Your senses are overwhelmed as you set foot on the planet [Oricon], the base of the ancient Dread Masters nearly lost to time. The landscape is an unforgiving nightmarescape of lava flows and volcanic rock dotted with strange plants and starship wrecks from a battle thousands of years ago. The smoky, sulfuric air of the surface nearly chokes you as your eyes struggle to adjust to the foggy haze illuminated by the soft glow of the lava flows. Tall, luminous blood ferns adorn the landscape, surrounded by vicious predators hardy enough to survive the intense conditions. Trenches and outcroppings formed from flowing lava serve to make footing uneven, adding yet another treacherous element to this already dangerous world. In the distance, the ruins of an ancient tower call to you - the fabled fortress of the Dread Masters. Remnants of ancient cults can be seen here and there, from wrecked huts to blood-stained altars and crumbling oubliettes.

The Dark Side is strong here, but somehow feels different from other Sith planets you have encountered. You are not alone on this ancient world of nightmares.

The Quaestor of House Qel-Droma and Proconsul of Odan-Urr walked in step with one another, an unnatural yet awkward silence between them. Several paces behind the Force-Users were six Mundane soldiers, half from the Eldarian Rangers, half from the TDUC.

Their respective Consuls had assigned this joint mission to reclaim an artifact that had somehow wound up on the desolate planet. A’lora and Atyiru were completely unaware of the fact that neither of the men had spoken to the other in well over a month. Still, despite this, the two Equites would carry out their orders to the letter.

Though the pair had agreed on an arrangement when they had started seeing one another - that their relationship was ‘open’ whilst living in different systems - the Guardian had begun to change his mind as time passed. Their last argument had been quite heated, though that was likely understating the situation itself. The confrontation in question had not occurred until after Celevon had slept with the sister of Turel’s dead lover and the female had openly brought it up in conversation.

On the Seeker’s side, his silence was owed to the fact that he refused to acknowledge the Arconan until the other Human gained some level of understanding as to why Sorenn felt unappreciated. Within his own mind, the Guardian knew he was being a bit childish. After all, the weeks of separation had both cooled his ire and forced Turel to reevaluate each of their comments. The Onderonian Shadow at his side had begun the argument in calm tones, trying to reassure the Seeker that Celevon genuinely cared for the Councilor of Odan-Urr.

Sorenn hid a wince as he recalled how he lost his temper and started shouting. Perhaps it hadn’t been wise to confront the Shadicar so soon after confiding his frustrations in the younger male’s latest amorous conquest over a bottle of Corellian Whiskey. A cough drew the Guardian’s attention to the subject of his thoughts. Celevon was twirling a dagger in his right hand as he drew the cloth mask up to cover his mouth and nose. The deliberate lack of attention paid to his concerned glance brought all of the frustrations he had with the Arconan right back to being just shy of exploding.

The Jedi was unaware of the fact that the sheer presence of the dark side resonating through the surface of the planet had been insidiously worming its way past his mental defenses from the moment his boots touched the ground. The thoughts and attached feelings that the tendrils touched were corrupted to heighten the negative emotions Turel had been experiencing.

The Obelisk, on the other hand, kept up the cold facade to keep his conflicted feelings from becoming visible to his lover. Whilst he did feel awkward and confused on how to express the hurt he felt from being spurned by the Proconsul, it was nothing compared to the inner conflict waging beneath the icy veneer. The fact that his face was mostly concealed beneath the hood of his Perseverance robes and the cloth mask aided the attempt.

The reason for this was simple, yet complex.

Before he departed to select the soldiers to accompany the Assassin on this mission, Celevon had been pulled aside by the former Consul of Arcona. The Hapan was both mentor and friend to the Qel-Droman Quaestor. However, in that instant, it had been clear that Marick Arconae had been speaking to him as neither, but Head of the Shadicar. The words spoken through the Elder’s lilting accent seemed to echo within the Onderonian’s mind.

‘There’s a Kill order that I need you to carry out, Edraven. It’s Sorenn. The Hutts and other gangs of Nar Shaddaa want him dead.. I believe he would prefer a merciful, yet honorable end. I trust you won’t disappoint.’

