers on your crew will be able to slice and decipher it. It will contain everything that I am able to give you.”

“Do I have your word that it isn’t a virus that will cripple my ship’s systems?”

“I doubt that my word will mean anything to you. But if it will make you feel safer, you may wait until after my ships have departed before giving it a look. Or you can send it to someone you trust. It matters not to me.”

Valrisa watched as Booster exchanged silent glances with Kyla and the rest of his advising team. She figured experienced smugglers like them operated on their own separate wavelength, as she had no idea what they were communicating to each other through their glances but it was clear that they had all understood what they were each thinking.

“Very well,” Booster finally said to Drakmos. “We’re ready to receive your transmission.”

Drakmos grinned. “An excellent choice.”

A few minutes later, the Togruta comm officer confirmed that the encrypted message had been received. Once Booster had relayed this to Drakmos, the dragon-like being bowed his head.

“Then we have nothing further to discuss. I wish you luck in your travels, Captain Terrik. Hopefully, for your sake, our paths never cross again.”

With that, his image vanished from the viewscreen. At the same time, the Cabal ships in front of the Errant Venture began to slowly turn around and jump to lightspeed, one by one. Only after the last ship—the largest one, most likely Drakmos’s—had zipped away did Valrisa and the others allow themselves to relax.

“See if you can transmit whatever Drakmos sent us to the Wild Karrde,” Booster ordered the Togruta officer. “I’m sure Ghent will be able to crack it.” 

“Do you think it might be bunk?” asked Kyla.

“It very well could be. Either way, I don’t know what this Drakmos fellow is playing at or what his game even is.” Booster paused before looking over at Valrisa, his one red cybernetic eye glowing slightly brighter than usual. “You’re our Cabal girl, aren’t you? Don’t suppose you could shed some light.”

Valrisa shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve only done a couple of jobs for him. He was always cordial enough—compared to the others, at least—and I never got much of an impression on him as a person. He does operate on Ord Talavos, but I never knew that was his homeworld or anything like that.”

“What about the other crime lords? Do you know anything about where they operate?”

“Mikus currently runs the Void Station,” Valrisa replied. “Gaar Tandoon likes to move around a lot, most likely out of paranoia, but he generally keeps to the Western Reaches. As for the others, I don’t know enough about them to really say. I don’t even know how many crime lords there are.”

“Sounds like we’re still in their neighborhood then,” Booster said. “Let’s rendezvous with the Wild Karrde first and get whatever Drakmos sent us cracked before we proceed any further.”

Valrisa and the other Renegades took this as their cue to leave as Booster and the rest of his command crew began to confer among themselves. Only Kyla remained behind, albeit reluctantly, as her status as captain of the Renegades dictated that she be present for any meetings Booster and his team had over matters such as this. Valrisa couldn’t help but give the Mirialan a sympathetic glance as she stepped onto the turbolift.

As soon as the doors closed and the lift started moving, Ace Ral’kre said, “We should probably tell Kadar and Vessin that we’ll be leaving the system soon.”

“Assuming they haven’t already left themselves,” muttered Wiskin.

“Must you be so pessimistic?” Ace chided him. “You’re sometimes worse than Bedo.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” piped up the Ortolan in question.

Valrisa tuned out their conversation, as was often the case whenever she was within hearing range of one of their spouts. She would have been lying to herself if she had said that she wasn’t starting to grow tired of it. Perhaps once they met up with Talon Karrde’s crew, she, Typha, and Zarin could take the opportunity to undertake a mission of their own, without the distracting presence of Kyla’s crew.

She absent-mindedly glanced at her Pantoran partner, expecting to see an annoyed expression that matched her own, but instead was met with a forlorn look. She reached out and brushed Typha’s hand with her own, prompting her partner to finally look over to her, gold eyes meeting dark ones.

Not wanting to speak lest the others overheard, Valrisa merely raised a single eyebrow in question. Typha responded with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

That was all Valrisa needed to know that something was wrong and needed fixing. And given her own track record, she was not at all sure that she would be able to fix it….

Star Wars: Vergence IV, Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Takodana 

“Malvis, you say.” Sidon Ithano spoke the name with a thick veil of disdain. He kicked back in his seat, propping his legs up on the table in front of him, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes. I remember you now.”

Sitting across from him, Sare Valrisa regarded the Delphidian pirate carefully. A few months ago, she had hired him and his crew through the Desilijic organization on Tatooine to recover a Sith artifact from a castle on Teth ruled by Vondara the Hutt. She would have done the operation herself, but her superiors in the Cabal at the time did not want the Hutts to directly connect the artifact’s theft to the Cabal, and thus she had acted as a “middle-woman” for the operation. In the time that had passed since the operation and the subsequent auction on Ord Talavos, Valrisa wondered if it would have been worth the trouble for the Cabal if it hadn’t been stolen from them, as well as why they had even wanted the artifact in the first place.

Such questions would have to wait, of course. Right now, her only hope was that the Crimson Corsair did not hold that whole debacle against her. When Kyla had called her and the other Renegades in to speak with Sidon Ithano and his crew, she had considered the prospect that the pirates held a grudge against her for having dragged them into that mess in the first place. So far, they weren’t confirming or denying those concerns. 

While Sidon continued to sit there in grueling silence, his Gabdorin first mate Quiggold squinted his eyes at Valrisa. “You’re not with the Cabal anymore, are you?”

“No,” Valrisa said. “I left not long after you guys delivered the artifact. Why I left is kind of a long story, and I doubt you guys would be interested in hearing it.”

“And you would be correct.” Taking his legs off the table, Sidon Ithano leaned forward, bringing his masked face closer to Valrisa. “Suppose we agree to helping you—which we haven’t yet. What would our role be in taking down Malvis?”

“That would be a question for Booster Terrik,” Valrisa replied. “And I doubt he’ll tell you until you’ve sworn loyalty to our cause. He wouldn’t want you to go blabbing to Malvis if he told you before that point.”

“He is a smart man,” Sidon said. “But even if I do swear loyalty, how does he know I won’t go back on my word?”

“He doesn’t,” Valrisa admitted. “But if you do, what do you think the galaxy is going to think of the Crimson Corsair? That he’s a coward who’s not brave enough to go up against Malvis?”

Quiggold sneered. “Watch yourself, girl.”

Sidon, on the other hand, let out a hearty laugh, a sound that was slightly distorted by his red Kaleesh mask. “Ah, you know me better than some of my crew, Lady Valrisa. I wouldn’t dare cross you or Captain Terrik when you are that savvy.”

“You will help us, then?” Valrisa asked.

“Of course. So long as there is some compensation of the monetary variety in store for us.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your reward.” Valrisa rose from her seat. “Let me find Booster so you two can….”

She trailed off as she felt a prickling sensation at the back of her head. While she had not relied on the Force since she had left the Jedi, she was not stupid enough to ignore its warnings whenever it gave her one unsolicited. Turning away from Sidon and Quiggold, who were staring at her in confusion, she scanned the room for the source of the danger. Her eyes passed over Ubdurians playing dejarik, Twi’leks dancing to music, assorted beings yelling over a game of sabacc, before finally landing on Kadar. The former Mandalorian was sitting at the bar with her crewmate Zarin Kal, mulling over drinks in a shared sullen silence. Neither of them appeared to be in any sort of danger… until she saw the man in a red Mandalorian helmet stepping up to them, walking slowly but with purpose. With one hand, he pushed back his trenchcoat, revealing a holstered sawed-off blaster rifle.

As soon as she saw his fingers brush against the handle of the blaster, Valrisa opened her mouth to let out a warning. Before she could utter a single word, Zarin Kal whirled out of his seat, throwing his drink aside, and seized the masked man with the Force. He kept one hand held in an upward position as he lifted the man off his feet while igniting his red lightsaber with the other. Valrisa heard a collective gasp ring out around the room as everything and everyone went silent, their attention redirecting to the altercation.

“Hey!” The warning yell came from an archaic-looking droid pushing its way through the crowd. “You know the rules! No fighting!”

Zarin did not appear to be listening, however. His eyes had taken on a sickly shade of yellow, something which Valrisa knew was associated with his use of the dark side. Kadar, meanwhile, had turned around to face the man being suspended in the air by the Kiffar ex-Jedi, his expression hidden by his mask.

“Dax,” she heard him say after a long moment; his voice sounded thick with emotion. “What are you doing?”

“What do you… think?” his would-be assailant managed to say from beneath Zarin’s invisible grip. “Trying to… kill you….”

“That helmet… where did you get that helmet? How did you—”

“If you do not cease this altercation, you will be punished,” the ancient droid interjected.

“Zarin,” Valrisa called out to the former Jedi. “Let him go!”

