Chapter Text
Master Arlan did not receive a pyre.
His funeral, if it could even be called that, was nothing more than a brief gathering, attended by the few Jedi who could be bothered. The rest were either too busy, or did not remember Arlan at all. Those who could attend spoke effusively of the old master, praising his bravery and compassion, for without his sacrifice, countless civilian lives would’ve been lost to the Sith Empire.
It was just a shame, they continued, that Arlan’s body had to be abandoned on that planet, for the Empire’s reinforcements made it impossible to retrieve.
And at the center of the gathering was Arlan’s padawan: Dunk.
The other Jedi viewed him with pity. Dunk had been with Arlan ever since the old master found him on the streets of Coruscant, fighting for scraps amongst the rest of the rabble. He’d sensed the boy’s affinity for the Force even back then, and promptly took him to Tython to be trained as he was. And when Dunk was deemed ready, he took him on as his padawan proper.
For years, Dunk fought and learned at Master Arlan’s side. He was almost ready to take his trials, or so Arlan had said. But that was before they set out for Balmorra. That was before they found themselves surrounded in the arms factory controlled by the Empire. That was before Arlan commanded Dunk to flee with the factory workers and hostage civilians, leaving Arlan surrounded by the encroaching Imperial regiment.
As Dunk helped the hostages flee, he felt the moment Arlan died. His life signature amongst the Force, snuffed out between one breath and the next.
And now here Dunk sat, eyes unfocused as the other Jedi Masters talked about Arlan as if they knew him better than Dunk did. Dunk knew the truth; Arlan was not particularly well-regarded in their Order. He was a drunk, he fought wildly, and he barely spent any time meditating on the Force. He was a good man, that was true. But he was not a very good Jedi.
At some point, Dunk left the gathering, wandering away from the temple. He found himself in one of his old hideaways; a secluded little cliff that offered a view of the ocean. He came here often, especially in the early days of his training. The Force did not come as naturally to Dunk as it did the other younglings in his group, and he was often frustrated. Arlan had advised him to find peace, and so he would run to his private alcove to brood.
How was he meant to find peace now?
“Dunk?”
The padawan startled, whipping around to face the intruder. His hand flew reflexively to his lightsaber, clipped to his belt, but he relaxed once he saw the intruder’s face.
“Valarr,” he nodded, letting his hand drop to his side.
Valarr Dondarrion was a human like Dunk, and trained in the same group as him when they were younglings. He was one of the few who did not tease Dunk for his lack of skill in the Force, or his size, and so Dunk liked to consider him a friend, though not a close one. They had not seen much of each other since becoming padawans; while Dunk went with Master Arlan, Valarr had Master Leo, and the galaxy was so vast, it was no wonder they’d fallen out of contact.
Valarr walked forwards, until he stood at Dunk’s side, overlooking the seas of Tython from the edge of the cliff.
“I’m sorry about Master Arlan,” he offered, after a moment.
“Thank you.”
“… I hear it was a noble death. He saved many lives.”
Dunk grimaced, but turned his face away so Valarr wouldn’t see. “… He did.”
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and it took a great deal of effort to not flinch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Valarr smile.
“Remember the code, Dunk. ‘There is no death, there is the Force.’ Master Arlan did his duty. Rejoice, for he is one with the Force.”
Valarr truly was a prodigy, Dunk thought to himself. He recited the same empty platitudes the other Masters did, and with such ease. For a brief but intense moment, Dunk wanted to shove him off the cliff.
“I guess,” he answered instead. “I just… don’t know what I’m going to do now.”
Valarr’s hand left his shoulder, mercifully, as the other padawan spoke again. “They’ll assign you to a new Master, I expect. This cold war with the Empire still rages, and we need every able-bodied Jedi.”
The idea made Dunk wince. He could not fathom serving under a new Master, not so soon after losing Arlan.
Valarr, oblivious, continued.
“I would offer, but I suppose it would be odd to call me Master after training together.”
Dunk frowned, and turned his head to look at Valarr properly. He had not noticed it before; Valarr’s padawan braid was cut, leaving his brown hair short, that streak of silver gleaming in Tython’s sun.
