It was far from the first time that Mune suffered from uncertainty and unease with themself. The white-furred Shistavanen wondered if it would always be the case. They were scars on their psyche, ghosts that haunted them from their past. The nightmares were back in full force. Perhaps they were spurred by Mune’s gnawing anxiety. Something had shifted in them throughout the last few months. They wondered at it as they always did, its causes, and just what it meant for them. They wondered, perhaps, if it was because of where they found themself—part of what Doon would call their pack. The Voidbreaker II had certainly become family to Mune, to their brother.
The nightmares still brought the taste of blood to their lips—the feel of it matting their fur.
This was why Mune approached Marick. They trusted the Hapan. It was because of the Hapan that they came to be on the Voidbreaker II. It was because of their fellow Arcanist that they found a pack where they felt safe. People would protect them in return. The Hapan was among the few that knew Mune and their past. Marick’s calm and zen-like control drew them to ask for his help.
The training facilities of the Voidbreaker II were quiet. A rare thing, even at the late hour, they chose to use them. Mune fidgeted in the way they had, eyes taking in the training mats and the practice weapons, studiously looking anywhere but at Marick at that moment. They had too much on their mind to still the twitching of their tail or ears. No one else was present for the time being. Mune knew better than to believe it would stay that way, especially with how the crew of the Voidbreaker II loved nothing more than a good show.
They took a steadying breath, and finally, their vivid, ruby eyes met Marick’s striking, too-blue eyes. Mune held the man’s gaze as if they could see what went on in the Hapan’s mind by looking deep into that vast blue. Not so long ago, their minds were linked, along with the mind of Eleceos. The Shistavanen brushed the memories away. It had been an experience, one that had been incredible and terrifying all at once. They had survived. They had a funny knack for doing that, no matter what the enemy threw their way. Mune’s ears lay flat. Odds dictated that there would be a time that they did not come out on top. That one day, they would be unable to stand up to the onslaught. They shoved that thought back in its box, and files under do not open.
“I appreciate your help, Marick,” Mune muttered in uncertainly.
It was sometimes easily forgotten how young Mune was. They carried themself like someone much older—a culmination of their intellect, experiences, and scars. At other times they seemed far younger. Their hands kept smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in their pink shirt, their weight shifting from one bare paw to another. Their calm was tenuous and uncertain in the turmoil that played at the recesses of their mind.
Voidbreaker II was rather quiet at this time of the day. Everyone was busy spying, building, researching or discovering new recipes in their own quarters. The metal corridors of the ship were always shiny and clean, and for some unknown reason you couldn’t get lost within them.
The Red exited the cargo bay a few minutes ago, and was following a corridor to his quarters. The wooden box which was held in his front paws wasn’t heavy - but was losing a lot of straw through the small holes on its sides.
At this point Shista was passing the training facilities, and couldn’t stop himself from a quick glance inside of the main dojo doors - especially after he sniffed the familiar smell of Mune from inside of the Voidbreaker’s II battlefield.
He noticed Marick standing opposite to White Shistavanen, and both of them were in their open “first move” positions, which probably would change soon.
Archian stepped inside and took a sit down leaving a wooden box next to him. He decided that it would be quite entertaining to see again the Mune’s dancing fight style of the Shadow Step, especially when connected with the speed and momentum of Sliding Hands used by Marick. Also there was nobody else around which was very satisfying.
While Red’s focus shifted at two warriors, the box quickly shaked, and moved a few millimeters into the exit doors direction.
Marick wore fitted synthweave pants and a slightly baggy sleeveless top with a hood on the back that was lowered. He carried no weapons, and for all intents and purposes looked as if he was coming back from a morning yoga class. Which probably wasn’t too far from the mark. Without armaments or robes, the Hapan looked rather…diminutive. Sure, he was attractive by any species standards, perfectly parted ash-gray hair pulled back into a small top knot behind the back of his head. Lean, whipcord muscle perhaps gave away his conditioning, but still his lack of bulk belayed the sense of threat he gave off.
At least on the surface. Anyone that were to stretch out through the Force would find something strange. A stone, an anchor in the chaotic, always shifting and changing slipstreams of the Living Force. Solid, stoic, and unmoving. It shouldn’t have belonged, and stood out like a sore thumb. And yet that anchor was unmoving and that in itself could provide some concern.