An icy chill ran up the Shadow’s spine as the words repeated in his head. The last time he had heard those words - almost verbatim - had been on a holocall with Sashar whilst the Assassin was on Ilum. The task had originally been to face his inner demons whilst choosing a crystal to construct his lightsaber, so many years before.

That had involved a Jedi as well. The Onderonian had used the closest thing he had to a brother’s emotions against the Humanoid. It was likely that Jacen’s body was still perfectly preserved in the shifting glacier Celevon had used to dispose of the remains.

This time... This time, however, the Shadow was unsure if he could carry out the contract. Extinguishing the life of his lover... the man he had grown to care for during their time serving together on Korriban against all odds. The Jedi he had saved from being killed by thugs on Nar Shaddaa, the night their friendship had changed to something more.

The mental image his subconscious provided of the Guardian’s emerald orbs, glazed over in death, sent a visible shudder through his body. Celevon covered it with a cough as he adjusted the cloth filter over his nose and mouth.

Yes, eliminating the Councilor of Odan-Urr would be easy. A razor sharp blade to a vital area when Sorenn least expected it. A thrust from beneath the sternum would ensure a merciful death within a minute by opening his heart to bleed out.

The image of empty emerald eyes staring back at him surged forth once more. Eternally accusing, handsome facial features forever frozen in an expression of mingled betrayal and immense sadness.

The Onderonian could carry out the task set to him. But it would destroy him in the process, leaving Celevon a shell of himself, if that. It would likely be less painful to take a first and final swim in the lake of fire that surrounds, he mused, mercurial eyes momentarily burning amber as they reflected the glow of a lava flow not far from their position.

A thought occurred to the second-tier Equite and he turned to face the highest ranked of the three Eldarian Rangers. The Assassin took a deep breath as he ran the words he wanted to say across his mind before he remembered that he had taught them to speak certain phrases of Mando’a. “Alor’ad Ne’tra?”*

The Captain approached the Obelisk, speaking in a low voice. “Yes, sir?”

Celevon sighed, eyes closing as he saw Turel momentarily stiffen in his peripheral vision before he angled his body away from the Seeker. With his right hand, the Shadow made a gesture as though he were about to unsheathe one of his hidden blades. The Quaestor opened his eyes to catch the widening of the soldier’s cinnamon ones. It was a hand-sign he had taught the members of Spectre Cell when it had been reformed as a squad of purely Eldarian Rangers: there’s a secondary objective to this mission.

Catching the gaze of the Captain, Celevon pushed an image of his daughter into the mind of the Mundane. “Dinuir ner’kali at ner’ad tion’meh ash’amur ibi’tuur.”**

“Yes, sir, Commander. It will be done.”

As the soldier backed away, the Assassin turned back and saw the building fury in the eyes of Turel. Was that... jealousy? The Obelisk bit back a wince as he stared back impassively, meeting the eyes of the Jedi for the first time since their argument.

The Jedi bared his teeth in a snarl as he stared between the two other men who had been speaking quietly. “Bad enough that you’re ignoring me? Now you’re throwing it in my face?!” His hand reached for his belt before it curled into a tight fist, his anger reaching a point where Sorenn skipped weapons entirely. rushing towards the Onderonian.

• “Alor’ad Ne’tra?” - Mando’a. Literally translates to ‘Captain Black?’
  
• “Dinuir ner’kali at ner’ad tion’meh ash’amur ibi’tuur.” - Same language. Roughly translated, it means, “Deliver my blades to my daughter should I perish during this mission.”

The influence of the dark side is subtle at first, amplifying normal feelings of aggression, anger or pain. Under normal circumstances Turel’s Jedi training would have allowed him to resist the pervasive influence of the corrupt world. These were not normal circumstances, in the presence of his former lover the Guardian was at his most vulnerable. That vulnerability is what drove his anger more than anything else. After a near lifetime of keeping people at a distance, never letting his guard down, always ready to cut his losses, he found his defenses involuntarily lowered where Celevon was concerned. The Jedi hated being that vulnerable and he especially hated how one sided it all seemed. The younger male appeared to not share the Odanite's level of attachment.

