Archive of Our Own

"He will avenge us."

Maul feels at peace with this, more than he expected.

If he thinks about it, growing up under Kenobi's influence, it's unlikely that this child would seek revenge, however just it might be. But even so. Even if he's not the one who will bring about his master's downfall, even if it's the work of a Jedi, of the light side, he doesn't care.

He doesn't care; he's happy that Sidious's reign of terror will end. The galaxy will heal as it always does, the Force will stabilize as it should in time, and at some point, the last memory of the Empire's era will be forgotten, his name will be gone long before, and he's at peace with that.

The dark side envelops him as it always has since he first breathed, the only embrace he never denied. He looks at it and it receives him as it always did: as part of it. The dark side embraced him in his suffering, embraced him when he was abandoned, and embraces him now as he dies. Truly, there was never a chance for him to leave the dark side, not because of Sidious or the Sith, but because he would always be its child and he was happy with that.

The blue eyes that hold him are the last thing he sees. Tired, aged, and perhaps, sad. It's Kenobi; he would be sad for any life form, even Maul. The Zabrak doesn't try to say anything; there's no time or words to say everything they both needed to, but Kenobi understands, in a complicated and unexpected way, he understands. For the first time, he understands; perhaps this is the only time those sad blue eyes will truly see him.

Maul is at peace. For the first time, he is at peace, returning to the darkness knowing that this time he can stay in it forever, without returning to the pains of the galaxy.

And then he wakes up.

-

"You're distracted today, Maul!" The Zabrak blinked, turning his attention back to the human beside him. He pinched the tip of his nose, trying to remember what Daleen was saying. "You usually pay more attention in this class."

He grunted; of course he had to pay extra attention in this class, the Mandalorian professor making sure it was harder for him. In his past life, he couldn't guess why Meltch Krakko hated him so much. Now, with the memories of the man's demise at his hands, he had a better theory.

Before, he thought Krakko only suspected he was Force-sensitive, but he knew. Maybe he knew from the beginning. His lessons—the use of weapons, tracking, and physical combat—skills he himself used, that any Jedi hunter used, he was teaching Maul to defend himself against what would be used against him.

It didn't make him like the man, but it made him more bearable than in his past life.

"Just tired, some strange dreams."

"Strange or… strange?" Daleen knew too—in fact, a kind of constant revelation he'd been having in this second life was that he'd been a very detached child from his relationships. He never imagined that Daleen or Killindi knew he was sensitive; the idea was crazy. But they were around him all the time, and Killindi was Trezza's protégé, who had made it clear she knew about Maul's abilities from the start; he should have expected some suspicion from them at least. "Maul?"

"Just strange. Any reason Killindi hasn't gotten out of bed?"

"She slept very little; she came back late to the room yesterday." The Zabrak arched a nonexistent eyebrow, but didn't question it further. He could already feel Krakko's irritated gaze on them, and when he turned around again, the man was certainly staring at them through his helmet. "She went to the beach, told us to go there after morning classes."

"Hm." He began copying the content from the board, not wanting to irritate the teacher enough for the man to come to their table. "Let's go then."

-

"Blue?"

"I was thinking more beige or cream..."

Maul looked down, dozens of stones and shells glistening in the sunlight. The water reached his ankles, but it was so clear he could see the sand under it perfectly. They had found Killindi, and she immediately recruited them for her mission. The explanation came soon after.

"Some graduates are doing piercings and tattoos for services and credits." She proudly showed the earring at the tip of one of her tentacles. "They want to raise money for a graduation party, I think. I wasn't expecting much, but they even have anesthesia and do it calmly."

"Any piercing?"

"Yeah, this one I got is supposed to have an accessory, but since I didn't like the ones they had, they gave me a discount just for it." She held up a small, crescent-shaped shell and hummed, "They said they could clean and secure whatever I brought. I just have to find the shells now."

Maul nodded silently; now it was clear why she'd returned to her room late. He doubted that doing piercings and tattoos for younger students was something Trezza would approve of; they must have met in some hidden corner of the school in the middle of the night to pull it off.

He stopped his little search now that the nautolan seemed to have found what she wanted, but before leaving the water, something caught his attention.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small pebble glistening in the sand. The sunlight reflected off the water and then onto it, making it shine even brighter; it was a shade of blue he was already very familiar with. The same shade as the nautolan further out on the beach.

He returned to the girls with the pebble between his fingers.

"Do they only accept credits?"

"Yes, but it gets quite expensive then." The nautolan shifted her gaze to the thoughtful zabrak, "Are you wanting to get your tattoos touched up?" Maul has to laugh at that; he puts the pebble in one of his pockets.

"With all due respect, I don't think a bunch of teenagers have the necessary skills to retouch my tattoos."

"Right, they're magic, aren't they?"

"Partially, yes."

"But are you going to get a piercing then? I thought your master didn't allow that sort of thing."

Maul falls silent. Yes, he would never allow something like that. Maul would suffer greatly for something like a piercing; it had been a long time, but he still remembered very well the pain of the punishment when he pierced his ear in his past life.

"I'm leaving." The girls immediately fall silent, four eyes focused on him that he can't meet, "He'll be traveling and won't be able to come check this weekend, so I'll take advantage of the time off. I have to go there to get some time." He feels one of them, he's too distracted to tell you which one, approaching, "I'm not going to—well, not for long at least… Have contact with you. It will be dangerous for all of us—"

He stops because there are arms around him. Around his shoulders, embracing him. He looks at Killindi's tentacles with an expression that can't be pretty, but Daleen comes and hugs him too. He remains silent, unsure of what to do. It's only then, quite confused, that he manages to pat Killindi's shoulder in response. She laughs before stepping away.

"Sorry, I know you're not much of a touchy person—I'm happy for you. Truly."

"We both are. Do you need help escaping?"

"No, I… I already have a plan, and it's better if you don't know in case—"

"He tries to interrogate us? Fair enough." Maul stares at them, unsure what to say. "Piercings are a pretty cool way to start rebelling, do you have any idea how you're going to do it?" Maul stares at them, he thinks he's never been so speechless before, he gives a weak smile that doesn't cover half of everything he's feeling at that moment.

"Yes, I already… I already know how I want them."

-

Maul couldn't say he was very surprised when Daleen decided to accompany them through the school at night.

He managed to speak with one of the older students right after the beach, and now both he and Killindi were supposed to get their piercings. Now the three of them were sneaking through the corridors, careful not to get caught outside their rooms after curfew.

Leaping through shadows with the girls, he remembered the moment he woke up again.

He assumed it was some kind of near-death dream, suspicious that what lay before him was real. Maul had a solo dormitory at Orsis at his master's request, and without the energy to get up, he remained lying in his bed, using the Force to sense the school's surroundings. That's when he began to question the reality of things, because he could feel everyone moving. Students changing classrooms, teachers switching classes, cooks moving in the kitchen—he had never had such a detailed dream or vision, with so much happening at once.

He was jolted from his stupor by knocking on the door, and after a few more insistent knocks, he forced himself to get up to answer. He had never been a distracted student, and when he skipped morning class for no reason, the two girls came to his dormitory.

Still confused by the 'dream' and the two ghosts that had appeared before him, Maul didn't stop them when they entered his room. He spent the next few hours in their company in complete silence, which they didn't find strange, observing. They, the students around them, the nature itself, everything was so alive. The Force coursed through the planet in a natural way that Maul couldn't replicate in any dream. He couldn't tell if this was the same as his first life; he was too focused on his orders to consider disobeying and looking at what was around him.

That was a week ago, though it felt like a decade, and as more time passed, Maul began to come to terms with the fact that, for some reason he didn't know and in a way he couldn't explain, he had traveled back in time. Not far enough to save himself from his early years, but far enough to escape what was to come.

Maul would never have another chance to escape like on Orsis. Not surrounded and on a desolate planet like Mustafar, not on Coruscant in his master's private apartment, or on any forgotten planet the man threw him to in order to survive. He had never even been away from the Sith for so long until he went to school, and if even Sidious didn't know about his return, he wouldn't expect it from his previously religiously obedient apprentice.

Maul couldn't say why he had returned, but he also had no interest in knowing. The peace his brief death had given him had turned to apathy as the realization dawned on him, and had he died at any other point in his life, perhaps he would have sought revenge again, or sovereignty over the galaxy.

But no, not this time.

"This way!" He shook his head; he was still in a spy school, there was no time to be distracted by a future that no longer mattered. Following Killindi through the shadows, they soon found themselves in a little-used passage and then in an even more abandoned room. Some students whose names Maul didn't bother to remember were waiting for them. "If you have to change places every time, couldn't you at least choose a nicer room?"

"Sure, just tell your guardian to give us a room then." One of the students replied, perched on a table with equipment scattered across it, "Do you have anything to give me or not?"

Maul left Killindi handing over the stones he had chosen, as he went to another student, waiting with needles and a machine.

"I don't need to tell you that we need silence, do I?"

"If you hear any noise from me, it's a hallucination."

Honestly, Maul could have fallen asleep right there in the chair where he sat. Every touch of the machine the student was using felt like nothing more than a prick lasting barely a second. He shouldn't have been surprised to find his mind wandering again.

He didn't recall exactly why his master wasn't visiting that weekend—the man never offered anything more than vague explanations, and Maul had neither the courage nor the right to question him—but looking at the timing now, he was certain it had to do with the elections on Naboo.

He had never involved himself with Sidious's home planet—aside from the mission that had sent his own life spiraling into hell—but he knew enough to understand that a queen was currently being elected. Not Amidala yet—she would still be just a child, too young even by Naboo political standards—but another queen.

One whom Sidious would make a point of influencing and manipulating; thus, being on Naboo right now was more important than keeping an eye on Maul.

And that was exactly what he needed.

"Where did you get this one?" The student was holding one of the stones Maul had handed over—a small, diamond-shaped gem in a pale fuchsia hue. "It’s actually real."

"Ask her; it was a gift." Maul hadn't said anything when he received it because Daleen had been too excited for him to dampen her joy, but he didn't wear rings. There was too much danger of them getting snagged or interfering with his lightsaber. He wouldn't wield a lightsaber again in this lifetime, but he had no intention of taking the risk the same.

The girl gave a puzzled look before recognizing the gem; then she sighed and helped the student pierce it. Maul didn't know if she fully understood why he wouldn't wear the ring, but she wasn't materialistic enough to care what became of the gift, not if Maul was still wearing it.

It was a well-known rumor that Daleen came from a royal family on some planet, or was at least incredibly wealthy. The gifts she randomly handed to Maul and Killindi easily confirmed this—one only had to look at their quality. It was a bit less subtle than the stone he’d chosen for Killindi, but it served the same purpose.

He couldn't tell the girls anything else about his future—not when it was a certainty that Sidious would find a way to peer into their minds. Sidious would likely notice the change in Maul’s behavior since his return, but there was nothing that would point to time travel.

If he continued to believe Maul was merely a child trying to run away from him, he would underestimate how far his apprentice was willing to go and wouldn't risk pursuing him immediately upon hearing the news; that bought Maul enough time to do what he needed to do.

"Hey, can I offer you one more thing?" Maul watched the student pull something from a pouch—a small emblem engraved on a piece of metal, a dark letter 'o' with a 's' inside in a box-like lettering. It took him a second to recognize it as the school's symbol. "It’s the alumni symbol; only those who’ve studied here have one or recognize it."

"Why—"

"Oh, come on. We’re almost graduating; it’s not hard to spot the signs of someone who’s about to leave." Maul blinked, pausing to really look at the older student for the first time. "Most people don't end up here by choice—it’s the obvious thing to do." He took the opportunity while the student turned back to look at Killindi; the Nautolan was watching from across the room, giving him a shrug. "This whole thing feels like a farewell gift—on top of what the teacher said."

That caught the Zabrak’s attention again.

"Which one?"

"Krakko. We heard him talking about you with another teacher—saying you were acting strange, distracted. When the other guy suggested you were running away, he didn't deny it." Maul couldn't suppress a grimace. Of course, it had to be Krakko who would pose a problem for his plans. "Knowing him, he’s probably keeping a close eye on you. We were surprised to see you three arrive without any trouble."

"I don't think he saw us." More like they didn't see him. They could be good, but Maul wasn't arrogant to think they were able to deceive a full war seasoned mandalorian adult.

-

"Over the top?"

"Hm." Maul climbed up the walls to the upper section of the corridor with the girls following, taking a wider route to position himself above the path they had originally taken. The three silently agreed to maintain absolute quiet until they returned to their quarters; Maul and Killindi’s earrings glinted faintly in the moonlight. "There."

A few meters to the right of the path they had previously taken—camouflaged so perfectly that Daleen, lacking their advantage of dark-adapted eyes, couldn't spot him—Meltch Krakko was waiting. He leaned against a wall, waiting calmly. There was no doubt he had followed them earlier and was now lying in wait for their return.

"I can barely see him; Mandalorians really are something else..."

He grimaced as he looked at the Mandalorian; without a word, he resumed moving, the girls trailing behind. Leaving the Mandalorian waiting, he continued along the upper route. Once they reached their quarters, Daleen spoke.

"But why didn't he catch us earlier?"

"We weren't the ones he wanted to catch," Killindi confirmed, and Maul grunted as he massaged his temples.

"He wants me. If he realized my intentions—just like the students did—then he plans to intercept me when I try to leave." He lay down, stretching out on the mattress. "He saw we weren't heading outside the school and let us pass." But that was his mistake. He might have managed to secretly track Maul and the girls before, but he wouldn't be able to do the same once the Zabrak was expecting his presence.

Killindi and Daleen seemed to recognize the look in his eyes and didn't question him; it still wasn't safe to tell them too much, so keeping this secret was preferable. They lay down beside him, falling asleep almost instantly. Daleen’s bed was by far the softest of the three—it was almost criminal.

"But why did you do it, after all?" He didn't mind the Nautolan playing with his new piercing—an industrial in his left ear with Killindi stone on the inner point and Daleen stone on the outer one. The two stones contrasted with each other, standing out strikingly even against Maul's skin.

"He got it right. A blue stone the color of your skin, and a gem that was a gift from you—it’s basically a parting gift." He shifted to get more comfortable, oblivious to the girls' intent gazes. "To make sure I don't forget either of you." Killindi laughed before settling in as well.

"You've gotten strangely sentimental about all this, huh..."

"Will we see each other again?" And she called Maul sentimental. Daleen looked sad as she clung tighter to the two of them; the worst part was that Maul wasn't sure of the answer. He had never had the chance to see either of them again in his first life because he had killed them himself. He had no idea how their lives might have played out.

He hoped they would be good. And who knows—maybe, if his plan worked perfectly, they could see each other again.

"I don't know. But nothing is impossible."

-

It was three days later—days he had spent almost entirely in the girls' quarters rather than his own—that Maul set out in the dead of night over the weekend. He climbed up into the school's ceiling rafters, intent on leaving for good.

He moved in complete silence, using the Force to sense his surroundings meters ahead before taking a single step forward. He had to reach the west side of the school to escape.

In his first life, he had believed Orsis was the only inhabited area on the planet, but kilometers to the west of the school lay a spaceport owned by crime syndicates that used it for trade and refueling along their routes. It was a wretched hive of galactic scum—but the kind of scum that wouldn't find Maul inside their ships, let alone bother to inspect the cargo. He just needed to find a smuggler's ship to stow away on, steal some supplies, and then slip off once they reached a larger port. After that, he could steal a ship of his own and continue to his second stop before his final destination.

He had no time to waste if he wanted to avoid capture. But that didn't mean he could afford to be any less cautious regarding Krakko.

He had felt the Mandalorian’s gaze on him all week; Maul couldn't be alone for a minute without the man appearing right behind him, and he had heard from other students that the man had taken on night-watch shifts as well. It would all be for nothing if the Mandalorian managed to catch him before he reached the spaceport.

The problem was that even now—moving with all the care his small, slender body could manage and searching every corner of that cursed school—he still hadn't seen the Mandalorian. Chances were, they were both tracking each other as they moved through the school.

Great—just what Maul needed.

He wondered how close the man might be; perhaps if he sped along the rafters overhead, he could gain enough of an advantage to get out of the school. The man would have to take longer routes if he were following through the corridors—unless he was up in the rafters too, but Maul would have noticed him by now if that were the case...

With a burst of effort, he sped along the rafters—still as quiet as possible, though not quite as stealthy as before; he simply needed to move at top speed.

He heard a few sounds, but they were too fleeting to confirm and too widely spaced. Krakko was definitely following him from below; he’d likely be able to find Maul even more easily now, but once he was out of the school, it would be a completely different story. Even Krakko wouldn't be able to track him so easily in the forests of Orsis—not like this.

It didn't matter which specific room he exited through; he could pry open any window in seconds. But ironically, he ended up right in the classroom of the man who was following him.

He dropped to the floor, his hands flying to the window; two seconds later, it was open. The cold night wind lashed at him immediately, further giving away his position, but he didn't waste a moment—he already had one leg outside when he heard the voice.

"Do you even have a plan?" He didn't turn around; the window glass reflected the scene clearly enough. The Mandalorian had slid into the doorway—faster than Maul had expected—with any expression he could had hidden by the helmet and his hand on his blaster holster. Maul hoped he had it set to stun rather than lethal. "Answer me."

"If I did, do you expect me to tell you?"

"Answer me."

"Honestly, who do you think I am—"

"Maul." He fell silent. With a careful movement, he slowly turns his head just a little—just enough to lock eyes with the Mandalorian. "You’re well aware that escaping won’t be that easy—not from your master."

His master. Krakko was the one who took Maul to his master’s castle whenever Trezza couldn't; Krakko had come to the school because of his master. Krakko was an extremely skilled and unscrupulous Mandalorian.

Unbidden, his mind conjured images of Tyranus and Fett—the Mandalorian kept close to handle the dirty work, a soldier loyal to the highest bidder. From another life, he recalled a short, judgmental woman walking beside him in magenta armor, displaying unexpected loyalty. He remembered the cold presence of Vader and the Mandalorian-armored bounty hunter in his service—a feared figure who stood out for far more than just his armor. He had never noticed this pattern until now.

Strangely, it was still hard to think of Krakko as his master's Mandalorian. Despite all the connections between them, Krakko had always seemed more his than the old Sith's.

"He’s going to send you after me."

"And who else is there to send?" The man’s voice betrayed nothing—not even to the Force. He knew how to avoid the Force, to avoid Maul’s detection; exactly what one would expect from a Jedi hunter. "Do you have a plan?"

Maul remains silent. It was a simple question, really.

"He won't come this weekend, and he won't be able to catch me easily," he replies, carefully turning fully to face the man. "He won't even be that concerned. He has no idea of ​​the extent of what I know. By the time he realizes it, he won't be able to reach me anymore."

It was vague, quick. But it was the truth. Sidious would treat this as a tantrum from a ten-year-old boy—trained, yes, but still just a boy who knew very little, even about himself. He would not be prepared for a fifty-year-old man who was already aware of all his lies.

Krakko snorts. Whatever he had wanted to hear, this seems to have been enough. He turns away, ready to leave and let Maul wonder what it all meant for the rest of his life.

That is, if he ever sees him again.

"For what it's worth..." The man pauses, clearly expecting nothing more from his student. "I don't hate you."

He didn't think he hated anything anymore, at this point. Not even his master, all of this now was only for his survival. Since waking up, Maul had felt almost apathetic toward everything that used to provoke such rage in him; perhaps it was the realization of how little it all mattered, or maybe just exhaustion—whatever the reason, he felt no anger left. He felt no thirst for vengeance against anyone.

And a teacher he had never truly understood wasn't going to change that.

Krakko doesn't reply; he simply turns again. His expression remains unreadable behind his armor, his imposing figure casting a shadow from the doorway that stretches almost to Maul's feet. Instead of speaking, the man draws something from his belt; Maul nearly cuts himself on the vibro blade tossed his way.

"Don't lose it." Then he vanishes, the silver armor fading into the darkness. Maul stares in silence at the shadows where Krakko disappeared. The blade is razor-sharp—a solid, well-crafted piece, yet light enough to maneuver easily. Maul casts one last glance at it before tucking it into his waistband and leaping out the window into the moonlight.

It was easier than he had expected.

Maul must have been very accustomed to having metal instead of flesh for legs, because he didn't remember ever being this fast.

Of course, he had never let his speed become an issue; he would have preferred to spend hours upon hours repairing his legs rather than let them become the liability they could have been. Even so, Maul had lost the sense of what true running felt like—without the worry of breaking something, feeling the burn in his shins from the sustained exertion. He reached the spaceport within an hour, having run for kilometers through the forest without any desire to stop.

Boarding a ship was even easier—a smuggling ring run by pirates who couldn't be bothered to look down and notice the Zabrak slipping between their legs. Free from hunger, he simply slept for most of the journey, and it seemed to be his lucky day when he saw which port they docked at first.

Pho Ph'eah. They were on the Hydian Way—perfect. If they stayed on their current course, Maul could disembark at the next stop and be very close to his destination. Amidst the silence, broken only by the ship's ambient hum, Maul sat thinking in the corner where he had hidden.

He didn't need a high-quality ship; he would have to ditch it as soon as they arrived anyway. It just needed to survive the trip and clear planetary inspection. But if he was already on the right route...

Maul stepped off the ship at Botajef; the spaceport was teeming with life as he made his way through. It didn't take long for him to spot his perfect target. A small, worn-out ship —freshly repaired, judging by the scent of oil— and there was no one else around.

Not until Maul heard a voice.

"Blast! It's easy money! Does no one else want to do this kind of work anymore?" An Ardennian was making his way through the crowd toward the ship; it made sense that someone of his size would only need a small one like that. He irritably slapped the pouch of credits at his side. "These guys have no sense of business..."

He stepped into the small ship but didn't close the ramp. Maul, naturally, followed right behind him.

The ship was reasonably clean, at least—still worn, but in better condition on the inside. The Ardennian kept moving deeper into the vessel, oblivious to the Zabrak behind him. Maul was resolved—poised to snap the sentient's neck—when he heard the growls.

"Don't growl at me! I'm trying to help you!" The Ardennian wasn't surprised, though he was still unsettled; Maul narrowed his eyes as he began to recognize the growls. "What am I going to do with you—AH!"

The Ardennian jumped to the other side of the room as the Zabrak strode past him. Maul ignored him, heading instead toward a cage larger than both of them, covered by a heavy cloth that he yanked off in one swift motion.

On the other side, a rancor calf —already two meters tall even while sitting— growled back. Fierce but clearly frightened, Maul remained unmoved by the animal's anger and confusion.

"Hey! Who are you?! I swear, if you're one of those pirates..." The Ardennian fell silent as Maul turned around; recognizing the Zabrak's species immediately, he lowered the blaster he was holding slightly. "You're one of them..."

"What is a small-time trafficker doing with a rancor calf?" Of course, Maul knew that the fierce, lethal creatures from his home world were highly sought after in the animal trade. He remembered killing more than a few pirates who had shown up on his planet thinking it was abandoned after the war—he’d killed enough of them that they stopped bothering him.

But trafficking rancors—especially from Dathomir—wasn't easy. If the creatures didn't kill you, the Night brothers—or worse, the witches—would. It took coordinated efforts by entire groups just to secure one or two. How could a lone trafficker manage to get his hands on such a strong, healthy calf?

The Ardennian bristled in response, waving his blaster with one of his many hands.

"I'm not a trafficker! Just a transporter!" That still didn't answer the question, and the Zabrak's stare made that clear. The Ardennian grunted as he rubbed his forehead with another hand. "Damn pirates left it on my ship as payment instead of credits! I can barely even push this cage around!"

"And that's why you don't want a rancor?"

"Are you crazy?! These things are the mark of serious bad guys; having a rancor around is like declaring you're affiliated with a crime syndicate!" Usually, that meant the Hutts—given the rancor Jabba fed his enemies—but the guy was already so worked up over Maul calling him a trafficker that it was a miracle he hadn't had a heart attack yet in this case. "And nobody wants to buy it, either! I wanted to take it back to the planet, but no one wants to come along, and I'm not going alone just to get torn limb from limb—" They seemed to have the same idea at the same time.

"Are you continuing along the Hydian Way?"

"All the way to the Core, yeah."

"Then let's do this: I'll go with you to Dathomir and help you release the rancor, and then you give me—and whoever I pick up there—a ride to the Core." The Ardennian stamped his feet; he didn't seem entirely opposed, but he gave Maul a look up and down that didn't exactly inspire confidence.

"It’s not a bad deal, but I wanted someone to help me handle this guy and keep your brothers from killing me—" Maul punched the cage and snarled at the rancor. The creature shrank into the opposite corner in silence, while the Ardennian tried to mask the jump he’d made at Maul’s sudden movement.

"Neither the Night brothers nor the witches will be a problem for you. We won't be staying more than a few hours." Maul extended his hand, careful to keep his claws out of sight; the Ardennian grunted—glancing between Maul and the rancor, "I promise you that."

"Oh, what else do I have to lose!" With a loud sigh, the Ardennian took Maul’s hand with two of his own and shook it briskly. "You have an agreement with Captain Sooth, sir?"

Maul considered giving his real name; it was something he had done often in his later years. He hadn't cared much about hiding back then, once killing Inquisitors had become one of the few interesting and gratifying things to do. But now, he was in a younger, weaker, less-trained body—and without his lightsaber.

And honestly, Mandalorians like Krakko had hunted Jedi long before the Inquisitors, and far more effectively.

"It's Kesi."

-

"It's empty—"

"No, it isn't." Maul keeps walking into the Night brothers' village with Sooth close behind; the village is deceptively deserted, but Maul can sense the presence of Zabraks hiding and watching them—they’ll likely attack once they’re deeper inside. "Stay close."

They had landed in one of the swamps near the village, the rancor still obeying the order to remain silent that Maul had given it. Sooth was worried about leaving the ship unprotected, but Maul knew none of the Night brothers would approach before capturing them, and the Night sisters hadn't been alerted yet—Maul was blocking his mother's ability to detect them through the Force.

He doesn't know what Savage's presence felt like when he was younger, before his mother's magic took hold, so he’ll have to rely on the Night brothers to find him within the village.

But they won't obey unless Maul earns their respect.

The first attack comes from three brothers approaching from the left, rightly assuming Sooth is the easier target. Their strike makes no difference; Maul slides a kick into the one in the center and then shoves the other two back with the Force. He hasn't had many chances to test his skills since waking up, so now is the perfect time.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm; the Night brothers soon realize he is protecting Sooth and try to reach the Ardennian to throw Maul off balance. A good plan, but Maul has always been faster than he should be, and none of them manage to lay a finger on Sooth. He has to be more careful than usual to avoid fatalities; in his final years, he had grown accustomed to leaving no witnesses.

Things escalate quickly as the Night brothers continue to surround them and Maul patiently knocks them down. They don't matter—they’ll keep coming in droves; the one who changes things is—

There—behind a hut, coordinating the attacks. Maul snatches a spear from one of his attackers and drives it into the shoulder of the Night brother's tunic; a Force-pull, and the man is at his feet.

At another time, he might have thought it was his face, but he had left too young to be recognizable now. It is his skin—red, unlike that of any other Nightbrother—that gives him away to Viscus.

"You are Mother Talzin's son." The Night brother's words—and the danger imposed in their leader—are what keep the rest of them from attacking. Some try to lean in to get a better look at Maul's face. "You were taken years ago." Taken, stolen, given. The word always changed depending on whom you asked.

"So, telling my mother of my return will be quite a shock, won't it?" Maul never thought much of Viscus; the man always treated him with a certain adoration, so trapped in the mindset of his upbringing that he couldn't see Maul as anything more than whose son he was. He pulls the spear away without cutting the man. "If I were you, I'd make it quick—because we still have a rancor to settle back, on top of everything else."

-

"If you want us to do it, sir—"

"No, that’s his problem; he’ll handle it." He doubted it was customary for the Night brothers to address boys younger than themselves as "sir," so either his title carried more weight than he’d expected, or they assumed Maul was an incredibly arrogant kid.

"But you—"

"I promised my help, not anyone else's." He could see Sooth, standing nearby, looking unhappy with Maul’s answers, yet he didn't dare question him while surrounded by the Night brothers. "You’ve already given us enough information."

Without waiting for a reply, Maul walked past the Night brother toward the rancor’s cage; a little to the side, he heard a familiar voice—though younger than he remembered.

"He really is Mother Talzin’s son." A quick glance confirmed Maul’s suspicion: it was Scorn. Shorter and less muscular—he couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen—his voice lacked the deep resonance he would develop as an adult; yet, aside from that, Maul couldn't see many differences between the teenager he was looking at and the man who had once worked for him.

At least he looked less like Savage this way.

Maul didn't waste time searching for other familiar faces; he hadn't seen any sign of Savage so far, and Scorn had been one of the oldest night brothers he’d known—anyone else he’d worked with would be too young to participate in something like this now.

"A little help would be nice, seeing as you haven't even told me what we're doing—"

"You’re going to be the bait." The Ardennian hopped up beside him, but Maul ignored him to point toward the forest. "You can't just let her loose around here; she’d either wander into the village or, worse, lure her pack right to it. Fortunately, they managed to identify her pack from her markings. But since the cage isn't easy to move, we’ll just have to guide her to where the pack is."

