You enter one of the dozens of sparring chambers within the Shadow Academy of Lyspair, the simple square room utilized mostly by those learning the ways of the lightsaber. This five hundred square-foot room, rectangular in shape, is nearly barren. The floor is lined with simple padding, while the walls are made of dull, grey durasteel, gauged by innumerable lightsaber strikes, scarring the metal permanently.

The ceiling towers above you, nearly twenty feet in height, allowing for plenty of movement from the more acrobatic of Force users. There are no other adornments within the room, save for the entrance and lighting that bathes the entire room, yet seems to come from nowhere. All corners of the room are perfectly lit, with no visible shadows to speak of. There is nowhere for you to hide within the room, but… there's no room for your opponent to hide either.

Drawing a slow breath, the Corellian counted his steps as he made his way down the hall. Looking at the doors, he tried to count their number. Bentre didn’t strictly need to do so. He had spent more hours than he would have liked to admit amongst the training rooms even before becoming a Knight, and he tried as often as he had an opportunity to continue instructing his apprentice in the ways of combat and the Force.

After what had happened, he had thrown himself into training with an even greater fervor than before. In the past, he had trained to sharpen himself into a weapon. It helped a little bit, to distract him from his thoughts, the same way that counting steps or counting doors acted.

Still, the others did not get it. Yes, they had seen Atra die. He wasn’t sure they understood though. It was my device that killed Ventus. Tears threatened to leak from his eyes once again.

His logic told him that if it weren’t for the device, they may all have been dead. If he hadn’t been there, many of his Clan may have been joined together in death. Or perhaps Atra would have found a way around the Progenitor threat. Perhaps it all could have been ended without a loss of life. Against Stahoes’s internal turmoil, logic was of no comfort.

Shaking his head, the Sith tried to dispel the thoughts. He wanted a clear mind as he practiced. Turning to the nearest door, he thumped an open palm on the panel beside it. The door hissed open, revealing the brightly-lit training room. The room that should have been empty.

“So we meet again, Sanguinius.” The words hissed from his lips unbidden with a snarl as the Shadow's eyes fell upon the room's occupant.

“So, we meet again,” the Defender opened an eye almost lazily, “Padawan.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Jedi.” Bentre lifted his hand into the air defiantly, making a crude gesture at the Entar. “You really think that you are all that better than everyone else, don’t you? You go around, acting as though your lot are really something above the rest. You pretend like you don’t feel passions or anger the same as any other sentient.”

“Anger leads to suffering, Padawan. A Jedi feels these things, but does not allow them to consume him. There is no emotion, there is only peace.”

“You have been among Sith and the like, and you really want to try and pull that crap?” Stahoes shook his head. “Do you really expect me to quote the Sith code to you? Are we going to make this whole thing about cheap words? We Sith find strength in our passions.”

“Have you not listened to my words, Bentre? Have you not harkened to my message?” The Jedi Equite stood, and extended a hand to his fellow Sadowan. “Redemption is there for the taking. Forgiveness is available to anyone who seeks it.”

“I am tired of your childish prattle!” Bentre charged forward as he bellowed the words. Activating his lightsaber, he lifted the weapon above his head. He was determined to cleave the Jedi in half.

In a smooth, practiced motion, Sanguinius activated his own lightsaber and brought it up. With a practiced hand, he drove the Knight’s angry assault aside harmlessly. He turned as he watched his Sith comrade stumbled. He could clearly see Stahoes had been unprepared for the parry.

“Do not worry, young one. I will show you the error of your ways.” The Jedi stepped backward, pointing his lightsaber at his opponent.

“I am going to make you eat those words, buddy,” Bentre growled as he turned to face the Entar. Drawing himself up, the Shadow squared his shoulders. Tightening his grip upon his weapon, the Journeyman twirled the lightsaber in a tight circle. He was going to be sure to end this quickly.

Sanguinius studied the Knight, knowing full well the torrent of emotions flooding through Bentre. He had come here to try and help the Dakhani process his feelings. The Jedi had suffered many losses during his life and had blamed himself for them. Their deaths had fuelled his journey to the Light, but Sanguinius had no such illusions for Stahoes. Instead, he would help Bentre focus on something else. The Ragnosian continued to bait the Journeyman, drawing him upon to his defences.

The aquamarine blade darted out in several swift attacks, Bentre slashing away at Sanguinius with resolve and intent to harm, seeking solace in violence. Blade clashed on blade as the Shadow hacked away, each blow having his whole weight behind them. Only the Jedi's adeptness with his lightsaber allowed him to parry the attacks. Drawing upon his self-hatred and letting it power his offensive, Bentre's blade became a blur of motion that the Warden seemed to anticipate and deflect, Any jab that passed the Quaestor's lightsaber was sidestepped or dodged in a timely manner.

