Blood. There was so much blood; it stained the Jedi’s clothing, his hands, even his face. It dripped from the ends of his shaggy beard before it landed on the ground with a soft plop, audible in the complete silence of the chamber. This had been a mistake, he should have sensed that in the back of his mind, but he ignored his premonition out of some kind of hope for some other outcome. Of course the invitation had been a trap, and of course, the man who had called out to the Jedi was a Sith in disguise. There was nobody, nothing, out there in the galaxy for the knight, he was unworthy of companionship and destined to live his life alone. It still did little to temper the feeling of betrayal and loss or the disgust at the display around him in the chamber.
At his feet, the bodies of the Imperial Troopers lay in various pieces and chunks after they faced the fury of his lightsaber. He reminded himself it was their fault for trying to capture the knight alive and alone, their punishment for their adherence to the dark side. It must have been a terrifying death, the full power of a trained Jedi unleashed on them, one who specialized in fear and mind tricks for battle. To them, an eleven-foot monster of epic proportions, glowing red eyes, and arms as thick as their waists had torn their companions limb-from-limb. In reality, the blond warrior had sliced them into pieces with his lightsaber calmly while they tried to fight the image in their mind. Simple, child’s play, and somehow it only made the knight more apprehensive; who would try something so simple with an experienced Jedi?
To answer that thought, the chamber wall slid open ominously to reveal a larger room filled with the soft light of space. Apparently, the abandoned station he entered had a compliment of Imperial guards, though it seemed to operate under limited power. Scans had shown no life signs and no energy signatures, but something had to power the doorways and life support. Carefully, he entered the new room with his weapon in hand, though powered down, and he took up position just to the side of the door he’d used to enter.
“Where is my ship,” he thought to himself, careful to stick to the shadows along the wall as he worked as hard as he could to blend into the surroundings. Not that a two-meter tall man in neutral colors was easy to hide against the stark white of Imperial architecture, but subtle flows of the Force could manipulate his surroundings as he moved to the only other apparent door in the room. His senses tingled, there was someone else in the room, someone Force-sensitive, but they had not shown themselves…yet.
Almost as if he willed them into being, he saw a black shape detach from the shadows near the viewport and solidify into a man in a long, black cape. The Jedi paused, as it seemed the form could not place him in the room, but the glint of those eyes swept around the corners slowly as they sought their opponent within the chamber.
“There is no escape from this place, not while I live. The controls are tied to my life signs, you’ll need me to release the locks,” came a raspy voice from the shadow, the sound grating on the Jedi’s ears. Unlike the voice that had called in the form of the man from his dreams, this one left no doubt in the Jedi’s mind that he was pure evil. Rather than reply, though, he stood his ground and pulled more tightly at the edges of his illusion to make it harder to spot his hulking frame.
It worked, the Sith’s eyes slid right past the knight to the other side of the doorway as he searched for signs of the illusion against the background. There was more detail as his captor moved out to the center of the chamber and let the light of the star in the distance wash over his black-clad frame. As hard as it was, he held back the gasp at what he saw; this was the man from his dream come to life, the shapes and lines of that body burned brightly into the Jedi’s mind. They had been linked far longer than he wanted to admit, but now he had the proof right in front of his eyes: this Sith had been in his dreams for nearly a decade, ever since he left Axum for the new Jedi Temple to train with Porskka.
As if on cue, the Jedi Master’s presence flared to life from behind the doorway to his left, the presence of the man who made the Knight know his true self. But that presence brought the wrath of the Sith, made those glowing eyes focus on the doorway as he reached out and prepared to strike at Porskka through the door. With a scream of pain and anger, the Jedi felt himself reach out to something he’d never felt, something he’d never acknowledged before. A power that had been forbidden through all of his training.
He used it, it used him, they both struck at the Sith together to stop him from hurting the Master the Jedi loved.
Blood. There was a pool of it formed below Andivar’s injured leg, but he ignored the wound as he held Porskka in his arms. The older Jedi was already dead, his eyes blank and expressionless so long after his last breath. That, more than anything, brought pain to the young Jedi Knight as he tried in vain to call up the power to save his Master. His love.
What happened in that room would be hard to explain away, hard to justify to the Council, but it could be done. The little that remained of Darth Esho was smeared against the wall, and the remaining traces of the Force power used to kill him would be easily recognized as Andivar’s. Still, there was little choice, he need not lie to cover that part considering a well-respected Master was dead by the Sith’s lightsaber.
Porskka insisted Andivar not give in to the Sith’s demands, that he stand firm and resist the allure of the Dark Side. And he had, for the most part, as he watched the man of his dreams slowly murder his Master and lover. That would be burned forever into the young Knight’s mind, along with the way his entire being forced itself into the blast of energy that he shot at the Sith as the light faded in Porskka’s eyes. It was too late, though, and Esho had already struck a fatal blow to his Master’s body. As much as the lightsaber might cauterize the wounds it created, the synthetic crystal of a Sith weapon could also poison the victim when left untreated. That, more than the injuries, had killed his Master.
If there had been anything but a black stain left on the deck plating and wall, Andivar might have gone berserk again at that moment. Instead, he gently lifted his Master into his arms and made his way toward the shuttle bay. As promised, the door locks and shields were deactivated when Esho died; they were tied to his life signs and shut down when he died. The two shuttles in the bay were very similar in design, but it was Porskka’s the Knight chose to use. After all, a Master deserved to be buried in his own ship. The Council would understand the duty of a student.
As he watched the shuttle disappear into the star deep in the Outer Rim where they met his tormentor, Andivar surprised himself as he held back emotion and finished his task. A year ago he would be inconsolable at the loss, too distraught to complete the mission. Now, though, he felt strangely detached from the sight of his Master’s shuttle final flight. He had grown, but only time would tell if the growth was for the best.
Now, he needed to clean and change; the Council awaited his report back on Tython. With a few taps on the display, the shuttle launched and made for home. As it left the bay, however, a few more taps set the blasters to automatic and instructed them to destroy the outpost. In seconds, the sin of that place was wiped from the Galaxy, and only Andivar’s memories of them remained. Grimly, he moved to the head and stripped the bloody clothing to cleanse what remained of the blood. He was reborn, but only time would tell…as what?