Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Six, seven, eight...

“Brother!”

Pausing as he reached for a ninth fruit, Savage peered downwards into the gloom of the undergrowth. Sure enough, a moment later the ferns at the base of his tree rustled, and a younger Zabrak boy appeared upon the gnarled trunk, clambering upward with far too much awkwardness than skill.

Savage sighed. He shifted his gathering pouch to one side, and easily slid back down from the sharp-leafed branches to meet his little brother halfway. “What, Feral?”

“There’s a human! Stuck in the pitter-bog!”

...well, that was a new one.

Savage went ahead and tied his pouch closed, before gesturing towards the ground. Feral dropped down to land in an ungainly heap, with his larger brother following with a touch more grace. Before Savage could reach to drag the smaller boy upright, though, Feral was already bouncing ahead through the undergrowth of the forest. With a sigh, his brother followed.

Perhaps only a minute or two later, they emerged atop a small cliff, leading down into foul-smelling murk. The surface of the pitter-bog always looked deceptively solid, until movement jostled the liquid, which would ripple and stick and usually swallow whatever had fallen into its clutches.

Which, in this case, would be a full grown-human with shorn hair, who’d apparently had sense enough to seize a low-hanging vine before the bog could consume him completely. Grumbling something under his breath, the stranger attempted to ease himself out of the sucking liquid a little at a time, pausing when the bog’s grip grew tight, and trying again when it eased.

Savage felt a tad impressed. Not many would have the self-discipline to avoid panic long enough for the attempt.

Right when it looked as if he were about to get clear of the bog, however, the human’s vine snapped at one end, dropping him back in, the liquid coming up to waist-level. Cursing, he froze, to avoid falling further. Once the bog settled, the human cast his gaze upwards - and spotted the two boys watching.

He blinked. They blinked back.

He frowned. Feral lifted a hand to wave.

Savage grabbed Feral’s hand and tugged the smaller boy partially behind himself.

The human huffed.

“Pretty sure I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to, little ones,” he called up to them.

Savage’s face scrunched up as he scowled, looking away to scan the trees around them. Seeing a likely candidate, he pulled Feral after him towards a particularly old specimen. Below them, the human sighed, and went back to slowly easing himself out of the bog’s clutches.

He seemed very surprised, a few minutes later, when a thicker, sturdier vine dropped down right in front of his face.

“It’s easier going straight up instead of through,” Savage informed him, perched upon the thick tree branch he’d wrapped the other end of the vine around. After a pause, the stranger nodded, and used the new avenue of escape to gradually haul himself out of the bog, hand over hand.

Beside Savage, Feral’s eyes got wider and wider as the human continued to pull himself upward with just his hands, even after his feet left the grasping liquid behind. He barely even seemed winded, getting up to the branch and twisting himself around to sit on it, same as them.

“Thanks,” the human said, nodding towards the vine dangling below. “That other one probably would’ve broken on me again.”

“You’re welcome,” Savage replied, solemn. “Mavrik died in a pitter-bog last year, because he thrashed too much.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Suddenly feeling awkward, Savage shifted where he sat, and Feral took the opportunity to lean around him for a better look at the human.

“Where’d you come from?” The younger boy asked.

“Kamino,” the stranger grimaced, one hand coming up to rub at the center of his chest. “I was- I was in a battle- Separatists were attacking to hurt my brothers, but I don’t- I don’t know how I got here.”

Perplexed, Savage frowned at him. “What’s a Separatist?”

For a long moment, the human just stared at him. “...they’re. Not important, at the moment. What’s your name?”

“Savage. And he’s Feral.”

“What planet is this, Savage?”

“Dathomir.”

The human went hmm. “That’s... one of the Zabrak homeworlds, right? Besides Iridonia?”

“Shh!” Feral hushed, two fingers coming up to cover his mouth. “We’re not s’posed to talk about Iridonia. Brother Viscous says it makes the witches mad.”

“What witches?”

“The Nightsisters,” Savage said in a hushed tone. “They’re in charge of our clan.”

