Abandoned and forgotten, the ruins of the Dark Temple have slowly succumbed to the erosion of time. In the central chamber—the walls have crumbled, the ceiling has caved in, and the jungle now flourishes within the once pristine halls.

Green light filters itself through the temple, mixing eerily with the dark, violet hue of Dromund Kaas’ sky. Lightning flickers overhead, the raw energy of the Force clashing high above. The floor is overgrown with flora, large plants and grasses that have swallowed the old stone. Wild creatures roam freely, skittering away from the presence of intruders while vicious predators hide just out of sight.

The main hall is lined on both sides by towering statues, heads bowed in supplication. They stand in deference to the sculpture of a pure-blooded Sith, which towers over the chamber with outstretched arms. The sculpture has been split diagonally down the middle, as if cleaved in two by a rusted blade, but the majesty in the stone still echoes to the past.

On either side of the main hall, remnants of branches to inaccessible parts of the temple remain. One might tilt their head to take in what is left of the mezzanine—the balcony overlooking the chamber—still held aloft by the great pillars standing behind the statues. Several of the pillars have fallen, providing a pathway up to the mezzanine for those willing to take the risk for higher ground. Spirits of the Sith are rumoured to still haunt the grounds—waiting for poor, misguided fools to walk blindly into their domain.

Redemption.

The metal was warm underneath him. He pressed his palm tight to the engine casing, quaking and hot. It almost burned, but still he held it. The touch was a comfort.

Tisto left his hand there a little longer, then forced himself to exhale, cutting the engine and dismounting. The moment he did, he felt lesser. Some part of him was always in his swoopbikes, missing when he wasn't astride one. He touched it again. The stillness was wrong, but the carriage was still hot. The sting was sweet then numb then screaming.

Sighing, he backed up, adjusted his jacket, checked Lucia at his belt. Over his shoulder, he heard the electronic chattering of his droid and turned to see the probe come floating out of the ruined temple behind him. His eyes flickered around as Do reached his side, bobbing proudly, almost preening.

The Dark Side drowned the whole place, churning his gut. He would find something here. Do had detected humanoid life signs. Someone was here, and the Kiffar was sure that that someone would be the missing Grand Master.

Tisto was going to bring Pravus to his knees.

They'll see, then, he thought. He would show his clanmates that he would make amends. It wouldn't matter then what record he had. It wouldn't matter that none of his summit knew he'd set out for Dromund Kaas, exactly. He'd planned carefully for this, followed leads, chosen his suspected target well. The Void Serpents would take care of things on their own until he got back, and then—

Redemption.

The Odanite gripped his lightsaber and strode forward, stretching out his senses, trying to parse shadow from shadow. There was just so much darkness here, he wasn't sure how much of it was the storm or the planet or...or if it was all his target.

But no, he wouldn't fear. Pravus was going to die the worst death the Kiffar could come up with. He deserved far worse.

Those thoughts resolved Tisto, a steady flame inside him like his bike under hand. He advanced, creeping through a collapsed wall, over rubble, around broken, jagged chunks of duracrete, each of his steps billowing dust. He entered the main chamber, eyes lifting high to the broken mezzanine above—

Something clattered.

The Force flooded him. He lashed out, the telekinetic blast striking from his thrown fist and blasting across the chamber, slamming into—

The Kiffar watched a womp rat sail up into the air before it plummeted back to the ground with a meaty thump. It didn't move. He frowned.

"No!" shouted a voice behind him, and the gang leader startled yet again, whirling and snapping his lightsaber to life. The scarlet blade roared, illuminating...a blindfolded woman. “OUT OF THE WAY!” her familiar voice commanded, its snap sharp enough to chill.

She pushed past Tisto, rushing forward, dropping to her knees, and skidding to a stop next to the small creature. She bowed over it, hands cupping its body.

Seconds ticked by. The rat trembled, then thrashed, chittering. “Rest, litlun. You’re safe,” the Miraluka shushed, and by some magic of the Force, it did, lolling back into twitchy sleep. Its chest rose and fell.

She stood and pivoted slowly towards Tisto. He realized why she was so recognizable, then: Atyiru, the Consul of Arcona, their ally. He'd seen and heard her several times, but never with her spoken directly. She approached.

"Atyiru...what are you doing here? I thought..." Tisto began, lowering his weapon in a friendly gesture. "How long have you been here? Have you seen anyone else? You're not who I was expecting—"

Atyiru's hand struck out and jammed a wad of...gauze? into his mouth from somewhere on her person. He gagged.