Drawing upon the wellspring of calm within him, Sanguinius extended his focus past the duelling sabers and unleashed a point blank explosive telekinetic strike that sent Bentre staggering backwards and allowed the Warden to go on the offensive. The Knight spun his lightsaber in a tight circle, defending himself from the Jedi.

“You blame yourself for his death, don't you?” Sanguinius questioned, his voice neutral of emotion.

Stunned silence met his question as Bentre processed it. The silence turned into rage as the Sergeant exploded into motion. “HOW DARE YOU?!” roared the Shadow.

“It's not your fault, you know?” the Sentinel continued his assault upon Bentre, his words hitting home where his lightsaber did not.

Stahoes grunted as he batted aside a blow and then ducked under another. “I killed him, even if I didn't pull the trigger.”

Sanguinius pulled back on his next strike and deactivated his lightsaber before Bentre attempted to parry the attack. “Atra chose his fate, he grew tired of running from death.”

“You Jedi and your fethin' words, all talk and no substance.” Bentre sneered, his aquamarine blade pointed at Sanguinius' face, the tip of the lightsaber mere centimetres from burning the Defender's skin.

The Warden outstretched his arms, his inactive lightsaber held in his left hand. “I am defenceless, Padawan. I choose my fate, just like your Quaestor chose his.” Sanguinius closed his eyes, his mouth curled in an enigmatic smile.

Bentre stared at the Jedi, his emotions warring beneath the surface. The urge to strike down the Professor combated by the need to find validation. He froze, unsure what to do.

Bentre's eyes flitted back and forth as he studied the Jedi closely. The Entar had probed his emotions and questioned his motives. Just like any other day, this Jedi was acting aloof and self-righteous. The Guardian had helped to fuel the conflict burning within the Corellian. He had baited the Sith up to this point, and then at the last moment tossed away his defence.

He is purposefully manipulating the situation, eyes widened as the realization slowly dawned upon the Shadow.

“You Jedi seem to have this notion.” Bentre felt his lip curl into a sneer as he spoke with careful purpose. “You all assert we all have these choices. You espouse this belief that people have this tendency to move toward the light if they are given the opportunity. You imply that given the chance, we would choose what you believe is a better life. Yet, here you are, manipulating one of your fellows. How very Sith-like, mister Jedi.” As Stahoes spoke the last words, he squared his shoulders and stared into his opponents eyes.

“I don’t need some kriffing Jedi to feel some misguided pity for me. You have not felt the weight of the Dark Side upon you.” Bentre strode forward, flourishing his lightsaber. “You do not know the power of giving over to one’s passions, to surrender to emotion.”

“You do not know, padawan.” Sanguinius’s brown eyes bore into the Knight’s hazel eyes with his words as he looked down upon his fellow Sadowan. “You do not realize the measure of pain I have endured because of such a surrender.”

“Skrag,” Bentre shook his head. “Empty words, nothing more. You lot enjoy making puppets of the rest of us.” With a growl, Stahoes deactivated his lightsaber. As he slowly extended a hand, Bentre felt rage swelling within his chest. “You are just another form of control in a Clan of manipulators. Locke, Cethgus, Inyara, Kiriyu- all cut of the same cloth. At least in Atra, I had some sense of kinship.”

“Padawan,” the Entar extended a hand, his voice pleading.

“No! You are full of it! You and all the rest, even that damned Twi’lek is in it for her own gains!” The Shadow’s voice rose with each word. Extending his hand out, Stahoes let loose the rage that was within him.

Nothing came of it though. For the briefest moment, a white circlet traced along his fingers, but it was gone as quickly as it lanced across his fingers. There was a brief moment of confusion for the Journeyman. The emotion was there but he couldn’t make the connection through the Force. He glared at the Jedi, and was met with a calm, assertive stare. There was a knowing look in his eyes.

He did something to me. Bentre shook his head, feeling a growl building in the back of his throat.

“Surrender to tranquility, Padawan. Your anger, rage and hurt- you do not need to be captive to these things. There is a better path. There are better ways.”

“Kark!” Bentre charged forward, anger driving his steps. It didn’t take long for him to close the distance between the two of them, but Sanguinius did not appear to react. Even as the frustrated drew back his fist, the Defender portrayed nothing more than a calm serenity. However, as the Shadow’s fist lashed out, the older man snapped into action. Hands closed upon Stahoes’s arm, and the Journeyman felt his stride falter as his opponent pulled and released his grip.

“You can have forgiveness. You can have peace.” The Jedi’s words were soft, but authoritative.

