Chapter Text
Arc 1 - Graduation, Part 1
It was snowing. He had never seen the snow, only ever feeling its melted form. Seeping through the cracks in the ceiling, leaking into the vents and the med labs, the constant rhythm of dripping water. Cold, but not as cold as this. The wind howled strangely and the snow nipped at his flesh, sending a chill through his bones.
He stared up and saw the dark sky overhead, so huge and vaster than anything he'd ever known that he was afraid he might fall up into it. What would it be like to fall into those clouds?
A loud noise drew his attention, a humming sound that grew louder as it came closer. He could see a powerful light through the rain, angled towards him and he clutched the sharpened spike of metal in his hand all the more tightly, still stained with blood.
He looked around, hoping for cover, but there was only a lone, large tree, like the ones he'd only ever seen in holo, a dozen paces away. He made for it, but the snow had piled upo high on the ground and made it difficult to walk across, forcing him to slow. He could hear voices coming from the light as it paused in its approach. He could hear the humming of a machine's repulsorlift engines, so much like the medical droids or the growl of some of the animals kept alongside him.
He could hear others making their way towards him, calls for him to wait, claims they were here to help, that they just wanted to talk. Lies, the droids always lied, always brought him back and always punished him for escaping. Why would these ones be any different? He had never gotten this far. He would go further.
He passed the tree and could hear them moving closer, running through the snow he had struggled to walk through. He had seconds.
Clenching the spike in his teeth, he dragged himself up the tree. He had never climbed a tree before, but it was not so different from the walls he'd climbed to escape. Easier, since he did not have to carve out each grip over months. Small hands clutched at rough bark, pulling him up.
He was nearly at the first branch when he felt a hand wrap around his ankle. He did not wait for it to pull him down, he leapt off the tree, ripping the spike from his teeth with one hand and stabbing down blindly. He heard a cry of pain in the dark, saw wide-eyes staring at him, felt the gush of fresh blood, shockingly warm in the cold.
He heard a curse and felt long, thin fingers wrap around his arms and wrench him off of the being, sputtering curses in a language that sounded similar to that sometimes used by the droids. Another had him now and he struggled, lashing out with kicks, but the spike was gone from his hands, pulled from them by an invisible grip.
He screamed and bit and tasted blood and he felt himself drop back to the ground. He scrambled away, ignoring the chill in his hands as he crawled through the snow. He heard words, a command to stop that buffeted against his mind, but he didn't listen. He had gotten used to not listening.
And then, he heard it. A high-pitched hiss, like the escaping air from a coolant pipe, and the hum like from an exposed reactor. He turned his gaze and saw an azure beam of light, perhaps a meter long, glowing unlike anything he had ever seen, flickering yet retaining its shape like a blowtorch. He could barely make out a hand holding the source of the light, which was pointed down and away from a dark figure in a duelist's challenge. It was different from the hands that had pinned and grabbed at him, with shorter fingers. Fingers like his, if larger.
A voice had spoken then, so much more cultured and refined than those he was used to. It held power within it, power… and a threat. He froze, going still like an animal that had been caught.
Before he realized it, he saw the figure had stepped close enough to reach out and touch. Shadowed eyes looked down at him, the humming blade of energy flickering as the snow struck it, transforming into steam with a soft hiss. He was able to make out the hilt of the blade, which seemed delicate and curved.
And then, with a snap and a hiss, the light vanished and the dark fell around him and he awoke from the dream.
Watching a political debate was sort of like watching akk hounds tear into each other, Den had noticed. He plucked a glass of wine from the tray of a passing twi'lek servant, though he did little more than swirl it by its stem. It was decoration and he had never been fond of wine in any case. The night was still young, after all, and he would need his wits about him if he was to enjoy the rest of the afterparty of his graduation ceremony's less obvious entertainments.