"Children, the lot of you," she scolded, tone cold. "Vengeful, angry children. I caution Turel, every time, and does he ever listen? No. He's too blinded. You all are. More violence, always violence, as if it is the first answer to every slight! You make habit of what should be the absolute last resort. Pah! You, ohhh..." She trailed off, inhaled, sighed harshly. "I can feel the Dark creeping in you, and it is no friend to you if you do not respect it. It finds your worst and it feeds if you allow it. Violence! Hmph. Look what you did to an innocent creature, and think how many more will be hurt when you start shooting where there are more people than ghosts."

Tisto paused for a second, spitting out the gauze. Darkness in me? he thought as he went over the Consul’s words in his head. He reached out with the Force, turning his senses on himself. For a quick second he could feel himself, the scar there, and feeling it was disturbing to say the least, but no Darkness. “Are you sure you are all together, Atyiru?” he asked, concerned. “Maybe the Dark Side around you is clouding your ability to see things. I can’t feel anything in me.”

“You think I am going blind?” she scolded once more. “I can see more than you. Even past that scar of yours.” Her voice went soft at the word scar, but her face remained as frightening as ever. “You came out here to kill.”

The statement had no feeling, but seemed to carry far more weight than it should have. Of course Tisto came out here to kill. He had done so many times, it was really nothing. He knew he only killed to protect. After all, if someone was a monster they needed to be stopped like the last group he brought his gang to war against. They were xenophobic terrorists, and had killed people already, and were planning to kill more. It was the same with Pravus: he killed people, had a world bombarded on his orders. Destroyed anyone he could with superior numbers, used his power against defenceless people. Pavus had hurt Tisto’s people. Yet even with that, the Consul’s words stung.

“Yes,” Tisto said, tightening his grip on the saber. “Pavus needs to be stopped by any means necessary. I will be the one to do it.”

If a person could actually light up in fury, Tisto was sure Atyiru would have at those words. Even he could tell she was beyond anger, and was deathly calm. “You will stop this,” she said both verbally and telepathically, waving her hand. “You will stop this and drop your weapon.”

Her wounds bounced around in his head, and almost immediately he dropped his weapon. You want to stop the killing, said a larger part of himself than normal. You just want to protect. Stop the killing. That joined her words, and he froze. The other part of his mind rebelled, after all some people needed to die for what they did. Letting Pravus live would be wrong, more people would be in danger. His gang could be destroyed by that monster.

Tisto knew Atyiru could see his own struggle against her words. He did his best to get her voice out of his head quickly, intentionally recalling everyone he knew who died on New Tython and since then. His first crush, most of his old gang, several pilots all flashed in his head, followed by one group he knew he had saved: a Human woman and a little female Gand. They were torn from the rest of their family forever because of Pravus. Tears formed in the bikers eyes as that ran through his mind.

“You… are... wrong!” he forced out, shaking her words out of his head. “Monsters like Pravus aren’t people. They gave up the right to my sympathy. When I find him I will kill him!” The Shadow Lady reached down, grabbing his lightsaber. “Then you are no better,” she said angrily. She had no intention of killing him, only teaching him a lesson. Yet Tisto didn’t know this.

“Some leader you are Atyiru,” Tisto said as he balled up his fists, the familiar feel of his shockboxing gloves giving him some comfort as another part of him raged about the loss of his lightsaber. “And you will be giving that miracle of machinery back when this is over.”

"I will return this when you have learned," condemned the Miraluka.

"You're the one who's gonna learn how wrong you are! You don't deserve to lead," spat Tisto, tears leaving pale, silent tracks down his face, his glare burning. Broken families. Billions slaughtered, billions more with a gun to their heads, and she had the nerve to stand there and say they were all wrong? That they didn't count? That Pravus didn't deserve to pay for their lives?

He wouldn't let her.

That single thought was strong in the maelstrom of everything else he felt. He grabbed it with both hands and screamed, the Force ripping out of him as he slammed his fists to the ground. His rage was a riptide, exploding outward in a wave and throwing rocks, rubble and the Consul's tumbling body. She made no cry, only slammed into the stone of a large Sith warrior's statue behind her with the flesh-muted crunch much like the womp rat. The slick finial of its carved spear protruded from her chest, anchoring her in place, blood making it glitter like a brooch. She dangled there, toes brushing the ground as her hair grew dark with crimson.

Tisto stared from where he crouched, forcing air through snarling teeth. A moment. His jaw sagged. He blinked. Then—

"Atyiru! Sithspit, I—" he jumped to his feet and rushed forward, reaching for her but having no idea what he was trying to do. Heal her? Pull her down? He didn't know. His hands fluttered uselessly then fell to his sides, his stun cuffs seeming to weigh them down.