To her relief, her words got through to the Kiffar and he released his Force grip on Dax, letting the man drop to the floor before shutting off his lightsaber. Coughing, Dax pulled off the helmet and gasped for air, sweat trickling down his face.

“Can’t do it,” he mumbled between panted breaths. “I just can’t do it.”

Kadar slowly dropped down to one knee, lowering himself to be at approximate eye level with his would-be killer. “How did you know I would be here?”

“Argus has a contact on the Errant Venture. Said that—”

“Wait,” Kadar cut him off. “Did you say Argus? As in Argus Ordo?”

“He blames you for his daughter’s death,” Dax said. “Can’t say I understand the story behind it, but it was not really any of my concern anyway.”

Kadar grabbed Dax roughly by the shoulder. “Is he here? Argus. Is he here?”

“He’s just outside. Waiting for me to kill you. Said if I didn’t do it, he would finish the job.”

Kadar let go of the man as he stood back up, angling his helmet to look at Zarin and then Valrisa. “I have to leave,” he said firmly.

“Still running away from your problems, I see.”

Kadar moved with a jolt as he spun around. Standing there at the bar, where there had been no one moments before, was Maz Kanata. The pirate queen adjusted her goggles as she stared pointedly at Kadar.

“Don’t think I don’t know about that little altercation you had outside my castle last year,” Kanata said sternly. “I must say, I have very little tolerance for visitors who repeatedly bring their problems to my doorstep. Especially those who leave them for others to deal with.” 

Valrisa saw Kadar clench his fists, his whole body tensing. As she walked over to join him, Zarin, and Kanata, she saw Vessin walking over to them as well, having pushed her way through the crowded castle as soon as the altercation with Dax had occurred.

“I’m not running from my problems,” the Mandalorian growled. “I’m going outside to face Argus so he doesn’t come into the castle. This—whatever this is—is between me and him alone.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Vessin protested. “He’s my grandfather—my kin. I have just as much right to be out there as you do.”

Kadar started to shake his head, no doubt about to object, but then stopped. Instead, he rolled his shoulders with a huff. “Fine,” he muttered. “Gear up and let’s head out there.”

While Vessin put her helmet on, Valrisa looked down at Dax, still sitting there on the floor, tired and defeated. “What about him?” she asked.

“Watch him,” Kadar said simply before heading for the castle’s exit, Vessin trailing close behind.

As the two Mandalorians departed, Valrisa looked back over to Zarin. The Kiffar ex-Jedi stood there with a brooding expression, not looking to either her or Dax, or anything at all in particular for that matter. Kanata looked between the two of them before shaking her head and walking away, leaving them to their thoughts and woes.

*  *  *

As soon as he and Vessin had stepped out of the castle, Kadar spotted the Gauntlet-class starfighter located just on the outskirts of the surrounding forest. Within minutes of them approaching the ship, a figure clad in entirely black Mandalorian armor stepped down the ship’s open ramp, carrying a Galaar-15 blaster carbine in his hands. The blocky weapon was an old design, dating back to the Clone Wars, but Kadar knew that Argus was stubborn enough to not want to transition into a newer type of weapon.

The three Mandalorians came within several steps of each other before stopping, Argus holding his ancient weapon and Kadar resting a hand on his holstered one. Vessin stood a few steps behind her father, weapon already drawn but not raised as she waited to see how this confrontation between her kin would play out.

Angling his helmeted head to look at her, Argus Ordo said, “Still wearing your grandmother’s armor, I see.”

“You gave it to me,” Vessin icily shot back. “I hope I’ve made her proud.”

“We’ll see.” Argus then redirected his attention to Kadar. “I take it Dax didn’t make it out. Can’t say I was expecting him to, to be honest.”

“He’s still alive, if that’s what you’re implying,” Kadar replied. “Despite what some people may tell you, I’m not a cold-blooded killer. Not anymore, in any case.”

Argus snorted. “No, but you are a coward. I heard what happened at Mandalore; you killed Atinar Cabur, with the Darksaber no less, and then you faked your death to run off with your smuggler friends.”

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to support someone like Cabur,” Kadar remarked.

“Support him?” Argus snapped. “As if I would ever support a ruthless brute like him. No, I consider you a coward for not claiming the title of Mand’alor for yourself. You held the Darksaber in your hands and used it to liberate from Cabur’s iron grip… only to then leave the planet in the hands of your brother, who will prove to be no different than all of the other Vizslas who have ruled Mandalore.”

“And I would?”

“You were always different, Kadar. Even I will admit that. Deep down, I had always felt you had potential to be something greater than your clan, and that you would prove all of my misgivings wrong. But you failed. You had everything in your hands… and you threw it all away.”

“And that calls for my death?” Kadar asked.

“In my eyes, it does,” Argus said. “For bringing disgrace to not only your clan, but to all the Mandalorian clans. For abandoning your people to your brother, who is sure to be as tyrannical as his predecessor. For putting yourself before Mandalore.”

The elder Mandalorian raised his blaster, pointing it straight at Kadar’s chest. Vessin started to raise her own weapon as well while Kadar remained motionless, continuing to stare at Argus.

“What is happening on Mandalore now?” he asked, his tone calm and even.

Argus rested a finger on the carbine rifle’s trigger. “I haven’t been there in ages. I’ve only just recently learned about the battle that happened last year.”

“Then perhaps we should go there now to see how things are going under my brother’s rule.”

Argus snorted again. “Oh, so now you care? For the past year, you haven’t given a damn about your people, and all it takes is one conversation for you to change your mind?”

“You could put it that way,” Kadar admitted. “The reason I turned my back on Mandalore was because I thought it would be the best for everyone. I was already a controversial enough figure, and even with the backing of Beviin and his Protectors I knew there was no chance I would get all of Mandalore to rally under me. After all, I am still a Vizsla, no matter how much I try to distance myself from my past. But, if they’re already willing to accept someone like Tral to lead them….”

He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken. Argus did not waver in his stance, keeping his weapon trained on Kadar. Vessin, meanwhile, looked to her father with her head tilted slightly to the side.

“Do you mean all that?” she asked quietly. “You told me you had wanted to start life anew, to leave the Mandalorian way behind….”

“That was before I realized that I can never escape my old life,” Kadar replied. “Tyrius’s return from the dead showed me that, and what Argus and Dax are doing here has only settled it. Maz Kanata was right; I need to face my problems rather than run from them.”

“Empty words mean nothing, Kadar,” Argus growled. “Not unless you’re actions can back them up.”

“You’re right. But I can’t perform any actions if you kill me now.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t.”

“To give me a chance to make things right.”

“A chance?” Argus barked out a harsh laugh. “I’ve already given you a second chance, and you threw it away. What makes you think I’ll give you a third?”

“The fact that you haven’t pulled the trigger yet.”

Argus chuckled, though Kadar could hear the uneasiness in his voice. “That doesn’t mean what you want it to. It just means that—”

“That you’re not a cold-blooded killer like me?” When the older Mandalorian said nothing, Kadar continued. “If she were here now, what do you think Corda would say? What she would think of you?”

“Don’t you dare use her name against me,” Argus snarled.

“She wanted unity between the clans more than anything,” Kadar went on undeterred. “For the past several centuries, the Mandalorians have been divided: the New Mandalorians, the True Mandalorians, Death Watch, the Children of the Watch, the Protectors, the Nite Owls. Even now, infighting continues to plague our clans. It is because of this disunity that we have become unable to reclaim the glory we lost with our many defeats at the hands of the Republic and the Empire. Corda realized this and wanted to do everything she could to bring our warring clans back together. Perhaps that is why she loved me, why she married me, despite being a Vizsla. She saw that a Mandalorian is defined not by their clan but by their actions, and she wanted to ensure that everyone else saw that as well.”

“Nice speech,” Argus grunted. “Gotta admit, I like this side of you, Kadar. Wish I saw it more often.”

“I guess you bring the best out of me. I guess members of Clan Ordo have that in common.”

For several moments, Argus remained in his position, keeping his blaster aimed at Kadar, the sun reflecting in his opaque black armor. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowered his carbine rifle and relaxed into a straighter stance, although his body was still tensed in case either Kadar or Vessin made a move.

“You know me better than I care to admit, Kadar,” Argus said with a sigh. “You’re right, I can’t bring myself to kill you. Not because I like you, but because….”

“Because of her,” Kadar said softly.

“Yes. Because of her.”

Vessin looked between the two of them—her father and grandfather respectively—before putting away her own weapon, though she kept a careful eye on Argus. “So, is that it then? Have you boys finally settled your grudges?”

“Not yet,” Argus said gruffly. “But it’s a start.”

“So, what now then? We can’t leave for Mandalore until we help the others deal with the Cabal. It would be kind of rude of us to just up and abandon them at this stage.”