Marick had trained with Grand Master’s, served on the Council, and lead the Inquisitorius’ efforts against their first true rival, the Collective. He had been a figurehead, lead soldiers to their deaths, made life-and-death decisions almost every day since he was barely old enough to realize he’d been given the responsibility. Great Jedi Wars, Vendetta’s, conflicts. He had seen it all.
So while he looked like a regular “dad” in his early thirties, he was still one of the most accomplished assassins in the Brotherhood’s history, and had ascended beyond that mark to become a Master Arcanist- the prototype for the discipline.
For all of that, he simply shook his head slightly. “It’s no problem at all, Cinteroph,” the Hapan replied calmly, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his sleeveless hoodie.
His eyes shifted towards the red-furred Shistaven that had joined them. He knew how quickly gossip spread on this ship, so he should not have been surprised. “Archian,” Marick commented calmly.
He didn’t turn his head to the Shistavanen, but the acknowledgement should have been enough to let him know that he was aware of his presence.
His attention shifted back to Mune. “I don’t have much to teach you. You’ve earned your power on your own. Bought and paid for it with your blood, sweat, and effort. However, I don’t need the Force to know that you’re troubled,” he gestured at the Adept. “And without the mind, the body can do little but go through motions.”
Mune could not help but grin sheepishly. It was true. They had worked hard and for much of their life to get to where they now stood. They even had to start over once, the memory of being at death’s door nit a comforting one. They lived, though, and they started again.
“I…” Mune hesitates to collect their thoughts then shook their head and sighed. “I am afraid.”
Mune actually laughed, then, though it was without humour. “Perhaps that is putting it lightly. I am stilled by uncertainty. I am plagued by the nightmares… fragmented memories, of those things done by an animal that shares this flesh and fur.”
The white-furred Shistavanen dropped their gaze to stare at the floor. “When things grow difficult… when my back is against a wall, I still feel it clawing at the inside of my skull.”
They closed their eyes, taking a centering breath, they met the Hapan’s eyes. “After so long. I still find I am unsure who I am. What I am doing.”
They looked lost. “I have a pack now, in these people. Caleb… Carr… Doon… Eleceos… Zig… so many others and… what if…” They taste blood on their tongue and its scent filled their nostrils. Blood spattered snow filled their vision and mattes their fur. They were a child again, and the bodies lay strewn on the ground before them. Mune blinked and the memory was gone. The taste. The scent. Their ears lay back, “None of them knows… well. Maybe Eleceos… we three did briefly share minds…”
They wondered then if perhaps they were rambling. Perhaps boring their friend. They imagined Marick knew more than most. Marick was definitely more observant than most. Mune brushed a hand through their hair and eyed the other Arcanist. “That is a lot. Yet there is so much more to it. And I apologize for burdening you with it.”
Marick processed Mune’s explanation without judgment or comment. His face remained a calm, natural mask as he listened. What might have been “a lot” for some was usually “light” to the retired spymaster. And while he was still learning to be more empathic and not treat everyone around him like a datapoint or a responsibility, he He blinked once, and gave a few silent beats before responding.
“There is nothing wrong with being afraid,” he started. He extended a hand and willed a training sword to his hand with the Force. He caught it without looking and closed his fingers around it. He studied it, and then continued. “But letting our fear control us?”
He tossed the training sword aside, as if throwing away food waste into a bin. But before the training weapon could hit the ground, it was caught by an unseen grip and lifted back up into the air to hover just off to Marick’s side. There it stayed like a floating aegis.
Marick never took his eyes off Mune, his tone even, calm, his posture entirely at ease. “We can harness the Living Force. While this gives us power, it also acts as a crutch. Reliance on our power, and the loss of it. But at its core, it all comes back to one central concept: control.”
“There are different ways to control your fears. Some say confront them…lock them away” he shrugged. “Even that might not make the fear go away. So what do we do?”
He exhaled slowly and lowered himself into a fighting stance. Both hands went flat, like knives, and swayed his balance with slow, deliberate motion. He locked eyes with Cinteroph.