The Miraluka stirred slightly, then wheezed with an awful sound, blood dribbling from her mouth. She raised shaking arms, trying to grip at the stone shaft, boots scuffing frantically at the ground. "...elp me...l..lift, 'p..." she tried, and Tisto understood enough. He grasped her by her shoulders and lifted until she gasped loud and harsh, using his knee to bodily brace her against the rest of the statue.

"Atyiru, are you—"

"—not okay," rasped the woman. "But can...breathe. It's blocking the wound, don't try to p-pull me off." She breathed erratically. "Lung punctured, can't collapse though, ribs, sternum, broken. I'm...healing but...going to need you to call."

"Who? Who, Arcona? You have your comm, I, someone can come, right, they—"

"Tisto," interrupted Atyiru. "I need you to b-breathe for me. Focus. I'll talk you through this, just, very careful, get help, yes? My comm, second pouch, has our...codes."

The Kiffar freed one hand to rummage between them for her belt as he drew out the device. The Arconan kept babbling.

"You're a good man, can tell. Many of you...are. But you know w-what the problem there is? Give a good man firepower, an' he'll never run out...outta people to kill. Armies are for people who think they're right, and no one thinks they're more righter...right...than you. Say it's right, to stop a man who 'deserves it.' Again, again...and again."

"I— we can argue later, okay? You've got to tell me who to comm here. What do I say? Atyiru?" His voice frayed with worry and guilt.

Redemption? He'd just killed the leader of an allied Clan. He'd never be able to go home, to go back to his gang, to anything—

"Turry tolds me about your...'scar,' y'knows. He thinked...thought if anyone might see it, I would. S'why...here." She coughed a giggle that was more a croak. "I look inside you an' I see hatred. It'll kill you an' everybody it touches..." She shook her head, and then didn't lift it from where it slumped. "...s'gon take so much...m-more than w-words or, or guns or rage. Ow. No, Tist...Open your heart an' hands, Tisto. The Gods guide us, they dooo..."

He risked shaking her. "Atyiru! Hey! Shut up and tell me who to call. Who do I talk to?" Her communicator burned in his hand. He tried to choke back his panic; he'd seen worse in his years. Gangsters torn apart who lived. She'd be okay. He'd kill Pravus and it would be okay—

"Tell me who to call, Atyiru!" he said again.

But she didn't.

Slumping, Tisto stared at the ground, at his lightsaber at her feet where it had dropped, dribbled in her blood. He swallowed.

He tabbed his own wrist commlink instead.

"Drachen," crackled Hoth's commander on the other end.

"Edgar," Tisto began. "I...I need help."

Mere seconds later Tisto was on the retreat. He had never thought that Atty was skilled in the use of a lightsaber. Sure she had one on her belt, but he had never seen any evidence that she had used one before. He knew her for her speeches and had heard rumors she was a doctor, but nothing about her being a fighter. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he was forced time and time again to dodge his own lightsaber. He suddenly understood why people often complained about a Jedi's weapon. He didn't know how to do anything but dodge and buy time. He barely dodged another strike, continuing his backward move. A thought occurred as he continued to dodge, and he called on the Force, reaching out to the lightsaber on Atyiru's belt. The weapon flew into his hand, and he ignited it.

The blue blade was a shock to the biker, but he managed to bring it up in a basic block. He struggled to knock her weapon aside and started to launch an offensive, striking out as fast as he could. Every strike was knocked to the side by Atyiru's defense, blue colliding with crimson every time. Tisto watched Atyiru's face as the two fell into a pattern.

"Frak it!" Tisto yelled, deactivating the saber and throwing it to the ground. "I'm done. You win, I am done!"

The Consul stoped. "What do you mean?"

"I won't kill Pravus," he said. "I can't even beat you."

"Good," Atyiru replied, deactivating Tisto's lightsaber, and tossing it back to him.

"What?" The biker said, his mouth dropping.

"It is a small step for you," the Consul replied. "It is better than nothing."

"If you say so," the biker replied, thinking over what she could have meant. "Wait a second. Why are you here?"

Atyiru paused. "I think we both came here for similar reasons. I thought Pravus would be here as well. He isn't."

"Why would you come alone? He could have killed you," Tisto replied, suddenly outraged by her decision. He wasn't even sure why he was mad at her, but that was a reckless decision.

"And?" the Consul replied. "He would have killed you too. I was hoping I could pacify him, stop this needless war. It seems like that isn't something I can do this time."

Tisto remained silent as the Consul walked away, crossing the open area that lead to this temple.That woman is crazy he thought to himself. I'm actually glad she is on our side.