He stood in the middle of a great hall, filled with officers, servants, and newly graduated cadets, only twelve of which who, like himself, proudly wore the badge of Junior Lieutenant. The number of graduates of the Anaxes War College who had proven themselves worthy of graduating already an officer were always few. Of the twelve, Brystel and another were the only ones he knew for certain hadn't relied on the prestige of their families to receive the early promotion. In the case of Brystel, it was because he had no family to speak of, certainly none on Anaxes or even the Core. In the case of the other, it was because she had been disowned.
He stood to the side, watching the room. He was hardly shy, but he had to be careful about his first interactions. Depending on who he chose to speak too, he might alienate others, others he might have found more in common with. A few steps away from him, two officers of much higher rank than he were engaged in quite the attempt to tear each other to pieces.
"All I am saying is that, regardless of who is better positioned for victory in any theoretical war, every step should be taken to ensure a peaceful resolution to this business," Jarn Romaldi stated. The man was a venerable captain of Anaxes' Defense Forces, even commanding one of the largest ships in Anaxes' navy, one of the 2,500 meter long Procurator-class Battlecruisers. To serve on such a ship was one of the highest honors in the Anaxes PDF, second only to the even greater honor of serving aboard the largest ship in the fleet, the 8,000 meter long Mandator-class Star Dreadnought, the Azure Star. Despite the massive crew requirement such a great vessel had, even the least of those positions were fought over like a pack of feral Rylothian Gutkurrs fought over the last scrap of meat from a fresh kill. "It is a shame you are so willing to throw away a thousand years of peace."
"And all I am saying is that the Outer Rim has gotten too assured of itself as of late," replied Edmon Rampart, a far less important man than the one he had chosen to butt heads with, being merely a commander of a far smaller Invincible-class Heavy Cruiser. While it wasn't career suicide by any means, Brystel wouldn't place any bets on Rampart going very far after tonight. Brystel wasn't sure if it was the fact the commander was on his second glass of wine or simply felt this passionately about the subject that had driven him down this path. "I've heard of many in the Senate who agree. Seeking a peaceful resolution will only incite more systems to leave, if only for what they can get out of it from making a deal. If we did as you suggest, you would only legitimize them."
"The Republic can hardly afford to go to war with half the galaxy," Romaldi replied, taking a sip from his own glass of wine. "And how would we even manage such a thing? It's not like we have an army."
"They're discussing that in the Senate now, actually," A third voice, one Admiral Maarisa Zsinj, provided as she stepped over to the two sparring men. "There is talk about giving the Supreme Chancellor emergency powers to create an army in case it does come to war."
"Preposterous!" Romaldi cried while Rampart seemed almost vindicated. "Zsinj, a draft would be political suicide, the Chancellor must know that."
"He doesn't seem inclined towards taking the option, Romaldi," Zsinj shrugged. Unlike Romaldi and Rampart, she was not a member of Anaxes' PSF, but of the Outlands Regions Security Forces, the ORSF. She, and other prominent members of that organization, which was one of the handful of paramilitaries in the Republic to see genuine combat in the last thousand years beyond the occasional pirate, had been invited to this gathering. Despite being an admiral, he had heard her flagship was only a Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruiser, smaller than even Rampart's ship. Still, she was significantly more well-known than either of them in the wider galaxy thanks to the battles she had waged in the Mid and Outer Rims, not to mention more experienced in combat. "Palpatine is an improvement over Valorum, so I wouldn't mind the extension to his term they're discussing as well."
"The Republic didn't fall apart under Valorum," Romaldi replied bitterly. "And did you say an extension to his term?"
"Well deserved," Rampart said. "He's been the one good thing to happen to the Republic in the last century. Perhaps the last thousand years, even."
Zsinj smiled wryly at that, while Romaldi scowled. "It feels as though our democracy is growing weaker by the day." Romaldi shook his head.
"Times are changing, we must always strive to change with them," Rampart said.