“Oh. Congratulations, Valarr,” he said, unsure what else to say. “When did you take your trials?”
“Master Leo said I’d proven my worth in battle, and knighted me a few months ago on Corellia. No need for a trial.”
Dunk stayed silent. He’d been in battle as much as Valarr, he’d wager. Nearly all padawans had now, with this conflict raging between the Republic and the Empire.
“Perhaps I could put in a word with Master Leo?” Valarr continued. “He’s looking for a new padawan among the younglings now. He might prefer a more experienced one like you.”
“…”
Dunk did not want to serve under Master Leo, truth be told. The man was severe and staunchly traditional.
No. What Dunk wanted was to return to Balmorra, to retrieve Arlan’s body to give it the proper farewell he deserved. He wanted to cut down the Imperial soldiers who’d killed him, and he wanted to burn that damned arms factory to the ground.
Dunk released a breath he did not realize he was holding. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, nails biting into the meat of his palm. He forced himself to relax, and answered Valarr.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Valarr. I’ll go where the Masters deem me the most useful.”
Dunk had not been given a new Master.
Instead, he was passed around the Order like an unwanted pet. His assignments were sporadic. Most of his time spent after Arlan’s funeral was at Tython’s temple. He would help train the younglings, tend to the Archives, and try to meditate for hours. Then suddenly he was sent out to the field, to planets like Quesh and Corellia, serving as an extra pair of hands, but with no Master to guide him.
He supposed he understood; of all the younglings in his age group, he’d been the least promising. He was huge, and his skills with a lightsaber were shaping up nicely, or so Arlan had said, but his abilities in the Force were lacking. He could barely manage to lift a boulder, and the peace all Jedi were meant to find while meditating always escaped him. It had only gotten worse since Master Arlan’s death.
Still, he tried. Even now, he kneeled in his borrowed room and closed his eyes, attempting to find that evasive peace. He was on an outpost in Tatooine now. Even indoors, he could feel the oppressive heat of the desert outside, making it hard to focus.
“Oi, padawan. Enough of that, we’re to move.”
Dunk twitched, opening his eyes to see Steffon standing above him. He was yet another Jedi Knight Dunk had been assigned to at the last minute. Behind Steffon, Dunk saw his younger cousin, Raymun, smile apologetically over Steffon’s shoulder. Dunk offered Raymun a half-smile and then stood, towering over them both with his height. Steffon made a sour face and turned, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.
That left Dunk and Raymun to trail after him, keeping a fair distance from Steffon as they talked amongst themselves. The outpost was busy as usual, with Republic soldiers and Jedi alike running back and forth, shaking sand from their cloaks and skin burned from Tatooine’s twin suns.
“He seems more irritable than usual,” observed Dunk quietly.
Raymun rolled his eyes. “He’s just sour that we’re supposed to escort some scientists to an old ruin across the Dune Sea.”
“What’s so wrong about that?”
“Thinks it’s beneath him. He’s always been a bit of a tit, but he’s gotten worse since he was knighted. Says he should be out fighting Imps and Sith on the frontlines.”
Dunk hummed. He couldn’t say he disagreed with Steffon’s desires. Nowadays, the only times Dunk felt alive were when he was fighting. He didn’t have to dwell on Arlan’s death or his uncertain future as a Jedi when he swung his lightsaber and cut down foes. But he was fairly certain that was not very Jedi-like behavior, so he kept it to himself.
“Maybe we’ll see some action,” he said lightly. “Plenty of dangers in that vast desert.”
“Womp rats and sand people,” laughed Raymun. “The stuff of legends.”
Dunk laughed alongside him, and soon enough, they made their way to the shuttle. Steffon and the team of researchers discussed the plan, with Dunk only half-listening. There was apparently a cache of data hidden in one of Tatooine’s ancient buildings, and the Republic was eager to get their hands on it.
They all loaded onto the shuttle and set out, speeding along the sandy dunes. Raymun was chatting with one of the researchers, while Steffon glared stonily out the window. How such a man had been knighted, Dunk didn’t know. That thirst for glory and battle seemed better suited for a Sith Lord than a Jedi Knight.