“If you can vow on your life that you will come with me to Mandalore, then I might be able to help you with this Cabal of yours,” Argus said. “It was a woman from this Cabal that told me Kadar was still alive. I might be able to get in touch with her and use that connection to get you what you need or where you need to go to.”

Kadar placed a fist over his heart. “By our creed, I will do whatever you ask of me to take back Mandalore and restore its former glory.”

“This is the Way,” Argus murmured.

“This is the Way,” Kadar and Vessin both echoed back.

“It is settled then. I have a Rybet informant on the Errant Venture up above. I will get in touch with him and use him as a way to get back in touch with my other benefactor.”

Kadar nodded. “Good. We should inform Captain Terrik and the others about this.”

“I’m not sure Terrik will be happy to learn that there’s a spy on his ship,” Vessin pointed out.

“I don’t think he’s happy about anything.”

The Errant Venture

The Rybet known as Cyclops was nervous.

Argus Ordo was supposed to have reported in by now whether he or Dax Goldam had succeeded in killing Kadar, so that he could then report to his contact in the Malvis Cabal. Any moment now, his contact was going to call him, and she was not going to be happy with the lack of news.

It was at this moment that he finally realized he had bitten off more than he could chew. Ever since Kadar had gained notoriety as the killer of Black Sun crime lords, Cyclops had hoped to make a name for himself by being the one to do Kadar in. Sure, he was relying on others to do the dirty work for him, and would most likely get most of the credit. But how wonderful would it have been to be remembered, even if by just one person, to be the one responsible for the death of such an infamous bounty hunter. 

When Kadar had first been sighted on Takodana a year ago, Cyclops had sought out the bounty hunter Remar Almor and sent his crew after the Mandalorian, although they ended up abandoning the hunt in favor of a separate bounty. Since then, Cyclops had been waiting for another opportunity, hiding among the members of the Smugglers’ Alliance until one arose. That was when he got in touch with the Malvis Cabal, who also had an interest in getting rid of Kadar due to his reputation, and he agreed to be their spy.

It was just Cyclops’s luck that Kadar and his new band of Renegades just so happened to join up with the Smugglers’ Alliance around that time. He just wasn’t sure if it was the good or bad kind of luck.

As Cyclops mulled over what his chances were of getting on a ship and slipping away to Hutt Space where he would change his name again and start life anew, his comlink chimed and he already knew who it was calling him. Knowing he could not escape the inevitable, he slipped away into a secluded corner of the ship and answered the device.

“Cyclops here. Before you ask, no, Argus has not reported back yet. I’m still waiting—”

“It is a moot point,” his contact responded. “The Despised One has made some… alterations to our plans.”

Cyclops frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You will see soon enough. My advice? Get the hell out of there if you want to live.”

Before Cyclops could ask for further clarification, the line went dead. At that moment, alarms began to blare throughout the Errant Venture and he heard footsteps rushing towards the bridge. Stepping out of his corner, he followed the moving smugglers and stepped onto the Star Destroyer’s command bridge, where the crew were moving around frantically.

“How many did you say there were?” barked out the smuggler known as Jast Kyjar.

“Ten—fifteen—a lot!” replied a Mikkian crew member. “They just keep dropping out of hyperspace!”

“Raise the shields! Divert as much power as you can to forward defenses!”

“Um,” Cyclops started to say as Jast brushed past him, “what’s going on?”

“Cabal ships are entering the system,” Jast said briefly to him before walking away to shout out more orders.

“Ah.” Cyclops realized how dumb his question was when he saw an entire fleet of pirate ships dropping out of hyperspace and approaching Takodana. “That would do it.”

Star Wars: Vergence IV, Chapter Two

 CHAPTER TWO

Tython

Today was the brightest day the Jedi Order had seen in many years.

Since its restoration some thirty years ago, the Jedi had gone through many trials and tribulations, from Imperial warlords to the Sith to Glorian invaders. A year ago, they had suffered many losses at the hands of the resurgent Sith, forcing them to relocate from Ossus to the Order’s ancestral world of Tython, isolating itself from the increasingly corrupt Galactic Alliance while providing aid to the Resistance when it could. It had become a dark time for the Jedi Order… but a light had now been lit in the increasing darkness.

Luke Skywalker had returned.

No one understood how it had happened, of course; not even Skywalker himself. Sixteen years ago, he had seemingly perished in a fight against the Dark Lord Darth Vorath, moments before the Sith was destroyed by Skywalker’s former apprentice Toah Jarsan. Until now, there was no recorded precedent for a Jedi to return from the dead outside of returning as a spirit projected by the Force. It was possible, albeit incredibly rare, for Force users to resurface in clone bodies, but many doubted this was the case here. How Luke Skywalker could have possibly been brought back by the dead was a question that was on many Jedi’s minds, and would perhaps take a long time to learn the answer to.

But now was not the time for such questions. Rather, it was a time to celebrate.

Jacen Solo had insisted on gathering the entirety of the Order—at least those that were present on Tython—in the halls of the Jedi Temple to provide his uncle with a formal welcome and to restore the title of Grand Master to his name. Skywalker, humble as ever, naturally balked at the entire occasion.

“I’ve been dead for sixteen years,” he had said in protest to the promotion. “I still have much to learn on what’s happened since then. So many old faces are gone, so many new faces to become familiar with….”

“Historically, the title of Grand Master has been an honorary one rather than an official rank,” said Tionne Solusar, chief Jedi historian. “You won’t need to burden yourself with the responsibility of leadership until you are ready.”

Luke had smiled ruefully. “Are we ever ready for such a burden? Still, I’m not sure how much wisdom I can offer in these times.”

“Wisdom is timeless,” said Kyle Katarn. “At least, that’s what a certain someone always told me.”

Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “I suppose there’s not much point in protesting any further. Besides, who am I to argue with the wisdom of the Jedi Council?”

Following the ceremonial event, the Jedi Council and Master Skywalker had retired to the Council Chambers to discuss matters in private, leaving the rest of the Jedi to return to their lives, their day having become considerably brighter.

It was not a unanimous feeling, however. There was one Jedi out of the many who, while elated that Skywalker had returned, could not help but feel uneasy about the circumstances surrounding this miracle. 

His mind had become plagued by dreams in recent times; dark, twisted dreams. In those dreams, he had seen faces, both living and not, staring at him from a nebulous void, their eyes glowing with the white hot intensity of stars, as they chanted a single word.

“Mine.”

Skywalker’s face had been among them, as had those of his former master Kyle Katarn, Skywalker’s extended family, and his fellow Jedi Toah Jarsan. And at the center of them all was a face that he had only recently become acquainted with; that of the scavenger girl he had met on Jakku; that he had been sent to find by the entity known as Abeloth. He had hoped after that day, the day he had met Rey and saw to Atha Prime’s defeat, that the dreams would finally stop. But they had only gotten worse.

And now that Luke Skywalker had returned to the world of living, Jaden Korr could not help but fear that they were coming even closer to becoming reality.

*  *  *

“Hey, cousin.”

Owen Skywalker looked up from the piece of fruit he had been biting into, freshly picked from the trees in the Jedi Temple’s courtyard. Standing in front of him was a woman with long dark hair and a man of similar age with short sandy brown hair. Both of them wore the apparels of Jedi Knights, yet Owen could not help but pick up on a deeper connection than the one they shared over the Force. Once he had processed the words the woman had just spoken to him, Owen smiled as he realized what that connection was.

“Jaina and Anakin Solo, I presume,” he said, getting up from his cross-legged position and setting his meal down. After dusting off his hands, he extended one to each of his cousins. “Owen Skywalker. Pleased to meet you.”

“Same,” Jaina said as she shook his right hand while Anakin awkwardly shook his left one. “So, how come we’re only just now learning of your existence?”

Owen chuckled. “I’ve been wondering the same thing for pretty much my whole life. My mother can probably explain it better than me.”

“We’d like to hear it from you,” said Anakin. “You know, just to establish common ground between family.”

“Fair enough,” Owen said. “Well, from what my mother has told me, a year after my father’s death she went into hiding and took me with her. Apparently, even though the Sith had been defeated, there was still the fear that my safety—specifically mine—was in question. I understand that, years before my birth, I had another relative who got abducted.”

Both Jaina and Anakin’s expressions darkened at this. “Yes,” Jaina said quietly. “We had a brother named Ben who went missing before either of us was born.”

“He wasn’t the only one either,” Anakin murmured. “Our father’s friend Lando also had a daughter who got abducted. He’s spent the two decades looking for her but to no avail….”

Owen nodded solemnly. “Since no one knew if the Sith truly were behind the abductions or not, it was decided it would be best to keep my existence a secret. So my mother and I went far out beyond the Outer Rim, crossing into Wild Space and even the Unknown Regions, until we found a world that was secluded and isolated enough for us to live safely. She trained me as a Jedi there and told me as much as she could about what the rest of the galaxy was like, even if I could never visit it at the time. Naturally, when we finally returned to the known galaxy, we both had a lot to catch up on.”