"Are you saying you would fight?" Romaldi almost scoffed in disbelief.
"And why not?" Rampart asked defensively. "I'm a commander in the defense forces. It is my duty to fight."
"Spoken like a man who's never seen combat," Romaldi shook his head. Brystel vaguely recalled a story he had heard that said Romaldi had not always been in the Anaxes PDF, but been a part of the ORSF and fought in the Stark Hyperspace War. He supposed that was how he and Zsinj knew each other.
"I would fight as well," Zsinj added. "My son says he would too, though I think he is more interested in the glory and honor than defending our democracy."
"Defending our democracy?" Romaldi repeated, looking aghast. "Maarisa, these separatists chose to leave. If they want to go peacefully, that is their own decision."
"Please, they're traitors." It was Rampart's turn to scowl. "Have you not been watching the holonews? There was even a terrorist attack on the Chommel sector's senator just a few days ago, an attempt to assassinate her. That hardly seems 'peaceful'."
"The actions of a few do not represent the whole," Romaldi said and Zsinj actually nodded in agreement.
"I would hesitate to call the lot of them traitors," Zsinj added. "A few, certainly, but for the rest… Perhaps lacking in patriotism."
"They're dangerous," Rampart insisted. "The Republic has lacked a proper military for a thousand years. This is the perfect opportunity to correct that mistake."
"That 'mistake' is what has kept our galaxy at peace for a thousand years," Romaldi replied. "I understand in your youth you might be wishing for glory, but it's better for calmer heads to prevail. I can only hope the Supreme Chancellor is not as eager for war as you are."
Rampart was not exactly old for a commander, being forty-something standard years of age, but he was hardly young. Nevertheless, the commander bristled at the insinuation.
"And I understand that you may be less inclined towards activity, in your old age," Rampart bit back, drawing a disapproving look from Zsinj, while Romaldi returned the scowl being leveled at him.
"I can think of a certain 'activity' I'm feeling inclined towards right now," Romaldi replied, draining his drink in a gulp and passing it off to a nearby togrutan servant before crossing his arms. "If you'd like, I can help you work off all that aggression outside."
Rampart looked like he was about to take up the senior captain on the offer, but Zsinj stepped between them. "None of us are all that young," She said in an attempt to defuse the situation. "Perhaps some actual young blood would help us out?"
Brystel realized her eyes were on him, soon followed by the gazes of the commander and senior captain. She waved him over.
"Cadet-, ah, junior lieutenant Brystel," Zsinj greeted and he saluted in reply, though it wasn't technically required given she wasn't in his chain of command.
"Admiral," He said, a small smile on his lips. He received a surprised glance from both Romaldi and Rampart.
"You've met?" The commander asked.
"The War College's chairman is an old friend of mine," Zsinj said. "He asked me to teach a few classes, that's all." She turned to him. "And how have you been since we last met?"
"Well, ma'am. And you?"
"Excellent," Zsinj said, folding her hands behind her back. "Now, I assume you heard all that?"
"Hard to miss, ma'am," Den nodded. He noticed Rampart and Romaldi both flushed at that, perhaps embarrassed to know their little spat had drawn so much attention, their drinks perhaps making them a bit more inclined towards showing their true feelings.
"Good, then you can give us your thoughts," She said with a thin smile. "What do you think? Should the Republic go to war with these Separatists or not?"
Brystel thought about declining to answer, perhaps seeking an out, but dismissed the idea. Not only would such a task be difficult and possibly cause the two officers who didn't know him already to have a poor impression of him, but he'd also be passing up on an excellent opportunity.
"If the separatists seek war, we don't have much choice in the matter," Brystel answered. It was a nothing answer that would buy him a little more time to collect his thoughts, but Rampart leapt upon it.
"You see, he agrees with me," Rampart said swiftly and Romaldi shook his head.
"That's not what he said at all!" Romaldi scoffed. "Obviously if we are forced to fight, we fight, that's just common sense."