“We control and then master our fear with discipline.”
Mune listened. They were not good at listening. They tried though, their ears up and eyes studiously watching. They knew the other Arcanist was a master of telekinesis. They were disciplined in the power themself. Marick’s control never ceased to amaze them though.
Mune reached out with the Force. Something was off though. It was almost immediately apparent. The practice swords rattled then settled. Mune looked away from Marick to the rack and frowned.
“Well then… that is awkward,” Mune exclaimed sheepishly, only just managing not to turn it into a terrible innuendo about not being able to get it up. Then wondering if they have been hanging around Zig too much.
Marick didn’t judge or seem to make any notable reaction. He simply waited, patiently, and considered. “You say you’re worried about others finding out what lies inside you. But you also told me that you have those you trust already. If you tell them, they will understand.”
He exhaled slowly. “Too much of my life I spent locking myself away from others thinking it was strength.” He thought of Atyiru, her smile. He thought of Wyn, finding his brother and their renewed relationship. He thought of Kirra, his daughter, his guiding light and beacon to being better. “Strength comes from trust. In yourself, and your pack.”
With that, he darted forward towards Mune and launched a jabbing punch with the back of his knuckles towards the Shistavanen’s shoulder, aiming to knock them off balance.
The air rippled for the briefest moment The Force coalesced between the two Arcanists. Mune arched a brow. If Marick could effortlessly use telekinesis, Mune too had tricks that came as easy as breathing too. The Shistavanen’s sheepish smile turned into a bit of a foxish grin. The unseen wall deflected the jab.
The grin eased back into an uncertain look quickly, though. They eyed the Hapan uncertainly, “They will understand… You can not say that for certain. No one can…”
“I trust them. I trust you.” Mune growled, getting into a loose stance. “I just… do not know if I trust myself.”
They moved, the barrier collapsing to vanish into the aether as the Shistavanen maneuvered to strike. Then they tripped over their own paw and face planted.
Marick frowned at the barrier and his own untidy form. He had, perhaps, been slacking in his hand-to-hand training in his distractions with another child on the way.
His reflexes, however, never quite went away. A faint and familiar pull of the Force, accelerated flare of balance, and the Hapan caught the falling Mune before they could hit the ground. In the same flowing motion, dance-like, Marick straightened them out and slid backwards.
“Then that is what you must overcome. Not fear, but trusting in yourself.”
Mune huffed and blushed awkwardly. As graceful as they were, they sometimes had amusing visitations with the floor or wall… or columns. Mune got back into a loose stance.
“Easier said than done… What if…” Mune had to swallow and collect their thoughts and reign in their stutter. “What if I slip, what if I hurt one of those people I care about?”
The memories of their fangs in someone’s throat made them shudder. They gave their head a shake and slowed their breathing, gathering themself. “What if I do not come back from it… Also… nice move and thank you for the catch.”
Marick didn’t answer immediately, but then spoke. “Nothing is easy, but knowing what you are fighting is a powerful first step into gaining control.”
“Who we are is not defined by what we’ve done in the past,” the Hapan explained. His bright eyes went distant for a moment, remembering. When we take a life, we take nothing of value, the old ideology he’d leaned on in his career as an assassin. Life before death, his vows to his wife and daughter that now guided him, diametric.
“All we can do is control what we do next. Tell me, Cinteroph: What is the most important step a person can take?”
He let the question linger, but before he finished his last words, he darted forward again, this time striking with an open-handed, knife-like chop towards Mune’s neck. In the same motion, he pivoted and then swept his leg around and across the Shistavanen’s ankles.
Mune moved to dodge but not quick enough. It all seemed so unusual for someone that was so quick. Never had their reactions and agility been so far off. The Shistavanen grunted and winced, taking the blow unintentionally and stumbling back. They would wonder what was going on with them but they knew well enough that it was the mess in their head. They rubbed their throat some and shook their head. They were better than this, they knew.
“I tore out my father’s throat… and the men he brought with him. I tore them apart… Tyris. I… I do not remember all of it. It comes back every time I sleep. And it was not the only time. As horrible as he was… for the things he did.” Their eyes were too shiny, virging on tears but the closed their eyes, breathed deeply and gathered themself.
