DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc, 20th Century Fox, Timothy Zahn, Barbara Hambly, YKW and the other writers of the expanded Star Wars Universe. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
He came out of the vision with a start. That was not what he had expected. It disturbed him. Hell, it didn't just disturb him. It shook him to the heart.
But that was what they were waiting for, the five of them. For the last fifty years, they had been waiting to pounce, and they might get their chance, if that Cal Saphringer got his fingers any deeper into their spines. They had already bestowed upon him their mystical favors. How much longer before they moved to make him their focus? Before Cal usurped him and took on the red and black mask?
Of course, it was not his by right. He had received it when he was rather young, for the oldest, Darth Knar, had thought that he had great potential. He was the only one as strong and as skilled as Maul in the art of combat, and he had a trait that Maul had abandoned in favor of using the art of fear. The art of seduction was more useful to the Cult of the Destroyer. It accomplished their purpose. Maul had posessed it early in his life, but had badly abused it. His leaving had been inevitable--even Seth had seen it, as young as he was. Maul was too focused on power. He cared very little for the honor the cult. Although he would never admit to being so power-hungry, like Darth Sidious had been. He claimed he desired revenge on the Jedi for what they had done to the Sith, even encouraged the cult to take up the cause. But no, that was not what the cult had wanted to do, and in an effort to gain power over their leader, they had chosen Seth, barely a man, to be their leader.
Their puppet.
Darth Seth stepped down from the ledge, away from the dizzying view of the stars. Saphringer's ship was definitely worthy of their presence, with its twists and turns, its core a labyrinth of catwalks above the endless abyss of space, with only a forcefield between a falling victim and the infinity beyond. How many enemies did the man have to employ such a trap? But the sith cult had no fear of falling, not with their dark Force powers.
He rather liked it here. It gave him a feeling he was beginning to miss. An awe for the universe around him, something his brothers felt was overrated. After all, the Destroyer was going to turn all to chaos. Why glory in something that was destined to fall?
That was why they thought he was weak. Because he posessed something they sneered at called "sentiment." Perhaps they were right...a decade ago he would not have dared admit the fact to himself, but the vision he had just had had thrown off his discipline, and he found himself not just admitting the thought but reveling in it.
What they thought were his weaknesses, he told himself, were actually his strengths. After all, he had survived as leader of the cult for so many years, more than any other leader. Most had been cut down by traitors or outsiders. Patience and prudence had kept them safe, kept them hidden from other dark lords who wished to rule over them for their own ambitions--sith lords like Palpatine, Vader, and even Maul, their own brother.
Yet none of this would soothe his shaking heart.
The vision had been quick and fierce. A woman with hair the color of honey and eyes like blue gems was standing before him, the same woman who had haunted his dreams for his entire life. In some she was almost an angel, come to claim vengence on him, and then finding herself unable to because his hands were unstained with blood. The only blood he had ever claimed were those of the animals the cult had used to gain power. And he found in those dreams that he was proud of his purity in spite of his dark magicks and tainted Force abilities.
In other visions she was a wanton woman, begging him to take her and make the child that would consume them all in glorious chaos. In others still, she was a warrior, defeating all who came near her, but melting at his very touch. In some dreams he had to work hard to seduce her, dominate her, even break her. But in all of them, he found himself loving her with an intensity that felt like it would rip his heart from his chest.
Childish dreams, many of them. But relentless in their coming. They would not leave him, and so he waited, even against the cult's wishes. He waited for her. She was his destiny.
This vision was different.
She was dressed in the purple garb that they had saved for her for three hundred years. In her hands, she bore a lightsaber that looked almost like Maul's, but the blades that came from it were a bright violet. She swung the blade, and the cult was brought down in a mass of light. Then she turned to him, and he begged her to strike him down as well, for now he was weak and helpless. Without the cult, he had no power. Instead, she put away her saber, and turned.
And left him. Alone.
Seth shut his eyes and forced the vision back. He would not yield. Even though they wanted him to, even though they waited to tear him down, to destroy him, he would not relent. He was not weak, not like they said. He had been given the horns for a purpose. They were his by destiny's right. The Destroyer had chosen him; it was not the default that the others believed. He was in his rightful place. The cult had survived twice as long under his leadership than under any other. No other leader could boast of that. And it was all because of his weakness that they had survived, his "lack of ambition," his "lack of bloodthirst." Let them sneer at it, but they owed their very lives to him.
As Seth turned away from the dark chasm below, he made himself believe it yet again. And just like every other time, the stone shield of his soul was given yet another crack.
"Are you sure this is the place?" Mara asked as they leapt from the speeder and followed Vaiya over to the low stone wall that looked like little more than a giant rock sticking out of the sand.
"I'm sure," she said, and used the Force to feel out the door and push it open. Gently, she dropped to the floor of the old cathedral, showing her mother and father how to follow her.
For a moment, Vaiya was lost in her memories, and half expected Larin to step from the shadows and welcome her home. But the moment passed. Larin was...well, only Yejion knew. And she was here. And she had a few introductions to make.
She made her way through the dark tunnel, and saw the warm glow of firelight from the main hearth. Almost unconscious of her parents' presence behind her, she stepped into the large room, her eyes scanning the ring of large chairs that surrounded the hearth.
In his usual chair sat Valeris. He looked up, his eyes catching the glow from the firelight and reflecting it in the green orbs. He smiled...it wasn't such a rarity to see Valeris smile, but the kind of smile made Vaiya's heart leap with joy.
She went to him and embraced him. "I have come back like I promised," she whispered, "and I've brought someone with me."
"I know. I've been waiting." Valeris looked up at his granddaughter, and Vaiya swore he saw tears on his cheeks. "Mara?" he said, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse with emotion. "After all these years...it is you."
Mara was struck speechless, but they could feel her joy through the Force. She took one step forward and threw her arms around her grandfather's neck.
She was finally home.