Then again, Dunk also longed for battle, so perhaps he shouldn’t judge. Surely Steffon did something right that Dunk was lacking.
An hour into the journey, they reached their destination: an old ruin, worn down by wind and sand and time. There was not much in the way of security. The systems had long since shut down, right down to the lights. Thus, Dunk, Raymun, and Steffon lit the way with their lightsabers, while the rest of the research team used flashlights.
The ruin felt… wrong. The air was too still. It made Dunk’s skin want to crawl, the weight of it heavy on his bones.
“Something isn’t right,” Dunk murmured. “It’s too quiet.”
“Calm yourself, padawan,” Steffon shot back. “I sense nothing wrong.”
Dunk frowned, but said nothing more. He shared a glance with Raymun, who seemed to share his unease.
Deeper into the old facility, they found a working terminal, and the research team got to work on slicing it. Steffon stood watch over the perimeter, while Raymun and Dunk stayed nearer to the scientists, who talked excitedly amongst themselves. Dunk didn’t understand a word of what they were saying, but he wagered that the information they’d uncovered was worth quite a lot.
The idea of contributing to what was sure to be a boon to the Republic should have warmed him, but all Dunk could focus on was that suffocating feeling from before. It had not abated. If anything, Dunk swore it was growing stronger, like a hand on his throat.
Soon enough, the researchers announced they were done, and began packing up their equipment. Half of them would stay to continue scouting the ruins for any missed treasures, and Dunk was meant to stay with them while Steffon and Raymun escorted the rest back to the outpost.
“Finally,” muttered Steffon, who turned away to start walking towards them. “Get all that loaded onto the shuttle and let’s–!”
Dunk felt the presence intensify a split second before a beam of red light emerged from Steffon’s chest, cutting cleanly through his robes and armor. A moment later, the beam withdrew, and Steffon’s body collapsed to the floor, his face frozen in rictus.
Behind where Steffon once stood, there was a figure in a black robe. Their red lightsaber was double-bladed, one end still ignited and humming menacingly. Even from this distance, Dunk could see golden eyes under the figure’s hood.
“Sith!” he shouted, throwing his arm out to push the researchers back. He heard Raymun scream, igniting his saber, and Dunk did the same.
The Sith Lord bolted forward, accelerating their speed with the Force. Dunk was barely able to raise his blade before their sabers clashed, sparks flying. Distantly, he registered that the Sith was of a slight stature, much smaller than he was, but no less powerful.
Raymun attacked the Sith’s flank, but the Sith was quick, too. They whirled around, deflecting Raymun’s blow by activating the other end of their lightsaber and flicking their other wrist in one smooth motion, sending Raymun flying back. Then the Sith turned back to Dunk. Once more, their red blade met Dunk’s blue, but Dunk was ready for it.
Their lightsabers collided again and again. Where Dunk was brute force, the Sith was elegance. They danced around Dunk, avoiding blows that would’ve split them in half. All the while, Dunk felt the dark side radiating off the Sith in waves; they’d been the source of the suffocating energy he’d felt since entering the ruins.
He felt rage and sadistic glee press against the walls he’d been taught to raise around his mind, battering them like blaster fire.
Raymun rejoined the fight after regaining his footing. Even two against one, the Sith barely faltered. They deflected and parried and matched the Jedi’s every swing.
The researchers attempted to sneak past while Dunk and Raymun kept the Sith occupied, but their movement caught the Sith’s eye. In a blink, the Sith jumped, avoiding a dual attack from the Jedi. Raymun and Dunk’s lightsabers clashed with each other instead of the Sith’s body, and the Sith landed right in front of the researchers, saberstaff raised.
“No!” Dunk screamed, but it was too late.
The Sith cut down the first researcher and moved quickly to the next. By the time Raymun and Dunk had recovered and advanced on them, three had died, and two remained. One of the last researchers clutched the data rod which held the information they’d taken from the ruins’ computers.
Raymun reached the Sith first, for what little good it did. The Sith swung their lightsaber in an arc of violent red, and suddenly Raymun howled in agony. Dunk nearly froze, watching Raymun’s hand, the one that held his lightsaber, fall away from his arm, the scent of cauterized flesh filling his nose.