“I have to face what I did. I have to face who I am!” Bentre growled, throwing out a hand again. This time, it had the intended effect. His anger rippled through the Force, coalescing in a narrow lance of rippling white energy. The energy struck his opponent in the chest, promping a sharp grunt of pain. The Equite clutched his chest for a moment, pain etching his features momentarily. This brought the Knight a smile, before he saw the look of disappointment in the Warden’s eyes.

“You do not have to bear the guilt for your Quaestor’s death, Stahoes.” The Jedi took a pained breath. “He was the master of his own destiny. You do him a disservice blaming yourself, and you become a captive to your grief. You must learn to move on, to accept his sacrifice. It is not your burden to bear.”

Something seemed to break down inside the Knight. Tears, both angry and sorrowful, began to well up in his eyes. The Corellian was overcome by a sudden fatigue, falling to his knees. His shoulder bobbed with sobbing breaths. He punched twice at the ground with his fists before placing them to the ground.

“It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. Damn it all.” The Shadow’s words died as the emotion overtook him. He could only bitterly weep.

Slowly, the Jedi stepped forward, leaning down and placing a hand on his fellow Sadowan’s back. “Peace, my friend.”

Pain, anguish, hope, redemption, love, bitterness, loneliness, shame, joy, fear. They roiled within Bentre’s mind, each one tearing away a part of what made him... him. The Knight struggled, his outstretched arm wavering as his muscles screamed at him, the effort of holding his lightsaber out so far in front of Sanguinius’ face was draining his strength.

“ENOUGH!” the Knight shouted, bringing his lightsaber back in an overhead arc, before unleashing it downwards, scything through the air. The aquamarine blade slammed against an invisible wall, the momentum bouncing Bentre’s arm back up into the air. The Shadow staggered backwards, physics betraying him.

Sanguinius smiled, that same infuriating smile that looked to Bentre like the Anaxsi enjoyed tormenting him. It cut through the quagmire of warring emotions and struck the Corellian to the core. Hatred. Hatred fuelled him now. Hatred of the smug frakking Jedi.

The aquamarine lightsaber rose and fell again and again, battering away at the invisible wall. The Warden merely smiled as he focused on maintaining the barrier, his mind fine tuning the weak points and strengthening them when needed.

Bentre began to tire, his exertions had come to nought, yet still his mind raged at the injustice of it all. The death of his Quaestor at his hands. He was nothing more than a traitor, yet no one judged him for it. His Consul ignored him. His colleagues treated him as normal. Bentre craved judgement, someone to punish him for his crime. When he had recognised Sanguinius’ presence in the Sparring Chambers, a unconscious thought had momentarily appeared. A hope that the Jedi was here to punish him for his actions. Yet, it seemed that the Sentinel was nothing more than a fool’s hope.

“Give up, Padawan,” Sanguinius rumbled, “You are outmatched.”

The Jedi focused upon the wellspring within him, channelling the soothing waters through his mind and expanded the barrier, pushing Bentre back a couple of steps. Bentre continued to retreat several more steps before charging forward once more. Instead of colliding with the barrier, his lightsaber was met with a viridian one, parrying the attack before Sanguinius’ fist lashed out. The blow hit home, striking the Corellian just below his chest in the epigastric region.

Pain radiated from his lower chest. The attack, fuelled by the righteous strength of the Light Side, crippled Bentre as he struggled to breathe through the agony. The attack was followed up with a vicious slap to the side of the head before Sanguinius kneed Bentre in the groin, dropping him to the floor.

Bentre mewled, his bruised genitals demanding his attention, the ringing sensation of his right ear mixing in with it as the last vestiges of pain in chest dissipated. Sanguinius stood over him, his hands gripping both his lightsaber and the Dakhani’s saber. The Sentinel studied the injured Knight, noting that there was no serious lasting damage. “You wanted judgement for your actions, didn’t you, Bentre?”

Bentre ignored his words, choosing to gesture rudely at the Jedi as he clutched his groin with his other hand.

“What happened on Sepros was not your fault, Padawan.” Sanguinius looked at Bentre’s lightsaber, his keen eye noting several scratches on the hilt. “Atra was determined to die since I’ve known him.”

“You know nothing, you fethin’ slimeball!” Bentre retaliated.

Sanguinius sighed and chucked the Knight’s lightsaber underarm to land with a clatter next to Bentre. “Unless you acknowledge that you had no choice, you will never find peace.” The Warden turned away from the Knight and strode towards the door out of the chamber. As he reached the threshold, Sanguinius spoke once more. “Forgiveness is a powerful weapon, Padawan. Remember that.” his voice echoed through the chamber as he stepped through the door and walked down the corridor.

Bentre pushed himself up, fighting through the slowly subsiding pain. His anger was still there, eating away at him. He had killed Atra, nobody else had. They did not understand. Yet the Jedi’s words ate away at him, finding a chink in his armour of indifference. Bentre secretly wanted that peace, yet was too afraid to find it.