"Indeed," Zsinj said, the admiral's gaze never wavering from Brystel. "The question is do we strike first?"
Brystel paused, weighing his words carefully. "If we can end a greater conflict from occurring in the future by striking now… then yes. A strike like that would have to be careful, coordinated."
"A deathblow," Zsinj nodded in agreement and he suspected he had just passed whatever test she'd had for him. Both Romaldi and Rampart smiled.
"In that case, it seems like something the Jedi could handle," Romaldi said, causing Rampart to scoff.
"The Jedi? They'd need to leave that temple of theirs on Coruscant to do anything of the sort, and how likely is that to happen?" Rampart shook his head. "No, a strike of that sort would require an actual military force."
Brystel watched as the two resumed bickering, glad he had managed to convince them both he agreed with them and not the other. The only one he wasn't sure about was Zsinj, who said nothing but gave him another of her knowing smiles.
He politely excused himself soon after, barely being noticed by the commander and captain continuing to rip one another to shreds with verbal fencing, though he could almost feel Zsinj's eyes on him as he departed, moving further into the celebration. He kept a distance from his fellow graduates. Most were distracted by the various allures of the party, whether it was the exotic foods, the even more exotic servants, or the possibility of making connections with higher ranks. He was none of those things, but he noticed a few cadets took the time to send hateful and jealous glares towards him, which he politely returned with a pleasant smile.
"So, what have you been doing tonight?"
Den restrained the urge to flinch at the sudden presence of someone right behind him. He wasn't sure how she always managed to get the drop on him like that, but it was extremely disconcerting, even if he didn't show it.
"Successfully avoiding my fellow graduates," Den drawled as he turned to face her. "Until now."
"Aw, I would have thought you wouldn't mind spending time with your fellow junior lieutenants at least," the newly minted Junior Lieutenant said. Sheila Garre was a tall woman of twenty, the same age as him. Her hair was brown, like Den's own, but of a lighter hue, and while she was tan, he was rather pale. They were both in their Azure Defense Fleet dress uniforms, a calm blue, if outdated outfit with metallic epaulets, Den's being silver while Sheila's were golden, boots that went up to their knees, and the symbol of the fleet stitched over their hearts. Den was not overly fond of the dress uniform, as it was difficult to move in and felt rather ridiculous, but the woman seemed more than comfortable wearing it. Den raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her.
"Is that a joke?"
"Mostly," Sheila shrugged. "Ruth and I wanted to go find the Jedi."
"Jedi?" Den's voice perked up a bit and Sheila grinned at the expected reaction. "I didn't hear anything about there being a Jedi invited."
"They weren't," Sheila said with a grin. "And they came anyway."
Den felt a spark of interest ignite inside him. Jedi didn't come to these kinds of things, invitation or no, so for one to be here… His eyes narrowed.
"And, how do you know this?" He asked, already suspecting he knew the answer.
"Because I haven't spent all night avoiding my fellow graduates," Sheila snarked in reply. "You should have learned by now; all the best gossip comes from the lower ranks."
"Riiight," Den said, crossing his arms. "Along with all the worthless gossip."
"Look, do you want to spend all of our last night as students trying to schmooze around with your betters," Sheila gestured to the gathered officers, though she at least had the clarity of mind to lower her voice so she wasn't overheard. "Or do you want to have some fun with your – only – friends?"
"Honestly?" Den paused, as if in consideration. "I'll go with the schmoozing."
Sheila rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, you never had a choice in the matter," She said. "Do I need to make it an order?"
"We're junior lieutenants," Den replied. "Not cadets anymore."
"I'm still valedictorian," Sheila reminded him. "At least for tonight, I technically outrank you."
"Technically… how, exactly?" Den asked. Sheila groaned.
"Ugh, are you coming or not?" She asked, tapping her foot impatiently. Den took a moment to let her stew a little… then finally acquiesced.