All the hurt Turel felt, all the anger, all the pent up frustration, erupted to the surface into a reckless charge. The Odanite dashed across the rocks, closing the distance with his right fist at the ready as the instrument of his wrath. Celevon shifted his stance to counter the incoming attack. The Shadow saw a blind fury in his former lover’s emerald eyes that he had never seen before and it chilled him to his core. The Onderonian refocused and side-stepped Turel’s clumsily telegraphed right cross. He caught the Jedi’s arm by the wrist and elbow and threw the Odanite onto the sharp rocks in a smoothly executed hip toss.

The impact of landing on his back with sharp rocks slicing into his flesh shocked the Jedi out of his momentary lapse into blind fury. Celevon pulled out his kerambit absently and held it in his hand as he contemplated carrying out his mission here and now. The Shadow’s target was stunned and on his back; he would be hard pressed to find a better opportunity to strike.

Turel sat up and shook his head as he regained focus. He noticed Celevon brandishing the kerambit and sensed the Arconan’s deep inner conflict. The Jedi slowly rose to his feet with a growing sense of alarm as the Shadicar stared at his blade lost in thought. “What’s going on? I don’t like that look in your eyes, there’s something else weighing on you; a matter of life and death.”

Celevon looked up at Turel and quickly sheathed his blade. He contemplated giving a dismissive answer but thought better of it. One of the downsides of their shared connection was it was extremely difficult to hide emotional shifts. “I can’t tell you.” He stated almost as a sigh.

“Can’t or won’t?” The Jedi quipped as his frustration began to rise again. The Shadow gave no response. Turel narrowed his gaze on his former lover. “Whatever it is, it has something to do with me, I can tell. This mission can wait.” The Arconan still gave no response as he seemed to look past the Odanite. Turel hated being ignored in any situation and in that precise moment his emotions were a volatile mess. His frustration led him to take an action a few hours ago he would have thought unthinkable. The Jedi raised his left hand toward his erstwhile lover. “What are you conflicted over?”

Celevon could feel Turel’s question reverberate in his mind over and over with the current of the Force crashing against his mental barriers like a tide. He immediately knew what the Jedi was doing but almost could not believe it. To attempt to brute force into his mind like that was a deep betrayal of trust and a nigh unspeakable violation for one who supposedly cared for him. The Arconan winced as he resisted the mental attack, steeling his defense with righteous anger. “How dare you!” The Shadow instinctively drew his katana.

“What are you conflicted over?” The Jedi repeated slowly and deliberately.

The Arconan could feel his defense start to crack under an increasingly relentless mental assault. As his psychic barricade began to falter, his anger rose and rose. Celevon was more comfortable with the dark side than his Jedi counterpart but it still affected him, especially in a vulnerable state of his own. All the negative emotions he was trying to contain behind his icy facade were quickly becoming an out-of-control malestrom. He had to either let his mask slip and lash out or Turel would soon overpower his mental defenses.

Celevon shifted the katana in his hand and sprung forward with as much speed as he could muster. He knew it was a calculated risk. If he split his concentration from resisting the mental attack to call on the Force, Turel would prevail. He had to break his opponent’s concentration first and break the attack. The Arconan closed the distance and made a desperate horizontal slash at the Odanite. The gambit was successful, Turel had to break his concentration to dodge the slash.

The Jedi pulled his .48 Enforcer out of its holster. “You should know better than to bring a knife to a gunfight.” Turel had sparred with Celevon enough times to know that he was no match for the Shadicar at close combat, though whether he would actually pull the trigger on his lover was open to debate.

“You shouldn’t have attempted to violate my mind!” The Arconan spat with righteous fury.

The stark sense of betrayal the Onderonian was experiencing stung more than he was willing to admit. What little trust Celevon had in the Guardian had diminished to almost nothing the moment he felt the Force-infused question reverberate within his mind. The Obelisk visibly attempted to reign in his anger over the act, mercurial eyes focused on the slugthrower in Sorenn’s hand.