"Are you crazy?! I can't outrun a rancor!"

"Of course not, but you have four arms, don't you? And you'll be moving through a forest; you don't need to run the whole way." That does little to calm Sooth, but Maul has no time for that; by the time they're done with the rancor, a whole one hour at the planet will have already passed. "Do you want to let it out or not? Because it's either that or spending the next few days pushing this cage through the forest."

The Ardennian stomps off, staying much further ahead of the cage than necessary—but like expected, the rancor still sees him through the cage bars and roars at him.

The Night brothers move far enough away to stay out of sight, but it’s no use; they barely have time to fully open the gate before the creature lunges at the Ardennian. Its roar shakes the forest, drowning out Sooth's scream as he starts to run—with Maul nearby, moving through the trees to ensure he stays on the right path.

It’s almost amusing to watch the Ardennian run. Sooth stumbles more than once in his panic and has to haul himself up by the branches to avoid being bitten in half; Maul also has to force him to take every turn—otherwise, he’d just run straight ahead through the entire forest—but once he manages to put enough distance between them...

"Get up here!" He hauls the Ardennian up into a tree mid-leap, the rancor's maw snapping just inches from one of his limbs. "Done."

"Done?! It’ll knock this tree down in seconds—" He’s cut off by another roar—one much louder and deeper than his pursuer's—and the rancor stops, snarling at the forest.

"We aren't the priority; finding its family is." The two watch as adult rancors emerge from the canopy. The two-meter-tall cub—which already seemed huge compared to them—is merely a baby next to its parents, who growl with what sounds like relief, at least to the extent that Maul understands rancor growls.

"There's no way they can see us here, right?"

"They already do." The Ardennian clings to him, though it makes no difference. The other rancors in the pack, further back, are almost completely hidden by the foliage, yet their eyes are fixed on Maul and Sooth. It isn't hard to spot them high up in the branches when you're that size. "Do you know why they're called rancors, Captain?"

"N-no?"

"They have excellent memories; they remember those who harm them and hold a grudge—rancor means grudge in Dathomiri." The parents turn back with the cub between their legs, the eyes slowly vanishing amidst the leaves. "They know we weren't the ones who abducted the cub—only the ones returning it. There's no reason for them to attack us."

Within minutes, they are alone. They climb down from the tree to walk back to the village.

"Hey..." Maul—despite his instincts telling him not to—looks over. "Who is your mother?" The Zabrak sighs; he should have expected questions, given that the Ardennian had been present for every interaction so far.

"She is the leader of the Night sisters—and of the planet as a whole. I’m actually her second son, though for some reason she dislikes my brother and ignores him."

"So, you're sort of a prince, then?"

"Technically speaking, yes."

"Then what were you doing in a place like Botajef?"

"I don't recall sharing personal details being part of our agreement."

"Oh, come on—we’ve got days of travel ahead to reach the core from here! I’d rather not have a total stranger on my ship!" Maul glances at the Ardennian and then sighs. Fine; it’s not as if there’s anything he could tell him that Krakko wouldn't already know from his master.

"As you’ve seen, the Night sisters are the ultimate authority here—above everyone and everything. Night brothers are merely objects to them; that includes my mother. She worked with a man years ago—an outsider. Some say I was given away, others say I was stolen, but the point is, I remained in his care until now." Care was hardly the right word for his life under Sidious, but that didn't need to be said. "I escaped, and now I intend to find my brother and leave this planet for good."

"Hm, that makes me feel unoriginal!"

"Unoriginal?"

"I’m the classic story: no parents, growing up hopping from ship to ship, picking up odd jobs, running small-time deals, and scraping a living together however I can in the Outer Rim!" It was indeed a life story Maul had heard before, though he was also well aware of what kind of life his own resembled.

"By that logic, you could say I’m just like any other ex-slave, couldn't you?"

"No, no! Not you—I could never imagine you as anyone's slave!"

"…I’ll take that as a compliment."

As soon as they arrive in the village, a presence immediately catches Maul’s attention; upon looking at Viscus and the person he is speaking with, he finally knows for sure.

His tattoos are new, retaining a sheen brighter than Maul remembered—as does his yellow skin. Although his towering height was a result of his mother’s magic, he was still taller and more powerfully built than Maul. Savage possesses a youthfulness Maul could never have imagined in his wildest dreams.

He notices Maul’s gaze before Viscus can even warn him, and he stares back. They lock eyes across the village.

Maul knew what to say—well, he knew what he wanted to say. He wanted Savage to understand, to trust him again. Yet, no matter what is racing through his mind, not a single word escapes. He doesn't even open his mouth. He is still trying to process the sight before him when Savage closes the distance in seconds, pulling him into an embrace.

He barely hears Sooth make an excuse to step away. No one ever fully understood him, but his brother had come closer than anyone else. Maul wishes he could be understood this time—that he could be honest, express everything he felt in a way he hadn't before, and recount every detail that drove him to madness; for even if Savage were worlds away from such experiences, he would still try to understand.

But to understand, Savage had to suffer, too. He had been just as discarded as Maul, bearing the weight of the Sith agony until it crushed him right before Maul’s eyes.

He couldn't let that happen again.

"Gather your things." He carefully pulls away from the embrace. Savage’s mouth opens as if to speak, but he stops him mid-sentence. "Load everything onto the ship; we’re leaving soon."

"Son of Talzin!" It could apply to either of them, but only Maul looks up. A Night sister is waiting. Maul already knew this would happen, but he can't suppress the grimace that appears: "Your mother wants to see you."

The look on Savage's face is one of pure confusion and concern, and Maul feels his grip tighten for a second—he doesn't want to let his brother go.

"Go; we’ll leave as soon as I get back." Savage would never doubt him, but he would worry about Maul's safety—and that is the look he wears now. "I promise."

-

Maul had visited the Night sisters' temple many times before his death.

Perhaps because he hadn't been raised alongside the other Nightbrothers, he didn't share their fear and distrust of the place. It was quite the opposite; there were nights when he could only sleep on the temple's cold altars, curled up beneath the gaze of a statue and a chilling presence he could never confirm but imagined to be his mother.

He read everything he could, kept the place as clean as possible, and showed respect with every step he took; perhaps that was why no Night sister spirit ever tried to drive him away. Now, walking behind this sister—who seemed familiar to him in some way—he traversed those same corridors. They were still cold and sharp-edged, yet now they held a glow that spoke of the life coursing through every corner. It was a glow not unlike that of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, or even the fortress on Mustafar at times—the consequence of gathering so many Force-users in one place.

They stopped before a heavy, massive door; his mother’s presence lay unmistakably on the other side. Maul betrayed no emotion, even though this would be the first time in thirty years he was seeing his mother alive.

The Night sister paused with her hand on the door, then looked at him. She had their mother’s elongated, slender face, but eyes just like his own. He understood before she even spoke.

"Do you know who I am?"

"You are a Night sister. My sister." She nodded, then sighed heavily, letting her hand drop from the door.

"Why have you come back?"

"I came back to get Savage and leave."

"You shouldn't even have memories of Savage."

"I don't, but I know of the memories I could have had." Just memories—for he had known his brother for less than a year. "But I won't let them happen—not that way. That is why I am here." She looks at him in a way he cannot fathom.

"How much do you know?"

"Enough." Maul wonders how she died. Alongside her sisters during the invasion, but how? Did she fall to one of Grievous’s blades? Or did her magic fail against Sidious when he arrived? The Nightbrothers had already buried the bodies by the time he returned; had he walked over her grave without knowing? He had never known he had a sister. "You could come with us, if you wanted."

"My place is here with our mother." There is resolve in her voice—the kind Maul wouldn't dare try to break. "But I will have a daughter one day."

"Or perhaps a son."

"No, I know it will be a girl." And he thinks their mother said the same about him—but who is he to say anything, after all? "She won't stay here. You must come and get her."

Part of him wants to question her—partly just to be annoying, partly just because he can. Maul never had a sister; he hadn't known her, and he wouldn't have known her even if he had lived on Dathomir. In the end, she is looking at him the same way the Nightbrothers did: as an outsider who was like them, yet knew more about the galaxy than about Dathomir.

Maul doesn't think things would have changed had he known her; they would have been just as much strangers as they are now. Nothing bound them together other than a bloodline neither of them cared about.

But there was no harm in dreaming.

"What will her name be?"

"Merrin. It means 'truth' in Dathomiri. Raise her by that principle."

"Tsk, not my strong suit." Merrin. That was the survivor, wasn't it? Maul had only interacted with the girl once, when she demanded he hand over his ship so she could leave the planet. He would have given her the ship—and more—had she not been so aggressive, though he had made a point of ensuring orders were issued that no one within the syndicates was to mess with her.

As far as he knew, she was still alive when he died; she had even reached out to him through the Force a few times. He would impatiently brush her off, and months would pass before she tried again. She had been looking for someone who understood the pain of losing one's home, but Dathomir had never been home to Maul, and he had been far too busy losing his mind on Malachor to help her.

It seems she wouldn't have to suffer that loss in this universe.

-

"Mother."

"My son." Talzin stood near a hearth burning with green flames; the dim light barely revealed the contents of the various books on her shelves. "And Sidious?"

"Unaware of my escape." Night would be falling on Orsis by now. If Krakko hadn't tell on him yet and the girls kept up the ruse, it would be assumed he was isolated in his room. That wouldn't last forever. "I would still like to leave soon."

"Calm yourself; you don't believe I would hand you over to that man, do you?" You’ve handed me over before. "Sidious is forbidden from setting even a single foot on Dathomir, and he will suffer consequences if he attempts to make contact, too."

"The time I have out of his reach is limited; I’ve already counted it all."

"Counted?" The woman sipped something—perhaps tea, perhaps a potion—something with a pungent scent that made Maul wrinkle his nose. "How long have you been aware of your time, my son? Since your soul aged?"

Ah, so she could see it. Maul had imagined Talzin would have some sense of his return, but it seemed she didn't know the full extent of it.

"I am aware of the possibilities, Mother. I simply intend to guide my own destiny." He had no intention of sharing the future with his mother. He didn't plan to participate in the personal war between her and Sidious anyway; Savage was his priority—Merrin would be a problem for the future—and the other two could kill each other if they wished. "There is nothing worthwhile in me staying here."

Or more specifically, he wouldn't be useful to her. He would make sure of that, and the amused look in Talzin's silver eyes reflected her understanding.

"So quick to state such things; you really have seen many possibilities." She pulls something from a drawer; as she draws closer, he recognizes it. "Go, take your brothers—they are of little use to me. But understand that I expect to be warned of any potential danger, Maul."

He hadn't told her his name. Had Sidious done so, or was that the name she had truly chosen? He had never had time to wonder about it before, but it is all that fills his mind now as he gazes at the amulet that had been used to find him in his past life.

"I have no desire for the destruction of my people or my planet, Mother."

"Then that man did not poison you completely."

-

Maul discovers two things upon returning to the Nightbrothers' village. One: he has a younger brother; and two: that brother doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

Feral resembles him in an almost unsettling way, and judging by his smile, he clearly sees the likeness too. Maul can't even tell where he came from.

Savage never mentioned another brother, which leads quickly to a grim conclusion: Feral died before Savage left Dathomir and met Maul. Perhaps even while under his older brother's protection—if the over protectiveness Savage sometimes displayed was any indication. Whatever Feral Opress’s fate had been, it was violent enough to make Savage take the secret of his brother's existence to the grave.

Maul couldn't let that happen again.

They load the ship with the help of the Nightbrothers, all of whom set aside their previous attitude toward Maul to bid the brothers farewell.

He recognizes another face near Feral; Icarus’s skin tone falls somewhere between the two brothers—red enough, at times, to serve as a disguise for Maul. At least, it would have worked well enough, provided no one noticed the scars resulting from Icarus’s carelessness while Maul was teaching him to use a lightsaber. He had to learn the hard way about the difference in weight between a dagger and a lightsaber.

It seems the mask covering his mouth was a development from his life of crime; he bears sharp teeth that glint in the sunlight when he smiles. It wasn't a sight seen often during their time working together, and it vanished completely after Scorn’s death.

Watching him converse with Feral, Maul wondered if the Zabrak had ever considered bringing up Maul’s brother. Was he aware of Maul’s ignorance on the matter? Or did he assume Maul already knew and simply deemed it an unsuitable topic of conversation? He remembers speaking to Icarus upon his return, explaining Scorn’s death. The Night brother's response was tears accompanied by words of gratitude for what was considered an honorable death. Maul didn’t even know what constituted an honorable death by Dathomirian standards, but he agreed nonetheless.

It wouldn't be in this lifetime that he found out; he would only return to this planet to retrieve Merrin. And then, Maul could close the chapter of his life that was Dathomir.

"Why pink and blue?" It took Maul a second to register Feral beside him—apparently, moving silently ran in the family—and another second to realize he was talking about his piercings.

"They represent two friends who are important to me, just as the symbol on the bracelet I wear represents the place where I met them—a place that’s also important to me." Maul might not have spent as much time as he’d wanted at Orsis this time around, but the school remained one of the few places where he’d experienced a normal, peaceful life. That was why he had placed the alumni pendant he’d received onto a tight, elastic band around his right wrist, hidden beneath his cloak; this was the first time he’d ever shown it to anyone. "It’s like... carrying them with me, or something like that. It was a bit of an impulsive decision."

"You should get something for me and Savage now, then!"

"I’ll be with you guys all the time from now on—"

"Even so! We’re your brothers, so it makes sense for you to carry something of ours, too." Maul arches a non-existent eyebrow; he isn't so sure about that, but he isn't about to argue with an eight-year-old. "But what could it be..."

"Well, the pink gem came from a ring that friend gave me, and the other friend has blue skin—just that shade..."

"Then I know! I need to get some wood and paint!" The boy vanished to fetch something; before Maul could call him back, he heard Savage speak from beside him.

"Let him go; he won't be long. If anyone’s excited to leave, it’s him." Maul nods, then reflects on his brother's words and gives him a careful look.

"Would you rather stay?" Savage pauses for a second before sighing and scratching his neck.

"I’ll miss the people more than the place, anyway." He grimaces, glancing toward the forest. "I’m no fool, either; between the Sisters and the wildlife, we’d never be safe. You and Feral come first." Did all older brothers say things like that? He was certain Scorn had said something similar to Icarus—though why Maul had been included in that example too was a mystery to him. "You didn't say where we're going."

"To a place where they won't look for us, and where we can build our own lives." It was vague, but giving too many details to Savage—who had never left Dathomir and knew nothing of the rest of the galaxy—wouldn't really help. "Just call me 'Brother' while we're traveling; the Ardennian has a fake name for me."

"Won't we need them too?"

"You aren't being hunted, nor can you be linked to me by name alone." Savage is suspicious—Maul can tell—but for the moment, he seems to grasp the urgency of leaving better than Feral does. "I'll explain everything while we're on our way to our destination; we have a journey of more than a few days ahead of us."

"I got it!" Feral returns, nearly stumbling but managing to slide in front of his brothers unscathed. He is carrying a pouch filled with something Maul cannot identify. "I should be able to finish it by the time we arrive."

"Have you said goodbye to everyone?" The Nightbrother nods, and then Savage turns to Maul with the same question. Maul shrugs; the only person he said goodbye to was his sister, and even then, no one there knows him the way he knows them. "Then I suppose we can go."

-

Fortunately, Sooth had no problem explaining the complicated, endless details of piloting to the brothers. Feral started the explanation just as engrossed as Savage, but he quickly grew bored and abandoned the lesson to go after Maul.

"Where are we going again?"

"Coruscant."

"C-Corusant—"

"Coruscant. Practically the center of the galaxy." Coruscant was as crowded as it was deep. Every level of the planet was occupied by every kind of life in the galaxy. His master was part of that.

Sidious lived on Coruscant as the Senator from Naboo; he had a penthouse on the planet's upper level that served merely as a distraction from all of the sith artifacts he hid within it. With so much space as his disposal, it had been easy to keep and hide all the secrets he needed right at his fingertips—Maul included.

He remembers living in that apartment almost as much as on Mustafar. Watching in silence as his master kept the Sith plan in motion. He would be watching this time, too, but he wouldn't be part of any of it.

Sidious would expect his apprentice to hide in the Outer Rim—in remote, hard-to-find places. He would never imagine that Maul would be bold enough to hide a few levels right under his nose, at the very center of everything.

But Coruscant was so crowded that even Sidious could hide his dark side right next to the Jedi. Maul had years of experience masking his presence by now; the Sith Master wouldn't be able to find him on the teeming planet of Coruscant without revealing himself.

"And what are we going to do on Coruscant?"

"Build a life, create a place of our own." He glanced at Feral’s bag—crafting supplies for whatever the Zabrak wanted to make for him. "Maybe you should make something for yourself, too, don't you think?" His younger brother blinked before realizing what Maul was talking about.

"Oh, only after I finish your gift!" He grabbed his bag and sprang up excitedly. "You're in for a surprise over the next few days, brother!"

"If you say so." Maul watched Feral bound away; he might actually be surprised, after all. He had no idea what Feral was capable of—he knew nothing about him the way he did about Savage. Whatever the youngest Nightbrother created would be something entirely new, even now.

Over the next few days, a small routine took shape. Sooth took full control of the ship's navigation; Maul only glanced over occasionally to ensure they were on the right course. The Ardennian had no qualms about sharing his life stories with the Nightbrothers, revealing so much about himself that Maul had to wonder how he was still alive.

Savage soaked up Sooth's stories and any information Maul gave him like a sponge. The Ardennian soon handed him a holopad that never left his hand as the Nightbrother learned as much as he could about the galaxy. This also led to long tangents where Maul had to listen to him rant about all the misinformation regarding Nightbrothers—more than once.

Feral split his time between listening to his brother and learning alongside him—though Maul could tell he was mostly just keeping Savage company—and working on his gift for Maul; he made sure not to let his older brother see what he was doing, either.

Meanwhile, Maul swiped a mostly blank notebook from Sooth to start jotting down any important details he could recall.

It wasn't easy, specially not the current events; he had spent much of his time on Orsis isolated from the outside world, and things were no different when he returned to Mustafar. Maul hadn't exactly had all the time in the world to pay attention to the galaxy when he had to train whenever he could. Even so, he tried to recall every detail he could about the events of the coming years —which slowly became easier thankfully— and the present. Events in the Core, wars and syndicate activities in the Outer Rim, the politics of the Mid Rim, and every detail that might influence his and his siblings' lives on Coruscant.

Through his research, he managed to track how the elections on Naboo were unfolding; it was also the first time he saw his master's face since returning to the past—in a photo from a political gala on Naboo.

He still had his red hair, though it was no longer as vibrant as it could have been; dark, piercing eyes that perfectly mirrored the gleam of a compassionate, kind gentleman; and a smile that made Maul’s stomach turn.

Photographs would be his only contact with Sidious in this life. Coruscant was more than large enough for Maul to live out his entire life without ever seeing the Sith again.

On the eighth day of the journey, Feral gathered everyone in the kitchen, bouncing with an excitement that signaled he had finally finished his masterpiece.

"Close your eyes!"

"I'm not going to—"

"Just close them, come on!" With a sigh, the Zabrak did as asked, listening as his younger brother stepped up beside him and placed something on his ears. Had he made more piercings, after all? He caught a faint whiff of wood musk on one side, and when Feral fitted the other, the scent reminded him of heavy rain. "Done! Let me grab a mirror… You can look now!"

Maul opened his eyes to see his own face staring back, but his gaze quickly shifted to his right ear, where he found one of Feral’s gifts: an orbital conch piercing perfectly placed on his right ear. Upon closer inspection, Maul saw it was shaped like claw marks arranged in a counter-clockwise pattern, painted black and yellow one after the other. That was the one that smelled of rain.

On the left side was a similar piercing, placed in the same spot but painted in shades of coppery orange and dark brown. The shape of this one was easier to recognize: fangs arranged clockwise. Both were carved from solid wood, and Maul could see every detail of the meticulous craftsmanship. It was no wonder Feral had spent days making them, especially given their tiny size.

"What do you think?" Maul was still admiring the work as he answered his brother.

"Impressive. I don't even know what to say, Feral." The Zabrak let out a happy whoop. Sooth and Savage even stepped closer for a better look and nodded enthusiastically. "Claws for Savage and fangs for you?"

"Well, everyone says I talk and smile a lot, so my fangs are an easy way to recognize me! And Savage uses his hands for everything—plus, he's super strong, and his claws are the sharpest I know!" Savage chuckles as he recognizes his own claws.

"So that’s why you kept asking to see my hands... That’s really good, Feral."

"Thanks! It matches the rest, doesn't it?" Maul glances over to confirm.

Now, in addition to the two new piercings, he wears the piercing from Killindi and Daleen on his left side, the alumni bracelet on his right wrist, and the amulet his mother gave him—kept on a necklace hidden beneath his clothes. It’s almost turning into a collection.

Also, only to his knowledge, the vibro blade rests hidden alongside his waist.

"And you?" To everyone's surprise, Feral turns to Sooth with the question.

"Me?"

"Yeah, Maul needs something to remember you by, too!"

"Feral—"

"Come on, we’ve spent all this time traveling together, and you two even helped a Rancor together! That’s not the sort of thing you just forget. Besides, we might run into each other on Coruscant again—we’re going to stay there anyway." Maul had to admit it was impressive how Feral managed to reveal both their plans and his name in one go without even realizing it. He sighed loudly, but aside from a quick glance from the Ardennian when Feral used his name, the captain seemed unbothered by the revelations. "So, what’s it going to be?"

"Hm... Does it have to be a piercing or an accessory?"

"No—Captain, there’s no need for that; it’s just a whim." In response, the Ardennian slaps Maul on the back—a blow that could have knocked the Zabrak over if he weren't so steady on his feet.

"Nah, the kid’s right! I’m practically family at this point!" Maul doesn't even have time to deny it again before Sooth claps his hands together with a triumphant smile. "I’ve got it! I have the perfect thing—just need to make a few modifications... I’ll give it to you on the last day of our trip!"

It seems Maul no longer has a choice about anything on this ship. At least he manages to convince Savage that he doesn't need anything from him, since Feral has already done the piercings for both of them. He hadn't got the initial piercings with the intention of establishing any sort of tradition or custom, but it seems that’s what it became, whether he wanted it to or not.

-

Shortly after landing their ship at Coruscant’s Eastport on the tenth day of their journey, Sooth meets the brothers, holding something in his hands.

"Here!" Maul takes the gift, looking puzzled. It seems the Ardennian chose a gift common to his species rather than another piercing.

"Goggles?"

"Modified! You Zabraks have different eyes than we do, and these will enhance your vision even further!" Maul hums as he puts the goggles on; the spaceport is a bright place, but through the lenses, everything appears clear and evenly visible. "You strike me as the type to visit those dangerous lower levels, so these will come in handy! Plus, I adjusted the straps so they can hang around your neck instead of sitting on your head—that way, your horns won't get in the way!"

"Definitely the most useful gift so far, Captain. Thank you—truly." The Zabrak slides the goggles down to his neck; they hang loosely without choking him, fitting as if custom-made. "You're off to deliver some cargo now, aren't you?" Upon receiving confirmation, Maul turns to his brothers. "Help the Captain; I'll be back before you finish."

"What are you going to do?" Savage had set aside his tone of suspicion and worry over the past few days, but it briefly resurfaces now as he watches Maul—who is carrying a backpack—simply shrug.

"Securing our funds."

-

Maul had already spent more time in banks on his Grand Master's behalf than anyone would have expected of him.

Especially after he began his missions, Plagueis would intercept his communications with his master to issue orders of his own. If Sidious was aware of these orders, he never mentioned it—but given Plagueis's words, Maul was willing to bet he wasn't.

'A Sith Master who trusts his apprentice completely does not deserve an apprentice.'

Maul would receive specific details and schedules for visiting banks to make transfers and deposits, or to open and close accounts. He had no grasp of the finer points of the financial actions he performed for his Grand Master—economics was a subject he loathed studying—yet he knew that forgetting information was never a wise move. Consequently, recalling the details of the accounts his Grand Master had granted him access to was not difficult.

One account in particular readily came to mind: a ghost account holding a vast sum of credits, created when Sidious was first accepted as an apprentice—an account that had remained untouched until the day Maul collected the funds. Plagueis himself had no link to the account, ensuring no trail was left behind. He wouldn't have known of Maul's actions until shortly before Sidious's election—assuming he lived that long. Maul didn't know how his disappearance might affect Sidious's plans regarding his own master.

The Banking Clan facility was overwhelmingly white, with an overpowering scent of expensive perfume and minimalist décor. Swap the white for black, and it would be the embodiment of Plagueis. Maul rolled his eyes before approaching a holopad.

A service droid immediately headed his way, likely assuming Maul had wandered in by mistake.

"Hello. Would you like in-person assistance? We have various droids ready to help, should the need arise—"

"It isn't necessary."

"I must insist on that option to avoid errors—"

"It's rather offensive to assume I'll make mistakes."

"It was by no means my intention to offend! I am referring to your age and how you could—"

"Done." Maul finishes the transaction while the droid keeps talking; honestly, part of him wants to let it go on just to see what the droid would say. Just how old did it think Maul was, anyway? Information on the Nightbrothers was scarce and contradictory—certainly not something a banking service droid could easily access. Maul had only ever had a vague notion of his own age, but according to Savage, he would be turning ten in a few months. "I shall be filing a complaint regarding your behavior."

Maul leaves the droid, which is desperate to rectify its errors, and ignores the eyes following him to look at his datapad instead. He had emptied the account—completely. It hadn't been necessary; a third of the credits in that account would have been enough for anything he might want to do, with plenty left over. But he couldn't resist the idea of ​​Plagueis opening the account one day and finding nothing. At least credits would never be a problem in this life.

Outside the bank, he stops at a bench a few meters away. The banking business had taken less time than expected; he has a few hours before meeting his brothers again—time enough to do his shopping before heading straight there. He just has to find the right property...

"Hey! Horn-head!" Maul hears the call but chooses to ignore it to continue his research. "I'm talking to you!"

Maul couldn't care less—and he would have kept ignoring the figure if possible—but the man decides that trying to snatch Maul's datapad is a good idea. Luckily for him, the Zabrak is in a good mood and simply sidesteps the attempt, finally looking at the adult human standing before him.

Maul was no stranger to muggings, of course. Everyone who tried it quickly realized the grave error of their choices, but he should have expected that a small, young boy walking out of the planet's largest bank all alone with a datapad would attract the attention of random lowlifes.

But really—they are right in front of the bank. The droid is still waving at him from inside!

Maul lacks the energy or inclination to pay attention to what the man is saying—and the judgmental look he’s giving doesn't help matters—but the Zabrak is far more focused on how to end this situation without drawing attention. If that droid sees something happening, Maul is certain it will cause a scene, and that would catch Plagueis's attention. Even if the droid did nothing, news of a Nightbrother picking a fight in front of the Banking Clan would inevitably spread—and if it spread, Sidious would find out.

"Are you listening to what I'm saying?!" No—

"I am." That makes Maul freeze.

Because it’s a voice he’s heard before—a voice he heard millions of times during the Clone Wars. It’s the voice of a clone, but clones shouldn't exist yet; they shouldn't even be an idea yet! So it can only be...

Turning around, Maul finds Jango Fett—clad in Mandalorian armor—standing behind him. The mugger is clearly just as surprised as Maul—and far more frightened, too. Maul barely pays attention to what they are saying, but it is clear that Fett is easily scaring off the mugger. The Zabrak lets the Mandalorian drive the man away, watching the still-shocked mugger leave. What is Fett doing up here on the Banking Clan levels? Maul wasn't prejudiced, but he wouldn't have expected Fett to be in the upper levels if he came to Coruscant—he would have expected him in the lower levels or the Entertainment District even. What was he doing here?

"You okay?" With the mugger gone, Fett turns his attention to Maul. The Zabrak nods slowly, still wary of the Mandalorian.

"You're Jango Fett." An almost imperceptible movement of the helmet; he tilts his head to the side. Maul had become adept at reading Mandalorians' emotions after so much time with the Death Watch—since, more often than not, he couldn't read them through the Force. Krakko being the only Mandalorian on whom both the Force and his attempts to read didn't work.

"I am. And you're pretty young to know who I am."

"You have a reputation." Maul takes a careful step to the side, stowing his datapad in his pack. "One that suggests this isn't the kind of place you frequent." Another small movement; he’s getting a better look at Maul.

"Those are Sooth's goggles, aren't they?" What? "Did you steal them?"

"They were a gift," Maul corrects. How the kriff does Fett know the captain?! "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"He's an old friend." Then the Mandalorian clears his throat, raising a hand in a wave. For some reason, Maul feels like he lost a fight he didn't even know he was in. "Is he on-planet? I'll say hello, then. What's your name? So I can let him know we ran into each other." A sense of defeat makes Maul growl out his name.

"Maul."

"Good to meet you, Maul. Stay safe out there."