“I was…gods… still a child… then it happened agian in my teens… What if I go feral again and hurt someone… what if I hurt Caleb, or Carr, you or Eleceos? Okay, maybe not you, you are kind of doing all the hurting right now.” Mune tried to laugh but it came out more a pained noise. They shook their head, “It is like something scratching at the inside of my skull every time we are in battle… waiting for its chance. I am not a monster, I am not what my father tried to make me…” Mune huffedand moved, using an open handed strike.
Marick might have grinned. It was a faint thing. “If you lost control, you’d trust us to help stop you. You’re not alone anymore. Who you are not your fault.”
There were flashes of his own past that came through. The abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his mothers negligence and sisters malice. Being honed as a weapon by Timeros at the request of his only real father figures, both of which had died “heroically” in war right before his eyes. The lives he’d taken, the trail of bodies and blood. Women, children, families…none of that mattered if the job was done, and he bore the responsibility for his actions. Nothing is true, everything is permitted.
Instinct, reflex, survival. Muscle memory drilled into every fiber of his being. Marick slipped backwards on the balls of his feet, avoiding the open-handed strike. It was a practical shot from a Shadow Step adherent, a move he’d taught countless Inquisitorius agents.
As he fell back, the telekinetically gripped training sword that had been hovering idly off to his flank darted into the space between Mune and Marick and bapped Mune’s strike-hand away.
“No one is safe from hurting those they care for. There is a monster inside all of us. And you didn’t answer my question.”
Mune’s left hand, their non-striking hand dropped back. The Force pulsed through them, a training katana came free from the weapon’s rack and whipped through the air. Mune caught the weapon without turning.
“The most important step a person can take? I… I do not know… to forgive oneself?”
The sword came around in a brilliant, arcing slash. Mune appeared to be more in their element with a sword in hand, even if Marick deftly blocked that attack with his own telekinetically controlled blade. The training swords ground together.
As the swords clashed, Marick spoke his response. “The most important step a person can take is the next one, Mune…”
His voice trailed off as the Force flared for a moment, allowing Marick to launch himself upward into the air into a preternaturally graceful forward flip. His body arced over the clashing training blades and came down with a descending heel-kick towards Cinteroph’s shoulder.
“It’s always about taking the next step forward,” he finished.
Mune moved to dodge, but the heel drop made contact. They grunted, stumbling but maintaining their balance. Any bruises rapidly healed without a second thought from the Arcanist.
They tried a tactic that has worked for them in the past. Again, though, their scattered mind made it difficult to grasp a hold of the Force the way they intended. Marick may have felt that they tried to pull their feet out from under them, but not much else.
Mune looked frustrated for only a moment. “I… I know that… it is the reason I have survived this long. It is obviously not thanks to my fighting skills.”
Marick glanced down at his feet, clearly having registered the attempt. He didn’t show any facial approval or disapproval, but did manage to semi-shrug off the attack. “If you know that the next step is the most important one, why aren’t you taking it? You’re not afraid to take the step, you’re afraid of what might happen. Do, or do not,” he echoed an old teaching that he had some issues with but made sense in this context.
Mune frowned. It was humorous in a way. Being afraid of what might happen, for someone who spends so much of their time untangling the threads that make up the future. “That… is a fair assessment.”
Mune gave the short sword a quick spin in their hand, then moved into a diagonal slash. The attack was agile and started low. “Keeping it in a box… not dealing with it…”
The white-furred Shistavanen actually caught the Hapan with the attack. They gestured with their free hand and this time their grasp on the Force held strong. Marick, only slightly off balance though he was, found his feet pulled out from under him.
Marick felt himself falling backward, but used that same momentum to land intentionally on his shoulders, rocked, and flexed his core and somersaulted back into a crouched position, one hand flat on the ground for balance. He called out to the training sword with the Force and it floated obediently towards him and formed a cross-block stance to block any follow up attacks, positioning itself between the two Arcanist like a ward.
“There are other approaches of course. Atyiru could work with you on mindset, positivity, and controlling your darkness. My instinct is to draw it out, confront it, and then show it who is in control. But it is not my demon to fight…Mune. It is yours, and only you can make that choice of how you want to handle it.”
