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She wasn’t sure why she liked the engine room so much.
Perhaps it was because the hum of the drives made sure she was never alone with her thoughts, smothered by silence.
It had been two days since they had left Taris, and every single part of her wished she could go back.
Change things.
Make different choices.
From the moment she had answered the holo from the unknown caller, she had tripped and fallen.
Her belly hurt from the guilt that ate at her, her body tense and tired.
She couldn’t sleep.
All she could see were the bodies of her Masters, and all she could hear was the crackle of electricity.
She hadn’t even fought.
She had tried to stop them from attacking the Sith, why hadn’t they listened?
Whatever the reasons, they hadn’t.
The Sith had drawn his blade, defensive as they had advanced on him.
“This one gives me an uneasy feeling.” Master Ryen had said, his eyes intense as he stared at the Sith.
The Sith, tall and thin and swathed in dark robes, a deep hood thrown over his head and a blindfold over his eyes, had given a tiny, humourless twitch of the lips.
“Blame it on my misspent youth.” He had murmured, wary.
She had felt a pang of regret when the Masters advanced on the Sith, wishing she hadn't had to resort to betrayal.
The Sith, even with the rough looking man by his side, would be beaten into submission by two Jedi Masters. Ryen and Ocera were no library bound intellectuals.
That regret turned to horror, and she could still smell the ozone and feel the charge in the air as he wreathed himself in power.
She had been frozen.
Useless.
For all her fire and skill with her blades, she hadn’t even been able to move, let alone draw her sabers in defence of her Masters.
When Master Ryen hit the floor, his dead muscles twitching with aftershocks, her legs felt as though they might buckle under her.
The Sith, his violet blade smoking as the last of the electricity crackled along its length, looked to her.
His mouth was set in a grim line.
“You killed them,” she breathed, her own eyes unable to move from the bodies of the Jedi that had been her teachers since she had been old enough to wield a blade. “You killed the Masters.”
He shut off his blade, stowing it on his belt.
“If someone hadn’t betrayed me,” he bit out, and she flinched at his tone. “Then no one would have been any the wiser and you would have kept your precious Masters alive.”
Her throat was tight, and her eyes threatened the spill with tears.
The remembered the feeling of numb hurt, as though she was viewing events in the third person.
When all was said and done, when she had witnessed the impossible and more corpses than she could stomach were littering the floor, she watched him sink his teeth into the spirit of her ancestor and devour him.
Wisps of power clung to him as he straightened, and she would have taken a step back if the grim-faced man behind her hadn’t been there, blocking her escape.
The Sith glanced at her, and it was unnerving to have such intense focus on her despite the blindfold.
“Come with me.” He had said simply, voice deep and smooth and barely winded from throwing around more power than Ashara could dream of summoning.
Dazed, all she could do was follow.
He hadn’t spared her much notice as they boarded the ship, disappearing to some shadowy corner soon after take-off.
The man who had accompanied him to Taris, Andronikos, had grunted at her to find a spare bed in the crew bunks.
Everything had felt strange.
A few hours ago, everything had been different.
Strangely, she wondered about her possessions.
She didn’t have many, but she idly thought about what might be done with her little footlocker.
The cameras would have caught it all, so there was no hoping they wouldn’t know what she had done.
What she had caused.
It was like a dam had broken and feelings flooded every inch of her without mercy.
She had put her head into her hands and cried.
Ashara forced herself back to the present with a sigh, fingers jabbing the buttons of the keypad in front of her.
A presence made itself known as it headed down the corridor, politely advertising its approach.
Nerves fluttered in her belly.
“Zavros.”
His voice was low and smooth, and she didn’t think he sounded like a Sith.
That Imperial accent gave it away, at least.
Turning and smoothing down her fear like it was the front of her robes, she let her eyes rest on him.
He was intimidatingly tall but almost painfully slender, his robes hanging off him. His hood was down for once, exposing a shock of white hair that she couldn’t help but wonder over. A mass of scar tissue stretched over his throat, half obscured by a high collar, and curled up over snowy skin to almost bisect his mouth.
His features had an avian look to them, and everything about him seemed sharp, from the pronounced hollows of his cheeks to the severe angle of his nose and the harsh lines of his cheekbones. Frankly, he looked like he needed more food and more sleep.
A simple blindfold covered where his eyes would have been had he been human.
“Sith.” She greeted, reminding herself to not show weakness. He might have been strangely calm for a Sith, who Ashara had assumed were all slavering dark side monsters, but she didn’t trust him at all.
