Built from the shell of an ancient foundation, the Arx Colosseum has undergone renovations to allow multiple new configurations for battle. Its spectator setup remains largely the same, with high walls, tall enough for even the most savvy Jedi to find unscalable that lead up to spectator chairs which are divided into nearly organized sections to accommodate several thousand people. At the center, an elongated platform “box” contains a central throne of stone with various seats of smaller scale lined beside it in both directions. Two large holo-projection screens are set up on each side of the Colosseum, offering different angles of the match bia holocam drones.

Today’s setup is known as The Forge.

Inspired by the droid factories on Geonosis and the flowing lava rivers of Mustafar, the Forge is a collection of deadly heat and hard-slamming steel. In the center of the arena is a “peak” from which the lava flows downward through rivers and cliff-faces. Radiating outward is a series of tiered rings, each getting lower the further from the center you get.

Along the rivers of lava, various arteries suck out the super heated earth to melt metal. The loud clanking slamming of metal sheets heating and cooling, tempering and forging together ring clearly through the entire arena. Conveyor belts lead the metal sheets away from the arena to be used by ACE in the spaceship yards.

Three blades of light clashed together, vying for control. A grunt of exertion came from the older human, as the emerald light in his hand pressed down against the purple and blue blades of his opponent. The Shistavanen began to buckle under the almost supernatural strength of the man across from him, their lithe-form tense under the continued pressure. The emerald-haired man stumbled ever so slightly forward, as the Shistavanen used the pressure to propel them backwards and away, giving them much needed space.

The man hurled an invisible fist of energy at the Shistavanen, who gracefully dove backwards, their jump amplified by their control of the Force and landing them safely atop a moving conveyor belt. For a moment the Shistavanen was pleased with themselves, a retort about to cross their lips as they suddenly felt their feet give way.

Two older men, veterans of the Brotherhood, stood patiently as the main lift of the Dark Ascent quickly brought them up to their location. The elder of the two stepped out first, carelessly brushing at his greying hair as the second man fell in step just behind him. The impressive Antechamber greeted them, but neither man gave it much notice as they continued on, their focus elsewhere.

“Honestly didn’t expect to hear from you ever again”, the lead man stated, glancing backwards.

The other man shrugged his shoulder, “Got bored.”

This time the first man stopped and turned. “You got bored?” Howlader, Master-at-Arms of the Brotherhood, glared at the taller man. His average looks and stature belied his true strength, a power that allowed him to hold his own in the presence of countless Grand Masters that have come before him.

The other man met his gaze unwaveringly, but softened his stance in concession to the respect he held for the Dark Councilor. “Not ready to tell the whole story yet.”

Howlader could only grunt in response before turning back around and waving the man behind him forward as well.

The old man’s hands were clenched in a fist as the entire conveyor belt collapsed like wet paper under the Shistavanen’s feet. An undignified yelp escaped their lips as they fought to control their fall, a sudden spout of molten metal coming to meet them. Instinct drove a sudden protective field to surround them, the fiery liquid enveloping them momentarily before they emerged and landed on the heated ground. Their body never stopped moving, summersaulting away from the splash of the metal as it landed in the same spot they had just occupied.

The old man was moving while the spectacle played out before him, easily stepping around the deadly liquid as he drove toward the other combatant. The Shistavanen managed to get their feet under them as the emerald light flashed towards their face. His blude blade intercepted the swing in time, as his other hand swept around with his second lightsaber looking to score against the other man. The man’s hand swept down with practiced eased, catching their blade against his bracer. The silver sash wrapped around his bracer kept the other blade at bay. The smell of burnt fur wafted in the air between them, but no pain was evident in the Shistavanen’s face.

“No quips?” the old man asked, pushing both his blade and arm away from his opponent, breaking the deadlock, before unleashing a torrent of violet energy from his fingertips.

“Whatever the reason, glad to have you back,” Howlader continued, as they rounded a final corner and entered his office. A white-furred Shistavanen stood with their back turned to them, seemingly lost in the datapad they held.

“Ah, great, you’re here,” Howlader said, gesturing to the Shistavanen as they turned around. “Mune, meet Halcyon,” he said, pointing to the man next to him, “and Halcyon, meet Mune Cinteroph, my Praetor.”