-

Maul almost heads straight for the port again, ready to force Sooth to reveal how he knows Jango Fett, but he holds back. It would be a waste of time he can ill afford. Instead, he heads to Coco Town.

The district is perfect for his needs, and with the credits he’s acquired, nothing is out of his price range.

The vendors hesitate to speak to him—and with good reason; Maul wouldn't trust himself at first glance either if he were selling property. But an "accidental" display of his account balance makes the vendors quickly forget their reservations, replacing them with fake, fawning smiles.

Within minutes, he is casually inspecting various locations. He avoids the district center, but as they move along the edge bordering the lower commercial districts, Maul finds the perfect spot.

A clean storefront, two stories, large windows, a fully equipped kitchen, a spacious pantry, and a clear rear exit; even the alleyway behind the shop is cut off from the rest of the street, ensuring a cleaner space. Maul closes the deal immediately—or rather, he pays immediately; he looks too young to be a property owner, after all. Savage, however, looks old enough, so an appointment is set to finalize the contract, and Maul secures the keys before parting ways with the seller.

He considers doing more shopping before meeting up with the others, but unless he uses the Force, he won't be able to carry everything he wants to buy. With his good mood restored, Maul heads back to Eastport.

And that good mood vanishes instantly.

"Hey, kid! Good to see you back in one piece!" The captain gives the man beside him a friendly pat, grinning broadly. "Fett made it sound like you were picking fights right in the middle of the street!"

The Mandalorian is unhelmeted this time; the piece of armor rests beside him on the crate he’s leaning against. Sooth, like Feral and Savage, has taken a similar position, sitting and resting within a circle of crates. Maul forces a smile—one that clearly doesn't reach his eyes, if the amused look on Fett’s face is anything to go by.

"I'm fine." He glances around; the port is quieter now, yet he still dislikes the surrounding crowd. "Are you finished?"

"Yeah, yeah. With eight strong arms, hauling everything was a piece of cake!" The Ardennian waves only one arm, however, rather than two or all four as usual; he is more exhausted than he wants to let on. "Say, you didn't mention where you're staying—especially considering what happened to you earlier today..."

"I have a place," Maul cuts in, ignoring the spot Feral is clearing for him on the crates. "We just need to do some shopping now. Are you heading back out on your run today?"

"Nah, I’d rather enjoy some solid ground under my feet for a few hours! Right, Fett?" To Maul’s dismay, the Mandalorian nods with a smile. He briefly considers retracting the invitation he’d planned to extend, but feels that would be unfair to the Ardennian who has helped them so much.

"Well, then let's go shopping. That way, you can see our new place, and I’ll cook a meal for everyone."

-

Unfortunately, the idea appeals to everyone. And with such happiness in the air, Maul fails to question whether Fett should be coming along, too.

At least they are more than enough to carry everything Maul wants to buy; despite the kitchen being ready, there is still a lot needed for the bedrooms and the rest of the place. For now, Maul focuses on buying food and the basics for himself and his brothers, distributing bags among them as they head toward his new property.

They are certainly an odd group, but nothing Coruscant hasn't seen before. Aside from the occasional questioning glance, nothing bothers them, fortunately. Feral and Savage can barely contain their excitement as they look around at everything new.

"They’ve never traveled much, have they?" Fett observes from beside him, while Sooth has to physically pull the Nightbrothers along to ensure they don't stop in the middle of the path.

"It’s their first time off our home planet; it’s a lot to take in."

"Hm..." Dark eyes focus on him then, holding a curious, appraising glint. "But you’re used to it?"

"I’ve traveled quite a lot."

"At ten years old?"

"What exactly did they tell you about me?" Maul snarls at the Mandalorian beside him, though it barely fazes Fett. He remains unhelmeted, yet Maul cannot decipher the meaning of his expression.

"That you’re a walking mystery." He grimaces, but Fett remains unfazed. "That they hadn't seen you since you were a baby, and now you’ve returned as if you know exactly what’s going to happen in the future."

"I’m no seer."

"But you know a lot of things." That, he cannot deny; Maul does know. Yet even now, looking at this man who is destined to be cloned thousands of times, he cannot say just how much of that knowledge he actually possesses. He doesn't know why Fett is going to clone himself, he doesn't know if these interactions might affect the clones' existence or not, and he doesn't know if his actions might alter the future he knows to a point of rendering everything he knows obsolete—"And you act like an old man, too."

"Old man—"

"No one your age should have to sit down after walking five meters."

"I just wanted to sit! Not that I needed to—"

"You talk like one, too—"

"Oh, I'm sorry if I have a good education and clear cadence—"

"Who says 'cadence'?" Maul is about to retort when he notices the Mandalorian trembling. So he just huffs and tosses bags at Fett to carry, ignoring the man's laughter.

Damn him—damn him and his clones. Maul was already getting paranoid about having met someone key to his master's plans, but who cares? He didn't even know if Fett was already part of the plan or how he would become the template for the clones. Jango Fett worked for the Sith, but he answered to Tyranus; his master wouldn't send him after Maul—not when he had Krakko at his disposal.

Dwelling on the fate of Fett and the clones would only give him a headache. It didn't matter; Maul's goal was to live a normal life, far away from the Sith and their galactic schemes. As long as he and his brothers remained safe, the future of a lone Mandalorian wasn't his problem.

With that, he took the lead to guide everyone to their new home, ignoring any further attempts at conversation from Fett, despite the man's smile.

-

"How did you pay for a place like this?"

"I have my ways." Which basically meant stealing from an evil old man, but that didn't need to be spelled out. "Anyone with a bag of food, bring it here to the kitchen; take the others upstairs." Feral and Fett follow him, setting down the countless bags—most of them Fett's, though Feral had tried to carry as much as he could, there was only so much weight he could pull in all his strength of an eight year old. "You stay." Fett raises an eyebrow but makes no move to leave.

"I didn't say I was leaving—"

"You're going to watch everything. And this will be the only time I want your opinion." The Mandalorian looks curious, as does Feral, who sits on one of the stools around the kitchen area; unlike the Zabrak, however, Fett seems to recognize the ingredients Maul is gathering.

"Tiingilar?"

"Tiin-what?"

"A Mandalorian recipe," Fett explains before turning his attention back to his older brother. "It's not a recipe many outsiders know."

"Wasn't it you who called me a mystery?" Maul shuts down further questions; it’s not as if he could give the real answer. Tiingilar was a nutritious yet easily digestible recipe. It warmed the body and filled the belly quickly; Rook had made a point of teaching him how to prepare it because she thought it was the perfect dish for him. She was right—Maul liked the stew and had no trouble learning to make it. "If a genuine Mandalorian approves, others will want it too."

"A restaurant? Is that what you want to do?"

"Not exactly. I don't intend to fill this place with waiters and cooks, but I want to have food ready to serve immediately, as well as more complex dishes available upon request."

"A bakery, maybe?"

"Hm, maybe." Maul ends the conversation there; exactly how their business would operate was the only part of the plan he hadn't fully mapped out yet. The idea and the concept were ready, as was everything he needed to get started, but he still had to work out the details as he went along. "Or a tea house." He murmured to himself—yes. A tea house where they could also offer appetizers and dishes to accompany the tea was more along the lines of what he had envisioned.

He enjoyed making tea; he liked the ritual, the care involved. He liked experimenting with and exploring flavors. A tea house featuring recipes from various cultures seemed perfect for a normal life—a simple life.

That was what Maul wanted.

As he continued preparing the recipe, a peaceful atmosphere settled over the kitchen. Savage and Sooth soon joined him on the stools, waiting for dinner. They chatted about simple things while Maul listened in comfortable silence, his back turned to them as he cooked; Fett didn't say much beyond the occasional piece of advice—none of which was particularly annoying, surprisingly enough.

"A tea house, huh? The only places like that around here are for the wealthy in the wellness district... it could work." Maul simply hummed in response to Sooth's words; he could hear Savage replying behind him.

"Dathomir had many types of tea; I think I could recreate some of them..."

"There you go! An exclusive selling point—where else could someone get Dathomirian tea? Even made by night brothers!"

"Dathomir?"

"Okay, smart aleck—very funny!" Maul couldn't see it, but he imagined Sooth was ruffling the little Zabrak's head; he thought Feral's laughter suited this setting. He couldn't help but smile—just a small one. He liked this; things could go on like this.

"So, he does have a heart..."

"Quiet, Fett."

-

"So, what do you say—do we give it a score from one to ten?"

"Your opinion won't matter to me unless you're Mandalorian," Maul replies briskly, watching everyone help themselves. "And even if you are, I might not care all that much."

"I'll take that as a relief from the pressure..." Fett murmurs as he ladles out some stew; despite everything, everyone pauses to watch the Mandalorian take his first spoonful. There is an almost agonizing silence as he swallows. Maul is pretty sure he lets the silence drag on purpose before smiling. "Just like back home," Maul hums, sitting down to serve himself as well.

"It gets the seal of approval!" Sooth laughs; soon he, too, is tasting the recipe with an appreciative murmur. "You've got a hand for this, kid..."

A hand. Maul had heard he had a hand for things many times in his life. For killing, for hurting. For following orders. For making bad decisions. He had never heard he had a hand for cooking, though—perhaps because he had never done it for anyone else before. Or at least, not something like Tiingilar; he had never shared a hot meal he’d made with friends in a cramped kitchen. He had never seen his brothers eat and happily go back for seconds. He had never stopped to appreciate real food—too focused on his training, and later, too afraid of scarcity to do anything but wolf down every meal as if it were about to run out.

He supposed now was as good a time as any to start.

After they eat, Maul begins preparing tea—though Savage doesn't get the chance to taste it. Feral’s body seems to decide he’s been awake long enough; the boy is struggling to keep his eyes open when his brother carries him off to bed. Sooth manages a sip, but exhaustion overtakes him, and he falls asleep at the counter, cradling his still-warm mug.

"That Tiingilar and now Cassius tea—do you know any other Mandalorian recipes?" Fett turns out to be the only one still awake to keep him company; at least he’s less annoying now.

"A few more, though there are others I’ve never tried. I..." Maul doesn't know how to explain it; he never realized just how many Mandalorians he’d met until now. "I spent a lot of time around Mandalorians. I learned a lot of things from them."

"Including the language? You don't even have an accent when you say the names..."

"Yes, the language too." He had actually learned Mando'a as one of the mandatory languages ​​Sidious wanted him to be fluent in.

"Are you sure those Mandalorians weren't trying to make you family?" Maul pauses for a second; Rook, maybe—it sounds like the sort of thing she’d do. Vizsla, definitely not. And all Krakko taught him was how to be a soldier.

"If so, they failed miserably."

"Hmm, you really are quite selfish and mean..."

"I prefer 'pragmatic'."

"Of course you do; that’s the kind of thing an old man would say."

"I—" Maul stops, noticing the man's look, and sighs loudly. He grimaces at Fett’s chuckle.

"It’s too easy. It’s almost not fun."

"Honestly, I’d expect more from the man known as the best bounty hunter in the galaxy."

"And why? My job doesn't change who I am." He gives a lazy smile, though it looks almost sad. "I’m just a simple man, trying to make my way in the universe." Maul watches him.

"Was it the simple man who met the mere transporter?"

"Hah, the transporter met a young man who was desperate and lost." The Mandalorian glances at the unconscious Ardennian beside him. "And the young man never forgot the rides the transporter gave him." Maul didn't have a full grasp of Jango Fett's life story—at least, not from before he started making a name for himself in the galaxy. He wonders where that desperate young man came from. "So? Where did the seer prodigy come from?" He has to roll his eyes at the nickname.

"The seer crawled out of hell to survive." Come to think of it, Mustafar looked a lot like the description of hell, didn't it? "And he's just making a life for himself now." Fett gives him an inscrutable look.

"Maul?"

"Hm?"

"Do you really know what's going to happen in the future?" At least he’s direct about it.

Of course, Maul would never give the truthful answer. So far, the only people who knew about his return were his mother and perhaps his sister. They had managed to spot the signs Maul couldn't hide, and he knew there was no point in denying it. He also knew he could trust them—at least when it came to keeping that information secret. He certainly wasn't going to say anything to this Mandalorian.

"Even if I did know, Fett, I’ve washed my hands of you." The Mandalorian gives a faint nod; what was the point of asking if he wasn't even going to press the issue—

"Boba."

"What?"

"If I have a son, I’m going to name him Boba." Maul doesn't know what to say, so he simply listens as the other continues, "Even if it’s a girl, the name is neutral. I don't even know where it came from, but it was always the name that popped into my head."

Boba. Boba Fett. The armored bounty hunter who took Fett's place as the best bounty hunter years after the Mandalorian's death. The same one who served Vader. The same one Maul should have connected to, the name the moment he saw Fett, yet he was only realizing it now.

"I wondered for a long time whether it was right to teach him to be a Mandalorian or a bounty hunter, but aside from the armor, I haven't been a true Mandalorian..." He laughs at that for some reason. "For a long time. I don't even remember the last time I ate Tiingilar or drank Cassius tea. And I hadn't even realized it until now—I think that’s the worst part. I didn't realize it, and I can't even bring myself to care about it now."

Maul thinks of Dathomir; he thinks of how the longest time he spent on the planet was after nearly its entire population had been wiped out. He thinks of how, for years, he didn't know the meaning of all his tattoos—only the ones bearing Sith symbols. He thinks of things Savage said that he never understood, of how he didn't share Merrin loss. Of how the entire time he spent on the planet just hours ago was consumed by thoughts of leaving it. Of how, in the end, he was always viewed as an outsider.

"You’ll raise a strong child." Fett looks up, almost hopeful. "You’ll raise him the best you can and love him. That’s what should matter."

They say nothing more. When they both finish their tea, they carry Sooth to a sleeping bag. Fett says goodbye to go find work, and Maul lies down to continue his studies on everything he can remember. He leaves as a bounty hunter, and Maul goes into the night as a dark sider—not as a Mandalorian, and not as a Night brother.

-

Ten months. Every ounce of patience Maul thought he had gained in this new life was tested during those ten months.

He could understand the need for vetting and caution regarding vendors supplying food to others; but why, somehow, did every single sitting senator have to approve his business—because that had to be it! That had to be the reason it took so long to get permission. And he had cheated at various stages: he used the Force to persuade whomever he needed, he fabricated funds and believable backstories, he employed every type of lie his master had taught him—and it still took ten months.

They finished setting up the place in the first two months: new furniture, décor, renovations. Perhaps the universe simply had to follow certain patterns, because that was the only reason Maul could fathom for Savage hitting another growth spurt right then. Since he was already bigger than Maul, he was now a full head taller than his middle brother and nearly twice the size of Feral. At least Sooth shared Maul’s displeasure regarding this development.

On paper, the eldest Zabrak was sixteen and the owner of a thriving business. In reality, he had turned fourteen just a month after arriving on Coruscant, and Maul was the one coordinating everything. That didn't spare him from celebrating his tenth birthday a few months later; making up for lost time seemed to be the one thing Savage wouldn't budge on. Only Feral’s birthday had already passed.

The captain became a semi-regular visitor; he had returned to his life as a freighter pilot, but given how often transports ended up in the Core, he would show up every few weeks. Maul learned that their trip to the Core had apparently been the Ardennian’s most peaceful one, as he had new stories with every visit—stories Maul verified with the Force and knew weren't lies.

Fett appeared only two more times during those ten months. Working constantly along the Outer and Mid Rims, he didn't visit the core very often. On both occasions, he asked for more Mandalorian recipes, and during the second visit, he helped Maul prepare one he had never tried before. He also had stories to tell, though Maul could tell he was glossing over some details whenever Feral was within earshot. Whenever Maul went down to the lower market or the entertainment district, he would hear tales of Fett’s mercenary work—stories he agreed were hardly suitable for an eight-year-old boy.

Another frequent visitor was the Besalisk, Dexter Jettster. The owner of a diner in another part of Coco Town, he was surprisingly enthusiastic about the new business in the area and eager to help the brothers get ready right away.

Dexter liked the restaurant concept; he was happy to share recipes from his home world and teach the brothers the ropes. Maul took charge of the teas and the more complex recipes, while Savage handled the appetizers and simpler dishes; Feral, much to his own dismay, was relegated to the roles of waiter and server—he was simply too young to work in the kitchen.

But finally, after ten months, they were ready to open.

"Do you mind if I bring a friend along?" Fett asked over the call; Maul immediately noticed the sound of blaster fire.

"Only if he pays." He looked up from his task—kneading dough for a classic basilisk recipe Dexter had taught him. "Are you working right now?"

"Eh, 'work' implies real effort. This is just a side gig." The blaster fire continued for a moment before stopping again. "I'll pay for him, but I get a discount too, right?"

"And why exactly would I give you a discount?"

"Wasn't I here from the start?" Fett laughed, pausing whatever he was doing to look at the call. "I gave the thumbs-up on the very first dish you made."

"I would have made it with or without your approval." The opening was just a few days away, and his brothers had insisted he invited their friends to come along. If Fett hadn't been nearby when he got Sooth's comm link, he wouldn't have take his. "You get a discount, but whatever your friend orders will be full price."

"Hm, fair enough!" Maul paused as an explosion rang out; the image vanished for a second, then Fett reappeared as if nothing had happened. "Hey, are you guys still doing that thing?"

"Doing what?"

"Helping rancors—or releasing them, I don't know." Maul looked up. "Sooth told me what you guys did when you first met."

"Why are you asking?"

"I've been hearing some talk around here; they're recruiting for a hunt on Dathomir, I think—lots of people. Looks professional." Maul hummed thoughtfully. He hadn't done anything like that since that day, and as far as he knew, neither had Sooth. It wasn't as if releasing rancors was a goal of his; it was just a coincidence that had led him straight to Dathomir when he needed to go there—the creatures themselves weren't his responsibility. "So?"

"See if you can get some info on when it's happening and pass it on to me." After all, he had a way to communicate with his mother via the amulet—something he’d discovered with a start when she woke him in the middle of the night to wish him a happy birthday—and technically, traffickers landing on the planet to poach the local wildlife counted as a danger; he would simply pass the information along to her and leave it in her hands. "I'll confirm you for the opening then. Later."

"Later." Maul ends the call, hearing another explosion. He remembers considering a path as a bounty hunter when he returned, but decided it would be too dangerous should he end up crossing paths with Sidious again.

Fortunately, Sooth hardly needed to be asked; the moment Maul mentioned the opening had a scheduled date, the Ardennian showed up a day early to help. That was when Maul realized he hadn't yet met Dexter, the basilisk was there for the same reason. The Zabrak soon regretted it when they became friends almost instantly, and consequently, the noise spread throughout the place immediately.

His brothers didn't share the same reaction, and soon, everyone except Maul was engaged in a loud conversation that quickly turned into a musical consisting of nothing but pirate songs. At least they were still working.

"What will we do with a drunken sailor?" Three times—they repeated that three times every single time. Maul had always thought the stories about pirates repeating lyrics so much were just a joke. "Early in the morning!"

"Way hay and up she rises!" Fortunately, his hearing was as sharp as ever; he saw Fett arrive accompanied by a figure before stepping closer and singing along, "Early in the morning!" He joined the song with ease, and Maul’s eyes turned to the Duros beside him—recognizable despite looking so much younger: Cad Bane.

Maul had considered the possibility that Fett’s friend might be another bounty hunter destined for fame, but he admitted he hadn't expected someone like Bane. Had he learned from Fett? Was that why he was so skilled? What little he knew about Fett was a lot compared to what he knew about Bane. He had hired him a few times, but things never went much further than that, if he recalled correctly. The Duros seemed far from sociable, but that didn't save him from being dragged by one of the many arms into the middle of the musical circle. Fett abandoned him—despite his pleas for help—to move closer to Maul.

"Your friend?"

"A rookie with potential; I've been helping him learn the ropes." He waved off Bane’s pleas for help, having not the slightest desire to assist his student. "Here, for you." Maul looked and froze. Fett was holding out his left vambrace, detached from the rest of the armor and polished. It had been repainted, too—a glossy black instead of the silver found on the rest of Fett’s armor. He stared at the vambrace without taking it. "I’m giving it to you, in case you didn't get that—"

"Why?" Maul managed to blurt out, his eyes fixed on the armor.

"I was told about your tradition—carrying pieces of people as gifts." Maul had never defined it quite that way, but wasn't that exactly what it was? "I’m not much for jewelry or accessories, and you already had a wristband on your right side, even though you’re left-handed—"

"It’s not the same thing." Maul didn't even try to question how Fett had noticed he was left-handed; he was still staring at the vambrace in astonishment. "There’s meaning in gifting armor." Fett paused, then smiled.

"Yeah, I should’ve known you’d be aware of that... But yeah, there is extra meaning to it." He shifts the bracer between his fingers, testing its weight for what must be the hundredth time. "The armor is our identity. So, handing over a piece of it means acknowledging someone as part of us—family, friendship, love. It’s a way of extending the protection we give ourselves with the armor; it’s like showing that you don't need protection from someone, yet you want to protect them at the same time." He holds the bracer out again and continues with a goofy smile, "So?"

Maul stares back, unsure of what to say, then slowly takes the piece of armor being offered. It isn't heavy—contrary to what he might have expected—and has been perfectly adjusted to his size. Maul notices an empty slot meant for a retractable blade.

"I was going to put a new one in for you, but I remembered you’re the kind of person who’d already have a blade to put there, so..."

"Yes, I... I do. Help me put it in." With Fett’s help, he easily slots Krakko’s blade into place; the man even whistles when he sees it.

"Oh, that’s a Mandalorian design. If you tell me that was a gift from the same people who taught you, you can't deny they were trying to make you family." Maul doesn't answer; he had never stopped to consider the significance of Krakko giving him the blade until now—the man had simply done it and told him not to lose it. It was a tangle of thoughts he wasn't sure he had the courage to face. "There, done. What do you think?"

Maul raises his left arm; the bracer fits perfectly, extending along his entire forearm. The black paint matches his tattoos flawlessly, and with a single movement, Krakko’s blade slides out—sharp and lethal, its silver sheen complementing the rest.

"It’s perfect." Maul swallows hard, unsure of how to put his feelings into words. "Thank you..."

"Don't mention it; honestly, I was already late in giving you something like this."Maul watches the Mandalorian, a tightness in his chest.

"Jango."

"First name? Wow—"

"There are many ways to have a son." The Mandalorian falls silent and looks away for a moment. "It doesn't... it doesn't have to be the extremes." His eyes meet Maul's with an unreadable, almost sad glint.

"I know." He swallows hard and shifts on the bench, taking a deep breath. "I know."

-

Maul couldn't quite say what he had expected from the opening; they had already fielded questions about when they would open, and they were in a relatively busy area. Besides, Dexter had mentioned the opening to his own customers—specifically on the day he wasn't opening his own diner.

What he had neglected to mention was exactly who those regular customers were.

"Oh, I suppose the Masters talk amongst themselves quite a bit..." the basilisk murmured sheepishly to Maul, right in front of all the Jedi present in the establishment. "Jedi like tea, if I'm not mistaken."

There was nothing to be done about it, really. It wasn't as if he had a reason not to want the Jedi there—not when they were paying customers. None of them would be able to sense Maul or recognize him; he simply had to ignore all that was threatening to bubble up beneath his skin. That was easy enough when he could just stay in the kitchen, preparing the teas.

"Brother, they’ve asked to see you out front." He wasn't safe even within his own thoughts.

"Why?"

"They said something about complimenting the chef on the tea—they are two Jedi." Maul wanted to send Feral out to say he was too busy, but that would only be delaying the inevitable. Dexter was right: Jedi liked tea. They would become regulars whether he liked it or not, and however bothersome it might be, he would have to get used to it.

"I'll just finish this up and be right out." Fortunately, within the confines of the kitchen, Maul could prepare the teas and handle other tasks without losing track of anything, thanks to the Force; even when he stepped outside, he would still be able to monitor everything going on in here. He takes off the apron Dexter gave him —The basilisk own version of the presents all the others gave him— and goes to face whatever jedi wanted to see him.

When he stepped out, the establishment held the same atmospheric shimmer found at the Night sisters' stronghold on Dathomir—the unmistakable aura of multiple Force-users gathered in a single place. He recognizes a few faces from reconnaissance missions and past targets, but no one of particular note—except…

The table Feral leads him to seats two Jedi Masters: one with gray hair and a matching beard, and another with long blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard of his own. It takes Maul less than a second to recognize them, and he has to stop himself from snarling.

"Master Jinn, Master Dooku," he forces out through gritted teeth, trying to suppress the instinctive aggression he feels at the sight of the two men. "It is a pleasure to have you here at The Nocturne Tea." The name had been Feral’s idea; he insisted on keeping the "Nocturne" reference despite the shop opening during the day.

"Ah, so we’ve already been introduced? It is a pleasure to meet you…"

"Kesi," he spits out. Realizing the alias came out more violently than intended, he adjusts his posture. "I heard you wished to see me? I am the one responsible for preparing the teas."

"You are truly the one responsible?" Dooku asks with a calm expression, oblivious to Maul’s desire to somehow snap his neck with his teeth. The Zabrak recognizes the tea Dooku is sharing with Jinn as a Serenno recipe. Of course—he should have guessed when he saw the order. "It takes great skill to master such a complex art at such a young age."

"I enjoy learning every recipe—and the culture behind it—directly from those who have practiced it themselves. I believe that is what allows me to replicate them so well, Master."

"Indeed; I do not recall having a Serenno tea prepared this well anywhere off-planet." That is no coincidence; Maul remembers watching the Sith prepare the tea back when he was captured and tortured by him. The memory makes his hands tremble for a split second. "I am glad I came, even though the name made me hesitate." Maul raises an eyebrow.

"Did you think this was a brothel?" He is happier than he’d admit to see Dooku choke on his tea, though Jinn’s laughter cuts that happiness short.

"Haha, not exactly. But it was a bit confusing about the opening hours; a teahouse open at night can be easily misunderstood—with all due respect."

"I understand; it was entirely my younger brother's idea. His reasoning was that seeing us would make it easier to grasp."

"And it does! 'Night Brothers,' right? Are you all family?"

"Yes. Our older brother is in the kitchen, and I’m the middle one. If I may make a recommendation, by the way: the cookies he makes go very well with the tea."

"Oh, we’ll have to try them!" Jinn smiles—a smile far too bright for Maul’s liking. "Well, we wouldn't want to keep you too long. Thank you very much, Tea Master Kesi." Maul nods, not trusting his voice to answer, and walks as normally as he can back toward the kitchen.

And immediately punches the wall once he is behind the closed doors.

"Maul?" Jango approaches with a worried look, gently pulling his hand away from the wall. "Is everything—"

"I'm not even angry," the Zabrak whispers, though the man is close enough to hear. "I just feel violent."

And it was true: Maul felt no anger, regret, sadness, or any of the emotions he might have expected upon seeing those Jedi—the man he had killed and the one who had replaced him. He was simply shocked, followed by a surge of aggressive instinct compelling him to hurt and kill them. It seemed that no matter how much time passed, Sidious’s training had instilled in him an innate drive to kill Jedi.

Jango said nothing; he simply pulled Maul toward a bench and let him calm down. Maul had always assumed that if he ever encountered Jedi he hated—or those he had known in his past life—he might experience a spike of emotion but would manage to keep it under control. He didn't know how to handle the violence warring inside him now.

And what would happen if he saw Kenobi?

He didn't have much time to dwell on these thoughts, however, as orders kept coming in. Mechanically and automatically, he continued preparing teas, letting the violence drain from his body through the familiar, practiced motions of the task. Before he knew it, Feral was calling him to deliver the final order.

He should have guessed it would be another familiar face.

"Thank you; I apologize for the hour. I intended to come earlier, but I appreciate you honoring my request so late." Master Eeko-Dio Daki is just as polite as Maul would have expected, but for some reason, the first thing the Zabrak notices is that the sparse beard on his chin is no longer gray. Had stress aged him so quickly? Stress from the war, or from Devon?

"No trouble at all; I hope you enjoy it." The Master soon says his goodbyes and leaves with his tea, mentioning he plans to share it with a friend. Maul feels Jango’s hand on his shoulder as he watches the Jedi disappear down the street. "What?"

"No violent instincts?"

"…No, not this time." He can't even explain why, but the reaction was much more subdued. Perhaps it was the fact that, to him, Daki was a potential ally before being a Jedi. There was no room for choice when one was in the Empire's crosshairs. "I suppose that’s something I’ll have to learn to deal with."

"You can't control everything." The Mandalorian wears a surprisingly serious expression and grips Maul’s shoulder firmly. "If you need to step away to avoid attacking a jetti, then do it."

"Is that why you stayed hidden with Savage all day today?" The Mandalorian doesn't answer, but his look speaks volumes. "Is there a story there?"

"There’s a story not worth telling." Jango sighs before pulling the Zabrak into a one-armed hug. "Jetti, Maul. Jetti..." Maul doesn't think he could put the feeling into words any better, so he simply nods, letting out a sigh of his own.

"Jetti..."

-

Maul discovers that time flies.