The stranger frowned. “...I was fighting a woman, before I woke up here. Asajj Ventress. Some people refer to her as a witch.”

“That sounds like a Nightsister name. Did she hit you with a spell?”

“I don’t- I don’t think so.” The human rubbed at his chest again. “Definitely got me with her- weapon, though.”

“Are you okay?”

At that, he chuckled, a grim, bitter sound. “Guess I will be. No holes at the moment, at least.”

“That’s good,” Feral piped up again. “Holes are probbile-magic.”

“Problematic,” Savage corrected, reaching to tweak one of the smaller boy’s horn nubs. Feral huffed and squirmed away from his hand, which made the human smile, just a little.

“You two brothers?” He asked.

Feral grinned. “Yeah! Savage is the best brother ever!”

Grumbling, the older boy hunched his shoulders and looked away into the forest.

The human, who introduced himself as Colt, wound up following Savage and Feral back to the outskirts of their village. He didn’t want to risk coming in further, still covered in bog slime and only wearing a black jumpsuit, but they found an empty hut tucked away from the road for him to hide in.

“Girim got taken to be a Nightsister mate a few days ago,” Savage explained, as he unlatched the hut’s door.

“When will he be back?”

“He won’t.”

Colt grimaced again, but settled with minimal fuss, already pulling out some supplies to get himself cleaned up by the time the boys left. Feral swore up and down he’d keep their new friend a secret, but just to be on the safe side, Savage kept his excited little brother busy away from Brother Viscous and the other elders for the rest of the day. When the sunlight began to fade, they snuck back out to the hut, an extra blanket and a basket stuffed with pilfered nuts and tubers in tow.

By then, Colt had exchanged his slimy jumpsuit for some of Girim’s old clothes, leather ties securing the extra material to his waist and wrists and shins. He’d even found a couple of steel blades, and the whetstone that went with them.

“I’m more used to vibro-knives,” the human admitted, as he settled on the floor with the weapons, Savage and Feral sitting to either side. “And blasters.”

“We don’t have any of those,” Savage told him, apologetic but uncertain why. “The Nightsisters wouldn’t allow it.

“Figures.” He spent a while getting used to the feel of the stone, the angle it needed to be at as he ran it down the length of each blade. Eventually Colt found a rhythm, a steady, gentle rasp that hummed against Savage’s horns. He watched, amused, as Feral’s eyes drooped and the younger boy tipped over against Colt’s side, before eventually doing the same himself. Not quite asleep yet, he felt more than heard the human pause, drag a blanket over all three of their laps before resuming with the whetstone.

Another point against the Nightbrother elders in his mind; clearly, not all outsiders were dangerous.

Chapter Text

“Are you certain this is something you wish to do?”

“No. But it’s- I think it’s something I need to do, regardless. Not quite an akul hunt, but...”

“I understand. May the Force be with you, young one.”

He landed in the shallow hills that counted as local mountains, and meditated for a good long while before actually leaving the ship. True to what he’d been warned, the surrounding area felt a good deal more saturated in the Dark Side than the rest of the planet, a sign of long-standing malicious intent.

Every culture in the galaxy held some form of their own faith, which sometimes intersected with the Force, sometimes not. As his Master had often pointed out, multiple things could be true at once without being the same, and religion was no different. Some planets were populated with races of Force-sensitive beings who easily weaved its layers into their own beliefs, whereas others held powers over magic completely unique from what Jedi, and Sith, could accomplish.

And yet, some beings could be trained in multiple ideologies, numerous ways of interacting with the mythic, the mystical. Sometimes they came out stronger for it, touched by magic and the Force alike.

...from what Maul could sense of this particular stretch of Dathomir, however, he decided against seeing if such doubling could apply to himself.

“Nightbrother clan,” Master Kolar informed them in a grave tone. “Only Zabrak clans in the warmer climates of Dathomir bear bright coloration such as this, and the jaggedness of his markings is distinct.”

Shuffling in place, because he didn’t really like how concerned the Iridonian felt, Maul tried to subtly grasp at his newly forged padawan bond to ground himself. Not successfully, if Master Ti’s sudden mental attention and flood of affection were anything to go by.