Raymun fell to his knees, clutching his arm. Before Dunk could advance, the Sith held their saber under Raymun’s chin, forcing him to pause.
“Be a good little Jedi,” came the Sith’s voice. It was… softer than Dunk had expected. “Give me the data, and I’ll let the rest of you live.”
Dunk grit his teeth. He could see Steffon’s body lying several feet away, and the bodies of the researchers. Raymun’s detached hand, still clutching his ignited lightsaber, lay at his feet.
“Why would we trust the word of a Sith?” Dunk asked, keeping his own lightsaber raised. “You’d slaughter us the moment we turned our backs.”
The Sith laughed. “Despite your looks, you’re much smarter than other Jedi I’ve killed. You even sensed me from the moment you set foot in here, didn’t you?”
Dunk didn’t answer. He clenched his jaw and glanced down at Raymun, who seemed in shock. The researchers trembled uselessly. How were they to get out of this one?
The Sith raised their other hand, and Dunk braced for an attack with the Force… but it didn’t come. Instead, the Sith pulled back their hood, revealing their face.
The Sith was a human man, though it took Dunk a moment to realize that, for he’d never seen such a beautiful man in all his life. Pale skin with even paler hair, shorn short to frame his well-sculpted face. His pink lips were curved into a manic smile, his molten-gold eyes reflecting his descent to the dark side. Absurdly, Dunk had the fleeting wonder of what color they had been before.
Dunk’s grip on his lightsaber tightened as he forced himself to focus, while the Sith in turn let his golden eyes roam Dunk’s entire form. The Sith’s smile widened.
“My, but you are a beast, aren’t you?” the Sith laughed again. “The fun I could have with you.”
Bizarrely, Dunk felt a thrill at the Sith’s words. He tamped it down, baring his teeth.
“You’re not getting the data,” he said, resolute. “And you’re not leaving this ruin alive.”
“I’ll do both, actually, if it’s all the same to you,” replied the Sith, smile never faltering. “But you’re rather intriguing, Jedi. Or…” Those golden eyes fixed on Dunk’s padawan braid. “Padawan? The Jedi must be even bigger fools than I thought, to keep such sheer power leashed.”
“If you find me so powerful, face me one on one,” Dunk tried, all too aware of the Sith’s saberstaff still hovering dangerously by Raymun’s throat.
“I would love nothing more,” purred the Sith. “But alas, I have places to be.”
Dunk’s body suddenly froze; it felt as if he’d been bound by heavy chains. The Sith’s presence, already strong, magnified tenfold, bearing down on Dunk like a tidal wave. He grunted, his lightsaber tumbling out of his grasp as he was brought to his knees by an unseen force. He forced his head up and saw the researchers and Raymun in similar predicaments. The power was so strong, it knocked non-Force-sensitives like the researchers unconscious. Raymun had finally succumbed to the shock of losing his hand, combined with the overwhelming pressure the Sith exerted. Dunk was the only one left.
The dark side could do this? Dunk wondered to himself. Why had the Sith even bothered to fight them? The only reason Dunk could think was that it was an indulgence. Entertainment.
He watched as the Sith plucked the data rod from the prone researcher, his dual-bladed lightsaber now switched off and hanging from his belt. Then he made his way leisurely to where Dunk kneeled. Once he stood before Dunk, he reached down and ran his slender fingers along the padawan’s face, forcing him to tilt his head up.
“If you were my apprentice,” he murmured, words dripping with honey, “I would make you into the greatest weapon the Empire has ever seen.”
Dunk snarled, raging against the Sith’s invisible hold, if only barely.
“Never.”
The Sith just chuckled, brushing Dunk’s bangs out of his face with a deceptively gentle touch.
“We shall see. My name is Aerion, padawan. Remember it.”
Then he walked away, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the ruins. The pressure on Dunk finally overcame him; he fell to the floor, black flooding his vision.
What an utter failure of a mission, his mind chastised. A dead Jedi, another one maimed, and dead civilians. And they had not laid a single scratch on the Sith Lord responsible.
And yet, as Dunk yielded to the darkness, his last thoughts were not of his failure.
They were of the Sith, Aerion, beautiful and deadly in equal measure.