Chapter Text
A howling wind moaned around the old stone arches and domes, rattling the thermo-plastic coverings that were filling in the gaping wounds in the ruin's side. Every once in a while, a pebble would shake itself loose and strike the stone floor somewhere. It wasn't glamorous, but it allowed the people inside to work, clearing away the drifts of sand that had found their way inside over the years.
Grand Admiral Thrawn stood near one of the more intact walls of the ruin that used to be the great palace of Lasan, marveling at the intricate stonework, the grand mosaics, and the weathered frescoes that covered the interior of the ruins. In his mind's eye, he could see the splendor it had once had, could even picture the great dome peopled with Lasat statesmen, all going about their business, taking the beauty around them for granted. Oh, what a work of art the palace must have been in its prime! What a monument to their work it could have remained if only the Lasat had accepted Imperial rule. Instead, their stubbornness had doomed it to crumble, falling prey to wind, and dust, and time.
Thrawn's eyes were once again pulled to the murals that lined what had once been the mezzanine of the central chamber. In bold, abstracted shapes, it told the story of the Lasat's coming to Lasan, a field of stars behind them and the trail of followers wheeling back into the distance. And leading the way was a figure who appeared to be a great king or leader, holding aloft a staff glowing with a golden crackle of lightning about its head.
Absently, Thrawn pulled the bo-rifle that had once belonged to Agent Alexandr Kallus from where it was kept on his back and unfolded it into staff form. With a strike of the butt end to the stone floor, the weapon lit with yellow snaps and pops of electricity, lighting the area around him in a warm glow. There was no question. The bo-rifle was the same as the staff depicted in the mural.
The eyes of several of the workers turned to him as they paused their careful work clearing sand and debris from the ruin. He paid them no mind.
"Lighting the way," Thrawn mused to himself, "interesting."
"Grand Admiral Thrawn," a tremulous tenor voice sounded from behind him.
The Chiss turned to find a Death Trooper standing at attention, eyeing the crackling bo-rifle warily. Taking pity on the nervous Human, Thrawn deactivated the glow.
"Report," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," the trooper answered, "regretfully, sir, the Chimeara was unable to track the rebels' course into hyperspace. It would appear that the traitor has escaped once again." The sharpness in the way he said the words betrayed a clear desire for retribution in the trooper's voice. Thrawn hoped that the fervor for capturing their quarry wouldn't lead the trooper to make mistakes. But, a personal vendetta could always serve as a good motivator.
"I doubt they would have gone straight for the rebel base in any case," Thrawn replied, "it is hardly of consequence. We have other paths we can track." With an imperious wave, he gestured to the artwork above.
"Sir, I don't understand," the trooper pressed, "how is a half-scoured old Lasat painting that was made generations ago going to help us find the rebels?"
"Patience, Trooper," Thrawn purred back, turning back to the mural he had been contemplating, "all is written in the stars. We need only learn to read it."