The scent of ozone was lost to the odour of burning metal. The snap and crackle of electricity was swallowed by the bubbling and churning below and the heavy clang of steel hammering against steel. Halcyon’s power tore the air asunder in a brilliant cavalcade of violent purple and white that was unmistakable in its intent to rend all that dared be caught in its path. Mune remained firmly in its course. Within a fraction of a second, electricity crashed, crackled, and dispersed angrily across an invisible wall of the younger Shistavanen’s making. It cascaded across the flickering bubble, snarling and lancing, clawing at the younger fighter’s protective field.

“You can’t maintain your protection forever,” Halcyon noted.

The Human extended his free hand. The old Sorcerer switched his concentration to a sheet of metal, and the moment the torrent of lightning broke off, the Shistavanen had a heavy slab of steel sailing through the air from their left. Halcyon had already grasped a second metal pane with his powers, ready to follow up his attack when his opponent was distracted.

Mune dropped into a crouch and released their barrier. Power was channelled through their body, quickly replenishing reserves, intellect, and instinct, allowing them to work angles rapidly in their mind. The Shistavanen felt the first sheet sail overhead within millimetres of them, their ears resting against their skull. Mune reached out with their mind. Their opponent, perceptive as they were, would pick up on the movement, even while preoccupied with his next attack.

“Lord Halcyon Taldryan,” Mune spoke, glancing up from their datapad. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m sure it is,” Halcyon commented off-handed.

The second piece of steel was sent hurtling through the air. The Shistavanen increased their focus. The flames leapt, then erupted upwards in a pillar of wildly, barely controlled fire driven by Mune’s will. They quickly redirected the Force, launching themselves up from their crouch to vault over the second projectile. Halcyon threw himself backwards out of the fire, smoke smouldering from his cloak and the scent of burning hair tickling his nostrils for a moment before getting lost in all the other scents.

Halcyon pressed on with his attack despite being off balance. The Force responded as a lumbering fist of brute power.

Mune was not to be taken unawares, however, and twisted mid-air. There was no way of avoiding the blow, but they had already begun compensating for the attack they knew was coming. They were struck in the side, spinning them to the left. Hit the ground, boots skidding, their body adjusted to maintain balance. Newly blossoming bruises were already healing. It took barely a thought for Mune’s expended energy to be restored; the Shistavanen brought a once more ignited lightsaber to catch Halcyon’s saber strike. Plasma crackled and hissed, vivid blue and green playing along the features of Praetor and Magistrate, silhouettes outlined in the dull glow of molten steel and wicked flame. Ruby and emerald eyes locked, the ghosts of a grin playing at the corners of their mouths.

“You are tough for an old guy,” Mune managed to quip.

Halcyon, feigning boredom, said, “And you’re not so bad for a bookworm.”

Mune arched a brow, “You know I am faster and stronger than you, right?”

“Your martial arts and lightsaber form are lacking; you depend too much on avoidance,” Halcyon noted dryly.

The Sorcerer drew upon the Force again, bent to slow down their opponent, the air growing thick like molasses. He shifted his weight, readying to press his advantage when he saw Mune’s second lightsaber ignite. Realization dawned, the Force warning him when the Shistavanen moved unimpeded, a surge within the Force indicative of his opponent’s fetters being breached as if they were nothing. He was compelled to empower his reflexes in the split second before Mune’s second blade could land a hit and dodge within a hair’s breadth.

Of course, Halcyon thought, his contained grin teasing his lips again; they depend on speed. Why would you think slowing them down with the Force would work? Mune has that weakness covered.*

Halcyon’s mind raced through the rolodex of ideas, as his body fought through the ever-increasing toil it was being put under. Sweat ran in rivulets down his head and back, his hair matted to his head. He could see his own breathing mirrored in his younger opponent, Mune’s own chest rising and falling in shortened paces, fighting through the heat and suffocation of the arena.

Inspiration flared as Halcyon felt the ground beneath him quake every so slightly. As two bursts of magma flared up beside the combatants, the Sorcerer slammed a palm into the ground, detonating energy outwards, with him as the epicenter. The already flaring magma roiled and spewed with added intensity, as the ground nearly tore itself apart.

Mune’s body was moving the instant they saw their opponent smacking the ground, their Force-imbued legs kicked them upwards as they sailed over the magma-flow. Their barrier instinctively formed as the deadly lava shot up at them. Bursting through to the other side, Mune caught themselves on a higher ledge, looking down at the green-haired man.