He shrugged. “What I can say is waiting around for it to go away or fix itself…doesn’t work. Trust me.”
Mune came in low even as Marick was getting back up. A second sword whipped across the room, a hand clasping around the hilt and bringing it up in a slash that Marick managed, if only just, to dodge. He felt the breeze of its passing. The first sword was thrust in a jab deflected by the other Arcanist’s telekinetically controlled weapon.
The sound of the practice weapons rang softly in the training hall. It sent a thrill through the Shistavanen. Their breathing came slow, a calm beginning to assert itself. A calm that was familiar to anyone that had watched Mune fight previously.
“I do not even know if I would call it darkness, to be honest. It is… an animal instinct. A bestial nature that swallows all logical thought and knows only fight or flight.” Mune explained.
Mune faltered, realizing then that Marick called them by their first name. Was that the first time they heard their actual name spoken by the man? Huh. They grinned.
“You are not wrong. It will not fix itself. It is a part of me.”
“Fight or flight, animal instinct…everyone has it. You are not alone, so it’s not your burden alone. Trust your friends. If you lose control, trust that they will bring you back.”
Marick reached out a hand and with a nudge of dominating will drew two more weapons towards him with the Force.
He split his mind into fragments and gave each part the job of controlling each of the weapons: the training sword, a training spear, and an axe.
All hovered and slowly surrounded Mune. Marick, perhaps a bit smugly, folded his arms across his chest.
“Don’t hold back. Push your limits. Control.”
Without need of a hand gesture, all three weapons closed in on the Shistavanen.
Mune dropped both swords in an instant. They did not even need to think about it. When the telekinetically controlled weapons crashed upon them, they slammed into a bubble that appeared as rippled in the air around them.
A sly grin crossed their muzzle. They gestured sharply with both freed-up hands. Their heart rate rose. They were not sure at first if they could actually do what they attempted at that moment. Their mind sharpened, eyes narrowed, and the water rose up from the pool beyond Marick.
They brought their hands down, and the water… a lot of water came crashing down on top of them. The bubble flickered and rippled, reestablished the moment they released the water. Mune remained untouched… the rest of the training hall was not so lucky, nor was Marick even though he sensed an attack coming. Mune had never given any indication that they could Matter Bend until now.
The thought came on the tail end of the attack, Oh no… Doon is going to be angry.
Despite his awareness, there just wasn’t enough room for him to flee to, no higher ground to leap to or escape. So the water crashed down over Marick like a sudden rainstorm. His hair became immediately plastered around his face, his hoodie and slacks clinging to his body as well, and he stood there in a small pool of water.
He blinked a few times, his face a completely impassive mask, but his eyes now showed some dark fatigue lines of a father who still struggled to sleep very often. But his presence in the Force barely budged or altered, calm and unwavering.
He reached out with the Force, no hand gesture to telegraph needed, and attempted to pull Mune’s dropped weapons away.
Mune’s barrier flickered and dropped. The swords resisted Marick’s grasp and instead snapped back into the Shistavanen’s waiting hands. Mune dropped into a stand with one sword in a reverse grip, body half turned with the defensive sword behind them.
Marick frowned faintly, but more at his own inability to get his desired outcome than at Mune’s expense. The thought barely lingered as his mind continued to churn like clockwork to his next action.
This time Marick did make a bit of a show of direction with his open hands, getting a better focus as he willed his three telekinetic weapons to strike at the Shista’s barrier.
Water still dripped from his clothes and he was peering out of a curtain of long, straight wet hair.
The sword slashed low, the spear stabbed at the chest, and the axe came down heavy up high.
Mune felt the practice sword make contact with their left calf. The spear, too, made contact, not entirely twisting quick enough and making Mune grunt with the impact. They completed their motion in time to duck under the axe. The axe missed by a fraction of a centimetre.
They darted forward through the three controlled weapons. Their main-hand sword came forward in a jab reminisce of a classic fencing sword stab. The sword in their off-hand came around from behind their body in a wide slash aimed at Marick’s midsection.
“How much do you know, Marick. What do your files say about me? About the experiments before I was born and the ones that followed.” Even though they spoke, they remained focused. “About what I am.”