Gradually, he grows accustomed to the presence of the Jedi—even Jinn. Reluctantly, to be sure. Jinn proves to be a tea lover more than ready to sample every recipe Maul can concoct; he turns the teahouse into his own personal sanctuary, becoming a regular customer.

That is how Maul stays informed about everything happening within the Jedi Order; even when Jinn doesn't say it outright, Maul can glean the details from his actions. A shift in the Order, a mission gone wrong, the Senate breathing down the Council's necks again. One day, the man drinks his tea with a melancholy air, and Maul understands why the next day when news spreads of a Jedi Master leaving the Order—So Dooku had walked that path once more.

The count himself was a occasional visit every now and then, and on the same day Maul hears the news of his departure, he pass by the house to wish good graces and offer gratitude for the tea. There is something more there that Maul doesn't want to examine, the old man always liked Feral more for some reason anyway.

Despite wanting to, he never brings the subject of the jedi again with Jango. The Mandalorian goes on with his life, visiting occasionally—often slipping in through the back to avoid the Jedi out front. Maul considers calling him when he learns of Dooku’s departure but ultimately refrains.

Another Jedi who becomes a regular visitor is Master Jocasta Nu—or rather, they visit her regularly. Two years into running the Nocturne, Savage suggests they start making deliveries; consequently—and more often than Maul would like—Savage heads to the front of the Jedi Temple at least twice a week to drop off orders.

It is on one of these delivery days—when Savage is sick and Maul has to go in his stead—that it happens. It is a day when Maul is already irritated by inconveniences and perhaps feeling a bit under the weather himself, given the urge to sneeze he keeps suppressing. That is the day it occurs.

Maul is delivering tea orders to Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas. He isn't authorized to enter the Temple, so he always meets a Master out front to hand over the orders for distribution to the others. He is checking off the orders on his datapad when he hears a voice from inside the Temple.

"Ah, Master Kesi, it’s a pleasure to see you!" He doesn't need to look up to recognize Jinn, so he replies while still gazing at his datapad. "It feels like I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Master Jinn—I suppose it does seem that way. It’s been a while since you visited us."

"Ah, it really has, hasn't it? But a lot has happened, including..." It is the sound of footsteps that makes Maul realize Jinn hasn't come alone. "I’d like to introduce you to my new Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The effect is immediate, and Maul can barely control it.

The datapad snaps under the sudden force of his grip; the dark side slips from Maul's control in a violent burst—lasting only a second, yet impossible to hide from the two Jedi Masters. A flood of unwanted memories rushes back: his death, that final battle; the throne room on Mandalore—the last time he saw the man for years; the agony of being cut in half, and the descent into a decade of madness.

With these memories racing through his mind, Maul lifts his eyes from the wreckage of his datapad and meets the shocked face of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Ten years before their original meeting, Obi-Wan is nothing more than a boy. His sandy hair is still short, with only the start of his Padawan braid showing; his blue eyes hold a sparkle that Maul had seen vanish upon his master's death. The bastard has the audacity to be taller than him, too—sturdier, and standing more than a few centimeters above even the Zabrak’s horns; his long arms swing awkwardly at his sides—just a boy. Not the old man Maul encountered in the desert. Not the man who bore the title of General during the war. Not the rising young jedi who had been the only image in Maul’s mind for years. He is just a boy.

A boy who had also sensed the flare of Maul’s dark side, if his expression was anything to go by.

"Did you get all the orders?"

"What—"

"Did you get all the orders?" Dyas looks like he wants to argue, but then he nods. Before anything else can be said, Maul turns away. "Then my work here is done."

"Kesi!" He ignores all calls. His mind fails to focus on anything, overwhelmed by the massive mistake he has just made. The flare might not have been strong enough for Sidious to sense, but he had still let the dark side run wild in front of two Jedi Masters! What kind of amateur was he, unable to keep his emotions in check? That was the sort of thing a boy Kenobi’s age might do, but Maul was an adolescent in body only, not in mind!

He knew he would cross paths with Kenobi eventually; Jinn’s constant presence at the Nocturne was a reminder that, one day, he would have a Padawan, and Maul would have to face Kenobi again. It was obvious when he thought about it now; Jinn’s absence at the Nocturne, the age Kenobi would be—right around the time to become a Padawan; hadn't a Jedi Master already mentioned that the Padawan trials were approaching? He knew all of this; he should have known it was only a matter of time. Even if it wasn't today, how long could it be before Jinn decided to take his Padawan to the Nocturne? And yet, he hadn't been able to control himself...

Fortunately, the Jedi’s orders were the only ones of the day. He closed up the house early, muttering to Feral that he was sick and needed to rest—which really meant isolating himself in his room to dwell on everything he’d done wrong.

The dark side wasn't even the worst of it; if questioned, he could blame that on Dathomir and the planet's clear affinity for the dark side of the Force—claiming his home world's influence simply made him prone to outbursts like that. But his Force sensitivity? Maul had been serving Jedi for two years by now and had kept the Force a complete secret; even his brothers didn't know much about it. Of course, he had taught them to control whatever abilities they might possess—basic things like sensing the Force and a few levitation tricks—but he had made it a point to insist they keep those skills hidden.

And on top of everything, the timing was the most damning aspect; he hadn't even seen Kenobi’s face when the outburst happened—he’d only heard the name. Maul had heard a name and exploded in a burst of violence and poorly suppressed instincts; how could he possibly explain that?

He falls asleep still thinking about what he can do to fix his mistakes. He is almost bracing himself for the nightmares where he loses everything he has worked for over the past two years.

Knock, knock.

Maul stirs, curling tighter into the bed as if he could sink right into it.

Knock, knock.

"What is it, Feral?"

"Is that your younger brother's name?"

The next two seconds are a blur of rapid motion.

Every instinct in Maul’s body flares to life instantly to protect him; he yanks the intruder down and slams him onto the floor. With a single sweep of his arm, Krakko’s blade is pressed against the intruder's throat, while his foot pins the man's right wrist and his free arm holds the other. All this happens in the first second; the next second is when he realizes who it is.

"Kenobi?" The Jedi blinks, a headache looming from the force with which Maul had thrown him down. The Zabrak stares at him as if he were a ghost. "What the kriff are you doing in my room?"

"Can we talk without the blade—"

"No."

"Okay! Okay..." The Padawan swallows hard, his eyes fixed on the blade pressed against his throat. "I wanted to talk to you..."

"Why?"

"Why? You—you did that thing earlier today when you saw me!" Maul wonders if getting rid of the boy now would look too suspicious on his part. "I thought I might have imagined it, but Master Qui-Gon confirmed I didn't!"

"I'm still waiting for the part where you explain why that made you think breaking into a stranger's room was a good idea."

"It's the dark side, isn't it?" Maul doesn't grimace, but he feels his brow furrow. "I... I just want to know why me..."

"What are you talking about?" The Padawan looks away, his expression so anguished that Maul almost feels pity for him.

"If—if it was an involuntary reaction, if you lost control of the dark side..." His eyes gleam slightly—not like Maul’s, but visible in the dark. "Why me? Why not another Jedi or, I don't know, just someone else?" Because Kenobi had killed him twice. Even though he had been at peace during the last one, it didn't change the horror of Maul's first death. The Sith who fell into that pit never climbed out of it. Maul had died in that moment, and everything that happened afterward was so disjointed it felt like another life. In a way, this was his third life, beginning before the end of the first.

But, of course, he couldn't say any of that to Kenobi.

"Are you asking why my dark side reacted to you?"

"Yes! That..." He swallows hard—a terrible decision with a blade at his throat, and he realizes it immediately. "I—is it a call? Temptations of the dark side, like Master Yoda talks about?" Maul has to laugh at that.

"Kenobi, you are so Jedi it makes me sick." Maul hisses at the Padawan, unable to resist rolling his eyes at the foolish question. "The dark side isn't the type to waste time on those who would never yield anything to it. And you are definitely one of those people."

"Then why—"

"That was me. The dark side responded only to my impulses." The Zabrak considers how to phrase this in the least suspicious way possible; visions aren't exactly uncommon, are they? "I’ve had visions of you for a long time. Your name." The Padawan looks surprised by this. "I reacted on instinct because I had forgotten those memories and was caught off guard when I heard your name."

"But what visions—"

Sidious would have been proud of how many lies Maul managed to concoct on the fly—and with such confidence, too.

He spun a long tale about visions of Kenobi—seeing him alongside Jinn and the Jedi he was destined to become. In truth, his memory of Kenobi’s life as a Padawan was limited; the only research he’d done on the subject had been decades ago, while preparing for that fateful mission. Even so, he managed to craft a vague story based on fabricated visions. Unfortunately, this put the Jedi at ease enough to linger in the room, leading to another hour spent pretending to decipher the meanings behind the visions.

For some reason, this was clearly deeply worrying to Savage.

Maul could tell his brother had been trying to eavesdrop through the door for a while; his presence outside was unmistakable. At one point, he simply walked in as if it were nothing and started chattering about a piece of clothing Maul had borrowed—Kenobi’s glance, comparing their respective sizes, made it obvious why that was a strange idea. Maul had gained weight and grown a bit over the last two years, but he was still nowhere near Savage, who had hit a second growth spurt at sixteen.

Unable to find the missing garment, Savage ended up just staying in the room, pretending not to listen to their conversation for some reason. At least it gave Maul a plausible excuse to send Kenobi away—out the front door this time.

The moment the door closed, he was bombarded with questions.

"Who was that?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi; he’s Jinn’s new Padawan."

"What are his intentions?"

"Savage, you heard us talking about the visions—"

"That doesn't answer it! You don't know what his hidden motives might be!"

"Hidden motives? What are you talking about?"

"How old is he?"

"Older? Three or four years, I don't know—why does that matter—"

"Is he your boyfriend?" Maul can't even react beyond whipping his head around to look at Feral. Savage places a grateful hand on his younger brother's shoulder.

"Thanks for asking the question—"

"WHAT?!"

-

To Maul’s dismay, the subject comes up again just a few days later.

He is manning the front counter—it’s a quiet day, with Feral off duty—when Master Sifo-Dyas walks in.

"Master Dyas, it is rare to see you so far from the Temple when you're on the planet."

"Oh, but you make me sound like a recluse." The old Master has a calm presence—one Maul knows to be a facade; he is aware of the constant visions plaguing the old Jedi, and even more aware of where those visions will lead him. "But the truth is, I was asked to pick up an order—due to a ban?" Maul sighs loudly.

"Jinn and Kenobi?"

"Yes." The Zabrak had seen the Master and Padawan across the street through the shop windows; Jinn had looked deceptively calm, watching the bustle of the street, while Kenobi stood beside him, bright red. "Though I must say, they didn't explain the reason for this ban to me." Of course they didn't; it’s not as if Maul had anything better to do, right?

"A certain misunderstanding led my brother to believe that Kenobi and I are in a... relationship."

"Oh?"

"He doesn't approve of this relationship—which he invented entirely in his own head—so he banned Kenobi, and Jinn by extension, from coming to the shop."

"Ah, that explains Padawan Kenobi's embarrassed demeanor." Maul can't help but roll his eyes; Kenobi could easily have explained the situation to Jinn. He wasn't the one who had to listen to Savage go on about how he was too young for a relationship and far too immature. "As interesting as that is, Master Kesi, the reason Master Jinn asked me to come here is precisely to discuss what happened in front of the Temple the other day."

There it is. Maul had harbored a faint hope that Kenobi would pass along the explanation he’d given regarding the day's events, but it seems he wasn't even good for that.

"If I may, then, Master. Please deliver Jinn's order and come back here; on a slow day like this, there's no point in staying open." Master Dyas nods, preparing to leave with the orders. "By the way, tell Jinn he isn't banned. I'm the kriffin' owner of this place, not Savage. But I'd prefer he didn't bring Kenobi back—so as not to upset my brother." The Master accepts this with a smile, and Maul moves to close up the shop and prepare some tea to share with him.

Soon, Dyas is back in the shop and sits down with Maul at one of the tables, accepting the tea the Zabrak offers with an appreciative murmur.

"And this is?"

"Ho'Din herbal."

"The one known for being addictive?"

"You can't blame a merchant for doing whatever it takes to secure customers." The Jedi hums, but drinks the tea anyway.

Sifo-Dyas was a dangerous Jedi for Maul to be in contact with; like Tyranus, he was involved in the future creation of the clone army—though, as far as Maul knew, he hadn't fallen to the dark side the way Tyranus had. Whether or not Dyas grasped the consequences of his actions, Maul would bet that realization only came at the moment of his death at the hands of his former colleague. Still, it was dangerous to be near someone who would be working so closely with Sidious over the coming years.

"Well, I wouldn't want to start a conversation with accusations, so I’d like to hear if you have an explanation regarding your connection to the dark side." There it was—the easy part, at least.

"It is obvious, Master, which planet I am from. Both my brothers and I lived on Dathomir until two years ago; and while it may not be as common as it is among the Night sisters, Nightbrothers can still possess a connection to the Force." It was actually just as common as it was among the sisters; Dathomir was a planet where the dark side ran wild, permeating every inhabitant who lived there. "Given the planet's affinity for the dark side, we are all instinctively accustomed to it. In moments of emotional outbursts like that one, it always came easily to me." That wasn't a lie.

"I understand."

"Don't get me wrong—I harbor no aggression or mistrust toward the Jedi. However, the dark side has simply been a constant companion throughout my life, one I didn't feel the need to mention to people who were meant to be nothing more than clients." That was partially a lie.

"Fair enough, but why did the Padawan Kenobi trigger such a reaction?"

"I believe you will understand when I speak of the impression that Force visions can leave upon us." The Master stops drinking his tea, looking at Maul with a new concern. "I had heard the name Kenobi in many dreams, but only there. I was startled when I heard it spoken aloud, and the dark side simply responded to my impulse."

"Visions? Have you been having them for a long time?"

"For a few years; they were what made me decide to leave Dathomir and take my brothers with me." Sifo-Dyas was nearly a decade away from initiating the creation of the clone army, but perhaps the visions were already beginning—at least the most troubling ones. "Do you suppose there is a deeper connection?" The Jedi Master grimaces, as if seeing a particularly unpleasant vision.

"I’ll be honest with you, Kesi. That moment wasn't the first time I’ve witnessed that darkness." Maul wants to grimace but restrains himself, maintaining a neutral, puzzled expression. "I’ve had visions of the dark side spreading across the galaxy—terrible visions in which the darkness oppressing everything looked very much like the darkness you displayed." So he had seen the rise of the Empire, then.

It was obvious that Sidious’s darkness would resemble Maul’s; an apprentice’s connection to the dark side began with their master’s instruction, using the master as an example. Maul was slightly different, having been born with a strong connection to the dark side, but his understanding and learning regarding the Force came entirely from Sidious. This ensured that every apprentice always carried a piece of their master with them, regardless of the passage of time.

Of course, no Jedi would know this; their knowledge regarding the dark side and how it functioned was flawed at best. They were oblivious to the complexities of how the dark side manifested by choice, too frightened by the possibility of a fall to attempt to understand the darkness.

Maul had no intention of teaching them anything. Not to the kind of Jedi who would walk side-by-side with a Sith and never realize it. But he had to say something to explain his connection to Sidious's future. He could drop a hint that might lead the Jedi Master to the Sith—though it was unlikely Dyas would manage to unmask the sitting senator, not with the Sith complex web of precautions, and especially not with Plagueis still alive— if Maul was right. At most, he would be sending the Jedi to be a nuisance to the old man; it was that or...

"Do you know who Mother Talzin is, Master Dyas?"

"I'm afraid not."

"She is a powerful witch, leader of the Night sisters on Dathomir, and deeply versed in dark-side magick." Maul considers for a second whether to actually go through with this; there is still time to turn back. "And she is also my biological mother." To hell with it.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, she raised me herself—something not many Night sisters do. My control over the Force comes from observing her own abilities." Maul genuinely couldn't care less about throwing his mother to the Jedi; it wasn't as if she had much to lose. There was nothing left to discover at her side after her relationship with Sidious ended—following Maul's abduction/handover. If she played her cards right, she might even gain something from it; Asajj Ventress was currently a Padawan, wasn't she? "She didn't approve of my departure—or my brothers', I should add. I haven't spoken to her in two years." He had tipped her off about some smugglers just last week.

"Do you think she might have something to do with my visions of the dark side?"

"I wouldn't want to accuse my mother of anything, Master Dyas." Maul is gripping his teacup to keep from laughing so hard it’s a miracle the thing doesn't shatter in his hands. "But she is, in fact, an ambitious woman—if that’s the right word for it."

Maul let Dyas off after providing a few more useless details about his mother, making sure to insist that the man mentioned neither him nor his brothers should he ever encounter her. He is still chuckling to himself when Savage approaches from behind, looking at his laughing brother as if he were mad.

"What's funny?"

"Oh... Nothing. Just a silly joke." The older brother looks confused before rolling his eyes; trying to understand Maul was a lost cause he rarely succeeded at. "Savage?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not in a relationship with Kenobi." The older one grimaces; much as he wouldn't admit it, he wanted to put the subject behind them, too. "First of all, because I have no interest in a relationship—nor the time for one, frankly. And second, because even if I were in a relationship, it wouldn't be with a Jedi, considering their vows." Savage opens his mouth to speak but sighs instead, shifting his stance; he had been ready to head up the stairs, but now he leans against them, looking at his brother.

"Okay, I get it. I suppose I... overreacted."

"Fair enough. That said, I told Jinn he isn't banned, but that he shouldn't bring Kenobi along—if that helps keep the peace."

"Thanks, I guess. Honestly, that guy drinks so much tea that we might collapse if we kept the ban in place for too long." At Maul's brief laugh at the comment, the older brother relaxes. "I think I ended up doing the same thing Marai did..."

"Who?"

"Oh, I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn't remember her. Marai is our older sister." Maul raises his eyebrows; he had met Marai on Dathomir two years ago, but he hadn't asked for her name or brought the subject up with Savage again. "Shortly before you returned, some sisters started insisting I was old enough to begin the trials for a mate. She immediately disapproved and got into a heated argument with them; I think that memory came back to me unbidden when I saw you with Kenobi."

"I met her." Savage looks just as surprised as Maul—who hadn't planned on saying that out loud. "When I was summoned to the fortress, she told me who she was, but not her name." Maul considers whether or not to mention his sister's request, but decides it is better to give a heads-up now than to show up with the child a few years down the line. "She asked me to go and fetch her daughter once she is born." Savage arches an eyebrow and then laughs.

"Yeah, that sounds like the sort of thing she’d do... Do you know when you're going?"

"Yes, I do." Maul rocks back on his heels, wondering if it’s worth asking the question. "Do you want to...?"

"No. No..." His brother scratches the back of his neck, looking weary. "I’ve actually gotten used to life here. I’d rather not dredge up old memories by going back there." Maul nods; he had expected as much. He wouldn't be returning to Dathomir himself if not for this situation. "Have you closed up shop yet? Feral just messaged me saying Dexter is having a barbecue and invited us; he’s already there."

"I think some eel sounds good." Maul smiles before following his brother outside. There were many things set to happen in the coming years, and many were beyond his control, but for now, he was happy to share a good meal with his brothers and friends.

-

Maul doesn't even realize what it is when Fett places it in his hand.

"Here, for you." He registers that it’s a small piece—part earring, part piercing—and simply puts it on. It’s a vertical helix stud with an 'A' at the tip. "It looks good."

"And the reason?"

"It’s Boba’s; the Kaminoans used earrings to mark him apart from the other clones. The 'A' stands for Alpha, if I’m not mistaken." Jango speaks as if it were the most normal thing in the world, while Maul freezes and stares at him. "He has the left one, and now you have the right."

"Are you serious?"

"Why would I lie about that? If you don't like it—"

"Fett."

"Ah, back to the surname." The Mandalorian stops leaning against the doorway and turns to face Maul. There was no point in trying to get away when they were stuck together on a small ship.

Fett had offered to take Maul to Dathomir to fetch Merrin; the Zabrak understood why once he met the ship's third inhabitant: the newborn Boba Fett. Jango knew he wouldn't react well to the baby, so he decided that trapping them all together on the Slave I was better than telling him and having to deal with Maul ignoring him for what could be months.

They were on their second day of travel, and so far, all Maul had seen the baby do was eat, sleep, and cry for his father. Boba was an attached child who wanted to be held constantly and hated being alone; more often than not, Maul found himself staying in the same space as the baby just to ensure he didn't keep crying from loneliness.

"I don't need this."

"But you will. You’re going to need something to represent him for the tradition anyway—" Maul stands up with a snarl, his left arm burning.

"Nothing guarantees that."

"So then what? You’re just going to ignore him for the rest of our lives?"

"You don't know what the rest of our lives will look like—"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to let one of the most important people in my life hate my son—"

"I don't hate your son!"

"Well, you hate something!"

"I hate the fact that you DIDN'T LISTEN TO ME!"

Boba starts to cry.

It was to be expected; babies didn't like sudden, loud noises, and an argument was all of this and even worse. Jango moves to act, but Maul—always the faster of the two—picks up the baby and cradles him in his arms; an activity he had grown accustomed to again, given the baby's need to be held. Judging by the look on Jango's face, this is the first time he’s seen it happen.

Silence stretches out as Boba calms down; Maul stands there, rocking the baby with his back against the crib. Quietly, Jango comes closer leans against his side, his eyes never leaving Boba.

"I'm sorry." Maul doesn't reply, gazing at Boba's calm face as the boy drifts toward sleep. By this point, there should have been hundreds of babies just like him on a hidden planet in the wild space. "For this, and for whatever will happen."

"It's not your fault." Maul feels the need to respond immediately, "Nor his." Boba Fett's existence wasn't the cause of his father's death—no matter how it might have seemed—and Maul didn't want the boy to feel that way when he grew up. "I really don't hate him."

"That's good; it would be bad if the 'Plan B'—in case something happened to me—didn't want him." Maul glances at him. "I don't have any better options, do I?" Maul sighs.

"It's not like it's guaranteed—"

"But it's a sign." Jango finishes the thought before Maul can, idly playing with his son's wispy hair. "A sign of the direction things are taking." Jango had never directly asked whether Maul knew the future or not, not since the day they met. He would make comments, but he never pressured the Zabrak to confirm it. Even so, Maul had already made clear the significance of Boba’s birth—and the means by which Jango had obtained him. "I can't say I regret it." Maul snorts.

"Of course not." It was strange, but what troubled him about it wasn't the clones, nor the war. "And yet, you call me selfish."

"Maybe what you hate is simply me..." He speaks lightly, with a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"No." The Mandalorian gives him an unreadable look. "I just... Sometimes I just hate how much you you are." Jango laughs and, not for the first time, speaks words Maul doesn't know how to answer.

"And isn't that because you can't control me?"

-

Dathomir hasn't changed since Maul's last visit.

He has no patience for drama this time, so he enters the village openly, Jango right behind him with a wide-awake Boba in his arms. The Mandalorian had brought the boy along, arguing that it was irresponsible to leave an infant alone on the ship—especially without knowing what might be lurking in the surrounding forest; Maul had no counter-argument to that.

This time, he is recognized quickly; Night brothers approach from all sides, asking about Savage and Feral and why he has come alone. Had he been able to, he would have bypassed the village and gone straight to the fortress, but his brothers had not only given him letters to deliver to old friends but also asked him to get a sense of the current state of their village. Jango ends up handling that task once Maul confirms he poses no threat; it is easy to simply watch in silence while the Mandalorian speaks with everyone.

He recognizes few faces—just one or two from his previous visit. Viscus looks as though he has aged far more than ten years; when Maul remarks on this, the man says the same applies to him—that's enough for Maul to admit he can respect him.

Icarus—surprisingly without his brother—is another face Maul encounters. He is among those who ask about Feral and even receives a gift sent by the younger brother via Maul: a dagger—so he did like them after all—and a sharpening kit. He practically beams with happiness.

Boba becomes a sensation among the brothers alarmingly fast; Maul supposes it shouldn't come as a surprise—the Night brothers lived in a tight-knit community where children were treated as a collective responsibility. Still, the sheer volume of gifts for the baby that he and Jango have to carry when they leave the village is ridiculous.

When they arrive at the Night sisters' fortress, Marai is waiting.

"Brother."

"Sister." He bows. "You seem to be recovering well from the birth."

"It was a more arduous task than I’d like to admit." She replies with a huff, her eyes drifting to Jango right behind Maul. Should be some vision; a tall, armored man that couldn't be read in the Force, carrying a babbling baby. "You didn't mention you were bringing company?"

"He is... a precaution. For the sake of my health."

"And the baby?"

"A distraction, should his father fail." Maul ignores Jango’s inquisitive look to step into the fortress behind Marai. Boba might not have been a factor he was aware of until the journey began, but he would make use of him now, at least. If everything went wrong, he could count on his mother’s soft spot for infants. "And Merrin?"

"Taking a nap—a rare occurrence, I must say." Maul notices his sister looks slightly less put-together than the last time he saw her—likely the effect of caring for her newborn daughter. "My mate has been a great help."

"So, he’s alive?"

"I have no interest in upholding barbaric traditions simply because they are ancient." She waves her hand dismissively, nose in the air, ignoring the scowl of another Night sister passing by. "He is more than capable of fathering more children and remaining my partner."

"If you say so." Maul assumes he’ll meet this lucky Night brother later; for now, he finds himself once again standing before the massive door to his mother’s chambers. "Would you mind coming in with me?" His sister raises an eyebrow in a familiar way—a gesture he realizes he and Savage share as well.

"I could, but I’m not sure leaving your friend out here alone—"

"He needs to come in, too."

"All four of us?" Marai asks, and Jango shifts behind them.

"What did you do?" Maul ignores the question, placing a hand on his sister’s arm in a movement he hopes doesn't look desperate.

"So, will you come in?" She nods slowly after staring at him for another moment. Jango, despite his confusion and suspicion leaking through the armor for Maul only in the Force, follows them inside.

His mother stands before a cauldron; the room is even hotter than Dathomir’s usual climate, thanks to the burning hearth.

"Mother."

"My son." She answers without turning at first, then pivots with an unreadable expression. "Have you come to fulfill your promise to your sister?"

"Precisely—"

"And not to apologize?" Maul offers a sheepish, uneasy smile, feeling the weight of all the gazes of the room focused in him.

"I… suppose that would be necessary." He rocks back on his heels, looking at everything but his mother directly. "Are you referring… to Master Dyas?"

"So that is his name?" Talzin spits the words out, tapping her long fingernails against a table.

"He didn't introduce himself—"

"No. He preferred to try and steal a child." Twice—he tried to steal a child twice. Though, given the success of the first attempt, it makes sense that part goes untold. If the Night sisters aren't aware of the Night brother currently in the Jedi Temple, Maul certainly isn't going to be the one to tell them. "Did you know about that?"

"Yes, he told me—after!" Maul hastens to correct himself. "Not before! I had no idea he was planning something like that!"

"And what did you think he was planning?" Talzin hisses; it is almost striking how Maul can hear his own voice in hers. "Surely you didn't think before goading a Jedi into coming here?"

"I only intended to get him out of my own way, Mother..." He winces as the words leave his mouth; that sounds even worse. "Master Sifo-Dyas had constant visions, and rather than sending him to his death, this was the only other alternative."

"And why should I care about his death?"

"It was… imperative that he stayed alive—for a few more years, at least." And that is perhaps Maul's only saving grace in this situation. "Which is no longer the case, I can confirm." His mother seems to ponder the fact for a moment.

"And was it a violent death, as he deserved?"

"As far as I know." Dying in the destruction of his ship while crashing onto an unknown moon, betrayed by one of his oldest friends—that was a violent death, as far as Maul was concerned. Despite his brief connection to the jedi master, he felt nothing upon learning of his demise. Dyas simply faced the same destiny as before. "His death served to divert suspicion away from Dathomir; the Jedi Order should not trouble you again, Mother."

"I suppose that will have to suffice." Talzin snarls in a manner similar to her sons. Maul begins to wonder what Dyas could have done—and kept from him—to anger his mother to this extent. "You will not be shown such leniency if something like this happens again, Maul. You are only spared now because of the warnings regarding those thieves."

"So, you haven't had any more trouble with the traffickers, then?"

"They understood the warnings after so many ships failed to return." There is almost a smile on her face; Maul feels no guilt when thinking of all the pirates he sent to violent deaths at the hands of his mother and the planet itself. "Now go; Merrin must remain a true night sister, Maul. I would not accept it if my granddaughter turned out to be a waste of time."

"I would never let that happen, Mother." With that cold farewell—so characteristic of his mother—Maul leaves her chambers alongside Marai, Jango, and Boba.

He immediately gets a smack on the back of the head.

"So, that lunatic was your fault?" Maul doesn't try to run; he just looks at his sister.

"Honestly, the worst thing he told me was about taking the children. What else did he do?"

"Besides bothering us, he also broke into our mother's quarters while she was out." Ah. That sounded like something that would really annoy her. "And what do you mean by children?"

"Well, just that your daughter won't be the only child from Dathomir on Coruscant." Surprisingly, she doesn't demand more answers. Maul keeps following her until he feels one of his horns being pulled back. "It worked, didn't it?"