Whilst he had the edge when it came to close combat, the thick slugs contained within the firearm worked as the equalizer between the two of them. The pair had frequently joked in the past during training exercises on whether or not the Shadow could dodge a bullet - it looked like their joke was about to be tested.

Celevon narrowed his eyes at the Guardian, glancing from the pistol angled halfway between the ground and himself to the emerald gaze of the Jedi. A sneer curved the Arconan’s upper lip as he finally decided to reply. “What am I conflicted over? How about we start with your obvious insecurities? I’ve been wondering, for months, if keeping what we have was worth it.” The Onderonian began circling slowly, twirling the folded steel blade in his hand as the Proconsul mirrored his movements. “All the suspicious glances at my friends, people I consider family? I was willing to ignore that.”

Idly, the Quaestor noticed his former boss’ spine begin to stiffen - Turel knew exactly where he was going with this. A brief pulse of Force energy reassured the Obelisk that the Mundanes were not in the line of fire. As Edraven continued to speak, his voice grew colder, a slight hiss to his tones indicated his anger was under control.

“Subtly questioning my daughter on whether or not I had people over at my house? Well... you already know that you’re no longer welcome there. Alyssa barely trusted you from the beginning and now - well, best that she doesn’t see you... if you value the ability to procreate.” A small feeling of amusement came through at the Guardian’s wince before it was banished. “At least whenever Rin puts out, she doesn’t get clingy-”

The Force screamed a warning as soon as the final word left Celevon’s lips, several heartbeats before Sorenn leveled the Enforcer pistol and forced the trigger back with a baleful glare. A deafening crash echoed vehemently against the volcanic rock, announcing the presence of the first slug erupting from the chamber.

The Onderonian’s body reacted on its own as he pivoted away from the first round, his mind frozen solid in shock for a moment in time. That moment seemed to span an eternity as his psyche processed everything - their shared past flashed before Celevon’s eyes, erupting into flames before they turned to ash. Realization struck as the Shadow seemed to relive the last few seconds - his now-former lover had actually shot at him.

Celevon channeled the energies of the Force through his limbs, increasing his physical speed to the point where he almost blurred as he dodged the second projectile. The Assassin spun in place, bringing the blade of folded durasteel to intercept the third, tip pointed at the ground. The katana was sent spiraling out of Edraven’s grasp as the thick slug struck. Molten lava splashed as the weapon he had carried for years submerged and disintegrated.

Without delay, the Onderonian reached out with a telekinetic grasp and ripped the slugthrower free of the Guardian’s hand. Even as the pistol spun away from them, the Assassin leapt forward, a flick of his right wrist releasing one of his hidden wrist-blades. Celevon straddled Turel as they landed, the gleaming weapon pressed against a throbbing artery on the Proconsul’s neck.

With a guttural growl, the Obelisk retracted the blade and slugged Turel across the face. As the Odanite’s nose fractured, blood erupted from the wound and covered his face. Celevon stood up, looked down at his old flame and spat on him before backing away. “You saved my life once. By sparing yours, consider us even.”

The Assassin buried his own emotions deep within his psyche - with the anger over the loss of his favored weapon and the sense of betrayal, it would be all too easy to change his mind. Especially whilst the Guardian was temporarily blinded from the pain of his fractured nose. The fact that Turel had saved his life on Korriban was hardly the truth of the matter - for starters, his own Consul would have him skinned alive if Celevon did anything to risk the fragile truce between Arcona and Odan-Urr. That and the fact that, even if he did not want to admit it, a part of the Onderonian still cared deeply for the Odanite.

Atyiru... frak... Damn you, Marick and your frakking tests. He wanted to see just how loyal I was to her, the Shadicar swore internally as he finally realized the reasoning behind the former Consul’s abrupt order.