“I take it you do not recommend reaching out to these Nightbrothers for assistance in learning Maul’s origins, my friend?” The elegant togruta asked smoothly.

“...perhaps when he is older, and the corresponding Nightsisters would not pose as much of a threat.”

Well. Maul wasn’t a brand-new padawan any longer. And as a first test of Knighthood, he’d listened to the Force, and followed its call to Dathomir.

Colt couldn’t help but admit, the brats had grown on him.

He stood over the simple cot in his meager sanctuary, staring down at the bag he’d found and loaded up with food, tools, and a few other supplies. At his waist were the pair of steel knives Colt had sharpened to a fine edge, and he wore the only set of clothes that didn’t completely swamp him.

It was as ready to go as he was liable to get.

And yet, his feet wouldn’t move towards the door.

Unable to commit to what he needed to do, Colt dithered, hands clenching and releasing over and over. You’ve got a job to return to, soldier, he growled inside his own head. Find a way off this rock, report back to base, protect your little brothers-

Images rose, unbidden.

Massive holes punched through the outer walls of Tipoca City, troopers scattered dead and dying on the hall floors, veterans and shinies alike, their youngest brothers scrambling to try and help, to not be a hindrance, to survive the blaster fire raining down on them years too early-

Small fingers suddenly touched his own. Colt flinched. When he blinked his eyes open, breath coming in shaky gasps, it was to see two pairs of eyes staring open at him with concern. Forcing his face into a weak expression of reassurance, Colt crouched, and let the pair of tiny Zabrak crowd in, close to his chest.

“You felt bad,” Feral muttered, one ear pressed over the man’s heart. Savage grumbled something similar, tucking his still soft horns underneath Colt’s chin.

“S’fine,” he muttered to them. “I’ll be fine.”

Eventually, Savage pulled back first. He glanced at the bag still sitting innocently on the cot, then at the rough boots Colt wore, stuffed with spare rags to fit his smaller feet. A tired sort of resignation appeared, as the kid looked to Feral, still clinging.

Colt knew that face. He’d worn it many times himself, behind the safety of his bucket, watching little brothers suit up in shiny new armor to ship out across the galaxy. Brothers he knew he’d never see again, like as not.

...but this time there was another option, wasn’t there.

“I’m going to find a way off this rock,” Colt murmured, keeping hold of Feral with one hand as he reached towards Savage with the other. “You little ones want to escape with me?”

Feral gasped against his chest, as Savage’s eyes widened. “Yes! Yes yes yes! Can we go see Iridonia? Or do you need to go back to Kamino? Could we see a nebula first?!”

Savage stayed quiet as his brother rambled, but Colt never dropped his gaze, nor his hand. Finally, dusty yellow fingers reached, to grasp at his own.

“...will it be safe?” The older boy asked.

“I don’t know. But you won’t be in danger from the Nightsisters anymore, I promise.” Colt tugged him into another hug, Feral outright laughing, a smile gradually emerging onto Savage’s face. War or not, clone or not, Colt couldn’t help but feel good about his offer.

A moment later, a klaxon alarm rang out in the village.

Both boys stiffened up, and Colt instinctively tightened his grip. “What? What is it?”

“Nightsisters,” Feral murmured.

“They’re back for another Choosing,” Savage growled, reaching to grasp his little brother. “We have to go, we’re supposed to all be accounted for-”

“Okay, okay, don’t panic,” Colt hushed him. “Do what you need to, I’ll wait. Gather your things when you can, and meet me back here after dark, alright?”

Both boys made noises of agreement, and slipped out the door to hurry towards the village center. Colt eased to a spot alongside the single shuttered window, squinting through the slats to watch their progress until the pair were out of sight.

Maul didn’t arrive in time to prevent the massacre.

He only got to see the aftermath, the village men who carried away their dead brothers, a few elders shaking their heads and tutting over how much extra work the remaining Nightbrothers would be forced to take on. Careful eavesdropping from around corners and atop roofs revealed this to be a regular occurrence, Nightsisters swooping in to select individuals who caught their interest, and making the chosen men fight to the death for the “honor” of becoming their mate.