"I still would have liked a heads-up." Jango grunts, gently rocking Boba. "I've never seen him stay as quiet as he is around that woman." Maul had expected his mother would have that kind of effect on children, even though she liked them more than anyone would expect.

"Here, let me take her." Merrin's nursery is a spacious room with large windows. From the little Maul sees, there are plenty of toys scattered across the floor and a faint scent of something like baby powder. "I suppose her uncle can take some of her favorite toys, right?"

"Her uncle is starting to get worried about the number of baby gifts he's been getting." Merrin has the same white skin as every Night sister Maul has ever met, with just a few tufts of silver hair on her head. She grimaces at being woken from her nap and keeps her eyes closed, clutching her mother's robes. "And does she even have favorite toys already?"

"The ones given by people I want favors from—yes." They start walking, and Boba breaks his silence in the presence of the new baby. His eyes go wide seeing someone so similar yet so different. "Is he going to be around while she grows up?" Maul glances at Jango; the Mandalorian shrugs.

"Eh, probably." Luckily for little Merrin, Boba is too surprised to make a fuss, so she remains half-asleep as they move through the fortress to fetch Marai’s partner, as she had requested.

"He’ll want to say goodbye." Maul doesn't quite understand what she means—until he sees a familiar figure down the hall. "Beloved," Marai calls out, and Scorn—of all the Nightbrothers Maul knew—is the one walking toward them. Like Savage, he must have gone through major growth spurts, for he is just as burly and tall as Maul remembers from his past life. Seeing him next to Marai mirrors the memory of him standing side-by-side with Maul’s own second-in-command. "My brother has come to get her."

Scorn nods at Maul; perhaps he doesn't even remember the last time they saw each other, or perhaps, to him, Maul is simply his mate's brother and the guardian of his daughter. Whatever the case, there is a sad look in his eyes as he takes Merrin from Marai’s arms.

"Go on and say goodbye; take the chance to pick out a few toys she can take with her." He nods again, cradling his daughter with an ease that shows he has done this often of late. There is a look of affection on his face as he walks away, Merrin finally waking up fully and brightening at finding herself in her father's arms. "What’s that look for?"

"Nothing; he’s a good choice, I suppose." Maul has a completely new perspective on Scorn’s departure from Dathomir in his other life. Initially, he had simply assumed Scorn had grown tired of the Night brother lifestyle and had come along to try to build a new life for himself and his brother; now, he wonders if Merrin had something to do with it. Perhaps being the father of the last Night sister had driven his decision to leave and try to forge a path for his daughter—or perhaps he had hoped to one day convince Maul of Merrin’s worth. Did she know? That he was both her uncle and her father’s employer? Was that why she had been so insistent about him? "Are you really going to keep him alive? If so, I must admit I’m still tempted to return the favor for what was done to me."

"As I said, I have no interest in upholding outdated traditions. He listens to me; he’s interesting and pleasing to look at." Aside from the first point, he wouldn't have described Scorn that way himself, but he supposed tastes varied. "I don't need another mate. And what do you mean by 'returning the favor'?"

And Maul—because his memory was far too good for his own liking—still remembered the whole situation involving Kenobi and the crazy relationship fabricated years ago quite clearly. He remembered Savage’s explanation for reacting the way he did, too. He could hear Jango stifling a laugh behind him as he recounted the story; he refrained from tripping the man only to avoid knocking Boba over as well.

"And am I to blame for the cheap imitation our brother came up with?"

"You’re to blame for the trauma he was left with."

"Sisters Arala and Mala are the ones to blame for suggesting something like that about my brother." Maul could agree with that, at least. Out of respect for Merrin and Scorn, he would hold back from exacting a highly deserved retribution.

They walked through the fortress for a while longer, gathering books, clothes, and various other items Marai wanted him to take. By this point, he was starting to worry whether Slave I had enough room for it all.

They met up with Scorn again in front of the temple; Boba was now in his arms, as Jango had been designated the carrier for everything they needed to transport. This left Maul carrying both babies after Merrin had been handed to him, one in each arm. The adults nearby fell silent for a moment, watching to see how the children would react to being within arm's reach of one another.

In Merrin’s case, the reaction was an attempt to steal Boba’s pacifier.

"Hey, you’ve got your own," Maul corrected her before handing the pacifier to the little girl, who looked up at him with a tearful, pouting face. "If you’re going to try and get into mischief, at least wait until no one’s looking."

"They’re going to be best friends," Jango said dryly, cooing at Boba to stop the child from crying over the near-theft. "Anything else we need to take?"

"No. Brother, can I have a word with you in private?" Maul agrees, letting Jango go ahead with a Scorn he had pulled to assist him. Once they are alone, Marai gets straight to the point: "I sense agony coming from you." He makes no effort to suppress the sigh that escapes him.

"Knowing the future doesn't help if you can't change things, sister." She gives him a knowing look.

"I wonder—have you ever stopped to think why you possess this knowledge, brother?"

"More times than I can count." At times, he even doubted himself—wondering if everything he had lived through was real. If it wasn't all just lies conjured by his own mind—for it wouldn't be the first time Maul found himself unable to trust his own memories—"If there is a reason for it, something I am meant to change."

"Perhaps you are simply focusing on the wrong things." And what should he focus on? Sidious? Maul couldn't bear the thought of having been given another chance only to have his life revolve around that man once more—to run the risk of losing everything, everyone. All over again. He barely notices as his sister put a small box into his fingers. "Not everyone can be saved, brother."

-

Maul looks at his new earring in the mirror.

A small, wing-shaped amulet on his left earlobe. A representation of the Winged Goddess, if he recalled correctly the little he had studied of Dathomirian religion. His sister hadn't explained how she knew about her brother's traditions, but judging by the necklace with the Fanged God pendant he’d seen among Merrin’s things, he figured it was a token for the baby, much like Boba’s piercing.

That, however, hadn't saved them from trouble.

"You don't suppose your mother was petty enough to curse the ship, do you?"

"She wouldn't waste magic on that, but sending someone to do something to the ship..." Jango sighs, checking the ship's systems. "Do we need to stop?"

"Yes, I need to fix this planetside." Maul nods as the Mandalorian begins plotting a course. "There's a planet nearby with a mechanic who owes me a few favors. Maybe I can even pick up some work while I'm at it, if you can look after the kids?"

"You've got a hover pram for Boba, right? I can put Merrin in there too, provided they don't fight."

"With the heat we're about to face, I doubt they'll even want it open." Maul should have guessed which planet it was when he heard that, but, distracted, he went to get the children ready. Despite their questionable first meeting, both seemed to have concluded at the same moment that the other made an excellent pillow. It was an adorable sight, he supposed. The two babies curled up together in the pram, half-hugging and half-sprawled out. "We're here!"

Maul closed the pram and programmed it to follow him. He met Jango at the ship's ramp and was immediately hit by an oppressive heat he knew all too well.

"Tatooine..."

"Yeah. Have you been here before?" Maul gives a slow nod as he observes the sandy planet; Jango notices his expression immediately. "Bad memories?"

"More like many memories." Maul had never planned to return to the planet where he died. Tatooine was not only his grave but also the site of his downfall; it was here that he had first faced Jinn. "I'm fine."

"Sure?"

"Completely." It didn't matter; they were in the heart of Mos Espa, far from the sands where Maul had perished and fought the Jedi—and they were two years ahead in time, too. "Come on, let's not waste time."

The Mandalorian accepts his vague explanation and leads Maul to a shop a few meters from where they parked; the mechanic appears to be a human male who looks less than thrilled to see Jango. He casts more than a glance at the Zabrak and the pram, but Maul ignores him to observe the city.

Mos Espa is as bustling as Tatooine gets, with sentients moving back and forth between shops, slipping through shadows, and avoiding the direct sun. All manner of people walk the streets—criminals, bounty hunters, locals, and unrecognizable off-worlders—forming a crowd that easily stirs up memories for Maul. He had been with Kenobi at that time, and before that, he had spent hours wandering the sands alone, losing his mind and regaining his sanity over and over again.

None of that mattered now.

"He's going to take a look at it; want to go for a walk?" Maul nods, preferring to remain silent and stay at the Mandalorian back. They must have made for an interesting sight—Jango was already known for his reputation, and no one failed to take a second look at a Nightbrother; the pram following close behind likely added to the confusion. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, just..." He shifts, unsure of how to put it into words. How could he explain that this planet meant so much because of things that hadn't even happened—and weren't even going to this time? "I never thought I'd come back here. Not by choice." The Mandalorian nods, carefully placing a hand on Maul's back to guide him.

"Come on, let's get a drink." They enter a cantina, the shade and slightly cooler air offering some relief from the heat. Jango wastes no time heading straight for the counter, where a Twi'lek is waiting. "Redarr!"

"Fett, it's been a while!" The Twi'lek watches as Maul opens the pram—taking advantage of the cooler air—and pats Jango's arm. "Well, look at that—you've found yourself a little family!"

"You could say that," the Mandalorian remarks, removing his helmet with a huff and cracking his neck. "Got anything cold to drink? For the kids too, if possible."

"Sure—anything they can't have?" The Mandalorian looks to Maul for an answer; Maul just shrugs as he sits down, picking up the other's helmet and turning it over in his hands.

"Just nothing too strong." Redarr, the Twi'lek, hands over a glass with two straws containing a drink that smells faintly sweet and citrusy—something Boba seems to love instantly, while Merrin accepts it simply because it’s the coldest thing available—and then begins preparing drinks that Maul can't be bothered to pay attention to. "Do you come here often?"

"Redarr is an old colleague—one of the good ones—from before he settled down here." The Twi'lek chuckles and gives the Mandalorian a playful punch on the shoulder—a bold move considering the full armor. "Though I still wonder if it wasn't just to run away from debts..."

"Shut it; I paid what I owed before buying this place!" Despite his words, Redarr looks genuinely happy. "And you must be slowing down too, right? You can't keep taking the same risks you used to when you've got kids waiting for you at home." The Mandalorian offers a faint smile.

"Well, I certainly won't be taking as many jobs as before. You never know what might happen." Maul deliberately ignores the look he’s given at that last part. "But they don't just depend on me—"

"Hey, don't believe everything he says!" Redarr says—surprisingly—to Maul. This draws an indignant grumble from Jango. "He's made more money than he could count over the last few years; if he starts talking about struggling to make ends meet, you should run off with the kids!" He gets yanked back by the Mandalorian, but managing to give the zabrak his drink before.

"Hey, who do you take me for? A deadbeat?" They laugh together, and Maul snorts; at least this is mildly amusing. "I don't need anyone looking after me!"

"Only in your head, maybe..." Maul watches as they continue their friendly banter; with the children fed and a cold drink in hands, he finally has time to reflect on the current situation brought back to his attention because of the planet.

They were two years away from the events involving the Trade Federation—a scheme by his master designed both to reveal the Sith and to secure his position as Chancellor of the Republic. It was also the chain of events that led to the Jedi discovering Anakin Skywalker. At this point, Jinn and Kenobi were still operating as Master and Padawan, just as in his past life; Tyranus, too, was already in Sidious's clutches—assuming the death of Sifo-Dyas and the initiation of the clone army project were taken as indicators. He hadn't sensed anything suggesting Plagueis's death either, so his master likely held the same plan as last time. Everything seemed to be unfolding exactly as before.

Except for one thing: Maul was no longer with the Sith.

In his past life, Maul had been the first Sith in millennia to reveal himself, acting on his master's orders—which included the command to kill the two Jedi. But Maul had escaped Sidious's grasp over a decade ago; consequently, certain changes were inevitable if Sidious intended to follow the same plan.

After all, who would take his place? How would the Sith reveal themselves this time? Maul had handled it previously because he was essentially untraceable and lacked a public life, allowing him to assume the mantle of a Sith without giving anything up; that was not the case for any of the other currently living Sith. Sidious was on his way to becoming Chancellor, Plagueis held a high-ranking position in the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and Tyranus was the reigning Count of Serenno. Risking their current privileges and positions—at least prematurely—was too dangerous.

Assassins and mercenaries wouldn't work either; it was unlikely that random scum could kill Kenobi, let alone Jinn. Perhaps Tyranus would use Jango? But that risked exposing the clone army too early if the trail could be traced back to the Mandalorian. There weren't many bounty hunters capable of killing Jedi these days—

Maul paused. A name instantly sprang to mind.

If Krakko was still working for his master even now, there was a chance he had been chosen. He stood just as good a chance as Jango of killing Jinn—especially if he resorted to the dirtier tactics Maul knew he was capable of—and there was no danger of Krakko leading anyone back to the source, even if he were caught. Aside from Maul, there were no connections between the Mandalorian and his master.

But that couldn't be right, could it? Krakko wouldn't reveal anything regarding the Sith, and even if he succeeded, Skywalker’s presence would still be a surprise his master hadn't anticipated. That was assuming Krakko was still working for his master, of course; there was no guarantee Sidious had overlooked the man's failure regarding retrieving Maul.

The Mandalorian could well be dead by now.

"Maul?" Jango calls out, carefully placing a hand on the Zabrak's shoulder to get his attention. "You looked pretty grim a moment ago..."

"Sorry, I just—" He is cut off by an explosion—or something like it—right outside. "What was that?"

"Shhh!" At any other time, Maul wouldn't have reacted well to Redarr placing a hand over his mouth, but he is too surprised to react to the brief contact. "Stay quiet..."

The others in the cantina fall silent too, peering apprehensively and cautiously through the high windows. No one speaks when a roar echoes—a type of roar Maul knows all too well. Another explosive sound—no, it’s pounding. Pounding so heavy and destructive it sounds like explosions. It is followed by more roars, but... no; as familiar as the sounds themselves are, they are drier and hoarser than they should be. It hasn't been drinking water.

Soon, the roars begin to fade, moving away. Slowly, things return to normal. Too normal; the patrons go back to drinking, resume the conversations they had paused, and act as if nothing had happened. Fortunately, Maul knows he hasn't lost his mind when Jango questions Redarr.

"What the hell was that?"

"A Rancor," Maul answers, then looks at the Twi'lek. "Wasn't it?"

"Unfortunately," Redarr confirms with a grimace, wiping a glass with his hands in an almost obsessive manner. "That was Jabba's Rancor."

"Is Jabba in Mos Espa?"

"No, that's exactly the problem!" For the first time in the few minutes they’ve known each other, the Twi'lek looks truly nervous. "He let that thing loose over two months ago and gave no explanation!"

Maul feels a frown forming; he doesn't recall any such event occurring in his past life.

"They’ve tried to take it down, get it out of the city—anything! But that thing is a real monster! You wouldn't want to be around when they had to clean up the remains it left behind..." If it was anything like what Maul had seen rancors do, the city must still have patches stained red. "The best thing to do is stay hidden. It has a keen sense of smell but doesn't hear well, it seems to be even getting blind too; if you wait for it to pass through a place with a strong odor like this one, it’ll just move on." Jango nodded, downing the rest of his drink in one go. "Did you leave your ship with Wemp?"

"Yeah."

"You know how he is. He’s liable to leave the ship unlocked while that thing is prowling nearby—you’d better go check on it, partner." Maul couldn't agree more. He stood up alongside Jango, closing the children's pram. "Good seeing you. If you want a tip: follow the crowd. They start dispersing before the thing shows up."

They stepped out of the cantina and into the sunlight as if nothing had happened; people were on the street just as before. Life on Tatooine didn't afford the luxury of pausing just because a rancor had wandered by. Exchanging a glance, they headed back the way they came.

"Any thoughts on this?"

"Aside from the fact that we should leave this planet immediately? No."

"It’s really strange—why would Jabba unleash his rancor for no reason?" And obviously mistreated too. If what Redarr said was true, the rancor should be both starving and dehydrated for days now, which would explain the sound of its roars. "But I agree—we have to get out of here."

Unfortunately, what awaited them was more trouble.

"Guess it."

"We need parts he doesn't have here in the shop?"

"Word for word—that’s a talent, you know?"

"It’s always about parts." Maul had lost count of how many times he’d been in situations like this. "It was easy to hear him from out here, too." Jango laughs, though he doesn't seem too happy about the situation either.

"Yeah, he gave me the location of a junkshop nearby. He’s not exactly keen on going to get them himself." Maul nods, though the idea of ​​a junkshop on Tatooine gives him an odd feeling—something he can't quite put his finger on. "But for us—with two kids—it’s apparently fine to risk it with that thing out there."

"Wouldn't it be better to leave them here?"

"I trust Wemp with my ship, but not with my kids." Maul raises an eyebrow at the way both babies are included in that statement, but he doesn't argue. "He’d toss them right into the thing's maw to save his own skin."

"Fine, keep them close. I’ll go ahead and see if I can sense it coming." They leave the mechanic's, moving through the crowd toward the location they were given; a burning sensation at the back of Maul's neck serves as a warning. Luckily, they find no sign of anything, Maul almost feels like the rancor might be nearby but its like it runs away as soon as he notices it. After getting some water, the babies fall asleep again and stay quiet—at least until they reach the storefront, which makes Merrin start to cry. Watto's Junkshop. "I don't like this place," Maul remarks without thinking; he notices the slight shift of Jango's helmet indicating his eyes are on him.

"We could look for another junkshop."

"And waste time while a rancor is on the loose?" Maul bites off the words and spits them out; he doesn't know why he's so unsettled—what is he forgetting? "Let's just get this over with." Without waiting for an answer, he pushes the door open and steps inside.

He immediately feels such a strong pull in the Force that he wants to turn back, but his pride is too great for that; instead, he simply grabs Jango’s hand for stability and drags the confused Mandalorian along behind him.

Hearing the bell chime as they enter, a Toydarian emerges from the back of the shop, speaking with an accent so thick that Maul gives up trying to understand and lets Jango handle the conversation—all while still holding the Mandalorian’s hand for reasons he can’t even explain. He pushes aside his irritation to pick up Merrin, who is still crying in her crib—nearly waking Boba up as well. As he cradles her in his arm, the baby begins to calm down a little.

"What is it?" She doesn't answer, of course, but Maul could swear she’s trying to say something by the way she waves her short little arms. "Why are you so distressed?" Merrin keeps crying, pointing toward the back of the shop. It is by chance that he glances in that direction and sees him.

Maul had never really personally seen him as a child—only once, when he nearly ran him over with his speeder—but thanks to his master's discoveries, he had seen the image of the boy who would become Darth Vader more often than he liked; enough to recognize him now as he stretches over the counter to look at them.

He is a tuft of barely visible blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Curious, he watches the customers with obvious interest, trying to overhear the conversation between Jango and the Toydarian; when he fails, his attention shifts to the crib, smiling at the sleeping little Boba and then at Merrin in Maul’s arms. If Night brothers rarely leave Dathomir, Night sisters are practically urban legends—and that is evident in how fixated he seems on the sight of her.

Maul has the same thought he had when he first saw Kenobi; He is just a boy.

"Maul?" The Zabrak forces himself to look at the Mandalorian; even through the helmet, he can sense Jango’s radiating concern. That’s when he realizes he’s practically crushing the Mandalorian’s hand. "Let's go to the back and look for the parts—"

"It’ll be bad for them to go straight into the sun," Maul murmurs, speaking more out of habit than conscious thought. He pulls his hand away from Jango’s as if burned; right now, any kind of contact feels like it burns. The Mandalorian tries to reach for him again, but he pulls away. "Just go."

A long silence follows, broken only by the Toydarian’s coughing. Jango says nothing and simply follows him. Maul holds Merrin carefully; she is still weeping softly.

"What is she?" He shouldn't have been surprised that the boy had practically materialized at his side, now studying Maul more closely as well. "What are you?" Maul considers the idea that if he ignores the boy, he might go away. But one look at that small face tells him that won't work.

"I am a Night brother; she is a Night sister."

"What are—"

"Night brothers are brothers who live by the night—Zabraks from Dathomir." The boy nods and begins examining Maul’s tattoos. A child—around Skywalker’s age—had once asked him if he had 'night tattoos'; he wondered if that was what this boy was looking for. "And Night sisters are the same; they are witches from Dathomir."

"Where is Dathomir?"

"On the other side of the Outer Rim." The boy seems impressed by this, and by all of Maul’s answers.

"How do you get the tattoos?"

"We’re born with them; they darken as we grow." It wasn't quite that simple—the tattoos were as magical as they were natural. They were actually born with them, but the markings darkened due to the connection with Dathomir—or, more specifically, the Force that flowed through the planet. That was why, even though he hadn't grown up on Dathomir, Maul still bore darker tattoos than most nightbrothers—whereas Feral, having neither cultivated a connection nor spent as much time on their homeworld as Savage, had lighter markings. "They're magical." That was the quickest explanation.

"What is your magic like?"

"Dark."

"So... evil?" The boy frowned, and Maul mirrored the expression at the boy's words.

"Doesn't matter which, 'magic' has no morality, boy." He seemed genuinely intrigued by the concept. "It has two equally necessary sides, and neither should exist in excess or deficiency—regardless of what might be deemed good or evil." That was something he had learned in this life, watching from afar as the fight between the Jedi and the Sith played out in the shadows. The boy grimaces, as if tasting something foul.

"If the magic sees neither good nor evil, does it think slavery is necessary?"

"I don't know. I am not the 'magic'." In truth, the boy embodied the 'magic' more than he did. But Maul doubted the boy could grasp that right now. "The power to subjugate others is something offered—as is the choice not to. What one chooses is a matter of the self, not the magic, in this instance." The boy nods slowly, as if he understands, however reluctantly. "Why are you asking me this?" His blue eyes hold a look of sadness, yet there is an underlying anger Maul recognizes. But it isn't Vader who comes to mind.

"You have the eyes of someone who understands."

"The magic?"

"Being a slave." Maul would like to say he understands—for he was a slave to himself—but could he truly claim that when so few of his choices were his own? Could he truly own himself when it took two lifetimes to learn his own age, simply because knowing something so forgettable yet simple, had never mattered as much as his own utility? When, even as a Nightbrother, he still would have lacked control over his destiny—remaining merely someone else's pawn? When, even now, he neither knew nor would ever know whether he had been stolen or given away? Because the only people who knew the truth would never tell him? Maul had discovered a taste for tea in a Death Watch tent, in the company of Pre Vizsla; which lead to him now, choosing to have a tea house. He had discovered many things about himself upon returning to the galaxy, things that influenced his decisions now, things he learned after being abandoned.

Or perhaps the right word was freed.

"I do understand," he says. Anakin Skywalker had been born a slave; he was won by the Jedi and immediately began his training. Had both he and Maul been given the chance to choose from the very beginning—had nothing stood in their way—would they have ended up the same? "Didn't like it."

The boy waves, rocking the pram and watching Boba sleep.

"Me neither."

-

"Bad news or good news?"

"And is there any good news?"

"Fair point—bad news, or sort of bad news?" Maul shrugs at this. "He has what we need; the problem is payment."

"I highly doubt there's anything I can't afford—"

"With Republic credits? Sure." Jango cuts him off, looking as though he’d already tried that. "But he won't take them. Says they aren't worth much around here—and honestly? I can't disagree." The Zabrak snorts; that made sense. "Hello, by the way."

"Hello." Skywalker's mother—a woman in simple clothes with tired eyes—had appeared a few minutes after the boy started pestering Maul. After seeing the babies, she’d ended up staying, too. It was surprisingly nice to talk to someone who already had experience with children. "If you want to negotiate with Watto, you could try offering something of similar value."

"I doubt we have anything like that, unfortunately. I'm sure he's marking up the price, too." The woman shrugs, acknowledging the possibility. "I'll just have to pick up some quick jobs. The problem is... well, you know. I don't know how much work there is to be had with a rancor inexplicably on the loose." Shmi glances around before lowering her voice slightly.

"If what they say is true, there is an explanation." Both men turn to her, ready to ask questions, but she glances cautiously at her son. "Anakin, could you go help Watto?"

"Why?" Before anyone can come up with an excuse, Jango takes off his helmet and shoves it down onto the boy's head. "Ah!"

"There, you can play with that." The boy decides running is a good idea and slams headfirst into a stack of crates with a crash that makes the other two adults wince. Clutching his head, still a bit dazed, he laughs and runs off again.

"Anakin—" Shmi calls out, but Jango just shrugs.

"Don't worry about it; I used to do that all the time when I was a kid. It helps toughen up your head." Maul can't help but flinch again as another boom rings out, followed by more loud laughter from the boy who seems to lack any sense of self-preservation. "Now, what were you saying about that rancor?"

"They say that isn't the first rancor Jabba’s owned. That he wasn't even the first in his family to keep the creatures as pets." So this went much deeper than Maul’s actions; Jabba must have already been in power—and owned a rancor—when Maul was born. "But when the creature started getting old, he’d abandon it and get a new young one. They say they’ve been doing this for a long time; since rancors have short lifespans, whenever they show signs of trouble, he gets a new one and gets rid of the old one."

"Okay, but if that were the case, he’d never unleashed them on Tatooine before."

"No, but the problem didn't start there. They say Jabba wanted to replace this rancor over a decade ago, when it started going deaf. But the pirates supposed to deliver the young one didn't hold up their end of the bargain, and for a long time, he couldn't find anyone else willing to try; when he finally did, the ships never came back." Maul felt Jango’s gaze fix on him and slowly shrank back. "He kept the rancor until now, but when the last group—the ones from here on Tatooine—returned without the rancor, he was furious."

"They went to Dathomir and survived?"

"I didn't catch the full explanation, but according to them, the planet's inhabitants were distracted enough by something else for them to escape." Two months— Dyas— Ah, blast. "Even so, they still didn't manage to capture a young one. But since they’d sustained heavy damage on the planet, they were stranded here with their ship and no payment for repairs; that’s when Jabba unleashed the rancor, already fed up with all the failures. He dumped the thing on the streets of Mos Espa intending for it to kill the hunters, but it’s just been wandering around ever since, it's even blind now. People expected it do die or starve but it barely changed till now." Maul could sink into the ground right then and there; he should have known. He should have known that even something that seemed minor—like the situation with the rancors—would lead to something. "The hunters have been lying low, and everyone aware of the situation has been trying to understand why it’s become impossible to acquire a rancor—"

"You’re looking at the reason." Jango says this so helpfully that Maul feels he could die all over again right now and not even care.

"What?" The Zabrak bites the inside of his cheek, taking a deep breath. But then, what happened in his past life? Did the pirates hand over the rancor, or did they still pass it on to Sooth instead? If that was the case, what did the Ardennian do next? Did he keep trying to get help? Did he give up and go alone? Was Sooth perhaps another victim of Dathomir in that other life?

"Rancors come from Dathomir. My home planet." He doesn't dare look at the woman, focusing instead on his hands. "I recovered a rancor that had been trafficked twelve years ago. After that, I kept warning my family back home about potential traffickers or pirates who might show up. It’s my fault."

He can't even process the situation right now because his mind is a whirlwind; if something as simple as a rancor led to this, what could be the state of the Sith situation? He had barely paid attention to something that could end his life if things went off the rails far worse than he expected—

"I don't blame you." He pauses, looking at Shmi. "I mean, I understand it's not quite the same thing, but if they were stealing Krayt dragons, or if I could do something to help them, I would. There's nothing wrong with protecting your own planet and those who live on it." The woman fidgets with her fingers. "I wouldn't want any creature to be at Jabba's mercy, either."

Silence stretches between the three of them. The only sounds are Skywalker in the distance and Merrin’s crying. Why is she still—

"Lock the doors."

"What—"

"The doors! LOCK THEM!" Jango doesn't hesitate; he shoves the doors shut and drags nearby junk over to act as extra weight, just as the Toydarian comes in from the courtyard, grumbling in Huttese. But Maul has no time to respond as he places Merrin in the pram and closes it.

"What happened—" Shmi is cut off by the first tremor.

Everyone feels the second, then the third, and then a rapid succession of them. They intensify until Maul can barely stay on his feet. That’s when the roar comes. It's deaf; it couldn't hear them even if they screamed, yet everyone stands in deathly silence as they move to the back of the shop.

"The rancor..." This is the first time Maul has understood the Toydarian, and it couldn't be more obvious. The rancor keeps roaring outside, stomping its feet and making a racket that it cannot hear itself. "Why is it here?..."

"Maul..." Maul almost wants to growl; was he suffering some kind of withdrawal from his own intelligence? How had he forgotten and failed to grasp so many things in a single day?!

"It's us—It can sense us." He swallows hard, shifting the pram so it’s closer to Jango than to himself. "Me, Merrin, and the boy... it's... It's Force-sensitive."

"Rancors can be Force-sensitive?!" Jango half-whispers, half-shouts, and Maul can't blame him for the reaction.

"Anything from Dathomir can be Force-sensitive." He should know; he remembered seeing the creatures avoiding the temples and villages even after the extermination. It wasn't for lack of familiarity; they could sense the death that had occurred there, just as Maul could. That was why they avoided it. "That’s how he’s survived, even blind and deaf. He uses the Force to see his surroundings and move; he can scrape together just enough food and water to survive using it—and we’re the perfect bait!" How had he not realized it? It hadn't been luck that let them come here; it had simply been struggling to pinpoint them exactly because of the crowd and Jango; it just hadn't dared get too close for fear of scaring them off. "Of course it was going to find us! Two Force-sensitives from its home planet and the Force Jesus!"