“When did you return?” Jaina asked. “And why?”

“Less than a year ago, when we were drawn to Lothal to find something that we thought could bring back my father, although I’m not exactly sure what we were hoping to find. It was while we were on Lothal that we got caught up on the last fifteen years of events, and we had just established contact with Aunt Leia when her Resistance people found us.”

“You know our mother?” Anakin asked, surprised.

“I mean, I haven’t met her yet, but I know her name.”

“Did you… did you feel the disturbance that happened on Naboo a few days ago?” Jaina asked tentatively. “When they were in—”

“Yes,” Owen said. “I felt it. We both did. Unfortunately, we were preoccupied with something else at the time and wouldn’t have been able to reach Naboo in time.”

“What were you preoccupied with?”

Owen glanced around the courtyard, even though it was empty besides the three of them. “I’m not sure I can say….”

“Don’t want to let out all of your secrets, huh?” Jaina said with a smirk.

“Believe me, I want to. More than anything. I just… I just don’t know if I should yet.”

“Relax,” Anakin said. “You can tell us when you’re good and ready.”

Jaina, on the other hand, frowned. “I just don’t see how anything can be so important that you couldn’t be bothered to help your own father—”

“Jaina!” Anakin exclaimed while Owen held up his hands defensively.

“We wanted to!” he protested. “We would have left if we had been able to. But we weren’t, and by the time we were able, we had already sensed that everything had been set right.”

“Thank stars for that,” Jaina muttered as she folded her arms.

Anakin shook his head and gave Owen an apologetic look. “I’m sorry for my sister’s behavior. This has been a lot for us to process. First our brother comes back after having been missing for over thirty years, then our uncle comes back from the dead….”

“Wait,” Owen said. “You’ve found your brother?”

This time, it was Jaina’s turn to shook her head while Anakin looked like he regretted having said anything. “He’s not our brother anymore,” she said bitterly. “Let’s put it that way.”

Owen could see it was a sensitive subject and decided to let the matter rest. “Well, I can see why all this can put someone on edge,” he admitted. “Believe me, it’s been a lot for me to process as well. The best we can do is trust in the Force and hope that we all come out the other end of this for the better.”

Anakin chuckled. “Ah, yes, I remember when I was sixteen as well. Bright eyed and optimistic. I miss those days. Well, maybe not every aspect of them.”

“At least you finally got over your girl problems,” Jaina said with a wry smirk.

“True, there is that. Owen here still has a ways to go.” Anakin shuddered. “I can hear the fawning and swooning of many female Padawans from here.”

Owen frowned in mock disapproval at his older cousin. “You guys sure do know how to make someone feel welcome.” 

*  *  *

While most of the Order had answered the summons to the Jedi Temple to observe Skywalker’s return and reinstatement as Grand Master, Toah Jarsan had elected to abstain from attending. He had already had his reunion with his former master, and he knew Luke well enough to know that he was not exactly one for grandiose ceremonies. As such, Toah did not want to be complicit in anything that would give the elder Jedi discomfort, serious or otherwise.

He knew the ceremony had ended when Jedi Knights began walking out of the temple, a spring in their steps and hopeful looks on their faces. He spotted one Jedi out of the many who did not seem to share this enthusiasm, and he could tell she was walking towards him even before they had made eye contact with each other.

Walking briskly over to him, Rey said, “Master, I need to speak with you about something.”

“I could tell all the way from over here,” Toah dryly replied. “I hope Master Katarn didn’t tell any embarrassing stories about my adventures with Master Skywalker.”

“It’s not about that,” Rey replied. “It’s about something Finn and I found on Naboo.”

Toah raised an eyebrow. He recalled Rey expressing disappointment when she learned that the two of them were making a stop at Tython before rejoining the Resistance at D’Qar; perhaps this was the reason why. “And what is that?”

“We found that droid you and I spotted wandering around Theed Palace,” Rey explained. “It somehow knew my name and poked me with some of its needles before telling me….”

She trailed off and her hazel eyes seemed to stare off into the distance, her expression a mixture of emotions.

“Telling you what?” Toah asked gently, patiently.

“It says it knows where to find my parents,” Rey finally said, swallowing hard.

Toah nodded in understanding. He was well aware of the fact that Rey had grown up on Jakku without her parents, having been raised most of her life by junk bosses like Unkar Plutt. It had been a topic that she had rarely broached with him, no doubt because of how Jedi teachings often encouraged one to focus on the present rather than the past.

“Where is the droid now?” he asked after a moment.

“On D’Qar. Finn found a way to shut him down and took him onto General Organa’s ship. I don’t know what story he gave her, if he told her about the droid at all.”

“Then let’s go to D’Qar and find out for ourselves,” Toah said.

“Are you sure you want to leave already?” Rey looked back towards the Temple. “I would have thought you’d want to speak with Master Skywalker a bit more.”

“I’ll have a chance to speak with him another time. Besides, I’m sure the Council is keeping him preoccupied.”

He caught a doubtful look cross Rey’s face as he turned away from her but she said nothing as they walked away from the Jedi Temple.

*  *  *

Jaden Korr watched from afar as Toah Jarsan and Rey headed for their waiting transport. Standing by his own Z-94 Headhunter, he looked up at the R6 astromech droid occupying the ship’s modified droid socket.

“Are you about ready, Arsix?”

The astromech warbled at him in response.

“Good. You still remember how to get to Fhost, don’t you?”

Arsix answered him in an affirmative yet questioning tone.

“I have some friends there I want to catch up on. And to see if they can help me out with some things.”

Arsix let out a low, whiny tone and Jaden couldn’t help but laugh as he climbed up into the starfighter’s cockpit.

“You always feel that way. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

Ignoring the astromech’s protesting chirps, Jaden lowered the cockpit shield over his head and switched the Headhunter’s systems online. As he went through the routine checkup, Jaden could only imagine what his former master would be saying to him if he knew where he was headed and why. Which was precisely why he was leaving Tython without telling anyone. This journey was for him, and him alone, and he was not going to let anyone or anything dissuade him from taking it. Even if it meant peering into the darkness….

“There be dragons…” The words continued to echo in his head even after he had uttered them to himself, and the echoes only persisted as the Far Wanderer took off into the Tythan sky.

Star Wars: Vergence IV, Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Takodana, now

Had it been anywhere else in the galaxy, the sight of a crimson Star Destroyer would have likely aroused fear and confusion in the people who lay eyes on it. Here on Takodana however, it was no different than the myriad of other ships that visited the verdant planet. For centuries, the castle of Maz Kanata had been known to attract all sorts of beings from across the galaxy, arriving in ships that made even a crimson Star Destroyer pale in comparison. On any given day, one could find a new type of ship parked alongside the shores of Nymeve Lake along with some ships that were practically regulars at this point.

Still, with so many ships being clustered together on the ground, there was not exactly a space near Maz’s castle that was large enough for a Star Destroyer to land, leaving its improvise. While the Errant Venture hanged over the lake in the sky, an old Lambda-class shuttle that had been done up in a variety of bright colors departed from the main hangar and headed down to the castle grounds, carrying Booster Terrik and an assortment of smugglers he had selected to meet with Maz Kanata herself.

Out of everyone that Booster had chosen for the forthcoming meeting, Kyla Kishanti was the one who regretted her position the most. As leader of her crew of Renegades, who had recently joined the Smugglers’ Alliance and the greater Resistance that it was a part of, she had been obligated to accompany Booster to his meeting with Maz Kanata. Had it not been for that though, Kyla wouldn’t have even set foot on the planet, let alone step into the castle itself.

It was something that she had always had a difficulty in explaining to her fellow Renegades—even to Ace, her closest friend and confidant. When the Smugglers’ Alliance had first convened on Takodana shortly before the Battle of Mandalore, she had done everything she could to avoid stepping into the castle while the other Renegades had gone in. The only explanation she had ever given her crewmates was that she and Maz had never gotten along and that the two of them could never stand to be in the same room as each other. That much had been the truth… from a certain point of view.

She had first met Maz Kanata early on in her smuggling career, not long after the Glorian War had ended. She and her crew had come to Takodana to get some much needed rest and reprieve, and it was while they were at their table, enjoying their drinks, that the pirate queen herself had stopped by. Maz had been cordial enough, asking them all if they were enjoying themselves and if they had enough to drink. Everyone at the table, including Kyla, had laughed and smiled in response. And then Maz had looked directly at Kyla, her bespectacled eyes peering into the Mirialan’s own.

“You should not blame yourself,” Maz had said softly.

Blinking in confusion, Kyla had answered with, “I’m sorry?”