Marick tried to time his side-step with the aid of the Force, but his wet clothing, apparently, affected his movement just enough. The blade bit into the side of his synth-weave undershirt, creating a slightly numbing shock. Without flinching, In the same motion, he recalled his telekinetic sword and interposed it between himself and Mune’s second blade.
“I know more than what is in the files, yes,” he said without so much as flinching or showing any sign of being flustered.
Mune’s off-hand sword rang against Marick’s defensive blade. The Shistavanen pressed their weight against it, taking a moment to collect their thoughts. They figured Marick knew; the man did tend to know more than most. Though Mune could not fault him for it, they, too, knew far more than they let on. There were plenty of people suspicious of them because of it before they finally came to Arcona in search of a home. For Mune, though, it was the visions.
They breathed in, then out again. Calm, centered. “It never worried you… that I could go feral and hurt the people around me?” Mune looked genuinely curious.
“I worry about everything,” Marick replied before adding bluntly, “was I afraid or concerned? No.”
His eyes met the Shista’s. “Every single person in my purview has a probability or chance of ‘losing it’. Everyone has a breaking point, everyone can turn on their friends. Mind Tricks, manipulation, extortion? It’s all the same, really. The only variable you can control, however, is anticipating and being prepared. ”
He shrugged slightly. “I just built the risk into my assessment. It did not change my recommendations to bring you aboard the Voidbreaker in the slightest, and no one challenged it. You helped defend my home, the people that matter to me, when it would have been easier to turn or give in to feral nature.”
“That’s good enough for me,” he finished his monologue. “If you cross a line and none of us could bring you back? I’d put you down myself. As i’d expect of anyone close to me should the worst happen to myself. This is, sadly, the lives we live as members of the Brotherhood and Shadow Clan.”
Mune seemed to absorb that and nodded, “Perfectly logical, I respect that.”
The Shistavanen hopped back, gave both swords a quick spin and dropped into a low stance again. Both swords were in a reverse grip. Their feet were apart for balance, legs bent in a crouch and ready for Marick’s next move.
“It is difficult for me to think of the what ifs. What if I hurt someone, Carr, for example. Or… maybe I hurt no one but can not find my way back. I will admit, as vain as it sounds, I am afraid to lose my mind, my intellect. Pathetic really. This whole worrying is sad when one things about it. Perhaps I am just a child, whining, when it comes down to it.” Mune grinned toothily, “Did I pick up whining from my little brother? Heh. That is a little awkward.”
Marick shook his head. He made no gesture of offense, and simply pulled off his hoodie and tossed it aside. Now shirtless, the tapestry of scars across his shoulders and back and torso were visible.
“Facing your mortality, owning your weakness, these are not the acts of a child,” he explained.
He rolled his neck from side to side, as if stretching. “Unfortunately, your sleeping mind won’t awaken in a controlled environment like this. You need a ledge, or a corner and unfortunately I’m not going to use the same techniques my Master did for me to create those scenarios.”
Marick’s eyes went thoughtful as he remembered Timeros casting his Aura of terror without stop. He had made Marick read, write, study, work out, train, talk, exist while the constant weight of terror pressed down on him. He’d had his fears ripped out and presented in front of him. He’d been cornered and beaten and used as a punching bag.
But he had emerged a weapon, a tool to fight and to serve.
The look flickered away from his face, returning it to its calm, neutral disposition.
He extended a hand and drew a towel to his hand. He started to dry his face and hair. Only after the fact did he remember that his weapons were still floating. He frowned at them, and then they floated back to their places on their respective racks.
Mune lowered the practice swords and then released them. They went back to their place on the racks. “I appreciate the talk. I do. I will talk with Eleceos, I think. He has been a good friend to me, and I trust him. I will work through some things.”
The Shistavanen studied the scars, tracing them with their eyes. He looked away to look at the water that lay over almost everything in the practice area. “Soon. I will talk to my brother and husband about it, about… me. How self-centered that sounds… But you were right; it cannot stay in a box forever.”
They motioned, “I will clean up here. Thank you again, Tyris.”
Marick bowed his head slightly. “Anytime, Cinteroph.”