“I see you’re settling in fine.” he murmured, and she blushed. Fiddling with the ships computers probably didn’t look good.
“Just getting my bearings.” She shot back, unwilling to play nice. “Since someone didn’t seem to mind where I went.”
His lip curled, and his presence, tightly leashed and heavy, sparked a little.
“You try absorbing the ghost of a powerful Force user and tell me you don’t need a little meditation afterwards.” He snapped, showing temper.
She swallowed, fists clenched.
“Well, I’m here now.” She muttered, bitter. “Not like I can go anywhere else since I’ve been forced to throw my lot in with a Sith. I don’t even know your name.”
He folded his arms.
“Forced? Jedi, you don’t know the meaning of the concept.” He scoffed. “My name is Kallig. Lord Kallig.”
She tried to soothe the flash of anger. She didn’t know what it meant to be forced? What did he think he had done to her?
“Your first name is Lord?” she asked sweetly, hating him. “A common one in the Empire, then.”
He sneered.
“If you’re going to be my apprentice, you need to understand Imperial culture better.” He said, cutting. “First names are deeply personal, and not given out to just anyone.”
“If I’m your apprentice, I’m hardly just anyone then, am I?” she shot back.
He seemed to calm himself, and it irritated her. How could he, a Sith, calm himself so effectively when she still felt fire in her belly?
“Avior.” He said after a long pause. “My name is Avior.”
She blinked.
“Oh."
It was a strangely normal name.
She had half expected something outlandish.
He scoffed.
“You have it, and you don’t even know what to do with it.” He mocked. “Say ‘thank you’ and if you’re being particularly formal: ‘I’ll keep it well.’”
“I… why?” she asked, honestly baffled.
He shrugged.
“Something to do with trust and loyalty, or so the books said.”
She frowned.
“Books?”
He gave her a look that implied he thought she was stupid. It was impressive since half his face was covered with a blindfold.
“Do I look like your typical Imperial? No, I have the accent but none of the citizenship.” He grunted. “If I had to learn, so do you.”
She felt a little silly.
He was miraluka.
Of course he hadn’t been born Imperial.
Being his apprentice was one thing, but immersing herself in Imperial culture? Learning how to act as a Sith? That was another thing entirely.
She felt like she might lose herself.
“I’m not dark side,” she said firmly. “And I’m not Sith.”
He folded his arms, and she saw his hands, gloved and long fingered, thin and spidery as he rested them on his arms.
“Good for you.” He dismissed, and she blinked.
She had expected more resistance. More defence of his code.
“You can wreath yourself in sunshine and rainbows for all I care,” he said simply, and she wondered how he knew what a rainbow was. “But you will not cause me difficulty by refusing to play your part.”
“Cause you difficulty? What, in subjugating the galaxy?” she asked, glaring.
He looked grim, and she got the impression that he wasn’t used to smiling.
“No.” he murmured, giving her a measured look. “The Empire is rotting, and I refuse to go down with it.”
She frowned.
“Then why not join the Republic?” she asked, meaning it. “I’ll vouch for you, and they’d help you.”
His expression cooled, and she didn’t know what she had said wrong. His dissatisfaction made her insides squirm.
“The Republic,” he began icily, “Is no friend of mine.”
He shook his head, refusing to elaborate.
She was curious but unwilling to push him. It felt dangerous.
“Besides,” he began with a tiny, humourless smile. “Who said I wanted to leave the Empire? When it’s mine, I’ll cut out the rot myself.”
So, he had lofty ambitions.
“You can’t change the dark side.” She murmured, feeling it on him. It was sweet and sticky, and if she weren’t careful it would cling to her until she slipped under.
He shrugged.
“I don’t want to.” He said, tone serious. “It’s always been good to me.”
“It’ll destroy you.” She warned, remembering her lessons.
He shook his head.
“Peace is lie, there is only passion.
Though passion, I gain strength.
Though strength, I gain power.
Though power, victory.
Though victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me.”
He recited; some deeper meaning known to him giving the words weight that she swore she could feel.
“Some shackles are heavier than others.” He murmured, turning to leave. She didn’t know what to say to that. “And sometimes you need to break them the only way you can.”
She swallowed, uneasy.
He paused at the doorway; a spectre swathed in shadow.
“Tomorrow we begin our lessons.” He advised. “You had better be ready.”
He slipped out, and Ashara was left alone in the engine room, the hum of the drives her only company.
She hoped she would be enough.