“It is not your fault that your family fell apart.”

Those words had pierced straight through Kyla’s core and before she knew it she was storming straight out of the castle, leaving her spilled drink and confused crewmates behind. When the others had joined her back at the Renegade some time later, Ace had given her an earful about having to pay for their tab, but she barely listened to him, wanting nothing more than to leave Takodana behind and never come back.

Now, in as many years, she had returned twice to Takodana, to Maz’s castle, after she had made that vow. She wondered if Maz even remembered their encounter; it had been nearly five years ago, after all. Or would Maz recognize her face and bar her from the castle for the scene she had caused back then? If that were the case, Kyla would take that as a blessing.

Once the Lambda shuttle had touched down, Booster Terrik and his assorted crew disembarked for the castle. Kyla did not recognize or was familiar with any of the other members of Booster’s party. The Corellian smuggler had made a point of selecting a representative of each major group that comprised the Smugglers’ Alliance. Kyla wasn’t sure if she would consider the Renegades to be “major,” especially since they had only just joined the Resistance recently. Part of her wondered if Booster knew about her resentment of Maz and was bringing her along just to get back at her. She wouldn’t have put it past him.

Walking past a lumbering HURID loadlifter droid, Kyla and the others stepped through the open entrance of Maz’s castle and were greeted with a barrage of cheers and music. Pushing their way through the bustling crowd, the entourage made their way to the bar, where Maz Kanata herself was serving a pair of Shistavanen wolfmen. Upon seeing Booster, Maz’s face lit up and she flashed a smile at the old smuggler.

“Well if it isn’t Booster Terrik!” the pirate queen declared over the noise. “I wasn’t expecting to see you back here again so soon.”

“Neither did I,” Booster replied. “Unfortunately, we’re here on business rather than pleasure. Do you think we can speak somewhere… quieter, at least?”

Maz’s expression turned serious as she looked from one member of the entourage to the next. When her eyes fell on Kyla, the Mirialan could have sworn she saw some sort of gleam in them, but it was gone before she could figure out what it meant.

With a curt nod, Maz said, “Follow me downstairs.”

The group followed the pirate queen down a flight of stairs at the back of the bar, which led them down into a dark cellar filled with barrels of various drinks. After shooing off a droid that had been safeguarding the cellar, Maz lit up an overhead torch and dragged over a small chair for her to sit in and a similarly sized table, though she did not offer her guests any seats of their own.

Clasping her hands in front of her, Maz said, “What can I do for you?”

“You’ve heard of the Malvis Cabal, correct?” Booster asked.

“How can I have not? I’ve been hearing stories for nearly a year now.”

“Well, we’ve found out that one of their chief crime lords—an individual by the name of Drakmos the Despised—is operating on a planet called Ord Talavos, which is in this sector.”

Maz rubbed her chin at this. “Ord Talavos, you say? Yes, I’ve been there before, though it’s been many years. Its capital city, Vostal, was left in ruins following the Draggulch Period.”

“We don’t care about its history,” Booster said. “We care about who’s running it now, and that ‘who’ has posed a threat to the Resistance since day one. Are you sure you don’t know anything about the Cabal?”

“I know plenty of rumors,” Maz said. “I’ve never had the misfortune of crossing them myself, at least not yet.”

“That could very well change rather soon,” said Yalnis, one of Booster’s trusted advisers. “We have someone with insider knowledge of the Cabal and their operations, and we’re going to need a lot of help if we want to strike at the heart of those operations.”

“Ah. So you are here for reinforcements then.”

“Reinforcements and information,” Booster said. “If you don’t have it, then I’m sure someone else here does. You said you’ve heard stories about the Cabal, yes?”

“I have,” Maz confirmed. “There is a pirate here by the name of Sidon Ithano who says he has had dealings with the Cabal before. He might give you the help you need… for the right price, of course.”

Booster smirked. “Don’t worry, I came prepared for that. Thanks for your help again, Maz.”

“So long as you don’t bring your problems with you, I am always more than happy to help.”

Satisfied with how this meeting had concluded, Booster and his entourage turned to leave the cellar. Kyla turned to follow them, grateful that she had not been called upon to participate while also wondering why she had been asked to come along in the first place. As soon as she had turned her back to Maz however, she heard the pirate queen call out to her.

“Miss Kishanti, a moment of your time, if I may.”

Kyla froze in her tracks. Booster glanced over his shoulder at her but did not stop to wait for her, leading Yalnis and the others out of the cellar. Kyla did not move even as she heard Maz get out of her seat and walk over to her, hands behind her back as she stared up at the Mirialan.

“It’s been too long,” Maz said softly after a long moment of silence.

“Not long enough,” Kyla muttered under her breath.

Maz sighed, shaking her head. “I have met so many people like you. Unwilling to confront your past even if it would mean lifting the burden that has been weighing upon your shoulders.”

“You don’t know anything about my past,” Kyla snapped.

“I have an idea. It shows in your eyes. All it took was one bad day to lose your family you knew, the family you loved—”

“Stop it.” Kyla wanting nothing more than to storm away but something was keeping her rooted in place. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Maz rested an aged hand on her arm. “But you have found a new family to replace them, haven’t you? You have found purpose again by finding people that you love… and yet….”

Kyla squeezed her eyes shut, silently praying that the old woman would just shut up and mind her own business and just let her leave—

“You have been betrayed. Betrayed by someone you thought you could put your trust in. It has left a wound in your new family, a wound that only you can feel. A wound that—”

“Enough!” Kyla was finally able to break whatever invisible restraint had been holding her back and she started to storm away from the pirate queen. “Just… just stay out my head! Stars, this is why I hate you!”

Maz Kanata made no effort to follow her and Kyla Kishanti was soon able to escape the cellar, losing herself in the buzz of noise in the room above.

*  *  *

“Never thought we’d be back here again so soon,” Bedo said as he and his fellow Renegades stepped off their Corellian transport of the same name and headed towards Maz’s castle. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“Thank stars for that,” muttered the Cathar warrior Wiskin. “I’ve already had my fill of that.”

While the Ortolan bleated out some sort of protest, Kadar looked around the castle grounds warily. The last time he had been here, he had been confronted by his former partner Salvan Tai and his crew. He hadn’t heard from or seen Salvan Tai since then, leaving him to only guess whether or not the shape-shifter was still on Takodana. Granted, that confrontation had been nearly a year ago, and he had since exchanged his iconic Mandalorian armor for a different set entirely. But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t have been on his guard.

“I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have come here,” he muttered, loud enough for his helmet’s voice modulator to pick up and project but quiet enough that only his daughter Vessin could hear.

“Relax,” Vessin replied in turn. “You know Maz’s rules. No one’s going to pick a fight with you so long as you’re inside the castle.”

“And when I’m outside?”

“Come on, you’re a Mandalorian. We’re Mandalorians. These guys don’t stand a chance.”

Kadar could only hope that his daughter was right as they and the rest of the Renegades approached the flag-covered entrance to Maz’s castle. Overhead, he could hear the roar of ship engines as spacecraft from all over the galaxy arrived on the planet. It was such a typical sight on Takodana that he did not bother to look up.

If he had, he would have seen the distinct claw-like shape of a Mandalorian Gauntlet fighter. Then, he would have been certain that he should not have come back to Takodana.

*  *  *

“There he is. That’s him.”

Dax Goldam peered out the viewport of Argus Ordo’s Gauntlet fighter as it landed on the outskirts of Maz’s castles. Up ahead, an entourage of various beings were heading into the castle; among them were two figures in armor, although neither of them looked like Kadar to him. One of them was clearly female while the other wore armor that, while white, did not appear to be Mandalorian in design.

“Are you sure that’s him?” he asked Argus as the older man got out of the pilot’s seat.

“That’s my granddaughter with him,” Argus muttered, nodding to the female Mandalorian. “She’s wearing the armor of her grandmother; I gave it to her adopted parents after she passed.”

Dax shrugged as he stood up. “If you say so.” After double-checking the charge in his blaster, he then said, “So, how are we going to do this? Just confront him here and now?”

“You,” Argus said pointedly, “are going to go in there and kill him.”

“Just like that?” Dax frowned. “But Maz Kanata doesn’t allow fighting in her castle.”

“Do you think I care what that old hag says or thinks?”

“Still, wouldn’t it be better to just lure him out and—”

Argus whirled on him, grabbing him by the shoulder and slamming him against a wall. “Do you want Kadar dead or not?” the old Mandalorian snarled.

“Of course I do,” Dax grunted, pulling Argus’s hand away. “I just don’t want to kill him by causing us more problems.”

“Once you kill him, nothing else will matter,” Argus retorted. “All that matters now is killing Kadar and avenging my daughter and grandson.”