Maul felt sick.

No wonder Master Kolar never told him more about this Dathomiri clan, his suspected birthplace notwithstanding.

Further investigation revealed the Nightbrothers held no magic of their own, and were for the most part numb to their lot in life, too few and too tired to even consider rebellion. Or at least... most of them.

A pair of small figures caught Maul’s eye, who tried their best to keep out of sight in that particular way of younglings up to something they shouldn’t be. The Force tickled faintly at the edge of his mind, and when Maul focused, he felt surprised he could still feel the pair moving out of sight.

Most of the Nightbrothers held some sensitivity to the Force, but at least one of those two seemed a good bit stronger than average. Even more intriguing, they seemed to be gathering supplies for an extended trip.

Maul found himself returning to ground level as the sunlight faded, and trailed after the boys attempting to slip unnoticed out of the village. They all froze, however, when an older Zabrak suddenly planted himself in the way.

“You two seem to be spending a great deal of time in Girim’s hut, since he left us,” the elder scowled. “I do not recall you being so close to our brother before.”

“We, um...”

“He had a nice bed, is all,” the smaller of the two boys piped up, when his companion faltered.

“I see. And perhaps other things, which children should not be getting into. Let us go take a look, hm?”

Panic flared in the Force, and Maul, completely unintentionally, found himself striding forwards. “Pardon me, brother,” he called, mimicking the local accent as best he could. The elder glanced over to meet his eyes, and Maul reached into the Force, casually sliding one hand through the air as he did so. “You don’t need to see the hut. You have other important matters to attend to.”

“I... I don’t need to see his hut,” the older Zabrak murmured, eyes going distant. “I’m sure there’s nothing wrong, I have more important matters to attend to... yes...” He wandered off, back towards the village center, leaving Maul alone with two extremely wary younglings.

“Hello there.”

“...who are you?” The older one asked, asked Maul slowly crouched before them, sliding his hood back a touch.

“My name is Maul. Knight Maul, of the Jedi Order,” he replied in a mild tone. Both boys gaped, the bigger one purely stunned whereas his companion looked excited.

“Do you come looking for Colt?” The latter piped up. “He said he knows Jedi!”

Maul tilted his head to one side. “I didn’t come looking for anyone in particular; the Force just told me I needed to come here. Is your friend alright?”

“Yeah! He was stuck in a pitter-bog when we found him last week, but we helped him get out and he’s been hiding in Girim’s hut, and he said he’s gonna leave but we can go with him! We’re gonna see Iridonia and Kamino and a nebula, too!”

“We were grown on a planet called Kamino,” the human muttered gruffly, rearranging the blankets to get Maul settled comfortably in his seat aboard their stolen ship. “Raised to be soldiers. Never had a choice about it, or choices about anything, really. That’s why I’m getting you away from that Sith, so you can have a chance at choosing your own path.”

Tiny Maul sniffed, scowling at him suspiciously.

“Yeah, I know, I’m not exactly giving you a choice about it now, but things’ll get better for you once we find a Jedi.”

“...I see,” grown Maul murmured, taken by surprise when the years-old memory popped into mind. “Well. I don’t know what your Colt’s plans are, but I happen to have a ship not too far from here, and I’d be happy to give you all a lift off Dathomir.”

Both boys felt excited at that, despite the taller one trying desperately to keep a wary frown on his face. His companion held no fear, however, and bounced forward to grab Maul’s hand, and start leading him towards the outskirts of the village.

Colt kept the side of his face pressed to the wall beside his window lookout, using the feeling of the warm clay to keep himself grounded as faint screams drifted out of the village. He’d asked Savage at one point what happened to “Girim,” and didn’t like the boy’s mumbled explanation of a Nightsister Choosing one bit.

There were other species out in the galaxy who maintained cultural separation of genders perfectly fine - a younger commander he used to look out for, Gree, once enthused for an hour about togorians, how their males led nomadic lifestyles while the females were in charge of their homeworld’s cities, with groups only occasionally coming together for the sake of future generations. Why that particular comparison popped into his head, Colt couldn’t say, but as he waited in tense silence for the boys to come back, it sounded much more appealing than what the Nightbrothers were forced to live with.

