Chapter Text
It was with a certain degree of nervousness that Dezri hurried into the Sith Sanctum. She did not feel ready to confront Darth Thanaton, but then again, if she waited until she felt ready she’d probably put it off forever. And she could not afford to put it off at all, because Jek’ar had just contacted her, had called for help. That wasn’t something Jek’ar did. He always insisted that he could handle things himself- he was the one who looked after everyone, protected everyone, not the one who needed looking after and protecting.
But he was also a civilian with neither the Force nor any combat experience. The training Dezri had arranged for him suddenly seemed like far too little.
So did her own, really, but she at least had her lightsaber and her lightning, had the spirits of both Lord Ergast and Darth Andru. Darth Thanaton had given her a trial to die in and she had emerged victorious, the same way she always had back on Korriban. And now she was headed back to prove it to him, like she’d proven it to Harkun, as many times as she’d had to.
But first, she had to answer Jek’ar’s emergency signal. He was in danger, and that took priority.
Dezri was halfway to his location when, between one breath and the next, the Force twisted around her and a sudden, gaping absence made itself known.
No, was Dezri’s first thought, and she did not dare to consider why. She just quickened her steps, her heart hammering, not bothering to look where she was going, and the Force took her where she needed to be.
No, she thought again when she came to a stop, because she could suddenly see Jek’ar in front of her but she couldn’t sense him, he was right there and there was on the floor at Darth Thanaton’s feet. No, this isn’t right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
“He wanted to warn you,” the older Sith explained. “His loyalty was admirable.”
No no no…
Dezri took one step, then another, and then she was on her knees and gathering Jek’ar’s still form into her arms. She tried to reach him through the Force, already knowing it was futile. Nothing. No presence, no warmth, no life. The Zabrak threw her head back and keened.
“How pitiful,” Darth Thanaton said, not unkindly, and she hated him. “If it’s any consolation, I will see to it that the two of you are interred together.”
“I’ll kill you for this,” she promised, not even registering the maybe-threat, her voice raw and feeling too quiet in the aftermath of her wail.
“You must understand. When Zash disobeyed me and had Skotia killed, tradition demanded that she be killed and her power base destroyed. Believe me when I say I wish your friend had not warned you, that you had stayed in that tomb. I had no desire to have him killed, and it will pain me to watch you die.”
How dare he. He doesn’t get to claim remorse.
Dezri stood, shaking, and drew her lightsaber.
“Spare me the false tears,” she managed.
“You are entitled to defend yourself; in fact, I’d expect nothing less. May the Force welcome you with open arms.” He sounded sincere, and somehow that made it so much worse. “Kill her.”
She hadn’t registered the others in the room until that moment, until they rushed her- two lesser Sith, their anticipation of a quick and easy kill undisguised in the Force.
It was quick and easy indeed, but not the way they’d have wanted. Dezri ducked and cleaved through armour, cloth, flesh, and bone in the same motion. The other side of her double blade took the warrior’s head a second later. His companion came to a stop, self-preservation warring with bloodlust. Dezri spared him the dilemma by leaping forward, lightsaber carving a deadly arc towards him. He blocked, countered, she parried but she didn’t have the patience for that dance- lightning flared, an explosion of rage and grief that kept going after it had already stopped his heart, and Dezri was able to reign it in only because her true enemy’s Force shield showed no signs of giving as he watched his warriors fall, entirely dispassionate.
“You truly are relentless. I can now see why Zash chose you. But this has carried on long enough.”
He raised his hand and she felt the invisible tendrils of darkness that attempted to ensnare her, to steal her life away. The attack was powerful, almost terrifyingly so, but Dezri knew the trick to it, had used it herself, and it found no way in, pushed back by her hastily but adeptly layered shield-counter, bolstered by fury, at every turn.
“Astonishing,” Thanaton said, almost conversational. “I didn’t expect one as reckless as you to have prepared such a defence. Unfortunately for you, I am older and wiser and studied in rituals you can’t even imagine.”
Shut up, she thought, teeth bared. Shut up and let’s get this over with.
Dezri fortified her defences, but this time Darth Thanaton tore through them like rice paper. His attack was overwhelming, going straight for her heart while simultaneously draining her life force the moment her layered shield faltered. Not how it’s supposed to be, she thought once again, something bitter and desperate and oh-so-futile in the words.
Pain stung in her chest, but she was too weakened to even react. She was dying, and there was absolutely nothing she could do. An all-encompassing hopelessness was spreading through her, as she realised just how in vain all her defences, all her preparations had been. And this wasn’t something she could endure and recover from either. There was nothing left to do, and for the first time since Korriban, possibly the first time in her life, Dezri gave up. She used what little strength she had left to reach out for the Force, not seeking to defend herself, but merely to connect with it in her final moments.
She felt... something. It was clearly the Force, but it was different. It was warm and bright, so bright she would usually have shied away from it. This was not a part of the Force she could control, but something unifying, that saw her as just another life form among trillions.
And it was fragile, despite the incredible power she knew must be contained within. It didn’t belong here, in the heart of the Empire, any more than she, an alien and former slave, did.