“Right,” Dax mumbled. He turned as Argus hit the controls to the ship’s boarding ramp, lowering it. “I guess this is it then. After eleven years, it all ends here.”

“Oh, one more thing before you go.” Argus reached up into a compartment above the ship’s controls and brought down a red Mandalorian helmet. “Put this on.”

Dax regarded the helmet with a look of confusion as he took it. “Why?”

“Because I want his wife’s face to be the last thing he sees before he dies.”

As much as he wanted to, Dax decided against questioning this, already knowing what the response would be. After a moment of hesitation, he put the helmet over his head and headed for the lowered ramp, walking towards his destiny.

*  *  *

Argus Ordo watched as Dax departed from his ship, heading towards the castle of Maz Kanata. This was it, the old Mandalorian thought. This was the turning point. Whatever happened here on Takodana, his life would be changed forever.

Taking off his helmet, he took in a breath of filtered air. He found it hard to believe he was still doing this, running around in his armor when he was in his mid-seventies. As recently as a year ago, he had been perfectly content with living a retired life on his farm. But that had all changed after the Battle of Mandalore.

He had been on Ordo when the battle happened, not hearing a word about it until after it had ended. He had long stopped paying attention to galactic politics and was thus surprised to learn that Boba Fett, the last Mand’alor he had served under, had been killed and replaced by a warrior by the name of Atinar Cabur. Under Cabur’s rule, Mandalore had declared allegiance to a Sith faction, which had then resulted in a battle between said Sith forces and a coalition of enemy forces. Not only did Cabur perish in that battle, but it was rumored that it had been Kadar that had dealt the killing blow before being reported dead himself. Now liberated from Sith control, Mandalore had since fallen under the rule of Tral Vizsla, a member of Kadar’s forsaken clan.

As much as he had despised the fact that a Vizsla was once more in control of Mandalore, Argus had at least taken solace in the fact that Kadar had died a warrior’s death. He may not have liked the man, but he could at least respect him for that.

Then, mere weeks ago, he had been approached by a mysterious woman who told him that Kadar was still alive. He hadn’t believed her at first until she showed him recordings, taken from the logs on a star yacht, that supported her claims.

From that moment, any respect Argus held for Kadar, however minimal, had evaporated. While he had never thought highly of Kadar, Argus had never pegged him as a coward—the worst thing a Mandalorian could be in his eyes. The fact that Kadar would go so far as to fake his death and use it to escape the repercussions of his actions, good or ill, drove Argus into a rage and within minutes he was donning his armor—which he had not touched in decades—and setting out to find and kill Kadar. The mysterious woman he had spoken agreed to work with him and helped him set up shop on Kjimi to await further directions. It was not long after that that she told him about Dax Goldam and brought the young man to him for training.

Argus wasn’t sure what it was she had seen in Dax. He would have gladly done the job himself. Perhaps she and whoever she worked for simply wanted to use someone younger before letting him have the honor of killing Kadar. Ultimately, Argus didn’t care whether it was him or one of the pirates that frequented Maz’s castle that did the deed, so long as it meant Kadar’s death.

He was broken away from his thoughts by a beeping sound coming from his ship’s console, indicating an incoming call. Putting his helmet back on, he answered it and the holographic bust of the same mysterious female that had brought him Kadar appeared.

“Have you located Kadar yet?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” Argus replied. “He’s here on Takodana, in Maz Kanata’s castle. Dax has just gone in to do the deed.”

“I’m impressed that it didn’t take you so long. How did you find him?”

“One of the contacts you gave me—the informant in Talon Karrde’s organization—told me where to find him. Apparently Kadar and his new friends have joined the Smugglers’ Alliance.”

“Karrde’s organization, you say,” the woman said darkly, her expression hidden behind the mask she wore. “If you’re on Takodana, then that means you’re not far from where my people are operating. I should alert my superiors of this.”

“Do whatever you feel you need to. All that matters to me right now is Kadar. Once he’s dead, I will be able to rest easy.”

“That you will, Argus Ordo. Report back to me as soon as the job is done.”

The woman’s hologram winked out before Argus even had a chance to respond. Hardly bothered by this, the old Mandalorian leaned back in his seat and waited for everything to fall into place.

Star Wars: Vergence IV, Prologue

 PROLOGUE

Ord Talavos, ten years ago

“Vostal is quite the beautiful city, I have to say.”

Xalren Mithric, Prince of Falleen and Underlord of Black Sun, stood on a balcony that oversaw the city in question. The architecture, archaic in design, felt both ancient and new at the same time. This was owed to the fact that the ancient city had been recently rebuilt after it had been devastated over a thousand years ago during a great war between the Jedi and the Sith. Who exactly had rebuilt and why was a mystery to the Falleen prince; a mystery that he was content with leaving unsolved.

“Indeed it is,” a voice said from behind him. “But you didn’t come here to see the sights, did you, Prince Xalren?”

Xalren turned to face the large dragon-like being sitting upon a throne situated across from the balcony. Drakmos the Despised, self-proclaimed ruler of Vostal, stared back at him with narrowed golden eyes.

“You are remarkably perceptive, Despised One,” Xalren replied, stepping away from the view. “If it suits you, then I will not waste your time any further and get straight to the point.”

“Please do,” Drakmos rumbled, folding his clawed hands in front of him.

The Falleen walked over to stand in front of the throne, meeting Drakmos’s eyes with his own. “Have you ever heard of an organization known as Black Sun?”

“I have heard rumors of such an entity,” Drakmos answered. “Word travels often from Takodana, which is not too far from here.”

“Ah yes, the pirate queen’s domain,” Xalren said, barely hiding the disdain in his tone. “Anyway, there was a time, less than three decades ago, that Black Sun was one of if not the most powerful crime syndicate in the galaxy, rivaling the power of both the Hutts and the Empire itself.”

“Lovely hyperbole.”

“It may sound that way to you, but it was the truth, at least as I remember it. After the loss of Prince Xizor, Black Sun failed to maintain its prominence in the wake of the New Republic’s rise and saw a pitiful end eight years ago while in the hands of an equally pitiful bounty hunter.”

Drakmos sank back in his seat, resting his head in his hand. “I hope there is a point to this story of yours, Prince, for I find it awfully boring so far.”

Xalren’s lips twisted into a humorless smirk. “My apologies for wasting your time, Despised One. I will cut it short then: I am seeking to rebuild Black Sun and restore it to its proper glory… and I would like to use your city as grounds for its restoration.”

Drakmos peeled his lips back in a sneer, revealing rows of sharpened fangs. “And why my city, as opposed to any other in the galaxy?”

“The location of Ord Talavos on the galactic grid is strategically viable. As you say, it is not far from Takodana, giving us a close connection to the criminal underworld and the opportunity to recruit agents. It is also outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction, allowing us to operate in peace and build our empire without disturbance.”

“All very good points,” Drakmos admitted. “But what do I get out of it?”

“Well, that depends entirely on what you want out of the deal.” Xalren splayed his arms out far and wide. “Name your desire and I will give it you.”

“Get out of my city and never return.”

Xalren chuckled, shaking his head. “Come, now. Be reasonable, Despised One. I am not lying when I say I will give you anything.”

“And what if I don’t want anything from you?” Drakmos retorted. “Perhaps I have everything I could ever need. I have an entire city to myself, after all. What could you possibly offer me?”

“How about a guarantee of security?” Xalren’s eyes narrowed. “After all, you wouldn’t want anyone threatening your city, would you?”

“Ord Talavos has not been on any galactic charts for over a millennium. I’m not worried about anyone with hostile intent finding us.”

“But I have. And if you will not allow Black Sun to set up operations here in Vostal… then what exactly is stopping us from letting word get out about Ord Talavos’s rediscovery?”

“Ah. So you are threatening me then.”

Xalren raised his hands up. “I am hardly in the position to do so, Despised One. That said, there are forces out there that would jump at the chance to seize Ord Talavos for themselves. Provide Black Sun with hospitality, and we will ensure that your secret never gets out. If you refuse….”

The Falleen trailed off, leaving the implied meaning of his words unsaid. Drakmos seemed to catch on, small clouds of smoke puffing out of his nostrils as he huffed in frustration.

“I believe you have made yourself clear, Prince,” Drakmos muttered. “Very well. You and your little criminal empire may set up operations here in Vostal. So long as you keep to yourselves and bring no attention to my planet, then I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

Xalren grinned, revealing pearl white teeth. “I assure you, Despised One, that you will be grateful for making this decision.”

Ord Talavos, two years later

“This was not part of our deal!” Drakmos bellowed at the Arkanian male standing before his throne.

Sal Tyrius, Vigo of Black Sun and Prince Xalren’s chief lieutenant, maintained a calm and even composure even in the face of the Despised One’s wrath. “What wasn’t part of our deal?”