"Fine, but only for a little while," He said and she replied only with a grin.
"She got you too, huh?" Ruth Ozzel asked when she saw Den. He shrugged in lieu of a reply.
"I'm quite persuasive," Sheila said proudly.
"Persistent," Den corrected.
Ruth Ozzel was shorter than the two of them and thinner as well, to the point of being wiry. She had long black hair done up in a bun hidden by her own cap. Like Brystel, the epaulets of her uniform were silver, marking her as one of the top twelve, though not the first among them like Sheila.
The three met near one of the entrances to the hall, where officers and other officials were coming and going.
"So, what do you actually know about this Jedi?" Den asked, though he was half-convinced that that had merely been a ploy to grab his interest.
"They're an alien, some kind of giant snake or something," Sheila said as she turned and strode out of the hall, Den and Ruth accompanying her. "I heard he's a bigshot with the Jedi though, a member of their high council."
Den muttered a surprised swear in huttese, receiving a dirty look from Ruth in response. "Why would a councilor be here?"
"Do you think it's something serious?" Ruth asked, somewhat uneasily.
"Could be," Sheila replied chipperly. "We've got quite the assortment of officers here, after all."
"An attack?" Den was surprised. "Here?"
"Could be," Sheila repeated, not losing her chipper attitude. "Coruscant got attacked. A senator nearly got killed, Amidan or something."
"Amidala," Ruth corrected and Den glanced at her. There was a note of admiration in his fellow junior lieutenant's voice. "She's one of the senators fighting to keep the Republic together without the use of a military," Ruth explained, noticing his look. "I assume that was why she was attacked. And she still addressed the Senate right after to argue against the military creation act!"
"I get looking for a peaceful resolution, but an army could come in handy in the worst-case scenario," Den said.
"The Ruusan Reformation doesn't allow for that sort of thing," Ruth replied firmly. "They got it right a thousand years ago and we've had a thousand years of peace because of it. The Supreme Chancellor gets it, that's why he hasn't said he supports the act."
"He hasn't actually said that he doesn't support it either," Den pointed out and Ruth scowled at him in reply.
"Alright, alright, that's enough politics," Sheila said, coming to a sudden stop and turning around. Den suddenly realized they had gone in essentially a large circle, coming around to the other side of the hall from the three main entrances. The path had been slanted upwards, meaning they were now a floor higher than the hall as well. Nearby, there was an opening into the balcony overlooking the gathered officers, one empty of any traffic at the moment as they stepped out onto it.
"Wait, why are we here?" Ruth asked, confused.
"Superior visibility," Sheila answered confidently. "If the jedi comes into the hall, we'll see."
"We'll also stand out like three hutts in a marathon," Den stated, unimpressed.
"We're not doing anything wrong," Sheila said.
"No, but everyone will look up and wonder 'who are those three idiots?'" Den said. "We should just…"
Den trailed off and it took a moment for Sheila and Ruth to notice what had caused him to stop. Throughout their short walk, they'd heard the noise of countless voices speaking from the hall, but a hush had just come over that and the hall had gone silent. The trio stepped over to the door, thoughts of appearances forgotten, to see what had happened.
Down below, in the largest, central entrance, sat a jedi master, resting on the coils of their tail like a serpent. They had a long, white beard that fell down to their waist and their fingers seemed more like tendrils than things with bones in them. They wore a brown robe over a tunic the color of sand. The curved hilt of the jedi's lightsaber, which hung at the alien's waist, was not unlike another Den had seen before, many years prior, though this one also possessed a handguard and was significantly larger. It appeared finely made, delicate even.
What would it be like to wield such a weapon? Den had imagined it many times. The weight would be different without a physical blade. Would the balance be strange? How heavy was the hilt itself? It looked light. He recalled an azure light moving almost faster than his eyes could track in strange patterns he had never been able to get just right with something as clumsy as a vibrosword.