The Arconan's sharp words replayed over and over in the Odanite's head, rending his wounded heart anew with each reprise. It felt like a dozen physic daggers swirling around and stabbing him over and over and over. In those moments crumbled over on his hands and knees, face throbbing, eyes burning from the nearby lava's heat, his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood; he wondered if death would not have been a mercy. Death did not come however, the blade had been on the Jedi's throat, it should have been the end, he felt it. Turel had felt his lover's clarity of purpose when Celevon's steel pressed against his jugular. He had only felt that kind of determination from the Arconan on the battlefield. A flick of a wrist, a little extra pressure, a single smooth motion, is all it would have taken. The intent to kill was there one moment, then hesitation.

The Shadicar had held the Guardian's life in his hand and didn't take it. Why? That question began to resonate in the Jedi's mind, overpowering the painful chorus of harsh statements from the past few minutes. A thought took root in Turel's mind as he spat blood onto the ashen rocks. That thought, a mere conjecture at first, slowly became a certainty and then a light in the darkness of his momentary despair. "You love me." He managed to spit out, half coughing as he slowly rose to his feet.

"What did you say?" The Arconan inquired with genuine surprise.

Celevon's reaction confirmed Turel's speculation. It had to be true, he always knew deep down that was the case and the Shadicar's refusal to take the Guardian's life reinforced that belief. "You heard me, you know it's true, now say it. Just say it out loud, stop running!" Tears began to roll down the Jedi's face, mixing with the blood from his nose.

The Shadicar closed his eyes for a few moments and said nothing. A burning indignation rose in the Obelisk's soul. "I CAN'T! How many times do I have to say it before it will get through that thick skull of yours? I'm not like you, I can't be the person you want me to be." He leaned over and picked up Turel's Enforcer pistol and absently tossed it in a nearby lava flow. Now they were even.

Turel was surprisingly unphased by the destruction of his prized firearm, it was replaceable, Celevon was not. "You love me, I don't need the Force to see it. Why can't you just say it? Why are you so scared? I'm scared too. You think I chose to be this fraked up ball of emotion and longing? I can't deny how you make me feel and how vulnerable I am around you. It's frustrating and terrifying to have someone just waltz past all the walls you've spent years putting up." He couldn't help but briefly pause to chuckle at how ridiculous he probably looked and sounded right at this moment. "But you know what? I regret nothing, I'd do it all over again because when you're beside me I feel stronger, like I can take on the whole galaxy. When you're with me, really with me, and allow yourself to be open, like you were on Nar Shadaa, you make me feel whole in a way I've never felt before."

Celevon rubbed his temples in frustration. While the Guardian's spontaneous and situationally inappropriate declarations resonated on a level he would never acknowledge openly, he was not about to suddenly kiss and forget about all that transpired. "No! If you wanted a happy ending you picked the wrong guy, that is never going to happen. I don't know how much clearer I can be. You ask why I can't just say your magic words? Because they aren't true and never will be!" The Shadicar huffed and began waving his arms uncharastically to make his points. The pervasive dark side aura and emotional rollercoaster of the past few minutes had created some cracks in his normally icy facade. "I have a question for you, why couldn't you have just been happy with what you had? Why wasn't what we did have ever good enough for you? You always kept pushing for more and you know what, you pushed me away!"

Turel could sense Celevon's resolve hardening, his bold gamble to lay all his cards on the table came up a bust. He slowly began to accept that the Shadicar would never budge and that maybe it was time to cash out of this game. "I don't have an answer for you except that it wasn't something I chose. That's how love works." He sighed and wiped his face off with his sleeves. "You win."

"What do you mean I win?"

"You win, you were right, however you want me to say it. This, us, won't work." The Jedi stated with resignation.

"That's the most grown-up thing I've heard you say in a long time."

The Odanite dusted himself off. "I guess there's nothing more to say is there?"

"No, there really isn't." Celevon remarked with a sense of relief in his voice. He noticed the Jedi turn to leave. "Where are you going?"

"I"m going back to the shuttle, I need to clean up and get this nose looked at. I think you and your creepy rangers have this mission covered. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're a Human being with feelings under that icy mask you wear."

Celevon rolled his eyes. "Get out of here before I change my mind about killing you." He was relieved to see the Odanite start to bounce back to his sassy self. It gave him hope that in time, things would be okay between them. Things with Marick however, were not going to be okay for the foreseeable future.