“You can’t run forever,” Halcyon called up. Even from his vantage point, he could see the increased breathing from the Shistavanen’s chest as the battle continued to take sap its strength.

“Just try to keep up old man,” Mune called down, as they threw themselves across the chasm once more, looking to grab hold of another platform moving their way. Halcyon watched the leap, his own senses reaching out, feeling the physicality of the Shistavanen’s body as it glided through the air. Yet beneath the physical was the Force, guiding the body and assisting it on its trajectory. With the pinch of his mind’s eye, Halcyon snuffed the flame of the Arcanist’s Force connection.

A brief yelp escaped Mune’s throat at the sudden loss, their body contorting slightly in mid-air at the loss in focus, their hands missing the platform and sending them tumbling down to the deadly river. Mune was saved from certain death as they felt an invisible force slam into their chest, sending them careening backwards and stopping only when they smacked into a piece of blackened rock. Mune gasped for air, unable to heal himself as his body fought against the pain, heat and exhaustion.

“Can’t have you die just yet.” Mune started at the voice, their ruby eyes opening to see emerald ones peering back at them. “We still have much work to do, you and I.”

Mune slowly rose to their feet, never taking their eyes off the older man as they steadied themselves. The human’s lightsaber was not ignited at the moment, and he stood only paces from them, arms crossed across his chest.

“What work?” Mune asked, almost snarling the words as they began to feel the embers of their power begin to return. There were no words in response, but instead images began to float across their mind.

Howlader looks up from the document he was reading, a small smile playing across his old lips.

An emerald blade ignites, Howlader’s eyes growing wide in accusation, before dulling with lifelessness.

Mune enters the office, pushing Howlader’s body off his chair, and seating themselves in the seat instead.

A chorus of boos interrupted the images, the audience growing restless at seeing the two combatants seemingly just standing and staring at one another.

“He’s your friend,” Mune spat, their fur on edge as they tensed in anticipation of any sudden movements. Halcyon’s arms continued to stay crossed, meeting Mune’s gaze.

“He is also Sith. He knows how it ends.”

Mune could only shakes their head, “That is not my way.”

“This is the way,” Halcyon spat back, his arms now dropping to his side, “the Council is still run on fear and on power. You want on the Council? You need to prove yourself to them in their language!”

“And you will just happily help me?” Mune snarled, fully barring their canines.

“I can never be accepted again,” Halcyon said, the hilt of his lightsaber snapping to his open palm, “but together, we can make this our own.”

“What say you?” the old man asked, the emerald blade flaring to life.

“You assume much,” Mune growled.

The brief respite was all Mune needed. Truthfully, it was a rare thing for Halcyon to talk so much. His actions spoke for him. The Arcanist used the uncharacteristic banter to syphon the Living Force into their body. In a head-to-head duel, Mune was aware of the difference in overall saber skills. They were also confident that the Human was well aware of the discrepancy in skill level.

“I assume correctly, though, don’t I?”

The Human seemed certain; was it perhaps because of his own designs? The man was more experienced. The Shistavanen could only surmise that the man was speaking from a place of age and personal history.

When it came down to it, Howie was not their family. Not their pack. Did Mune even think of the man as their friend? All of those were Arcona, the people of their clan and Voidbreaker II crew. The Arcanist’s body remained still; not even their tail moved in the wickedly warm breeze. The crowd above grew restless, jeering and crying their displeasure. Mune’s lips drew back down over their teeth, their visage a mask of uncertainty. Their thoughts played through their eyes, and they knew Halcyon could not help but take notice. They could try for deception, but they were not their brother. They doubted, too, that charming the old man would get them anywhere.

“I see I’ve sparked your interest,” the Human’s lips quirked in the barest shadow of a smirk, misinterpreting the thoughts playing across Mune’s features. His ego and bias told him there was only one way. The way he laid it out, or death. “You’ve seen it. Our future.”

Mune was mindful of the emerald plasma of their opponent’s weapon. Halcyon had relaxed his grip while he spoke, confident that his words were gaining weight. Mind calculating, instincts screaming run because fighting head-to-head would likely not end well for them, they spread the puzzle out. They saw realization dawn in the Human's eyes.

“You’re stalling,” Halcyon raised his lightsaber again, levelling it at his opponent. He made note of the nearly healed wounds and that the Shistavanen’s breathing returned nearly to normal.