"Who the kriff is Force Jesus?!" Maul doesn't even have time to answer, because the so-called Jesus is currently having their only means of salvation removed.

"Don't take it off!" Shmi stops, her hands frozen above her son's head. "That helmet is the only thing keeping us hidden right now."

"Why?"

"The boy is a beacon in the Force. That’s how it was able to track us here, but even with the small amount of Beskar in the armor, it’s enough to keep us concealed. If you take that off his head, it’ll know every grain of sand we’re standing on." Maul fells the weight of the vambrace in his arm, that's why Merrin was crying, she had nothing to shield her and Skywalker presence doubled that. "Put something of your armor in the pram— anything! The oldest thing you have!"

Jango slowly does as asked, carefully soothing the crying infant as he places the shoulder piece of his armor into the pram. He feels Shmi gently pulling her son toward her.

"What do we do?"

"Boy." Maul knows he can barely see anything through the helmet, so he extends his hand. "Come here, carefully..." By some miracle, Skywalker slowly does as asked. He pulls the boy close, keeping a hand on his back. "Jango."

"I know." Carefully, the Mandalorian begins to move away with the pram. The sounds of the rancor pounding are drawing closer to the door.

"We will all have to split up so it doesn't find us. Go with them and take Merrin as far away as possible." He gently squeezes the boy's shoulder; the rancor has found the door and is starting to batter against it now. "And you're going to have to trust me, okay?"

Surprisingly, Skywalker nods. Maul turns his attention back to the door, which is about to give way.

"When it breaks through, we split up." They hold their ground—the rancor's blows causing dust to rain down from the old building—as Maul grips the boy's shoulder tightly. "Almost..."

The only way to escape is to mask their presence in the Force; Merrin is small enough for Jango to shield her with his beskar armor by staying close, and Maul can mask himself, but the boy is not only the strongest in the Force but also the one with the least control. There is no way for him to hide on his own.

The door crashes down.

Maul hauls the boy up, hooking him under his arm and carrying him along. Skywalker allows himself to be carried, wisely holding the helmet steady on his head as Maul sprints through the shop, knowing Merrin, Jango, and Boba are going to the other side.

As expected, the rancor pursues the two of them.

He doesn't look back; he just keeps moving, searching. He had sensed it earlier—it has to be around here... There! Maul doubts the Toydarian realizes what he has, but the pile of forgotten, old metal in the yard contains pieces of beskar, pure.

Maul slides into the pile with the boy in his arms; he feels the sharp metal slicing into his arms, but as the rancor enters the space, he focuses entirely on holding the boy close, masking the child's presence and then his own. Skywalker allows himself to be hidden, clinging to Maul arm and hugging him tight. The Zabrak watches as the rancor reaches the yard and begins searching for them.

As expected, the creature's eyes are white, and its ears barely twitch. It keeps sniffing, but amidst all the scrap metal, it quickly loses the trail of Maul and Skywalker. It begins to growl in frustration and spin around, searching for them—it’s working so far...

They wait in silence, though it isn't strictly necessary. Maul cannot sense Jango or Merrin, so they have moved far enough away. Now they just need to wait for the thing to tire itself out—

They hear a whimper.

Maul blinks; the whimpering intensifies, turning into a current of sorrow and agony in the Force. He can sense the confusion of the boy in his arms.

"What is that?" He hardly knows what to say, staring at the creature in astonishment.

"It's crying."

The boy slowly lifts the helmet to see, and that is enough for the creature to sense them and turn their way—inches off, yet still uncertain if it has truly found them. Maul looks closer; he can see hundreds, if not thousands, of scars of every kind on the creature's hide. Burns, blade wounds, puncture marks, and more. Its skin is far paler than it should be—a pallor resulting from being trapped in a pit its entire life. The sparse hair it has is thin and as colorless as the creature itself. Maul sees no external damage to the ears, but now, being this close, he has no doubt that the creature's blindness is linked to the burns it bears—perhaps exacerbated by the sun beating down on it these past two months.

Every inch of that rancor told a story of accumulated pain; it was merely a caged creature used as a weapon, stolen from its home and abandoned after suffering injuries from which it could not recover.

With bated breath, Maul slowly reaches out.

Both he and the rancor flinch at the first touch of Maul’s fingers, but he continues, slowly resting his hand upon the rancor’s snout. The boy doesn't even breathe, watching as Maul projects as much as he can through the Force—nothing but comfort and care—trying to show that it can trust them.

The rancor coos and nuzzles against his hand, as if asking for affection.

The boy sighs in wonder, and Maul releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He doesn't stop the boy from reaching out his own hand to offer the affection the rancor was seeking. That must have been why it sought him and Merrin out; it held enough memories to recall Dathomir and the Nightbrothers and Night sisters.

"Did it want help the whole time?" the boy whispers, still amazed that the creature is letting him touch it.

"Yes." Maul sighs, letting the boy continue to pet it as he relaxes a little. "On Dathomir, rancors are highly respected creatures. They are seen as creations of the Fanged God—hunted, but only in rituals. And aided if they show a need for it." That was why none of the pirates who tried to rob them had succeeded, and why—even before that—it had always been an extremely difficult and dangerous task. "They live by the night, just like the brothers and sisters."

When Jango and the others appear, the Rancor is already lying down before them, happy to receive affection from the boy—who could practically lie down on the creature at this point. Maul has no answer for the look of astonishment on Jango’s face.

He looks at the boy instead. He cannot see Vader in him; he cannot see his master’s favorite monster. Just as he hadn't seen the Kenobi he once knew—years had passed since that event, and Kenobi would show up at the shop with his master now; even though time was supposedly running out, Maul still couldn't see his nightmare in him. Just as he couldn't see the hero of the Republic in that boy—he was a star in the Force, but not the supernova he would become as a Jedi, nor the black hole he would become as a Sith. He was just a boy. Just a child.

Even if he couldn't save everyone, didn't that mean he could still choose whom to save?

-

"So?" Maul takes the glass of water Jango offers him—a rare gift from the Toydarian, given that they had stopped the rancor from destroying his entire shop. "I guess he's our problem now?"

"She," Maul corrects; female rancors grew larger than males, so it made sense that Jabba would choose one. "And yes, though she's really only my problem—"

"I'm right here with you, aren't I?" Jango replies, sitting down beside him. A short distance away, Skywalker plays with the rancor, letting the baby Merrin approach; now that the creature wasn't leaking pain, the girl had stopped crying. "We can't take her back to Dathomir, can we?"

"If my mother found out how all this happened..." Maul hadn't forgotten her warnings; he might be her favorite amongst her sons, but that wouldn't save him if she discovered the whole situation involving the rancors. "I’d never leave Dathomir again. And even if we managed to leave her there—if she's as old as she looks, then even if her pack still exists, her family is long gone." She would be alone on Dathomir, likely wandering from village to village in search of comfort.

"That girl's never had any luck in life, has she?" Maul nods; luck was certainly something she’d lacked. "Alright, I can negotiate with that Watto fellow. I doubt a rancor is good for business; he'll agree to trade whatever we need so we take her. I'll just have to haggle a bit to include the two slaves in the deal." Maul pauses mid-sip.

"Jango—"

"Please, I know that look; you don't want to leave them here any more than you want to leave the rancor." He doesn't know what to say; he hadn't realized he was being so obvious. "It’s nothing; I’ll just have to put up with that Toydarian a little longer. Once we get the parts, I can grab an extra ship to haul the rancor—or more; we really picked up too much stuff on this trip, huh..." Maul observes the Mandalorian.

"...Thanks."

"Don't mention it. You've been a little ball of anger and sadness this whole trip; I can't bring myself to say no..." He raises an eyebrow, and he realizes the Mandalorian has indeed been more compliant and agreeable than usual, how many times already had he made something alone or more just to let Maul more comfortable at this point? "I'm going to want plenty of recipes when we get back..." He rests his head on Maul's shoulder; is the exhaustion finally catching up with him? The Zabrak lets him rest; there is no rush to move now that the threat has been neutralized.

"All right, I'll make whatever you want when we get back."

-

"Savage—"

"You went out to get Merrin— How did you manage to bring back two blown humans—" He spots Boba at that exact moment and turns to Jango, "Who did you get pregnant?!"

The Mandalorian, as always, has the audacity to laugh. Feral, ever observant, notices the much larger elephant in the room at that moment.

"Is that a rancor?"

"WHAT—"

-

Like most of Maul's bad days, it starts with Kenobi.

Feral calls out to him, warning that the Jedi is out front with an 'old green frog'—whom Maul comes to discover is Grand Master Yoda.

Kenobi looks haggard, his shoulders slumped as if a heavy weight has been placed upon them; he barely lifts his eyes from the floor as he speaks to Maul, asking for a moment alone with him and his brothers. Maul leads him and the Grand Master to the kitchen, already sensing what this might be about. He is twenty-two years old; he has followed the news regarding Naboo and felt Plagueis's death a few days prior.

"Shmi?" The woman comes in from the hallway, surprised to find two non-staff members in the kitchen. "Could you watch Anakin and Merrin out front? It's very quiet today." She nods, ushering her son—and the little girl who had been playing with toys on a rug in her own corner of the kitchen—out of the room.

She had adapted wonderfully to life at the Nocturne. She still thanks the Zabrak at times, even though he insists it isn't necessary; having been so accustomed to arrogant, cruel women, his brothers adore this calm, sweet woman. She fit into the teahouse as if she had been born there, sometimes working as a server alongside Feral, enjoying making treats with Savage, and even learning some of the most popular tea recipes from Maul. On top of that, she adores Merrin—and Boba when he visits—and both children adore her just as much.

Anakin is a bit more energetic, certainly missing all the things he used to fix at the old junkshop, but he also loves Coruscant more than anyone. He frequently drags an adult along for walks around the city and loves listening to the Jedi customers tell stories about their missions—both on-planet and off-world. Like Feral, he could only be a waiter or a server, but he didn't mind either option—not when Maul promised to teach him more about the Force if he did a good job. He taught the boy in a more neutral manner than he had thought himself capable of, focusing not on sides, but simply on understanding the Force.

"All right, you may speak freely now." The Jedi nodded, and it was Kenobi who stepped forward, confirming what Maul had already anticipated.

"I am sorry to say that... My Master, he... He became one with the Force during our last mission." Savage and Feral gasped in shock, while Maul carefully maintained his composure, merely narrowing his eyes.

"I understand. My condolences to both of you and to the Order."

"Thankful we are. But not the reason we came, that is." Maul could see the old Jedi's manner of speaking confusing his brothers, but he gestured for him to continue. "Killed by a Sith, Qui-Gon was."

"A Sith? Weren't they extinct?" Force, how Maul wished he could believe that—wished it weren't just a pretense. Yet, aside from discovering who had replaced him, there was nothing new in all of this for him.

"In that, we too believed." This was starting to irritate him. "But wrong we were. The apprentice killed Qui-Gon." He handed a datapad to Maul; familiar yet distinct images flashed by, showing a figure fighting Jinn and Kenobi. "A Night sister, she was."

Ventress. It was Asajj Ventress. Young—as Maul had once been—yet her rage bled through the screen. If he was right, she had far more personal reasons to hate the Jedi than he did. But that apparently hadn't changed the outcome of the battle. He let his brothers see the screen as she managed to separate Kenobi and Jinn—catching the worried looks they exchanged before nodding to one another.

"We don't know her." No—not if he remembered Ventress's life correctly. "Brother?"

"I'm afraid I don't know her either." Disappointment was plain on the Jedi's faces, even though they tried to hide it—Kenobi especially. "But I have an idea of ​​where she might have come from."

"From your planet, Dathomir?"

"Yes. But unlike us, I don't believe she left of her own accord." Honestly, for someone who spoke so much about the crimes committed against Dathomir, his mother certainly allowed a great many children to be abducted. "It's a vague memory, but I recall whispers about a sister who was taken—someone the same age as me. I was too young to know the details or much about her, but considering the timing and this apprentice's apparent age, I believe it could be her."

"Tell us more, could the night sisters?"

"With all due respect, Master Yoda, that is a stupid idea." Maul wouldn't have used those exact words, but Savage was right. "The Sisters wouldn't admit to something like that—certainly not to Jedi. And then they’d know it was my brother. He’s already not on good terms with them." Maul recounted is brother everything his mother had said upon his return to Coruscant—mostly because he had to explain why he couldn't go back to the planet to return the rancor. "I understand wanting to make sense of Master Jinn’s death, but something like this would put him—and all of us—at risk."

"No!" Kenobi said, his voice betraying the most emotion he had shown since arriving. He swallowed hard. "No... Master Qui-Gon loved this place; he would never want his passing to cause trouble for you." Despite his sad expression, Master Yoda nodded in agreement. Between Dooku’s defection and Dyas’s death, how many blows had Sidious dealt the Jedi recently? "We are holding a second pyre for him here at the Temple. You are invited to come and pay your respects—if, if you wish, of course..."

-

Maul shouldn't have been surprised that his brothers stuck close to him.

"There’s nothing stopping you from talking to the Jedi, brothers."

"And risk offending someone? We’ve never been to a Jedi funeral!"

"And you think I have?" Maul had probably caused more of them than anything,really.

The pyre—lacking a body—was more symbolic than anything else. Jinn’s belongings were arranged around the fire, Maul recognized few; an abundance of plants, a tea set mentioned by the master, and—side by side—his old Padawan braid and his lightsaber.

Even after paying his respects, Maul still had a strong urge to leave. It might not have been by his hand this time, but he had once been the one who caused this funeral, same place wherever Ventress was now. And he couldn't say he felt anything this time, the pride he feel upon striking a jedi master like Jinn before didn't exist now, and even if the man became a recurring visit in the last years, Maul never forget his possible end, it seemed many things didn't change at all.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the only person, ironically, that he could bear to talk in this place. Kenobi was on a corner, closed into himself, his eyes focused on a video in a datapad, coming closer, Maul recognized as the footage of the fight against Ventress. Did he do the same with Maul?

"Watching it won't change what happened." The Jedi looks up for a second, then sighs and makes room for Maul to sit beside him. "Besides, it’s something far more Sith than Jedi."

"What do you mean?"

"Sith mentally replay every fight they lose or where they make mistakes—over and over—evaluating every possible error and how they should have handled it." Maul couldn't put into words how many times he had done that; even now, he could recreate that fight against Kenobi with his eyes closed. "She’s likely doing the same thing right now."

"There’s no way—that she’s alive, I mean. At least, not anymore." Maul raises an eyebrow; so Kenobi had finished the job this time. "I think she survived long enough to crawl away—which is why we didn't find the body—but it’s impossible to survive a stab to the heart." The moment plays out on the recording just as Kenobi speaks; he had pierced Ventress's chest in a single motion as he lunged back up from the edge of the pit. "It can't—"

"We have two," Maul interrupts. Kenobi hadn't just stabbed her; he had ripped his blade out with a violent sideways motion, destroying and tearing away a large portion of Ventress's side, shoulder, and arm. Savage and Feral grimace behind Maul as they see the violence of Kenobi attack. It was a wound as debilitating as Maul's loss of his legs; she would never be the same again. "Hearts. We have two of them, with separate circulatory systems—all Nightbrothers do. Some Night sisters do, too. If you only stabbed one heart and the other remained intact..."

"No—it can't be..." Kenobi murmurs, that desperation Maul had heard in his voice returning. "So what then? She just— goes back to her master?"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Who knew? If Ventress hadn't fallen onto Lotho Minor and had managed to return to Sidious or Tyranus, perhaps they would take her back—though not without punishment. Perhaps it would have been better for her to simply take the chance to escape, but if she possessed the same mindset Maul had back then... "The Sith do not take failure well."

"How— Why do you know so much about the Sith?" Maul takes a deep breath, avoiding Kenobi’s gaze.

"There haven't been many dark side users to learn from since the rise of the Jedi; aside from the Night sisters, the Sith were the only ones I could study to understand the dark side."

"Are you one of them?" Maul gives a look he hopes isn't too aggressive.

"I have no master, Kenobi." Not anymore—not one who wouldn't kill him given the chance. "I don't have a lightsaber or all the Sith teachings and secrets, so even if I wanted to, I couldn't be one." Maul had renounced the title of Sith when he returned and fled from Sidious—he had renounced it long before that, though he couldn't say exactly when. He was still a dark sider, and he would continue to choose that path for the rest of his life, but never again a Sith. "If you are all so oblivious to how these things work, it’s no surprise they managed to stay hidden for so long."

-

"Up!"

"Boba—"

"Up!" Maul sighs as loudly as he can before doing exactly what the boy asked, scooping him up into his arms and lifting him off the ground. "Yippie!" Maul was far from tall; he didn't know why the boy always got so happy about him doing this.

He walked through the Nocturne toward where everyone was gathered: the Life Day celebration.

A mix of luck and planning had brought everyone together: Maul and the Nocturne crew, Jango and Boba, Sooth, and even Dexter.

And Kenobi. Though the Jedi was only there as the guardian of the youngest Nightbrother: Stryke.

The little boy brought from Dathomir to the Jedi Temple five years ago by Sifo-Dyas was twelve now; he was occasionally brought to the Nocturne to help manage his anxiety, finding comfort among the Nightbrothers thanks to fond memories of his home planet. He was also, practically speaking, Anakin's only friend.

Skywalker could be a bit much at times, often driving other children away, but he got along surprisingly well with the shy Zabrak; more often than not, Maul got the impression the boy was brought there for Anakin's sake. He had won the affection of many Jedi Masters who visited the Temple—something evident, if not obvious, in how the Jedi would barely touch their tea, preferring instead to spend their time entertaining the boy with stories.

It was a good arrangement; having someone to entertain Anakin allowed Shmi to relax and work freely, while Maul could look after the other child living at the Nocturne: Merrin.

Now five years old, the girl could be described as nothing less than a princess. Maul blamed everyone but himself and Savage—it would have to rain money before anyone else said no to anything the little girl asked for. Merrin was spoiled—and pretty close to being downright bratty, too; were it not for the only two people willing to deny her anything, and Shmi—blessed soul that she was—setting an example for the Night sister, she would have been the most abrasive and sarcastic child on Coruscant. (According to Savage, she was second only to Maul when they first arrived—a ranking he did not agree with.) But beyond all that, Maul was certain that what kept her in check was the other child of similar age nearby: Boba.

The little clone spent most of his time at the Nocturne—sometimes even without his father when Jango was working—but he had embraced the teahouse as a second home; he was considered an unofficial resident, a member of the family just like his father. He was quieter than Merrin but demanding in a different way: he craved attention. While the girl might ask for something and then occupy herself, Boba hated solitude—much like as a baby—and wanted to be accompanied and cared for at all times. They all deserved awards for how steady they’d become on their feet, managing not to trip every time the boy wrapped himself around their legs—Maul, in particular.

Boba adored him in a way that even Anakin—who was always so impressed by everything Maul did—never quite managed. The boy was constantly following the Zabrak around, to the point where—according to the others, at least—his very first steps were an attempt to reach Maul while he was sleeping on the sofa. The Zabrak was often at a loss for words, silently accepting his little shadow and looking after Boba whenever he could.

It wasn't as if leaving the three children with the rancor on busy days wasn't an option; the creature could be even needier than they were and loved children far more than one would expect from something of its size.

"What did you make for us to eat?" Maul huffs, though he didn't really mind having become the group's primary cook—he actually enjoyed it.

"Spiced Leathermeat, Mandalorian."

"Huh? I don't recall you ever making that before..."

"That's because it's been a long time since I last did. The name gives it away—it tastes wonderful, but it isn't the easiest thing to chew. Still, Merrin has just grown in her first full set of fangs, and you’ve got some pretty sharp little teeth yourself, don't you?" The boy laughs as Maul playfully tugs at his cheeks. "The last time I made it was with your father, years ago; this time, we made it together. I bet you'll like it."

When they reach the back, the strong, spicy aroma of the meat hits them, and Maul notices the boy in his arms starting to drool. He isn't surprised when the boy leaps from his arms to get as close as possible to the grill where his father is preparing the meat.

"Buir!"

"Ad'ika!" The man smiles, lifting his son into a quick hug, spinning him around, and setting him back on the ground. He has to repeat the action three more times—Merrin wants to be spun around too, and Anakin drags Stryker along right after. "Oh, you lot are going to ruin my back..."

"Acting like an old man, Jango?" Maul teases, taking the opportunity to check the meat. It’s perfect—no surprise there; he’d only mastered the recipe himself thanks to the Mandalorian.

"Don't even start; I could go completely gray-haired and wrinkled and still act younger than you!" Maul chuckles; well, he already had nearly sixty years of life in his memories by this point, so he wasn't exactly wrong. "I'll finish up here; start putting things on the table." Maul doesn't complain; carrying and arranging things with the Force is easy—which is exactly why he recruits Kenobi to help him.

"How do you have more precision than I do?"

"When your job depends on balancing and controlling several things at once, it becomes easy." Between the two of them, they quickly set the table, and before Maul knows it, Kenobi is tugging at his sleeve. "What?"

"Do you mind if I share a secret?"

"The less I know about your life, the better for me, Kenobi."

"Oh, come on!" He looks at the Jedi; he no longer has that downcast gaze or defeated posture. The last few years have helped Kenobi regain the spark he’d lost upon his master's death. "It's a good secret!"

"Hm, go ahead then." The Jedi smiles like the sun; Maul almost flinches slightly, nearly pulling his googles to protect his eyes.

"I'm getting a Padawan!"

"Okay?" That shouldn't exactly be surprising; Kenobi was already a Knight. Even if the way he’d become one wasn't ideal—right after his master's death, having supposedly fought and killed a Sith—it had been five years. It was certainly time for him to have a Padawan.

"It's Stryker!" This elicits a reaction from Maul. "He's going to be my Padawan!"

"Are you serious?"

"Of course!" They are close to everyone else, so Kenobi covers his mouth and lowers his voice. "I’d been thinking about taking one on, and the Council was considering who would be a good master for Stryker—and they asked me!" Maul fails to grasp the logic behind pairing Kenobi—with his lively demeanor—and Stryker—that shy, quiet boy—but then again, he wasn't a Jedi. He's going to take his first test and just has to prove he has the necessary aptitude!

"Hm." Maul is tempted to pull Savage over and let him handle it—He was better at these matters and closer to Stryker anyway—but if Kenobi was telling him, there had to be a reason. "When?"

"The trials are in a month!" Maul nods; well, what good would his opinion do? The boy wasn't his responsibility—regardless of the unexpected number of children who had become his lately. "I thought I’d let you know beforehand because of Anakin..." Ah, that was Maul's problem. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"Jealous, but yes." Actually, the timing might be good, considering what Maul was planning. "In fact, he won't have much time to worry about it." Kenobi questions him, but he offers no further explanation. There are still details to work out regarding the matter—details that have nothing to do with Kenobi. The Jedi might be allowed around, but that doesn't make him close enough to be privy to such affairs.

A short while later, they are all gathered around the table; the meat isn't the only thing there—there are various side dishes—but it is certainly the main course. As part of the celebration, Stryker is the first to taste one of the strips; his sharp fangs—usually hidden, as he rarely opens his mouth wide—sink into the tough fibers and tear them away with the practiced ease of someone who never fully embraced the Jedi's vegetarian diet. He looks at Jango and Maul with shining eyes before nodding to show how good it is.

After that, it turns into a chaotic mix of loud voices and hands—so many hands—reaching in and over one another, as if the food were about to run out. Maul swats away more than a few fingers to grab the tenderest strips for Merrin and Boba, chopping them up and handing the pieces to the two children sitting side-by-side next to him. Merrin finds it easier with her new fangs; Boba takes a moment, but once he gets the hang of biting, he starts tearing into the strips in his own way. With the children eating, Maul turns his attention to the Mandalorian beside Boba, who is chewing on his own piece of meat.

"How do I look right now?" The Mandalorian freezes, eyeing Maul suspiciously before swallowing the rest of the meat.

"Is this a test?"

"No, no. Just—how was it you put it? Ah, yes!" He deepens his voice into his best Jango Fett imitation: "'I can't say no when you're a little ball of sadness and anger...' Did I get that right?" The Mandalorian closes his eyes as if wishing he could sink into the floor; he seems to regret those words more each time Maul brings them up. "Do I look like that now?"

"What do you want?"

"Assuming right off the bat that I want something—"

"Maul."

"It’s not even really for me!" the Zabrak retorts, an expression just a touch too light betraying his amusement. "It’s for Anakin, actually." The Mandalorian raises an eyebrow, taking the situation a bit more seriously.

"Did something happen to the kid?"

"Not yet, but it will." Jango makes that face—the one he always wears when Maul mentions something that could be taken as foreknowledge, though that isn't the case this time. "His only friend is about to become a Padawan; he’s growing up, and so are his Force powers. Every day, he hears more and more stories about off-world adventures—from the Jedi, from you, or even from Sooth. He can't stay stuck here forever."

"You want me to take him." Jango correctly assumes; Maul has to admit he appreciates how quickly the Mandalorian grasps his ideas.

"Not forever—a month at the very least, or much longer; however long he wants." Maul still remembers the journey from Tatooine to Coruscant and the sparkle in the boy's eyes at the prospect of traveling among the stars. "He’s turning thirteen soon, according to Shmi; that’s an important age for Mandalorian children, isn't it?" Jango snorts, rubbing the back of his neck. "He deserves to get out and form his own opinions about the galaxy instead of perpetually listening to everyone else's."

"Fair enough, but Boba would have to stay here while that happened—maybe a month or much longer." That was surprising; even when leaving Boba behind for jobs, Jango never stayed away from his son for that long, and a month was a significant minimum in this instance.

"A whole month?"

"If I’m with the kid, I’m going to give him my full attention; I can't look after both of them at the same time." Maul hums in acknowledgment; it made sense. Jango wasn't the type to do things half-heartedly; he wanted Anakin to go with the Mandalorian precisely because he would be able to keep the boy safe and teach him how to survive in the galaxy. He had no doubt that Anakin might eventually choose a profession like bounty hunting if his craving for adrenaline kept growing. "Just the two of us, out in the galaxy, for months."

"All right." He had already spoken to Shmi about it, and she had happily agreed; she was just as grateful to Jango as she was to Maul, and she trusted the Mandalorian to keep her son safe on the journey. "We can work out the details another day." There was no reason to rush now; they had a celebration to enjoy, and Maul had no intention of wasting it by worrying about the future.

As the hours ticked by, the food dwindled but contentment grew. Most of the children were already asleep; Jango had even gone upstairs to settle Merrin and Boba in, and Kenobi had left with a sleepy Stryker on his back. Sooth—who always fell asleep easily—was already slumped over the table, joined by a slumbering Dexter. The rest of them were tidying up when Maul noticed Anakin—drowsy, yet stubbornly remaining at the table—clutching a small velvet box.

"What is that, Anakin?" The boy started at the sound of his voice, realizing what Maul was referring to and shrinking in on himself to hide the box.

"It's nothing!" In response, Shmi turned and gently admonished her son.

"Anakin..."

"What does it matter? Feral already said he doesn't wear them anyway; it's pointless..." Already suspecting what it might be, the Zabrak approached the boy and held out his hand.

"It's the thought that counts, isn't it? Come on, you can give it to me." The boy unconsciously pouted before handing the small red velvet box to the Zabrak, his eyes dropping sadly.

Maul opened the box to find nothing more, nothing less than a ring; it was a matte gold, retaining a soft, metallic sheen that posed no risk of blinding him. But what truly caught his eye was the inscription on the inside of the band—two words in Huttese: Bunky Dunko. If Maul remembers Huttese as well as he used to, the word means 'home'.

"It was meant to honor your tradition, but it was a wasted effort..." Maul could see the details; it was the handiwork of both the boy and his mother. "What’s the point of giving the one kind of jewelry you don't wear!" It was true; Maul didn't wear rings because of his lightsaber. It was dangerous and, at best, got in the way. But Maul hadn't touched a lightsaber since his return, and at this point, what sense did it make to keep a rule for a hypothetical scenario—one that would contradict the very life he’d been trying to build all this time? "We'll make another—"

"Wonderful," Maul declares, looking at the ring on the ring finger of his right hand; it suits him—he had always liked gold. "It is more than good enough to be the exception to the rule, I believe." The boy, previously so subdued, lights up with renewed energy and leaps at the Zabrak to hug him. Anakin has really been growing fast lately; he isn't far off from Maul's height by now. "Okay, okay. That settled, it's time for you to sleep; this stays with me forever now."

-

Maul has had a bad feeling all day. He can't quite explain it until Stryker shows up.

"There was an assassination attempt on Senator Amidala," the boy explains; even though Anakin doesn't spend much time on the planet anymore, the Zabrak still shows up whenever he can. Maul wouldn't say Kenobi turned him into a major extrovert, but he no longer speaks in a low, weak voice; he carries himself with a newfound calm and confidence. "We're going to start investigating, but I think the Master will end up going alone." The Zabrak nods slowly, hearing the back entrance bell chime at the same moment Stryker does. "Someone's here."