It could only be the Light Side. Calm and bright and steady, just like the Jedi prisoner on Korriban had described it. A strange side of the Force that had to be relied upon for guidance, rather than called to service. But her brief contact with it proved that it was not weak, as so many Sith claimed.
Then, it slipped away from her, and Dezri was left in darkness again. But not the darkness of the Force. That, she couldn’t reach anymore. This darkness was one of muted, indistinct sounds and dim, blurry images, of her senses failing. She was vaguely aware of hitting the cold durasteel floor, but the impact wasn’t even uncomfortable. All she could feel physically as the chamber faded completely from her sight was exhaustion.
It was hard to think, but she had enough presence of mind left to wonder why she wasn’t afraid. She should be. Fear kept people alive…
Oh.
Well, then it didn’t matter, did it?
She felt as if she were falling into a cold, dark ocean of nothingness, and in her exhausted state, she welcomed it.
*
Filkie was still keening, cradling the small body to her chest, and Dezri tugged anxiously at her sleeve. She didn’t know how she knew, but the overseers weren’t happy with the noise, were on their way.
“Filkie!” she hissed. “Filkie stop, be quiet, you’ll make them angry…”
Filkie did not stop. The overseers came.
“Oh shut up, slave,” said the first, and struck her when she did not. Filkie’s cries broke down into sobs, and she hunched over her son’s corpse as if trying to protect it.
“Please, Overseer,” Jek’ar said. “Just give her a moment to mourn, I’m sure she’ll-”
“Did I ask?” the man snapped. He had a remote in hand.
“No, Overseer. Forgive me.”
The second overseer was still looking at Filkie. Dezri had interposed herself between them, not meeting his eyes, not quite able to control her own trembling.
“No more disruptions, do you hear? And I want you all back to work within the hour.”
“Of course, Overseer. You are most generous, thank you,” Dezri managed.
“I want to hear it from her,” the first one decided.
Filkie said nothing, just sobbed. Dezri nudged her.
“Do you hear me?”
No response. It was as if Filkie was in her own world somewhere, and Dezri didn’t know how to get her out of it. It was terrifying.
“Please, she’s in shock, she’s not herself, she just needs a few moments,” Jek’ar begged, and was ignored.
“Don’t ignore me!” the first overseer snapped at Filkie, pressing one of the buttons. Filkie’s sobs were abruptly cut off as her collar was activated. He held the shock for a few achingly long seconds.
“Don’t overdo it,” his fellow said, and Dezri let out a silent sigh of relief as he let up.
“Ugh, whatever. If I don’t see all of you back on the site in half an hour then I’m coming back here and she’ll wish she’d kicked the bucket instead of the kid, got it?”
“Yes, Overseer,” Jek’ar said. “We’ll let her know.”
They left again, and Jek’ar exhaled softly. He moved over to Filkie and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Come on. Up you get now.”
*
She woke up.
The surface she was lying on was hard and cold, but smooth, and her head was pillowed on something, so it was not uncomfortable. The air was stale, and there several faint smells she couldn’t quite distinguish. Rot, she thought, but it was almost obscured by a heavy, bittersweet scent... incense? Yes, that seemed to fit.
Dezri opened her eyes.
It was just light enough to make out her surroundings. She was lying in an old stone alcove with intertwining symbols along the edges, some of which she recognised, but couldn’t decipher. From what the Force could tell her about her surroundings, she was either very close to or still within the Sith Sanctum. But this place had a sinister air to it, clouded with the lingering essence of the unquiet dead. She pulled that to her, cloaked herself in it, smothering her own presence from any who might be looking for it. Only then did she dare to move.
Slowly, mindful of the ache in her chest and the tingling in her limbs, Dezri sat up and looked around. It was indeed a place for the dead, or at least, for their physical remnants. A place to wait until a proper burial or cremation could be held. The term morgue was perhaps the closest, but it didn’t quite feel right to her. No common morgue had such a liminal feeling to it.
Or perhaps that wasn’t because of the place. Perhaps it was her.
Dezri remembered dying. But then she’d dreamt, then she’d woken up. She didn’t think that was how things usually went when one’s heart stopped, when one’s spirit was roughly forced over. It was certainly very interesting- she’d have to get out of here, then she could figure out the details of what had happened.
She swung her legs over the side of the slab she’d been lying on and froze. Jek’ar’s body was laid out on the floor beside her platform. Dezri stared at it for several long moments. Her vision blurred with tears she wouldn’t let fall.
There would be time to mourn later, she decided. For now, it was time to recover, and to regroup. To make Darth Thanaton regret what he’d done. To teach the Sith, as a whole, that the days in which they could kill slaves without consequences were coming to an end.
*
Filkie got back to work, and stayed quiet and unobtrusive for the next few days, and the overseers let her be. Notik and Jek’ar dug a little grave for the tiny child, and Tamar wove reeds and sticks together to make a marker for it. Filkie didn’t grieve out loud anymore. Didn’t laugh either, or speak, or sing. Dezri sang the lullabies back to her instead, every night, although her singing was not nearly as good.
And then, after maybe a month, Filkie joined in one night, and things were back to how they were meant to be, the lot of them huddled together in the camp by the river, with the close contact to give some warmth and comfort their bodies and the songs to do the same for their souls.