“No future is set in stone. That much, I know. It is ever in flux, altered by the slightest change in our ever-tumultuous existence.” Their ruby eyes locked with the emerald of their opponent’s. “The future you yearn for is but one of infinite outcomes.”

“You are right, there; the alternative is you are dead before I ever get around to my old friend.”

“Another is that our audience grows bored of our dawdling and puts us both into the ground themselves,” Mune grinned toothily, belying their intense focus.

“You should worry more about boring me,” Halcyon warned.

“Do you have something better to be doing?”

“Point.”

Halcyon closed the distance in an instant.

Mune sidestepped the arcing slash. The Force surged within the younger fighter. Halcyon’s eyes widened barely enough to be noticeable, the Force warning him of an attack to which he hadn’t the agility to react. The Arcanist atomized the rock under the other Force-User’s feet and leaped back a few metres. Fine particle dust engulfed the man, getting into his eyes and clogging his nose and mouth, inhibiting his breathing.

In Shistavanen, Mune growled, “Even those on the fringes of the pack deserve the loyalty and faith of their packmates.”

Halcyon’s emerald blade rent a path through the curtain of particles. The Arcanist shifted their weight and leaned out of the blade’s path. Their mind calculated, drawing clues and hints from glimpsed paths and applying them to the immediate present. In one breath, a fraction of a moment, the Force funnelled into them. Another breath and a measure of power applied to the muscles of their legs to slip into their opponent’s guard. The next, they exhaled. The pommel of their Sith dagger slammed into the older man’s gut, reinforced by the redirection of the Force into the muscles of their arms.

What air the Sorcerer managed in the cloud of dust exploded from his lungs.

Mune was too close for the man to use his lightsaber effectively, nor was the furred combatant about to draw their own sabers. They brought their dagger up and drove the point through Halcyon’s forearm. The Human managed not to scream in pain, even as it lanced up his arm. It was all they could do to thrust the pain down. His fingers spasmed, and his lightsaber slipped from blood-slicked digits. The alarm bells were near constant in Halcyon’s head. They allowed their hubris to blind them much as their opponent had.

Halcyon was unwilling to give in so easily. His main hand was disabled, and he was forced to call his lightsaber to his off-hand, reignite the blade, and strike blindly. It was no surprise that Shistavanen dodged out of reach within a hair’s breadth of the emerald blade making contact. His chest rose and fell heavily, struggling to take a proper lung full of clean air. The heat and fine dust particles used against him impeded him more than he would have liked.

Mune inhaled slowly, free of the cloud, drawing in additional energy as they did so. Their breathing evened out again, calm and mind-focused. Their mind was always their best-honed weapon. Already, they were calculating once more, piecing together patterns and possibilities.

“Did I underestimate them?” Halcyon thought, struggling not to wipe at his weeping eyes. The arena was a blur before him. “Going to try finishing the job, whelp?”

“This will hurt,” Mune chirped and gestured.

Halcyon felt pain explode up his arm. The dagger remained lodged where the Shistavanen had planted it through his flesh. Mune twisted the weapon through the Force, distracting him from the immediate danger. The Sorcerer realized it was nearly too late. The Force rippled, galvanized the instant an explosion of flame and shrapnel erupted from his left. He was slammed into an outcrop of rock, his protective shield shattering like so much glass. Exhaustion threatened to overtake him, but, by pure stubbornness, he held his feet.

“Ego… unwillingness to adapt… underestimating those you deem below you…” Mune called down at their opponent. “One day, it will bite you in the tail.”

Halcyon glared. Raising his blood-drenched hand, he beckoned his power to bear down upon the blurry white form. “You lack the follow-through to achieve anything, Shista.”

“Believe what you like, Lord Halcyon, but mind the fire on your way out.”

Halcyon frowned.

Howie frowned, “You are being matched against Halcyon.”

The Shistavanen did not look up from their datapad, trying to get as much work done before the match. “I saw.”

The Human grunted, sitting heavily in his chair across from his Praetor. “You would be an idiot to go up against him. He is likely to take the opportunity to kill you.”

Mune glanced up, “The likelihood is high, yes.”

“So long as you are aware,” Howlader fixed his Praetor with a stern look that said clearly what he thought of the whole silly tournament.

“Shall we call this one a tie then, old man?” Mune called down again. “I need some water, and you could use a nap.”

Halcyon lowered his hand, “That mouth will get you into trouble.”

“Howlader has his yelling. I have my sarcasm.”

“Fine. A tie. For now.”