“This!” Drakmos gestured out the open balcony that gave them both a view of the city outside. Freighters and starships were flying to and from the city, dropping off all sorts of unsavory characters… and not all of them associated with Black Sun. “Your Underlord promised to keep Ord Talavos hidden, but now look! People from all over the galaxy are now roaming in my city! They know its location!”

“I assure you that Black Sun has not disclosed Ord Talavos’s coordinates to anyone—”

“You might not, but what of the people out there who aren’t associated with either Black Sun or with me? What’s stopping them from leaking the planet’s location, if they haven’t already?”

Tyrius shrugged his shoulders, displaying little concern. “I’m afraid that’s outside of our control. We have done our part to keep a lid on things, but things inevitably fall through the cracks.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” Drakmos snarled. “Your irreverence shows that you clearly do not care about honoring your word. And here I thought Prince Xalren was a respectable man….”

“Any issues you have with the Underlord should be dealt with between the two of you personally,” Tyrius said. He paused, bringing a finger to his lips as he seemed to mull something over in his head. “Has Prince Xalren ever offered you a position in Black Sun’s ranks?” the Arkanian then asked.

“He has approached me on more than one occasion,” Drakmos muttered. “I have refused him each and every time.”

“Then you have no interest in joining a criminal organization?”

“What would I possibly have to gain from that? I already had everything I could possibly need long before you and your ilk came to my planet.”

“Clearly things have changed,” Tyrius said wryly. “If you want total control of your city back, you would have to go through Xalren and the rest of Black Sun. Pardon me, but I strongly doubt that you would come out of that encounter unscathed, let alone with your life.”

Drakmos glared at the Vigo, baring his fangs. “Watch yourself, Arkanian. I am this close to flirting with such a prospect.”

“But you must acknowledge the fact that if you truly had the strength to overthrow Xalren and drive Black Sun off your planet, you would have done so by now. Wouldn’t you?”

Drakmos leaned forward in his throne, nearly rising from it. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that if you want to challenge Xalren, you need to play him at his own game. You need a criminal empire of your own, one that will match Black Sun in strength. Not only then will you be able to rid yourselves of us, but you would also send a message to anyone else who happens to stumble across Ord Talavos. In time, the system will fade back into obscurity and you will be able to return to the life you had before we came along.”

The dragon lord’s eyes narrowed into slits, regarding Tyrius carefully. “Why are you even telling me all this? Aren’t you Xalren’s chief lieutenant?”

“Yes, but that hardly means I’m loyal to him,” Tyrius said. “It just means I have more money than any of the other Vigos. It makes no difference to me whether his attempt at reviving Black Suns succeeds or fails; I will end up all the richer regardless.”

Drakmos leaned back in his throne, folding his hands together as he continued to eye the Arkanian warily. “Even if I were to follow your advice, where would I even find the means of accumulating such a power base? I won’t find it here in Vostal; my people are hardly the criminal type and the ones you have brought here are mostly loyal to Xalren.”

Tyrius smirked. “I have my connections. Do you think Xalren is the only crime lord I have made an association with?”

“Truly, he was wise to put his faith in you.” Drakmos snorted, puffing out more clouds of smoke from his snout. “Fine. I will humor you. Could you get me in touch with one of these associates of yours? Preferably without Xalren knowing.”

Tyrius grinned, his teeth shining just as brightly as Xalren’s had when he spoke to the Despised One two years ago. “Why, certainly. There is one crime lord in particular who has been making quite the name for himself out on the Outer Rim lately. Even the Hutts aren’t willing to cross him.”

“I’ll believe the stories once I’ve met him myself,” Drakmos said, waving his hand flippantly. “What is his name?”

“He calls himself Malvis.”

STAR WARS: VERGENCE

Book IV: There Be Dragons

Star Wars: Tales from the Jedi Order - What They Grow Beyond

 WHAT THEY GROW BEYOND

Coruscant, 44 BBY

“It sounds like the operation on Galidraan was an overall success!”

Yoda saw the Chancellor’s lips move, heard the words coming from his mouth. Yet it took him a long while to realize that the words were being spoken directly to him, with the expectation of a response. By the time he realized this, Master Windu had already taken the responsibility of answering, no doubt sensing his elder peer’s unease.

“Indeed, Chancellor,” the young Korun man said. “Your men in the Judicial Forces are to be commemorated for their victory.”

“Ah, but it was the Jedi who won the battle,” replied Chancellor Kalpana, seated at his desk with withered hands clasped before him. “Were it not for their presence, the Mandalorians would have surely proved victorious.”

Yoda’s long ears twitched and he did his best to keep the annoyance he felt out of his voice. “Victory there is not to be had in this for either side. Killed, many Jedi were.”

“Yes, and their losses will certainly be mourned,” the Chancellor said. “But the goal was nonetheless accomplished, was it not? The Mandalorian invaders were crushed and defeated, their numbers reduced to but one man.”

Yoda lowered his head to hide his deep frown. He knew it would be pointless to explain the root of his disquiet to someone like Chancellor Kalpana, a man who saw the Battle of Galidraan as nothing more than fuel for his reelection campaign. To Yoda, it meant something far more deeper, more personal, than even some of his fellow Jedi could grasp.

The Jedi had gone to Galidraan at the personal request of the planet’s governor, who had said that Mandalorian warriors were invading his homeworld and slaughtering his people. This news had come as quite a shock to some in both the Republic and the Jedi Order, as the Mandalorians had been thought to have foregone their warriors ways since the Excision that devastated their homeworld nearly seven hundred years ago. In response, the Republic had sent Master Dooku to lead a task force of Jedi and Judicial Forces to quell the uprising. While the Mandalorians were indeed crushed, killing all save for their leader according to Dooku’s report, eleven Jedi had also been killed in the process along with most of the Judicial Forces that had accompanied them. It was perhaps the bloodiest battle the Republic had ever seen in the past few centuries. Not since the disastrous Nihil conflict had this much blood been shed.

Not for the first time since hearing the debriefing report did Yoda wonder if such violence was even necessary. He understood why Jedi had been sent in the first place, of course; the Order had a long, millennia-spanning history of dealing with Mandalorians. As Kalpana had said, the Judicial Forces would have been swiftly wiped out had they alone been sent to Galidraan. It was perhaps only thanks to Master Dooku’s own knowledge of the Mandalorians’ warrior ways, having studied their history in the Archives, that “victory”—if it could be called that—was achieved.

Yoda was brought back to the present moment when he sensed the door to the Chancellor’s office opening. He peered over his shoulder to see Dooku himself stride into the room, trailed by the young blonde woman that was his current Padawan learner. Komari Vosa was no older than eighteen, and yet her blue eyes carried a heaviness that Yoda had only seen in more experienced Jedi Knights and Masters. It was a heaviness that carried over to her master, whose grave expression was enough to chill even the hottest of environments.

“Ah, Master Dooku!” Kalpana greeted the Jedi, no doubt oblivious to the weight that burdened their shoulders. “Thank you for taking the time to visit me personally. I wanted to congratulate you on your success at Galidraan.”

“There are no congratulations to be had for something like this,” Dooku replied, his deep voice thick with solemnity. “We Jedi find no pleasure in taking lives, even those of our enemies.”

Kalpana nodded curtly, clearing his throat. “I understand, Master Jedi. Regardless, I am sure the people of Galidraan are grateful for your actions in defending their world. And I can assure you that the Republic is grateful in seeing an end to these Mandalorian interlopers.”

“The ensured safety of the Republic is enough, Chancellor.”

Yoda studied Dooku carefully from where he sat, analyzing his former student’s face. Although Dooku did his best to hide it, Yoda knew him well enough to see the conflict in his eyes, the shame and the remorse. No Jedi ever took pleasure in killing; that much of what Dooku had said was true. But Yoda sensed that there was something more to his old Padawan’s discomfort, something that he could not yet put into words. Perhaps it was not that different from what Yoda himself was feeling in regard to this incident.

Then again, Yoda doubted anyone in this room could ever fully understand or relate to what he was feeling. None of them were as old or as experienced as he was. Even Chancellor Kalpana, whose old age had become a major detriment to his reelection campaign, had nothing on the eight centuries Yoda had lived. Yoda remembered the Mandalorian Excision after all; he had been a mere Jedi Knight back then, but he remembered it nonetheless. He alone fully understood the root of the Mandalorians’ resentment against the Republic and the Jedi. The Battle of Galidraan was perhaps the inevitable culmination of that resentment; a bloodbath that had been unavoidable.

Yoda cast his emerald gaze to the Chancellor, who stared back at him from his warm, wrinkled face. Wise as he was, Kalpana’s eighty years were but a droplet of water in the vast ocean that was Yoda’s life.

“I will not detain you any longer, Master Jedi,” the Chancellor said. “I’m sure you have other matters to attend to. Besides, I am due for a session in the Senate in a few hours.”