"He's looking at us," Sheila whispered and Den soon realized it was true. Blue eyes looked up at the three of them, peering out from behind thick, white fur that covered the entire face, like a wookie's head placed on a serpent's body.
No, not at us, Den suddenly thought. He lifted his head, following the gaze of the jedi to above their heads, not far from where they stood. But there was nothing there, just a few vents and-
His eyes widened as he saw the glint of the thermal detonator drop down through the gaps of the vent. It halted, just a moment later, then sped back up into the vent where he might have heard some harsh, alien word, but he couldn't be certain. He was already moving.
"GET DOWN!" He yelled out, pulling both his fellow graduates to the ground. A moment later, the vent exploded in all directions and he bit back a cry of pain as something sliced through the flesh of his leg and heat lapped at his back. He barely had time to recognize the fact that all three of them should have been vaporized by a thermal detonator going off so close by, but the only pain he felt was from the leg wound.
He managed to turn, in time to see the impossible happening as the explosion spread through the vents, making them bulge and deform from the pressure and heat, yet it did not escape the metal tubes. Only the area around where the detonator had been had ruptured, a piece of that section embedding itself in his leg, a light wound. Both Sheila and Ruth seemed unharmed, though they were shaking. Vaguely, he recognized that he was as well.
He barely heard the screams and couldn't say when they'd started. He craned his neck and saw small, humanoid figures in dark outfits descending from the other vents via monofilament cables. Some looked like they were half-cooked and all held blaster rifles. He caught sight of one of their blue, wrinkled faces. Gossams, he realized, like the ones who ran the Commerce Guild, but clearly these were no business beings.
"Death to tyrants!" One of the Gossams shouted and they opened fire into the crowd below. There was a snap-hiss like from out of his dreams and into reality and the Jedi leapt, or rather sprung into the air, sending half-a-dozen bolts back to their source. There were cries of pain and death rattles as several of the diminutive aliens went limp in their harnesses, still descending towards the ground. There were shrieks and screams as many below were struck by the bolts the Jedi was unable to send back, and Den saw what he thought was Romaldi collapse to the ground, a smoking crater in his skull.
The Gossams reached the ground floor and detached with machine-like prison, moving with the purpose and confidence of trained soldiers. A dozen were still alive and they opened fire indiscriminately into the crowd of gathered officers and beings of influence, who were fleeing in all directions towards the exits. Some with more sense had leapt behind pillars or overturned tables, taking cover rather than making themselves an easy target.
The lightsaber flashed through the air, spinning as it flew to create an arc of death that cut down a trio of Gossams before returning to the outstretched hand of the Jedi, who threw out their other hand towards another two who were targeting the retreating crowd. As if slammed by an invisible hovercar, the pair were flung through the air and slammed into a pillar hard enough to crack the marble, collapsing to the ground with a wet crunch.
Rather than all turning on the Jedi to try and overwhelm him with numbers, the seven remaining Gossams instead split into two teams. A trio spread out and opened fire on the Jedi, drawing his attention, while the other four continued to fire on those who had taken cover, as there were no other easy targets in the room.
Except for Den and his friends. One of the Gossams glanced up towards the balcony and made eye contact with Den. Sheila and Ruth were remaining still on the ground, pressed flat, in the same position he should have been taking, that he had been trained to take. But the Jedi's presence was too much of an opportunity to pass up and it was about to cost him his life as the Gossam drew out a cylindrical device he recognized as a frag grenade.
The Gossam threw it up towards them and Den leapt to his feet. He reached out and slapped his hand against the soaring grenade, hard enough for his palm to sting. The grenade crashed back to the ground and he felt the balcony under him shudder from the force of the explosion. He was just able to make out the wet chunks of flesh that had once been the Gossam who had thrown the grenade, before a blaster bolt slammed into his shoulder and sent him to the ground. His head cracked against the floor and darkness enveloped him.