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Orgus Din wonders if there’s something wrong with him. Something wrong with the way he has lived his life. Something wrong with how he learned, how he taught. After the Sacking and losing Bengel, he had to step back from teaching. He had gotten too close. Bengel’s loss had hit him too hard.
But Bengel hadn’t died. And Orgus wished he could have been happy for the revelation. That dear boy he had taught, he had become something worse. Something hateful and violent and bent on revenge. Orgus blamed himself, of course, if he had looked harder for his Padawan, never given up… perhaps he could have found him in time to hold him to the Light.
After all that time, he had taken another. Her star shone as Bengel’s once did, but they were as different as night and day. Bengel was gentle and quiet; Jasati was loud and brash. But it was Jasati that had brought Bengel back. She had stayed her blade and offered him a path to healing, to redemption. They were both kind. Both wanting to see the best in people.
So Orgus wondered if the problem laid with him as he stood out in the wastes of Quesh, toxic winds whipping around him. He had lost a second Padawan to the Dark Side. Though something inside him knew that it was wrong, that it couldn’t possibly have been her choice. He couldn’t deny that girl who never wanted to harm Callef, who couldn’t kill Bengel, was now the Emperor’s champion. Tol Braga’s mission had been foolish. It had put so many in danger for something that didn’t even have a snowball’s chance on Mustafar. None of the strike team had been seen again, until Knight Jasati had been spotted wearing black and leading Imperial soldiers into battle.
"Perhaps I will do what Darth Angral could not.” Her pale lips curled into a sneer as she planted her feet in front of him, her stance wide, ready. At least she seemed to still have some honor; her soldiers were nowhere to be seen, at least not yet.
“Okay, kid, you had your fun. This little rebellious streak has run its course. Time to come home.”
The way she pooled the Force at her feet when she was getting ready to leap, she was so predictable. She screamed as she jumped at him and he dodged quickly to the right as her saber ignited, still a brilliant yellow, and dug into the dirt where he had just been. Her technique had certainly gotten more aggressive—and Orgus was surprised at himself that he was able to fend her off. Jasati’s skill with a lightsaber was nearly unmatched, even as a child she had bested at least one full Knight that he knew of, probably more. Eventually, he had to change tactics to more of a game of keep away—dodging behind obstacles and throwing rocks and other debris at her to try and keep her off balance.
“Aren’t you getting tired yet, old man?” she yelled at him as he took refuge behind broken pieces of a crashed shuttle.
Indeed he was breathing heavily, his muscles burned, his knees ached. He would not be able to withstand her youthful vigor. He took a breath. He’d been close to death before, but this time… today might be the day. He had accepted it in the past. He would accept it again.
“You’re right,” he said as he emerged slowly from behind the tower of jagged metal, his saber arm dropped to the side. “You are the strongest student I’ve ever had.”
She smirked at him, her weapon twirling in a flourish. “I was the strongest student in an era. So much potential.”
Orgus nodded. Before he’d met her, taken her on, he’d heard about her. The little Twi’lek girl who couldn’t be tempered, but who vibrated in the Force and absorbed dueling techniques like a sponge. So many younglings back then, before the Sacking, she stood out like a beacon. He wondered if it got to her, the talk of her potential, and it must have with the way she spat out the word even now.
“You’re stronger than any of us. Any of them, too. Even him.”
She paused and seemed to consider his words. Her lightsaber twirled again. This time he recognized it as an idle motion, and not the unnecessary showmanship.
Orgus took the moment and breathed again. He accepted his Padawan as she was—cocksure and impertinent, but generous and eager to learn. She struggled with getting too close to people, saying goodbye to those she loved, but he recognized that closeness, that love. It was devotion to a life well-lived. He accepted that if this was who she was now, he would not be able to sway her. If this was her choice, then this was his end.
Her grip tightened on her saber and she clenched her teeth. Her boots dug into the dirt and the Force pooled at her feet. She screamed and she leapt and just as the yellow blade was about to pierce through his chest, the saber deactivated and the metal cylinder struck him instead. He nearly lost his footing because it still damn well hurt, but she had stopped. She was breathing heavily, her shoulders shaking, her fists still gripped around the hilt and holding it to him.
Orgus wrapped his fingers around hers around her weapon. “Jasati, you will not let him win. I don’t think you’re capable of letting anyone beat you.”
“You make me sound so arrogant,” she said, though now her voice sounded almost hollow and far away. He watched as a tear had started to fall down her cheek.
“I don’t think anyone could have the amount of pressure put on your shoulders without either cracking or thinking no one else could do it but you.”
She looked at him then. Confused, unsure—he could almost see the darkness trying to beat its way back to the front of her mind.
“You have the power to free yourself. Even now, the choice is yours.” He breathed again and let his mind expand into the space surrounding them. He could feel the choice she was making, but the Emperor’s influence was a deep and powerful taint. The monster wanted to keep his prize, and Orgus didn’t think he’d ever stop trying to claim her.
“Master…” The saber tumbled from her fingers and she swallowed a large breath that then came out in a sob.
“That’s it, kid.” Orgus smiled and held back his own swell of emotion trying to erupt out of his chest. He gripped her arms and pulled her in close, wrapping her in the tightest embrace he could as if saying this one is mine, you can’t have her. “Welcome back.”
“What… what did I…?”
“That wasn’t you. His darkness clouded your mind. It wasn’t your fault.” He held her as she cried, released the pain of the dark infection. He’d never believe she went willingly into such a state. Bengel had lost his mind in grief; Jasati had been possessed.
“Master…” she said after a long moment, once the sobs had subsided. She pulled away from him and rubbed her black sleeves over her face. She looked at him, earnest and full of love. “It’s not your fault either.”
Orgus almost couldn’t hold it back then. His jaw clenched trying to stop the tears filling his eyes. He nodded and embraced her again so the student wouldn’t see her teacher cry. “I think we may have to meditate all the way back to Tython.”
There was a wet laugh against his shoulder. A divine sound if Orgus had ever heard one. “The best I can do is five minutes.”
"An hour.”
There was a groan and Orgus smiled that his impertinent Padawan was indeed returned.