Towards the back, Maul catches only a glimpse of Boba before the boy heads upstairs—likely to find Merrin. Jango is sitting on one of the stools, one hand gripping his neck wearily as he stares at the floor. Anakin stands beside him—tall, as he’s grown to be recently—leaning down slightly to whisper something to the Mandalorian.

"Maul—" Anakin spots him first. There is a certain look a person has right after plotting an assassination; Anakin doesn't have that look right now. "Hey, do you think I could—" Maul barely hears what he’s saying; the boy's voice fades into background noise as he locks eyes with the Mandalorian.

Twenty-two years. He never met Jango Fett in his past life, but he has known him for twenty-two years in this one. He has known a young, famous bounty hunter—one who always denied that fame. He has known a man searching for his heart's deepest desire, something he couldn't even put into words. He has known a father who loved his son more than himself, more than anything. A son whose significance he understood from the very beginning, all because Maul couldn't keep his mouth shut. He knew a stubborn man who could listen to him, but when he did, it was on a whim—never when it mattered most, when his very life was at stake. Maul knew a reverberating laugh—one he hated at first, but which eventually became as common and necessary as air.

Maul knew soft hair, bronzed skin, eyes that could read him, calloused and rough hands, scratched silver armor; he knew scars that held heavy stories, and a smile—simple, easy to find, yet one he still found himself searching for.

Maul knew the kindness of patience, the care in a touch, the lightness of a shared silent moment, the connection of cooking together, the warmth of a presence, the ability to speak and be understood. Maul knew what it meant to care—and to matter to someone—freely.

He knew this for twenty-two years. It was more goodness than he had ever experienced in his first life, yet it still felt like so little.

He says nothing; he simply closes the distance to reach Jango and embrace him. He wraps his arms around the man’s neck, holding him close as if he could keep him right there—just there, away from everything else. Jango stiffens for a moment; Maul didn't usually hug people—he hugged the children, but that was only when carrying them, and that had been years ago. Slowly, the Mandalorian hugs him back, pulling the Zabrak even tighter against himself.

It should have been horrifying; what clearer sign could Maul give that things were about to go wrong? What could better demonstrate the gravity of what was to come than a farewell embrace? It was terrifying, yet all Jango did was exhale—as if breathing for the very first time—his face buried in the curve of Maul’s neck.

"I have no regrets, even though I am deeply sorry." Maul swallows hard; he has accepted it—he has accepted this. Jango knows he is going to die. Maul knows it too and cannot deny it to him, because it is the truth. He isn't coming back. This is the last time they will meet, and he accepts death—he accepts death just as Maul did. He holds him tighter. "It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay..."

He cannot answer; he cannot say a word. He wouldn't be able to answer even if he had lived through this a million times. He knows things won't be okay, but he wants so desperately to believe it.

Jango Fett handles him with care, gently pulling him in until their foreheads touch. His eyes are so brown they almost look black—rich, rain-soaked earth. Why, then, did he have to die in the sand, like Maul? What was the point of all of this if there were things he would never be able to change?

"Leave Boba here." He cannot bear to see—he cannot bear to witness what is coming, not this time. If this is the only thing Maul can do for him: "Leave him here and don't take him back."

"Okay," he whispers back, with a tenderness in his voice that shatters Maul.

"And... keep him safe. Anakin. Don't... don't let him get hurt."

"Okay."

"Can you say something other than 'Okay'?" The Mandalorian swallows hard, his breathing ragged; he opens his mouth as if to speak, then stops himself. He speaks with a choked voice, a faint glint of regret in his eyes.

"Thank you." Maul feels his stomach turn; he cannot cry—he hasn't been able to for a long time, not since the instinct was stripped away by pain and repetition—but in this moment, this single moment above all others... "For— For everything. Thank you, Maul."

-

Days later—Maul doesn't even know how many; he had simply isolated himself after that, and Savage, recognizing the signs, had let him shut himself away in his room—Maul comes downstairs, moving slowly and heavily; he doesn't need to be told. He knows what he will find down there.

The shop is empty; Savage has opened the door, with Boba standing beside him. Bane stands in the doorway, his face cold yet showing more emotion than Maul has ever seen on it. As Bane speaks, Maul hears Feral gasp, sees Shmi pull Merrin closer and watches Savage tense up. Bane spots him and tips his hat—a clear signal—but what captures Maul’s attention is young Boba turning around, his father’s helmet in his hands.

Perhaps it is instinct, or whatever shred of humanity remains in him, or simply because Maul has felt exactly what the boy is feeling now; regardless, the Zabrak walks over to the child and kneels to embrace him. He ignores his brothers' calls and Merrin’s confused gaze, focusing entirely on holding the little clone close.

Boba buries himself in Maul’s arms, huddled against the Zabrak and clutching Jango’s helmet with a grip far tighter than a child should possess. For the next few hours, he never leaves Maul’s side. Maul finishes speaking with Bane and observes the impact of the news on the others—they had known him too, some for just as long as Maul had—but unlike Maul, they could honestly say they hadn't known from the very beginning that it would end this way.

Boba says nothing; he does not cry, nor does he move except to stay close to the Zabrak; he shows no reaction to anything else, clinging only to the helmet and to Maul. When night falls—or perhaps it is simply the exhaustion draining their energy—they lie down, still silent, still lost in thought.

"He’s coming back," Boba says suddenly. Still clinging to the cold metal of the helmet, he adds, "But it won’t be him. They won’t be like him."

The clones. Maul had never given them much thought in his first life, but now their existence felt like a weight dragging him down. They would be here soon, roaming Coruscant—bearing the face, the voice, and everything else of the man they were mourning. How was he supposed to explain that to the others?

He doesn't know what to say, nor is he sure if Boba said it to him or to himself; after all, he supposedly didn't even know about the clones yet. It might just be an attempt to hold onto his own sanity—and who was he to judge something like that, anyway?

This. This grieving. It was not like any other he ever had, and he had many. Maul couldn't count on his hands how many times he saw a life he cared for end in front of him, how many times he tried and failed to save them. At some point it became routine. He didn't had a moment to mourn, to breathe, accept what happened. He didn't take these moments, he just keep moving forward out of simple instinct because it just tired is heart more and more.

But right now he was on silence. Reliving everything that happened, almost at peace. He didn't have to fight, he didn't have any incoming danger that he couldn't ignore for at least for now, hold Boba and breathe deeply. They had a body to bury in quiet and calm. That's his solace to finally sleep.

He is woken hours later by Savage—his brother, whose face looks just as weary as his own; Maul doesn't need a second glance to know that Savage is shouldering the burden for everyone right now. The reason for the wake-up call is a desperate Stryker standing outside the shop.

-

The Jedi Masters are talking when the guard flies through the glass.

The dark side seeps off Maul like a disease; he couldn't care less about suppressing it right now—not when it’s fueling all the rage and pain he’s feeling in this moment.

Anakin needs no further signal; he leaps silently through the shattered window to Maul’s side, casting a wary glance at his guardian. His eyes are red and swollen; he is already well aware of what happened, just as Maul expected. Maul shifts his attention away from the boy to the three Jedi Masters he technically attacked—if one wanted to be petty about it.

Kenobi is a mess; his long hair looks like it underwent a hasty trim earlier, he’s still in dirty clothes, and he looks more exhausted than Maul has seen him in years. Yoda, standing beside him, also looks like he’s aged another hundred years—at least to Maul’s eyes—while the damned one standing next to them hangs back. Windu is no fool, unfortunately, and knows full well that it would take only one wrong move for the Zabrak to strike.

"Master Kesi—"

"May I ask the alleged reason for my ward being detained?"

"He was in the company of an extremely dangerous criminal—"

"The one you beheaded?" Maul retorts to Windu, watching the man stiffen—good. "As far as I know, being related to someone doesn't make you a party to their crimes." Master Yoda remains calm—a level of calm that simply irritates Maul.

"Aware of recent events, you are, then."

"Someone has to claim the body, Master."

"What he was doing, did you know too?" Maul wants to rip that frog's kriffing mouth off if he can't use it properly.

"No, and neither did Anakin. Can we go now?" What was he even asking for anyway? None of them could actually keep him there. Kenobi—always the negotiator—steps forward calmly as possible.

"Can we talk? Alone?" Maul is about to refuse when he gestures outside. "Stryker is worried; I bet he and Anakin will want to talk." The Zabrak grimaces; it was Stryker who brought him here after realizing his friend was undergoing interrogation, and he has been waiting outside—a ball of anxiety so intense that everyone can sense it. "Please?"

Maul wants to refuse, but if he doesn't do this now, they’ll only come bother him later. He signals to Anakin; the blond clearly doesn't want to leave, but if they can sense Stryker, then to him, the Nightbrother must feel like a buzzing hive of stress. He steps out but stays close by; Maul can still easily sense his presence.

At least they get straight to the point.

"Fett was working with the Sith, Kesi."

"Really?" Maul moves toward a chair but doesn't sit; no, he is tired, but he won't show it in front of these Jedi. That would only keep him in this miserable place longer. "And do you think I have something to do with that, by any chance?"

"That’s not what we’re saying—"

"What we are saying—" Maul could rip this man's vocal cords out right now, and he hopes his glare makes that clear, "—is that your name keeps coming up whenever something involving the Sith happens." Maul narrows his eyes; he doesn't know whether to be offended that it took them so long to notice or proud that they finally made the connection. "It’s getting to the point where it’s impossible to deny you have something to do with all of this." Well, it seemed it was time for Maul to lie through his teeth again.

"It was supposed to be me—the Sith apprentice." He sees them all shift; it’s ironic how their reactions are all the same. "The Sith had been visiting Dathomir for a long time, under an agreement with my mother that I would become his apprentice and obey them both." Far from the truth, yet containing enough of it to be believable. "He trained me cruelly for many years, and when my visions began, I knew I had to escape—so that’s what I did."

Maul waits, and none of the Masters say a word; it’s impressive how they always give him room to spin more and more lies. Kenobi wears a strange expression.

"That’s why I know about the Sith and have such a strong connection to the dark side, but aside from those years as a prospective apprentice, I’ve never had any further dealings with the Sith." Perhaps if one counted Tyranus—but that would likely be a wound so fresh for the Jedi that they wouldn't even link him to Maul. Dyas hadn't either. "I didn't know what Jango was doing; he always presented himself simply as a bounty hunter. I had no reason to doubt that."

"I don't mean to offend..." His voice is the most grating thing Maul has ever heard—anything he said would be offensive. "But isn't there a possibility that Fett approached you on orders from the Sith—" Kenobi stops when Maul turns toward him.

"If that were the case, he would have taken me back or killed me long ago. The Sith do not tolerate failure or those who try to run—especially not someone who, for years, was the only one aware of their existence." He can see Yoda grimace, likely remembering the last time they spoke about the Sith. "My master never gave me a name; I never saw his face because he used the Force to conceal it, and I was never told his plans. There is nothing I can tell you about them or about Jango. Am I free to go?" He decided he was and moved toward the door. "None of us has time to waste, after all."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a body to bury and a family to support, and you have a war ahead of you—and as far as I know, the only army you have consists of thousands of copies of a man you killed."

-

"Maul— Can you wait?!" Anakin stumbles through the rain that had started while they were with the Jedi; despite having come to fetch him, the Zabrak had remained silent the whole way, and that was already starting to make the human desperate. "I— I know I messed everything up, but please..." Maul stops, taking a deep breath.

"Don't start with that." The human looks painfully relieved to hear the Zabrak's voice for the first time in hours. "Let's get out of the rain."

They are still far from the shop and certainly aren't going back to the Jedi Temple, so they find a group of crates—sheltered by an overhanging eave—to sit on. Silence stretches out as Anakin catches his breath and Maul stares silently at the puddles.

"What happened?" It’s a cursed question to ask, and part of him doesn't even want to know, but that part is smaller than the one that needs to know. Anakin stays silent for a moment, then swallows hard.

"We were on a planet—an ocean planet. It rained the whole time." Kamino; he’d gone back to Kamino with Jango. That made sense. "He wouldn't let me walk around much; he ordered me to stay in a room and wouldn't let me leave at all. Given his bad mood, I don't think he wanted to be there." He certainly didn't want Anakin seeing the clones; it must have been stressful knowing Kenobi was on his trail while Anakin was right there with him. "Then... Kenobi showed up. They had a strange conversation, and after he left, we rushed to get away—but before we could leave the planet, he found us again, and they fought. I've never seen him fight like that." Up to that point, it all made sense—it was just like his past life. Jango hadn't taken jobs involving Jedi for a while before he started teaching Anakin, so it made sense that the boy had never seen anything like that.

"Okay: water planet, Kenobi, and a fight. And then?" Anakin takes a deep breath; Maul is tempted to bet that’s where the guilt stems from.

"We were on a hot planet... He told me to stay on the ship and not talk to anyone if they showed up, but..." Maul tries to keep his expression neutral, even though he already knows full well what Anakin is going to say. "I stepped out, and it was total chaos. It was a sort of... coliseum, or something, and I looked for him! But then a fight broke out, and ships with soldiers came down, and..." Anakin presses his lips together, his fingers clenching around his knees. "I should have stayed on the ship. I saw where he was in the middle of the fight, but... but I distracted him. And it only took a second for..." Ah, so he saw it this time—not Boba. Maul was starting to wonder if these were simply events destined to happen. "It’s my fault—"

"It isn't."

"But—"

"It isn't." It was just the universe being cruel, forcing a boy to watch Jango Fett get beheaded over and over again. A boy who cared about him—at least Anakin was older than Boba. "He wasn't just anybody, but he wasn't invincible; Windu is set to become the next Grand Master. Jango wasn't enough to take him on." Anakin opens his mouth as if to argue but stops himself, nervously picking at his fingers.

"The people he was working for—"

"Monsters. Every single one of them." There was no reason or way to sugarcoat it for Anakin; even Maul, back in his days as a Sith, had had blood on his hands since childhood. "Stay away from them and forget about it." This time, the human agrees readily, though still a bit nervous. "Did you see the face of any of the soldiers?"

"...They looked just like him."

"Clones. And soon Coruscant will be swarming with them, so for now, we stay away." As the rain subsides and the wind dies down, Maul springs to his feet.

"What do you mean?"

"Concord Dawn. That’s where he was born. Where he deserves to be buried." Anakin is surprised but then nods; Maul gets the impression that the guilt issue isn't over yet, but for now, it’s best not to push it. "Come on—everyone’s going to be paranoid for a while after this; we’d better not be late."

-

The clones provoke, just as Maul expected, a range of distinct reactions.

Savage, as always, appears—or at least tries—to be the most normal of the lot. He doesn't interact much with the clones in the kitchen, but when he does, he tries to be as cordial and polite as possible. Aside from the first few days—when he actually shouted at Maul, demanding to know if his younger brother had been aware of the clones' existence all along—he hasn't brought the subject up again. There was no point, given that Maul made it clear he wouldn't say a word.

Feral is harder to watch; he is excessively friendly with the clones—to the point where it’s obvious he is searching for Jango in them. He is looking for something that matches perfectly; after all, the faces and voices were identical, but the mannerisms and personalities were not. Each clone was different, yet that very fact gave his brother just enough hope that one might be similar enough to believe—to see the Mandalorian again.

Shmi always wore a sad expression, but she managed to keep her composure better than the rest of them. Maul had heard from clones that she treated them almost like children, using a soft, sweet voice and gentle touches; he assumed she was going through something similar to Feral, though she was better at keeping it in check.

Merrin—now working as a little waitress herself—practically demanded their attention; she wanted them to praise her, give her gifts, and smile at her. She wanted them to act like Jango, to treat her the way he had. Most had no problem with this, accepting the girl's demands and giving her all the attention and affection she craved; the trouble arose when a clone appeared who wasn't quite so willing to dote on her. In those instances, she would refuse to serve him and unleash a string of curses in Dathomirian—words Maul had no idea where she’d even learned. More than once, when a clone failed to speak to her in the gentlest possible tone, she would burst into tears and screaming fits, forcing Maul or someone else to take her outside the shop to calm her down.

Anakin and Boba were in the same boat: pretending the clones didn't exist. The young clone himself was very good at this; Maul often found him upstairs, hiding in the shadows while staring at his counterparts—his expression a mix of emotions that even he likely couldn't explain. He never said a word and didn't interact with the clones; if Merrin mentioned them, he simply ignored her. This had caused more than a few issues between the two, and although Bane wasn't exactly the most trustworthy person, Maul was grateful whenever he offered to take the boy along on off-world jobs.

Anakin tried to ignore them, though always doing so carried a high risk of starting a fight; he avoided the Federal District area as if a plague were sweeping through it. Maul would have bet money that Anakin hadn't walked past the front of the shop in months, always entering through the back and sticking to the kitchen or the upstairs area. He stopped working in the shop without complaint; since Boba was still too young, Anakin took over the task of maintaining the Slave I, and no one was surprised when he began taking on his own bounty hunting jobs—becoming yet another person who took Boba off-planet whenever possible.

Maul, for his part, had at least had the time and foresight to realize they would eventually show up, ever since Jango first mentioned wanting a son; he treated the clones just as he had the Jedi: as clients. Merely clients. He could see they all expected him to react poorly, but the years his master had forced him to suppress his emotions for the sake of survival kept him from reacting to their voices, their faces, or their resemblance to Jango. It created a strange dynamic where, for some reason, they seemed to prefer Maul over everyone else. It was common for a clone to linger at the counter of the small bar where he worked whenever there weren't many complex orders to fill.

Which brought him to the current situation.

"What was that?"

"Idiots. They're all idiots." Corries were common at the Nocturne—more so than any other clones. Their commander was a regular too—according to the others, the teas served there were the only thing besides caf he’d actually drink. "What do they expect me to do? Just because I work for the Chancellor doesn't mean I control his decisions!" Maul was fully aware of almost everything happening in the Senate building—and of the Corries' running tally of how much they wanted to shoot every politician; he smiled every time Sidious climbed a little higher in power. "I don't control my own decisions!"

"Who made that drink?" Maul asked; the acidic, bubbling concoction didn't look like any of the standard tea varieties.

"Miss Skywalker." Maul hummed thoughtfully; it wasn't often that Shmi made the drinks instead of him, especially for the clones. "If I did have control over anything, I would've shot that evil old man myself by now." Wait.

"Is that Wake-Tea?"

"I think so?" Maul sighed; he’d have to speak with Shmi later. "It's named like it would help me stay awake, so I ordered it. It's good—I'm already on my second cup."

"It’s a stimulant type of recipe, but it has a high ethyl content if not narrowly prepared—" Maul watches the clone blink slowly and sighs. "You’re drunk, Commander." The clone straightens up stiffly, wearing an almost offended expression.

"I’m not." Maul glances around the shop, which is packed. More than a few Jedi had said they appreciated the shop as a rare pocket of normalcy amidst the war—ensuring the place was always full of them—while clones from every conceivable battalion would visit in groups whenever they were on-planet; then there were the Coruscant locals themselves, many of whom had started coming to the Nocturne after so many other establishments closed due to the war—any one of whom could have heard Fox loudly declare that he wanted to kill the Chancellor of the Republic. "Kriff, I am."

"Alright, let's get you to the back." Maul vaults over the counter to reach the clone's side; they couldn't just let him leave like this. "You're going to drink some water, lie down, and hand me over your comm link."

"Why—"

"You aren't fit to work—honestly, you aren't even fit to tell your colleagues about it. I'm doing this so I don't have a bunch of troopers storming my doors looking for their commander." The clone protests, but his voice is already slurring so badly that Maul dismisses whatever he says; inside, he finds a very confused Savage. "Badly brewed tea. He's going to pass out any minute—get me a glass of water."

They do so; Savage shows more patience than Maul in answering the clone's slurred questions, while Maul takes a call meant for the commander.

"Fox—"

"He's not available." Fortunately, it's Thorn who answers; he's wearing his helmet, but Maul can still sense his confusion.

"Master Kesi? Why do you have Fox's comm—" He pauses, then looks away as if unwilling to meet Maul's gaze. "My apologies if I've interrupted the two of you in any way." The Zabrak raises an eyebrow at that but decides it isn't worth the time to address it.

"He isn't fit to return to duty; he'll be staying at the shop for a while."

"Okay."

"You aren't going to ask anything about that?" Maul had imagined that giving unplanned time off to arguably the most important clone in the Republic would at least prompt a few questions from his second-in-command. Instead, the clone looks almost embarrassed—yet slightly proud?

"No, no, I... It's a quiet day; it won't be a problem." What the kriff was ever a "quiet day" on Coruscant? "I genuinely wish you both the best, Master Kesi. See you later." He hangs up, leaving a very confused Maul behind to ponder what just happened; he is snapped out of his reverie by Savage’s laughter.

"What was that about?" But his brother turns his head and simply smiles.

"Oh no, I’ll let you figure that out for yourself. Keep an eye on him until he falls asleep; I’m going back to work." Savage walks away with a strange smile, leaving Maul even more confused—but that’s fine; he’ll just have to ask the commander, once he’s more sober, what kind of things his second-in-command might be imagining.

Fox drinks the water as if he’s been parched for years. There is a sofa—placed where Merrin’s rug used to be—in the hallway leading to the back entrance; he lays the clone down there and sits on the armrest near the clone's head. Speaking of the princess herself, she appears in the hallway at that very moment.

"Uncle—what is he doing here?" Naturally, the commander is one of the clones on the little girl's blacklist. Maul sighs. Fortunately, Shmi follows close behind.

"Merrin, I need help out front—" She notices the clone and shoots a worried look at Maul. "Did something happen?"

"Did you make the Wake-Tea a bit too fast?" She understands immediately and steps closer to stroke the clone's prematurely graying hair.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, Commander."

"It's alright; just leave that kind of recipe to me—at least on busy days," Maul reassures her. It’s not as if Fox seems to mind much, anyway; he leans into the affection and even shifts to get more. This is quickly cut short when Merrin pats him on the head and tugs at Shmi.

"If I can't get attention, neither can you!" The clone’s reply is a mumble accompanied by a grimace.

"Aren't you a bit too small to act so big?" Maul isn't even surprised by the massive offense she takes at this; he gently uses the Force to push her and Shmi back toward the door, despite the little girl's best efforts to reach the clone.

"Get back to work; I'm just going to wait for him to rest." Fortunately, Shmi understands and keeps the irritated girl outside, allowing Maul to turn his attention back to the clone. "Don't provoke her. You know what she's like." The clone grunts but says nothing more; the Zabrak turns his thoughts inward until he hears something from below. "What?"

"I could be decommissioned for this."

"You won't."

"But I could." He insists, bringing his hand to his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. "If Palpatine finds out about this—"

"Would you say your brothers care more about Palpatine or about you?" The clone falls silent, and Maul stares at him, resting his hand on his arm. "If it’s you, then they aren't going to turn you in for something like this. It was a mistake—not even your fault, and it’s not going to ruin everything—so stop saying things like that." The clone looks back at him but then slowly nods; he looks almost identical, though Fox is missing a few scars and doesn't smile as much. "It’s not the first time you’ve talked about decommissioning when something goes wrong; I’ve heard what you say at 79's."

Fox grimaces, as if he could taste the words. Maul had visited the clone bar a few times—taking extra shifts in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep, just mixing drinks behind the counter like he’d been doing for years by then. The clones were always respectable, even nearly black-out drunk. Besides more flirts than usual, and that happened even at the Nocturne; and even then, they were at least creative with the ways they decided to try to impress Maul. He still got some laughs off of the one clone who decided to use 'fancy words' and then froze when Maul questioned if he knew what they meant.

"I think I expected to be dead by now." That wasn't new. Maul hadn't thought it possible to radiate suicidal intent until he met the clone. "As troopers, we’re expected to anticipate death from the very start; as commanders, we’re also taught to expect the deaths of our soldiers. And that’s what I did—I prepared myself to meet death every day, and that’s what happened, but..." He closes his eyes, then opens them as if he were somewhere else entirely. "They say it might end now."

"The war?"

"Yes, I... I was born for this war. I spent my whole life preparing for it, and for every minute, every second it dragged on, I was waiting for my turn to come. Waiting for the moment I’d die like a soldier—like a clone. Following orders, completing my assignments, and fighting until my last breath—that’s what I always expected. And now..." And now the war was ending—and it really was; Maul might have altered Anakin's fate, but that hadn't changed the war all that much. He had considered the possibility that, since Stryker had taken Anakin's place as Kenobi's Padawan, perhaps he would become the hero this time around, but that hadn't happened. He commanded the same legion Skywalker had, yet the one who stole the spotlight this time was, ironically, Lady Tano.

Maul wasn't surprised that she had remained in that lineage, but it was undeniable that Stryker had helped her mature faster than Anakin ever had. She had risen through the ranks like a shooting star since becoming his Padawan, building a reputation that had belonged to her master in another life. Yet Maul had watched closely and was certain that all of Sidious's attempts to manipulate the Jedi had failed completely. Even so, Maul knew the final phase of the war was about to begin—and with it, things would go south very quickly.

"You don't know what to do if you survive the end of the war."

"...No, I don't." It was a valid question; the Republic had accepted the clones to fight the war, yet there was no precedent for what to do with an army of thousands of soldiers—created specifically for a war—once that war ended. Should the army be maintained? Should it be disbanded? What, then, was to be done with the clones? Kill the soldiers who had protected the Republic? Cast them out into the far reaches of the galaxy? They were a new race that had appeared out of nowhere; leaving thousands of trained, militarized men without direction didn't seem safe—it looked like a recipe for tripling the strength of crime syndicates, or perhaps even creating a new one. "If I don't die before this war ends, I’ll be the one at the forefront. Everyone will look to me as an example of what to do next, and I don't know what will happen."

"Come here," Maul says, though it takes him a moment to process his own words. "Coffee is a drink that’s become very popular lately; we need someone to make it."

"Are you serious?"

"You want to be an example? Then live. Show them that it’s possible to live a normal life outside of war, to live far away from the violence you were created for—be that example. Come here as soon as the war is over." He pulls the clone to his feet, even though the man is still a bit unsteady. "Well?"

A million things flash through the clone's eyes in that moment; Maul doesn't recognize half of them from any of his past lives, but he knows that longing. He knows the desire to cling to something with everything you have, and the paralysis that comes with having such a thing right in front of you—with finally having the power to choose.

"Yes—yes! I..." He collapses; trying to nod repeatedly makes him even more unsteady, causing him to slump against Maul’s chest, struggling for breath. "Yes, please..." Maul says nothing, simply letting him calm down; he won't mention the trembling hands, nor the agony and despair radiating from him through the Force. "Thank you..."

Maul doesn't sense it through the Force first; what he does first is smell blood.

The shop is closed; Shmi has taken the children out for a walk with Savage, and Maul hasn't the faintest idea where Feral is—but that was already surprisingly common. He had chosen to stay behind to test out some recipes in peace and quiet—what a way to ruin that.

The scent leads him to the back of the shop—not the side entrance, but the side alley, cut off from the rest of the street by a metal wall. There is certainly blood, and just as Maul is about to open the door, he can sense confusion and desperation coming from outside as well.

He finds a clone.

Fives. That’s his name. He belongs to the 501st Legion—Stryker and Tano’s legion. Maul still remembered the stories they told about the chaos caused by the five-clone squad he was part of. He is bleeding; there is a blaster wound high up on his thigh, pouring out a river of blood. A quick glance to the side reveals the wall is dripping blood too; he had dragged himself over it to get into the alley.

"Who— Master Kesi—" The clone reeks of desperation and pain; he is huddled against a dumpster, kept upright by what can only be pure adrenaline. "I— I’ll leave, please don’t tell anyone I was here, I promise I’ll go—"

"Come inside." The clone looks shocked, but Maul is so distressed by the man's desperation that the reaction irritates him. "Come inside!"

The shout works, and Fives drags himself inside, looking utterly bewildered. Maul closes the door and leads him to the kitchen, setting a glass of water and some biscuits in front of the clone—who seems to realize only then that he is hungry and thirsty, and devours them desperately. The Zabrak is still staring at the clone's leg wound, about to grab a first-aid kit, when he hears the first whimper.

"Are you crying?" The only times Maul had seen clones cry was when they’d had too much to drink at 79's, but Fives is breaking down right over the cookies—still chewing even as he chokes and sobs. "What the kriff is going on..."

The clone tries to explain, but between the chewing, the tears, the sobs, and his generally wretched emotional state, it’s impossible to understand a single word he's babbling anything else other than gibberish. Maul simply pats him on the shoulder, waiting for him to calm down and still thoroughly confused by the situation.

Before he can ask anything, a bell signals that someone has entered the shop, and he knows immediately that it isn't anyone from his family.

"Go upstairs." The clone freezes beside him, once again reaching a peak of desperation that Maul masks by cloaking him with his Force presence. "Don't make a sound."

He moves to the front to meet Fox, accompanied by Stryker and his captain, Rex. Anxiety radiates from the clone just as unhappiness does from Fox; he is tapping his foot as quietly as possible and avoiding eye contact with Maul. Stryker is the one who speaks first.