Yoda nodded absently and was the first to rise from his seat, with Windu shortly following him. After bowing in farewell to the Chancellor, they turned for the door, where Yoda expected to see Dooku and his Padawan still standing there. However, the two Jedi were already gone, walking ahead of Yoda and Windu before either pair had the chance to acknowledge each other. As they walked out of the Chancellor’s office, Windu glanced at Yoda, a dark eyebrow raised.

“I sense unease coming from those two,” the younger Jedi Master said. “As well as from you.”

Yoda sighed, putting both hands on top of his cane. “Very perceptive you are, Master Windu.” 

At twenty-eight, Mace Windu was the youngest member of the Jedi Council, having been appointed not too long ago. Regardless, the young man exuded a wisdom in him that Yoda had seen in few Jedi outside of those already sitting on the Council.

Age is more than a count of heartbeats. Age is how many times you have failed.

If that lesson, one that had been passed down to him by his own teacher long ago, was true, Yoda wondered if that meant he was beyond the years he had physically lived… or if he was still catching up.

“Distress I sense in Master Dooku,” Yoda continued, walking alongside Windu to the turbolift that Dooku and Vosa had just gone through. “In his Padawan as well. A deep scar the conflict on Galidraan has left on them.”

“Indeed,” Windu said gravely. “It has been many years since this many Jedi have been lost in a single year. Between this and the conflict against the Stark Combine, I dread that a pattern is beginning to emerge.”

Yoda grimaced. “Let us pray that it does not become one.”

*  *  *

Upon returning to the Jedi Temple, Yoda knew right away where to find his former apprentice.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was where many Jedi went when seeking a place to meditate. Its flowing waterfalls and verdant flora created a serene environment that allowed one to clear their mind and attune themselves with the Force. Yoda himself had come to this retreat more time than he could count, and it was here that he found Dooku sitting alone in the center of the expansive chamber, his back to his former teacher.

As Yoda approached his old Padawan, careful not to disturb his meditative trance, Dooku suddenly spoke, stopping the older Jedi Master in his tracks. “Komari did well on Galidraan.”

Yoda harrumphed, clasping his hands over his walking stick. “Killed many Mandalorians, did she?”

“She held her own against twenty of their warriors. An impressive feat, wouldn’t you say?”

“Impressive?” Yoda grunted. “Impressive, is it, to take lives?”

“A Jedi takes lives only when it is necessary,” Dooku replied. “In this situation, it was necessary for her to strike down her enemies. If there had been any other option, I’m sure she would have taken it.”

“Certain, are you? Much conflict I sense in young Vosa. Desperate to please you, she is.” 

Dooku opened his eyes and slowly looked over his shoulder to look at Yoda, a questioning gleam in his dark eyes. “To please me?”

“See it, do you not? Knowing you as well as I have, difficult to please you often are. Make your students desperate for approval, you do.”

Dooku arched an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Seen it in young Qui-Gon, I have. See it now in young Komari, I do.” Yoda sighed, hanging his head low as he shook it. “Important it is to show your Padawan when they are on the right path… just as important it is to show them when they are diverging from that path. A balance to be kept there must be.”

“I fail to see how I am doing things wrong, Master,” Dooku said defensively. “Besides, if I recall, you were rather difficult to please yourself when I was your student. Perhaps we are not so different.”

Yoda’s ears twitched as he reflected on his former student’s words. He thought back to the many times a young Dooku had expressed frustration at Yoda’s way of teaching, which often involved him leaving Dooku to figure things out for himself rather than to tell him plainly how to solve a particular problem. Yoda had known it would have been the best way for his apprentice to learn and become a great Jedi, and become a great Jedi Dooku had. But perhaps Dooku had taken the wrong lesson from that. While Yoda saw it important to let students figure things out on their own, it was also just as important for their teachers to encourage them and to guide towards the solution rather than to leave them wholly in the dark. Dooku had apparently missed that aspect of the lesson, for it was because of his aloof nature that Padawans like Komari or even Qui-Gon often did foolish, ill-advised things in order to get some semblance of approval from their master. The fact that it had taken young Komari to kill twenty Mandalorians in order to get any form of praise from Dooku was also not an encouraging sign.

Had Dooku failed to pick up on an important aspect of the lesson Yoda had taught him all those years ago? Or had Yoda failed to make it clear to him?

It was not the first time Yoda had asked himself such a question. Having trained as many Jedi as he has, for as many years as he has, it was inevitable that he would one day ask himself the question no teacher ever wanted to ask: Where did I go wrong?

Yoda shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. There was no need to go down that line of thought; Dooku had not yet given any cause for it. There was still room for improvement, yes, but that was true for both of them—as it was for all Jedi, young and old.

After holding Dooku’s gaze for a long time, Yoda said, “Perhaps not. Even so, advise you I do that you not let your Padawan think that killing enemies is the only way to elicit praise from you.”

Dooku nodded sagely as he turned away. “Yes, I plan on a talk with her after I have finished meditating.”

“Disturb you no longer, I shall,” Yoda said, already turning away. “May the Force give you peace.”

“Thank you, Master. And may the Force give you the same.”

Yoda allowed himself a smile as he turned and walk away. Despite the assuring words however, he still could not help but feel that there was still a cloud hanging over him. Perhaps he would need to return to the Room of a Thousand Fountains to clear his mind as well…. 

*  *  *

It was not until several hours later, after the funeral held for the eleven Jedi that had fallen at Galidraan, did Yoda find the remaining root of the cloud.

After most of the Jedi had left the chamber, he found Qui-Gon Jinn—Dooku’s first Padawan learner—still standing in the room, looming over one of the sealed coffin chambers. Master Adi Gallia, a close colleague of Qui-Gon’s, also lingered in the chamber, observing her fellow Jedi with a concerned expression. She then met Yoda’s gaze and, with a simple nod of his green head, she too departed from the chamber, leaving the old Master alone with the forlorn Qui-Gon.

As Yoda slowly made his way over to him, Qui-Gon began speaking without looking up from the coffin chamber. “I failed him.”

Yoda looked up at him, tilting his head to one side. “Failed him?”

“If I had been a better teacher—a better Jedi—then Feemor would still be alive,” Qui-Gon elaborated, closing his eyes. “He would not have fallen to those Mandalorian barbarians.”

“Blame yourself for others’ shortcomings, you should not,” Yoda said sternly. “Taught him everything you knew, you did. Passed the Trials, he did. From that point, separate your paths became. Feemor’s strengths and weaknesses became his own, just as have your own you do.”

“That doesn’t explain Xanatos.”

Yoda sighed heavily, bowing his head. “Had this conversation before, we have. A complicated case, your second Padawan was. Too old he was for training; attached to his homeworld, his family, his wealth.”

“Yes, I made a mistake in bringing Xanatos to the Temple,” Qui-Gon said. “Perhaps I made a mistake in even taking on a Padawan in the first place, let alone taking on a third.”

“Every Jedi makes mistakes, Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda said solemnly. “Defined by their mistakes, some of the greatest Jedi Masters are.”

At last, Qui-Gon diverted his gaze from the lowered coffin to meet Yoda’s gaze. His blue-gray eyes, wrought with conflicting emotions, carried an aura of surprise. “Even you?”

Yoda allowed a small smile. “Me, especially. Over eight hundred years have I lived; mistakes I have made, how many do you reckon?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “To be honest, Master, I find the concept of you making a mistake to be impossible.”

“Impossible, hm? Make mistakes often, I do. Without even realizing it, perhaps.”

“What do you mean?”

Yoda gestured with his walking stick. “Walk with this, I do. Touches the ground everyday, it does. How many insects do you think I have killed with it, without meaning to?”

“I’m pretty sure Coruscant is too sterilized for there to be insects in the first place—”

“Another world, then. Dantooine. Visited there I did, not so long ago. Festering with life it is, big and small. Walked through a garden with my stick, I did. How many lives were lost then, hm?”

Qui-Gon’s expression became one of contemplation as he looked away from Yoda; not at the coffin containing Feemor’s below but rather up ahead, at nothing in particular.

“Learn from our mistakes, every Jedi must,” Yoda went on. “Not the first Jedi are you to have lost a Padawan, nor will you be the last. Many students have I lost; more than anyone can count. But stop me from teaching that does not.”

Yoda allowed those words to hang in the air as he turned to leave the chamber. He walked a few steps towards the exit, then stopped to look over his shoulder at Qui-Gon one last time. The other Jedi Master, deep in thought, managed to meet his gaze.

“We are what they grow beyond, Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda said quietly. “That is the true burden of all masters.”

Qui-Gon acknowledged his words with a simple nod. Yoda then walked out of the chamber, his shoulders straining from the weight put upon them.