Steady footsteps, too heavy to belong to a child, drew Colt’s attention to the door just as a shadow appeared at the threshold. He frowned, one hand drifting towards the knives at his belt.

A bit of green light flared at the latch, which opened on its own.

Both of Colt’s hands drew his knives.

Oh so slowly, the rough hew wooden door was pushed open, creaking on simple hinges, to reveal a slender figure on the front step, hooded head tilted to one side.

“Well, now,” the woman purred, stepping inside. “What have we here?”

For a split second, Colt went stock still, the voice sounding far, far too similar to Ventress. But then the woman, the Nightsister, got close enough to reach a hand towards his face, and he reacted on instinct.

Grey steel slashed upwards, nearly cutting off her fingers before the witch pulled back. She laughed, drawing a curved blade from the sheath at her hip. “Is this really the game you want to play, boy?”

Growling, Colt launched himself forward, sweeping through a quick series of attacks. The Nightsister flowed through her own parries and dodges, until Colt pushed just a little too far, and she caught his wrist to pull him further. She stuck her nose right next to his face, drawing in a deep breath that made his heart skip a beat.

Much too similar to Ventress, get her away get her away-!

He twisted, shoved; the witch tripped further into the hut, whereas he rolled through the door and sprang back to his feet outside. Kriff, what Colt wouldn’t give for a blaster right about now, or maybe a rotary cannon-

“Colt?!”

Cursing internally, because the Nightsister was back up and sprinting towards him, Colt didn’t dare look in the direction of Feral’s panicked voice. “Stay back, ad’ika!”

His opponent cackled, jumped, her sword glinting in the light of the setting sun-

-and then a glowing blade of pale blue plasma ignited in-between her and Colt, cutting through the witch’s weapon, and then her torso. Separate halves fell to the ground on either side of Colt, and his breath hitched. The Jedi in front of him held still for a moment, before powering down the lightsaber and turning. “Are you alright?”

“I-” Colt stopped, swallowed. “Yeah. Fine.” A couple of small bodies plowed into him at high speed, and the man instinctively knelt, arms encircling the crying Savage and Feral.

“We need to move, quickly,” the Jedi said gently, tucking his saber away. “I doubt her absence will go unnoticed for long.”

Nodding on automatic pilot, Colt scooped up the boys, quickly hurrying after the Jedi further from the village. Even with the growing darkness, his guide remained surefooted, steadily following one half-invisible trail after another, up out of the swampy area into the low foothills. Only at one point did he pause, looking back the way they’d come with a distant gaze and faint frown.

“...are you a Nightbrother?” Colt couldn’t help but ask.

“Perhaps once,” came the vague answer. “I’m very grateful to have been raised a Jedi instead.” After a moment he blinked, and focused on Colt, smiling when he noticed the boys had conked out against his shoulders. “I apologize, I can take one of them if you need the respite-”

“It’s fine,” Colt huffed. “I’m used to carrying little brothers.”

The Jedi hummed. “I can believe it. Feral mentioned Kamino - is that where you were, before coming here?”

“Yes,” Colt practically gasped. “We were under attack; did they push the Separatists back? Were any cities hit besides Tipoca-?”

“Peace, trooper. I don’t know the answers to any of those questions, I’m afraid, because such an attack has yet to happen in this time.”

Everything ground to a halt. “Wh- what?”

“There is no war. There are no mass-production cloning facilities on Kamino, and the Sith Lord behind it all was publicly identified some time ago, by another of your brothers to come back to the past.”

Colt continued to simply stare at him. “The past.”

“Yes. This is the year 3619 ATC.”

...Colt probably would’ve dropped to the ground out of sheer shock, except for Savage and Feral asleep in his arms, and the core-deep refusal to wake them up.

The Jedi carefully touched his hand. “Come. My ship isn’t much further, and we can talk more once we’re safely in hyperspace.”

Nothing to do but follow, then.