Many myths and mysteries surrounded the planet Ahch-To, even before it became the eventual resting place of Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master: the legend of a man who defied an emperor and then sowed the seeds for defeating him once and for all through his pupil and her legacy. Here there were rumors of a dyad in the Force, of astral projections, restored starfighters, and the origin of the Jedi Order. It was said that the balance between the Light and the Dark was strong enough to reveal hidden truths about one's past or identity.
He was not there to disprove any of these stories, nor to find answers to his past or to reveal his own identity. Marick Tyris Arconae knew exactly who and what he was. His questions, now, were turned towards the future and what he would or could become.
After landing on one of the many islands dotting the oceanic planet's surface, Marick sought out and found a quiet spot that seemed free of screeching porgs or signs of the indigenous species said to guard the relics of the past. The Arconae had come to Ahch-To to get away from everything. Away from the Dajorra system and Arcona. Away from Arx and the Dark Council and their endless cycle of war and turmoil with the Collective, the Principate, and the Brotherhood itself.
Once settled, Marick folded his legs and settled into a meditative position. He stilled his thoughts and began to stretch out through the Force, seeking, searching, lowering his defenses and letting the spiritual energy of the planet become one with his conscious mind.
Always in motion, the future is... an ancient, croaky voice whispered.
While that may have been an inevitable truth, knowledge was power in and of itself, and a sense of understanding could serve as an anchor amidst the uncharted seas of what came next for the former Assassin.
Marick wondered if he could truly leave behind the life that had made him who he was. Could he simply discard the hard-earned preternatural awareness that lingered on the line between paranoia and preparation? Would he abandon the unwavering resolve to do what was necessary, to bow to duty over passion? Was the belief that when you took a life, you took nothing of value, just a convenient excuse, or a hidden truth that his thawing heart needed to let fall by the wayside?
Many questions, few answers.
Beneath it all, there was the underlying trepidation, the incessant, hovering doubt that frightened the Master Force Disciple more than he would ever admit to even his own partner. He thought of her smile, warm and earnest, and felt the stir of long dormant emotions trickle out of his heart of stone. Then he thought about what it meant, and the same sentence he had uttered in the marshes of Arx amid a Great Jedi War echoed back to him sharp as cut-glass.
I’m going to be a father.
The cool sea breeze whispered across the skin free of his tightly-groomed full beard. The hood of his armorweave cloak—his Shead—covered his evenly parted hair and shadowed his eyes from the twin suns overhead in the distance. A sense of rare, fleeting tranquility allowed a small smile to pull at the corner of his lips.
As his awareness expanded, he could begin to sense the more arcane slipstreams of the Force he had learned to tap into. He could almost visualize the invisible tethers of string connecting all organic life on the planet, from the blades of grass to the crests of the waves and the beating of the Thala-sirens' heartbeats. It was a definitive departure from the techniques that had made him one of the most deadly Assassins in the Brotherhood—a Shadow like none before him. As an Arcanist, he was beginning to see the potential of being more in tune with the Force, more aware of the—
Marick snapped out of his meditation as a sudden signature flared through Force. While the presence was not familiar to him immediately, the Master sensed no malice or ill intent. Still, his hand moved instinctively to the Sith Dagger at his hip as he rose smoothly like quicksilver rolling from a jar.
Faint footfalls carried easily through the still air as hard-heeled boots and light plate armor clinked slightly beneath the folds of a tailored yet oversized brown cloak. As the figure grew closer, Marick remained still as stone, his eyes taking in details with borderline mechanical precision.
The figure was wearing a High Council robe—the former Voice recognized the distinction in the cut of the fabric used to acknowledge members of Clan Odan-Urr’s summit, a tribute to the old Jedi Order. Beneath the hood, he saw a distinct tattoo composed of twin parallel lines beneath the eyes that stretched across a tan-skinned and bearded visage. Red and gold ink blended perfectly into one another to make it seem like a birthmark rather than a tribal tattoo. The tips of a mess of dreadlocks framed a strong jawline that, when paired with a set of jade-colored eyes, registered a snapshot of Clan Odan-Urr’s Rollmaster.
Even in retirement, filtering through his holodex of Brotherhood dossiers was a pastime Marick had difficulty shedding. As a result, he often found himself keeping up to date with the current leadership of both rival and allied Clans, the way most normal folk leafed through the local holonet news.
“Gui Sol,” Marick stated calmly, which caused the robed figure to come to a stop at what could be considered “throwing knife” distance. The Hapan lowered his hood slowly with one hand as he spoke, the other remaining concealed beneath the folds of his Shaed. With the healthy glow of the sun illuminating his face, the Hapan’s silvery-gray hair shone against his pale skin and accentuated his too-blue, eerie eyes.
“Well, you’re definitely not Luke Skywalker,” the Kiffar broke the silence with a nonchalant, lazy grin.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Marick replied calmly, any hint of humor or wryness devoid in his lilted accent.
“Not like I was searching for him or anything,” the man replied. “You just never know. The Force behaves in the most peculiar ways, don’t you think?”
Marick didn’t offer a response this time and simply stood watching the Rollmaster.
“It took me a minute, what with the hair, to realize who you were,” Gui continued. “Marick Tyris—Pravus’ former Voice, right?”
If Gui expected a reaction to the casual accusation lingering behind his words, he registered none from the passive Hapan. Not even so much as an extra blink.
And Telaris’, but who’s counting? Marick thought idly to himself.
“I thought you’d be older, honestly,” the Ranger mused, running a hand idly through his own beard as he tried to probe.