"I'm afraid this isn't a routine visit, Master Kesi."

"Get to the point." Already accustomed to Maul's personality, the Zabrak nods, presenting a datapad displaying an image of the clone Maul is currently hiding.

"Do you remember Fives? He’s currently a fugitive—Republic business. Commander Fox managed to wound him in the leg, but he escaped into the city, and we’re searching for him now. Have you seen him?"

"No," Maul answers bluntly; Captain Rex steps forward with a distressed expression.

"Are you sure? He came to Coco Town, and this is one of the few places we frequent here—"

"I’m going to check the back." Fox ignores the call from the Jedi and the accompanying clone, heading straight for the kitchen without waiting; Maul glances at the two of them and follows the clone. As soon as the door closes behind them, Fox turns to him.

"I'm sorry." He turns away, as if to continue through the kitchen, but then stops, grunts, and looks back at Maul. The Zabrak makes no move to stop him, merely shrugging. He doesn't want to, but if necessary, he can alter Fox's memories.

"You're just following orders." The clone flinches, his shoulders tense as he stares at the floor instead of at Maul. "It's what you always do." This seems to snap something inside Fox; he tears off his helmet in a violent motion.

"Fives is a danger to himself and everyone around him, Kesi; he— He’s losing his mind!" There is blood on the bench where Fives had been sitting; Maul hadn't cleaned it up, and he knows Fox can see it there. "He isn't sane, he isn't making any sense— If we don't take him back—"

"For what? To be decommissioned?" The clone falls silent, glancing toward the kitchen. The blood is still visible there. "I don't know where that clone is, Commander." Fox looks at him in desperation; there is a plea in the clone's eyes that Maul cannot answer—he can only offer a small measure of relief: "If there were any danger, I would warn you."

It isn't enough—it’s barely a crumb of comfort—but like most things, Fox clings to it like a desperate man. He nods—too quickly; Maul worries he’ll give himself a headache. He snaps his helmet back on and marches straight toward the entrance.

"He isn't here; let's go." Stryker looks at Maul, but Rex moves to place a hand on Fox's shoulder.

"Are you sure? That was a quick sweep—"

"Do you doubt me?" Rex pulls away as if the clone had burned him; Maul can sense his concern as well. Whatever motives the others have for searching for Fives, they aren't the same as his own. "It's your trooper we need to find; let's go."

Stryker murmurs a goodbye to Maul before following the two clones outside. Once they are out of sight on the street, Maul heads to the back and goes upstairs, discovering that Fives had taken refuge in his bedroom. The clone is huddled at the foot of the bed, and upon seeing Maul, he begins to weep again. He cries until he passes out from exhaustion; Maul remains silently by his side the entire time. He pulls him up onto the bed when he passes out and waits.

When the clone wakes up, nearly five hours later, Maul is sitting beside him, looking at him sternly.

"Explain."

-

Fives becomes the newest resident of the Nocturne.

He is quiet—at least until Feral or Shmi convince him to speak up. He stays out of sight up above, but Maul knows that sometimes he jumps down to help Savage in the kitchen, despite the danger involved. Maul thinks this is precisely what makes the older Zabrak open up to the clone; Savage wasn't happy about his presence at first, but now he joins Maul whenever he scolds the clone for taking risks—there was no clearer sign that his brother cared. Fives understands this.

For a brief time—try as he might—Feral believed Fives would finally be the clone just like Jango; he is gradually disappointed to find that isn't the case, yet he simultaneously grows attached to the clone for his own unique personality. Maul thinks this is exactly what his brother needed to finally move past Jango's death.

Shmi treats him like another son, finding it easier than Maul does to let the clone cry in her lap at times. She confesses to Maul that it’s like seeing Anakin as a child again—before everything happened. He finds happiness simply in being there. Maul would bet it’s because the clone nearly died, but he prefers to let the woman bond with him in her own way.

Merrin initially treats him like the other clones, expecting to be treated like a princess. Fives obliges, she accepts it, and for a while, it seems that’s how things will stay. But then she stops; she still makes demands of the other clones, but she treats Fives much the same way she treats Boba. Like a brother. Not a father. Maul doesn't mention it, not even when the girl bursts into his room in the middle of the night, checking his neck as if expecting it to have been slit while she slept. Maul doesn't mention the flare-up of nightmares she suffers for a while before calming down again. She never asks much of Fives.

Boba—the person Maul was most worried about—is the first one, aside from himself, to give the clone a chance. Fives seems just as surprised as he is, but slowly, they fall into a rhythm that works uniquely between them. Idle chatter about unlikely possibilities, teasing, talking about the others. They develop a dynamic in their interactions that seems to do them both good.

Anakin is by far the worst. He practically ignores Fives’s existence and any attempt at communication from the clone; after countless attempts met only with hostility, things turn violent very quickly. Maul and the other's are careful never to let it get too serious, yet it is in these fights that they find common ground—a moment of peace. They begin teaming up to pester Maul, and the Zabrak takes comfort in the fact that this, at least, means they are getting along.

Maul becomes—both reluctantly and with a sense of relief—the clone's anchor. Fives turns to him when he runs into trouble—even the kind of trouble others could help with. He asks Maul about everything and does nothing without the Zabrak’s permission; it is almost as if he expects the Zabrak to treat him like a personal soldier. But it runs deeper than that, on an emotional level. The clone weeps when he hands him an earring—a helix stud with a "5" at the tip, much like Boba’s, which is why he wears it in the opposite ear. It is on Maul’s shoulder that the clone cries out his guilt when he begins working with Quinlan Vos.

Guilt over squandering everything, over risking the peace they have found together. Fives is still a wanted man, Fox still checks in to ask if everything is alright, and the war rages on—yet everyone can feel the shift in the atmosphere, the sense that the end is near. Fives breaks down in tears almost every night, and Maul practically sleeps with the clone in his arms—sometimes remembering, as his mind betrays him in treacherous split seconds, his final farewell to Jango.

He doesn't know exactly what they are doing; he knows it involves the situation with the chips, but he doesn't ask, and Fives lacks the courage to say anything. He simply holds the clone while he cries and keeps everything ready, just in case they have to flee Coruscant at a moment's notice with Sooth. The Ardennian is more aware of the situation Maul ever thought he would let him get.

It seems that day has arrived.

"What?" A cold dread grips Maul’s heart; Anakin’s face is utterly devoid of warmth himself.

"They went after him. Merrin and Boba." It’s happening today—Maul has already sensed the shift, and the Order is about to trigger at any moment unless— "The clones—I don't know! The kids went after Fives at the Senate!"

-

Maul had never been to the Republic Senate building before. This first visit is a desperate, frantic rush.

Everything is in chaos; the moment they stepped inside the Senate, the order was given. Death begins to spread through the Force like a plague—every scream, every final breath, every pang of pain reeking of betrayal slams into them as, for the second time, the clones turn against the Jedi.

Anakin cannot stay on his feet; he collapses to his knees as his connection to the Force amplifies everything tenfold. Maul hauls him up and props him against his shoulder, barely able to steady himself. The first time this happened, he was on a ship and there was only one Jedi for the clones to kill—a task they failed. Now, right in the heart of the Republic and so close to the Jedi Temple, he can barely withstand the agony.

Maul drags him toward a wall and a corridor so he can lean against something. Pure horror is etched on the human's face amidst the sudden, explosive surge in the Force.

"What is this..." Maul doesn't answer; he presses on, trusting Anakin to follow. He does.

They push past senators and clones—the former begging for help, the latter too caught up in the same frantic rush to care. Maul and Anakin aren't there to save lives; they are searching for Merrin and Boba, who had followed Fives to the Senate for whatever reason brought him there. He knows Merrin came out of concern, refusing to leave the other two alone, and he knows Boba came looking for a specific person.

They round a corner and come face-to-face with what looks like the entire Coruscant Guard battalion.

He and Fox lock eyes for just a second—the clone's eyes visible to him even through the helmet. The other clones level their blasters.

"Let's go! To the Temple!" They rush past them as if they aren't there—whether it’s the chip making the clone ignore them in favor of his objective, or the first time Maul has seen Fox make a choice of his own, there is no time to think about it now. They keep running toward the Chancellor's office.

The death toll rises by the second; Jedi are dropping like flies, cut down by the fire of their own comrades. So far, Maul hasn't sensed Stryker or even Kenobi, but he knows that if things continue this way, they won't last long. He searches but still cannot sense Merrin or Boba, either. Maul can only feel his master's darkness swelling and growing as they draw nearer, and he fights every instinct in his body telling him to turn away before they arrive.

Maul never thought he would see Sidious's eyes again. But they turn toward him the moment the doors slide open.

The dark side sings and dances throughout the room; Fives is bleeding from a head wound, radiating the same anguish and despair Maul saw the day he first found him, clutching his blaster through sheer adrenaline and instinct. Merrin stands near him, hands wreathed in magic and held defensively against the Sith Lord; pure concentration and rage mark her face, despite the blood Maul can see trickling down her thigh. Boba is close behind, armored but unhelmeted. His expression is one of utter coldness, his blaster aimed at the target with clinical precision. Yoda stands between them and the Sith, his green lightsaber pitted against Sidious's two red blades.

The Sith smiles—an ugly, yellow-toothed grimace; he radiates confidence, yet Maul has spent too much time around him not to spot the inconsistencies. Not everything is going according to plan, and this is a situation that should not be happening.

"So, the apprentice returns!" Maul feels his expression freeze; his body takes over completely as he uses the Force to pull one of the lightsabers from the nearby bodies—he recognizes the other Jedi Council members, save for Yoda himself and Mace Windu. "I knew you were here the whole time! Waiting to interfere and cause trouble!" The voice is even more hissing than Maul remembered—almost a bark as it snarls at the Zabrak. "You won't ruin everything now!"

"You really are quite arrogant." He steps up beside Master Yoda—it is another green lightsaber he has secured. "Do you really think I’d risk everything I’ve achieved just to watch your grand plan fail?"

"Silence!"

"This is the end for you, Darth Sidious." Maul feels the Jedi beside him brace for action and assumes his own stance; by some sick twist of fate, it is the defensive form that feels most appropriate in this moment. "It is sheer luck that will allow me to witness your fall." Yoda attacks.

The next few moments are among the most intense of Maul's life.

Even facing two opponents, Sidious refuses to be put at a disadvantage; he exploits the fact that Maul and Yoda are unaccustomed to fighting side-by-side and drives a wedge between them. There is no backup, and for a moment Maul worries that something might have happened to the others in those few seconds—but then he hears the shouts: a comm, an order—they have to go.

Sidious drops his facade for just a second; that makes it critical. Whatever they are attempting to do, he cannot allow it under any circumstances. Except Maul had already decided—even before realizing this—that he would keep Sidious away from them, even if it cost him his life.

Maul senses it before it happens—the scent of ozone materializing, the static rising, and the Force gathering—all the telltale signs that precede a blast of lightning. Maul is accustomed to this; he braces himself for what is coming. Yoda is caught off guard. Sidious unleashes lightning at both of them, though the Zabrak can tell he is focusing the brunt of it on the old Jedi. Their lightsabers fly from their hands under the assault.

For a moment, he is back in the fortress on Mustafar, on a desolate planet, at the castle on Orsis, and on Mandalore; for a second, he is back in every place where Sidious electrocuted him, and for a second, the fear he has felt throughout this entire fight surges, threatening to overwhelm his resolve.

But it lasts only a second.

The lightning ceases, and while Sidious stands there panting, Maul rises.

He has always risen; he learned to ignore the pain of electricity coursing through his body, and no matter how many lifetimes he might live, this is something he will never forget. Maul will not let Darth Sidious end his life again.

Sidious does not see Maul rising; perhaps if he did—if he glanced at the Zabrak even once—he would know. But he never does. Believing he has defeated Maul and Yoda, Sidious quickly turns his attention to the others. Maul hasn't seen everything that transpired, but fire now surrounds the office; Fives lies unconscious, held as best as possible by Merrin—who is also on the ground—with Boba positioned in front of them, he can't tell where Anakin is. But even Boba is bleeding now, and in a single motion, Sidious brings his blade down upon him.

It is as easy as breathing: clenching his fist, moving, leaping in front of the clone, and blocking the lightsaber with his own body.

But it stops.

Maul does not feel the lightsaber slice into his flesh a second time; he does not feel the heat tear through his skin and vaporize his blood. He feels pressure, but no contact. He opens his eyes to see that what is clashing with his master’s lightsabers is actually Krakko’s blade—miraculously holding firm against the sabers without burning away.

How— Beskar. It’s beskar; Krakko gave him a—

"Do you think that matters?!" Maul has no time to dwell on the revelation regarding the object he has carried for twenty years; Sidious bears down, forcing Maul to brace his arm to hold the line. "I will kill you, and your children, and that damned defective clone, and a blade will not STOP me!"

Sidious exerts his full strength against Maul; the Zabrak snarls and struggles to hold his ground, feeling hands on his back supporting him as best they can.

"I am Darth Sidious! And you are insignificant weaklings who will DIE HERE—" Maul sees the blade cut through.

He sees the blue glow slice into Sidious’s flesh—sees the human body destroyed by the unimaginable heat of a lightsaber. He watches as the realization flashes—lasting less than a millisecond—that a lightsaber is severing his neck. That realization ends the moment the cut is complete and Darth Sidious’s head slides to the floor, his body following a moment later as the Sith Lord’s remains collapse.

Maul looks past Sidious and finds Anakin. He holds a lightsaber in his hands—gripping it more like a sword than a lightsaber—his face pale, slowly shifting into shock at his own actions as the realization of what has just happened sinks in.

Anakin Skywalker has just killed Darth Sidious. Even without being a Jedi, he was still the Chosen One.

"M-Maul—" Maul can't even answer; he is simply overcome by pure relief—not because they won, or even because Sidious is dead, but because they are all alive. "I-I don't know—"

Maul leaps toward the human; checking his face, arms, legs, and torso—desperately searching for any injury, but finding only a nasty burn on his hand. He isn't surprised when Anakin hugs him right after his hand starts to tremble.

Maul doesn't even see the Chosen One in that moment; he sees only the boy who had cowered against him when a rancor stood before them. He holds him as if he were still that boy.

Behind them, Fives is speaking desperately into a comm that definitely doesn't belong to him, with Merrin helping him stay steady.

"Order 65! Order 66 cancelled and replaced by Order 65 for all units!" Maul can still sense the chaos, but now it triples as the clones begin receiving the new order; there are still deaths, but a moment of hesitation is all the Jedi needed to turn the tide. Now the galaxy descends into chaos, with Jedi and clones alike dying ceaselessly. "Please..."

Boba places a hand on Fives' shoulder and pulls him up, casting a solemn look at the other clone.

"We did everything we could." Maul swallows hard; he can see Fives wants to disagree, but the urgency of the moment stops him. "We have to go now."

-

The city is every bit the chaotic mess expected—at least no one has time to question their escape from the Senate amidst the throng.

Merrin has the audacity to try walking, an attempt quickly shut down by Maul; summoning energy from who knows where to scold her and ask Anakin to carry her, they resume their run while the girl bleeds heavily from the fresh wound on her thigh. Despite his earlier words, Maul can’t stay on his feet as the electricity still courses through him; just as he’s about to collapse, he feels himself being hoisted onto someone’s back.

Fox looks like the embodiment of the surrounding chaos; he’s lost more than just his helmet—his chest plate and all armor protecting his left arm are gone. He’s sweaty, his lip is swollen, and he’s bleeding from somewhere too, yet he’s positively glowing. Fox is breathing as if he loves the very air, and his eyes are more alive than Maul has ever seen them.

"Fox—" Fives looks just as mortified as he is happy to see Fox, but the commander regards him with the same urgency that permeates the environment around them.

"We have to go now; the planetary shields are a disaster—do you have a ship?" Even more surprising, it’s Merrin who answers, leaning over Anakin’s shoulder.

"Two! The uncles should be loading them up by now, right?" Maul gives a confused nod—that’s all the clone needs; he doesn't wait a second before sprinting off with Maul on his back. Does he even weigh anything to this guy?

"No time to lose!"

-

They split up among the ships; Sooth’s ship is the only one capable of carrying the rancor, albeit a tight fit. Anakin is so quietly tired that when the creature is loaded inside, he lies down on top of it, and Maul thinks he’s passed out—though he doesn't have time to check. This results in Shmi going with the captain, along with Feral and Savage, while Maul and the others take Slave I.

They are all silent; Maul has already plotted the course, and now it is just a matter of making the journey. Amidst the silence, Fives lifts his head.

"Hey." He calls out to Merrin; the girl looks up from the corner where she had tucked herself away after Maul managed to bandage her leg with bacta. The clone lifts his own leg—the very one that had been shot a few months back. "We match." The girl looks, then snorts in agreement. Boba looks up from his spot, huddled in the pilot's seat.

"Did anyone get hit in the head?" Fox lifts his head from the bunk he’s claimed for himself.

"Back or front?"

"Front, right." The clone taps his head and smiles.

"Front, left." They share a pathetic high-five—the kind you’d expect from two people who’d taken a hit to the head; he’ll have to check those injuries later.

"As far as I know, no one else got electrocuted—except for whatever Anakin did with his hand."

"Oh, that was the comm link." The Zabrak gives an inquisitive look, and the clone shrugs. "I forgot you didn't see it. We needed to issue the order via Palpatine’s communicator for it to work, but it would shock us if we touched it—that’s what started the fire. Anakin held onto it without letting go and did something that made the shocks stop." Maul snorts; yeah, that sounded like the sort of thing his master would do. "Does that count?"

"We were pumped full of electricity by the same man—I think it counts." They all accept this and settle back into a comfortable silence, until Fives looks at Maul. "What?"

"Where are we going?" He doesn't even seem worried about it, just curious. Maul was starting to get concerned about the blind trust these people placed in him.

"Mandalore."

"Hm, alright." Maul waits for more questions, but none come. Yeah, he really ought to be worried about that. "Cool."

-

Mandalore isn't exactly as he remembers it, and that’s a good thing.

At first, Maul hadn't paid much attention to Mandalore upon his return. The planet wasn't a responsibility he felt accountable for; but when the news started coming in, he took notice.

He heard from Tano and Kenobi about the situation with Vizsla—something he had already anticipated. That was where his curiosity was piqued: Vizsla had managed to seize Mandalore with Maul's help in his past life, so what would he do to capture the planet this time? Vizsla could be irritating, but he was no fool. Nor was he one to give up easily. Maul wasn't surprised to hear the news of Mandalore's takeover.

The reports centered on a series of hunger-driven uprisings across the planet, followed by Death Watch stepping in to wrest the throne from the Duchess. Maul didn't doubt that Vizsla had a hand in those revolts, but he also hadn't forgotten the reports of resource shortages throughout Sundari from his own brief stint as Mand'alor. Mandalore had been starving even without Vizsla; at the very least, Vizsla must have exploited that misery to demoralize the populace and seize the Duchess's reign under the guise of a genuine revolution.

In his past life, the Death Watch had taken Mandalore, and then Maul had taken over the Death Watch. But he wasn't there this time, and as far as he knew, Ventress hadn't been involved in the takeover—meaning she wouldn't be killing Vizsla in his stead. So, what would happen?

The answer was that the revolutions didn't stop.

Death Watch failed to maintain control as the people—rightfully—continued to rebel over the lack of food. Then, infighting broke out. Reports didn't name the person who clashed with the leader, but Maul was willing to bet it was Lady Kryze. The internal strife led to a breakdown in the chain of command, and with Vizsla already losing influence, that was when the shift occurred.

Again, no names were given, but an unnamed Mandalorian challenged Vizsla and won. What followed was a series of reforms: funds were reallocated, Concord Dawn was brought into the conversation, and agreements were struck with other neutral systems. Mandalore was still starving, but visible changes were taking hold; the mood calmed as the shortage began to ease, however slowly.

Even then, the planet was still struggling, prompting an exodus of those who could manage to leave. While this helped with resource redistribution, many who departed left behind vacant spaces in the city.

It was the perfect opportunity for them to arrive. And that is exactly what they did.

Of course, they didn't start with a teahouse again—no one was in a position to visit such a place just yet; that would take time. But cheap, nutritious food was a godsend for the locals. After all, what good was foresight if you didn't stockpile the necessary food and bring it with you when the galaxy went up in flames? They focused on securing a good space in the city center and, above all, on cooking.

People were wary at first, but slowly, the place began to fill up every day. Until they could source ingredients locally, they continued to buy supplies off-world and haul them in repeatedly to ensure there were no shortages. They kept the name out of sheer stubbornness—something Maul couldn't fault—and for the time being, the Nocturne, despite not serving tea, still radiated the same inner warmth that drew people in. They were adapting well, and their routines were similar to the ones they had left behind; everyone was doing fine. At least on the surface.

Fives still cried a lot, especially when he got news about how things were going in the Core—though now, following a conversation Maul hadn't participated in but had merely overheard, he would get excited to go tell Fox the news, or else cry on the other clone's shoulder. Despite all the grimacing he did, Fox never pushed the other clone away or refused to listen to the updates, even the bad ones.

Boba and Merrin were doing better than he had expected; Boba seemed a bit lost now, as if he no longer had a goal—Maul didn't doubt this had to do with the death of the newly appointed Jedi Council Grand Master; Maul had seen the news but decided to pretend he hadn't and let the matter slide—yet he found joy in following Anakin around and simply enjoying life in the city. Merrin embraced the job as a distraction, pouring herself into learning recipes from Maul; she was slowly finding her place in Mandalorian culture just as he had, calmly accepting this new chapter of her life.

Anakin—after patching things up with Fox follow their violent clashes and accepting the clone's presence—still took on bounty jobs but had returned to his work as a waiter, and was surprisingly good at it. He found his footing among the Mandalorians even more than Merrin did; over time, he began landing group jobs and forging his own friendships across the planet—far more than just the one he’d had with Stryker on Coruscant.

The Zabrak was the only one who made direct contact once the dust had settled; still bedridden from the wounds he’d sustained, he repeatedly reassured Fives that there was no need to worry and that the clone’s decision to give the order when he did had saved his life. That led to plenty of tears later on.

Shmi, Feral, and Savage settled into their work routines with ease; it hardly seemed like they had relocated to a new planet in the wake of the Republic’s near-collapse. The only indication of his thoughts came when Savage remarked that Maul ought to give fair warning before uprooting them to start a new life again, should a third such instance arise; Maul simply shrugged in response to his brother.

As for Maul, he focused on rebuilding his life and keeping an eye on the Core from afar. There was no way to conceal the late Chancellor's true identity, and the revelation caused as much turmoil as the deaths of the Jedi and clones. The Senate descended into internal conflict, with mistrust mounting after their own leader had masterfully deceived everyone for decades—Maul could hardly blame them.

There had been around ten thousand Jedi prior to Order 66; in the chaos that followed—even though the purge was never fully completed—reports indicated approximately four thousand deaths, a toll that claimed nearly the entire Council, with the exception of Yoda.

It was even worse for the clones; there was no exact count of how many there were or how many had died, but there was no doubt they had suffered even heavier casualties than the Jedi—and once everyone realized what had happened, most of them fled.

Clones were scattered all across the galaxy now, though mostly in the Outer Rim. Many passed through Mandalore and grew desperate upon finding Fox. The clone would always speak to his brothers patiently, off to the side; he would send them somewhere or provide a contact—Maul didn't know the details, but he was fairly certain that the vast majority of the commanders hadn't died, and that they were weaving a web of safeguards and second chances for themselves in the post-war era. They were thousands of men who cared deeply for one another; they could all help each other out.

Maul acquired a new accessory because of this: a small silver ring featuring a nearly minimalist design of a red fox, worn on his left ring finger. Any clone who saw the ring on Maul seemed to understand its significance, yet Fox insisted time and again that it was simply a personal gift from him.

Coruscant remained in chaos, with everyone still reeling from Order 66 and the end of the war, but here—far out in the Outer Rim on Mandalore—Maul could tell they were doing alright. At least for the moment.

"Are you sure you're staying?" Savage wore a look that wasn't exactly worried, but rather skeptical—an expression Maul had grown accustomed to.

"Yeah, I don't feel like going out today." In truth, he rarely felt like going out, but today specifically, he just wanted some time alone. It would be the first time in the months since their arrival that he could tend the shop by himself on a quiet day. "See you later."

The others left, and Maul moved behind the counter. With no customers coming in, he pulled out the notebook—the very same one he had taken from Sooth years ago. In it, he had written down everything he knew might be useful, everything he could use, and everything that might affect him. He never stopped writing in that notebook, constantly noting down details that might prove important and recording as much as possible so he could refer back to it if needed. It was ironic that he had reached the very end just now—with not a single page or even a blank line left.

The bell signaling someone’s entry into the shop rang—perhaps hours later, during which time Maul had simply been reading and rereading the notebook. He hadn't bothered to hide it, as he had written in so many different languages ​​that it would be difficult for anyone to decipher the text at a mere glance. He kept his eyes on the book as the client watched over the foods on the exhibitor.

"Can you heat this up?"

Maul looks up; he can barely keep still.

He had rarely seen him without the helmet—only once, when he killed him. The face before him is as unfamiliar now as that of any other unhelmeted Mandalorian. Yet, it is the same voice, the same height, the same build; it is like seeing a clone for the first time all over again.

"Heat that one up with the eel and bring it over to the table." He gestures and walks away, heading for the table he mentioned, where his helmet already sits. Maul doesn't move, tracking the Mandalorian’s movements in total silence. He doesn't leave his spot to heat the food; instead, he simply sends the dish into the microwave using the Force, never breaking his stare.

Short, dirty-blonde hair—cut in a style that reminds Maul of Anakin’s at nineteen—scars crisscrossing his body, including one specific mark slicing across his right cheek; sharp gray eyes, a hard jawline, and a light stubble. Maul had never known quite how to picture Meltch Krakko, yet somehow, the man is exactly what he would have expected.

The microwave beeps, signaling the food is ready, and Maul moves on autopilot. He places the dish in front of the Mandalorian, who immediately begins to eat. Maul sits down across from him, watching him as if observing a strange new creature.

"It's good." Krakko isn't exactly careful with his food; he wolfs it down as if it might vanish at any moment. "It’s been a while since I’ve had something like this. I can see why you lot got so famous around here."

He was a Mandalorian; it made sense for him to come to Mandalore, but then why—

Maul’s eyes are drawn to a long, sword-shaped void of blackness—a hole that swallows all surrounding light—resting right at Krakko’s hip. It is him. He is the Mand'alor. "Why?" he blurts out; the man notices his stare and shrugs.

"After I couldn't find you, I couldn't exactly go back to Orsis—your master would've killed me." He speaks of it with a calmness Maul couldn't hope to mimic. "I came here because it was the only place he couldn't follow me. I just got tired of watching a bunch of idiots in palaces letting the rest of us starve." It sounded so simple—almost laughable. "While I was looking for you, I stopped by Dathomir."

"And you survived?" Maul is still somewhat reeling from the fact that this conversation is actually happening; Krakko just shrugs as he keeps eating.

"I actually met your mother, you know. Perks of being a teacher." It’s an image that could haunt Maul’s nightmares—Krakko and his mother in the same room, talking. "She told me quite a bit about you. You know..." This is the only moment he seems to hesitate a little. "If you had told me you’d simply traveled back in time, I would have believed you. Against all common sense, but I would have believed you."

Maul chokes; he snorts and laughs. He cups his face in his hands because otherwise he’ll fall apart; he swallows hard.

"Adding both my lives together... I’m nearly ninety years old now." He had realized this on his own during the journey here, waking up in the middle of the night because he couldn't sleep.

"That’s a lot." Maul looks at him with a smile that can only be described as mad.

"Zabraks live to be about 180 on average." He exhales and looks around as if there were an answer to be found, eventually looking down at his lap again. "So— So all of this... This was just half my life." Krakko says nothing, and neither does Maul. Because he doesn't know what to say—not to himself, nor to the man in front of him; he is just so tired...

He blinks, and a small drop hits his vambrace. He clutches it as if the saltwater might melt it away, only to realize that more is coming, and more—

He is crying.

He hears Krakko stop eating just as he brings his hands to his face to try and hold back the tears; the vambrace on his arm feels heavy, as do the rings, the earrings, the googles, the amulet, the piercings. Everything seems to weigh so much more on Maul now.

"And none of it matters now! Because everything has changed! And— And nothing I know is worth anything anymore because now, now anything could happen—" Maul had lived under an empire that no longer existed and never would again, because Sidious was dead. Nothing he had known since Order 66 mattered now because everything was different; it wasn't going to repeat itself. He knew nothing, and he didn't know what to do about it because the blast notebook had run out and he didn't know what to do—

It doesn't stop him from feeling that way, but it shocks him enough to make him stop crying for a moment: Krakko is hugging him.

"It's okay, you'll find a way—We. We'll find a way." He trembles and can't stop the tears from coming again as he buries himself in the man's arms. "It's okay..."

And for the first time, he doesn't know. He doesn't know, and all he can do is trust that Meltch Krakko is right as he cries as he hasn't done in eighty years.

"Everything will be okay."