“I am older,” Marick replied absently.
Gui lifted an eyebrow, inviting the Hapan to elaborate. Instead, Marick held the Kiffar’s emerald gaze evenly, little to no hint of emotion in the glacial reflection of his eyes. He noticed the corners of Marick’s eyes crinkle slightly, and felt the weight of years lurking behind their depths.
Sol tightened his gloved fist and wondered if, perhaps, his psychometry would be a better means of getting more out of the former Dark Councilor. He needed more information, first, however.
“Let me guess, then. Did the Arconae send you to kill me? Dispose of one of Odan-Urr’s key assets?” He made a knife-across-throat gesture but still seemed pretty insouciant about the allegation.
“To...kill you?” Marick blinked twice this time, a sign of processing new or unexpected information.
“Yeah, that’s what you do, isn’t it?”
At another time, perhaps, Marick might have chuckled at an old memory from when Odan-Urr was still a fledgling unit in the Brotherhood. Marick sent me to kill you. It was as ridiculous a notion then as it was now.
Marick simply shook his head, relaxing his posture visibly while still keeping a hand on the dagger beneath his cloak. “I’m not here for you or your Clan.”
“...which is exactly the kind of thing an Assassin would say,” Gui countered, still calm despite the accusations he was laying at the Hapan’s feet.
“You came to me,” Marick pointed out, flatly. The Hapan debated mentioning his hand in the formation of the Lotus, but decided it was not worth the effort.
“Yeah, but only because I felt some kind of strange disruption in the Force as I was surveying the planet for lost artifacts! You were pretty much asking for someone to come and find you.”
“So you sensed danger, and ran directly into it,” Tyris replied slowly.
“Yeah, well, Force of habit.” Gui grinned.
“Then I guess it’s safe to assume you’re not here to kill me,” Marick offered the same rhetoric in return.
“To...kill you? What? No!” Sol replied, not having to feign offense at the idea. “But, since you’re here, I figured we’d be able to talk a bit. Seems like you have a great deal of knowledge of how the Brotherhood works as a whole. Could be valuable for someone like me to know.”
“I’d prefer not to, ,” Marick replied.
“Why? After everything you’ve done, the least you could do is aid us in our fight against tyranny.”
Marick showed no signs of guilt or remorse as the formal accusation struck him. He simply glanced off to the side, across the stormy seas rousing in the distance.
“I’ve done many things and earned many names. Some unearned, and some I’ve bought and paid for with blood and sweat. I don’t owe you or anyone a single thing. I came here to be alone.”
Gui shook his head. “That isn’t an answer. The people of New Tython deserved better. The countless ‘Undesirables’ that were forced into hiding or killed deserve better.”
Marick was about to explain, as he had done so many times before, that anything he did was for the future of the Brotherhood. He had done unspeakable things to prove his loyalty to Pravus, had given almost everything he had to change the tides of history and pivot the Inquisitorious away from its genocidal intentions. The former Voice had molded the Inquisitorious into an intelligence-first agency that would serve and protect all of the Brotherhood’s Clan’s interests, not just the Dark Council's. History obliterates. Marick brushed the sentiment away, resolved to not let the past define his future.
“I’ll make you a deal, Sol,” Marick replied quietly as the hand beneath his cloak shifted to the shoto lightsaber hilt clipped to the back of his belt. “Show me that you’re worthy of protecting the information I carry with me. Do so, and I’ll tell you what I can.”
“And if I can’t?” Gui raised an eyebrow.
“You’ll leave me alone.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s fair enough.” Gui stroked his beard thoughtfully and then threw back the folds of his robe to reveal his lightsaber.
The Ranger stretched his hand out to the side and let the hilt gravitate into his open palm. With a flexing of his fist, he thumbed the activator and made a quick flourish with his wrist to introduce the crimson blade.
“Interesting choice of saber for a Jedi,” Marick commented as he pulled the hidden lightsaber out from under his cloak, activated it, and launched it through the air in the same, continuous motion.
“You’ll find I’m full of surprises—” Gui started to quip before he was forced to backpedal and duck under a spinning blade of plasma aimed for his neck. Marick’s cerulean shoto lightsaber cut through the air like a deadly pinwheel, passing over the Jedi’s head and continuing on into the distance.
Gui made note of the thrown lightsaber’s trajectory out of the corner of his eye while his attention shifted back to the suddenly encroaching Hapan. With the distance between them closed in the blink of an eye, Marick’s second lightsaber, now gripped and ignited in his hand, lashed out to bisect the Ranger in half. On reflex, the Kiffar grit his teeth and leveled his lightsaber blade into a cross-block, crimson cackling against black-cored violet plasma as the two blades locked.
Dropping one leg back, Gui shuffled and pivoted with kinetic purpose, throwing himself backward in a helix spin that let him land a few strides away and reset his footing.
“Hey, that was cheap!” the Rollmaster hissed, now ready for Marick’s next attack. Or so he thought. A nudge from the Force saved Gui from being skewered from behind.
The Kiffar snaked his own lightsaber back and over his shoulder to block a strike from Marick’s previously-thrown shoto lightsaber. The parry was successful, and the shoto retreated, moving freely through the air as if guided by an independent, invisible hand. Except when he looked back towards Marick, he noted that the Master was gripping his lightsaber with both hands defensively in front of his face, an almost smug smile hidden behind the glow of the violet-black blade.
“Okay, now that’s just showing off,” Gui grumbled as he shifted his feet and decided that the best defense for this situation might be to take the offensive.
