Blood of the Father

[Father Van-Derveld]

Cathar – many years hence...

The catacombs of Imram'Lien ran like twisted veins beneath the surface of Cathar. While the sun scorched the sands above, the chambers beneath the wastelands were cold. There, scarce little light or warmth was to be found. In a broad circular chamber that no other had laid eyes upon in centuries, Vega Van-Derveld knelt in the cold and the darkness. His tunic was rough-spun and his trousers made from tattered cloth, bleached and sweat-stained alike, but he did not shiver in the chill. He dipped his head to the ground and pressed his forehead against the cool stone slabs underfoot.

“Blessed bloodline, preserve us,” he murmured against the stone, holding the position of reverence for a long moment before he lifted his head and let his eye fall upon the idol. The statue that dominated the chamber.

Carved of polished white onyx, the vornskr sat in stoic silence. It's gazed down upon him, indomitable, majestic. An imagine of fierce divinity, fashioned by his own hand. Behind the statue, almost unseen in the gloom, shadows deepened in the relief of a frieze depicting other beasts, each proud Lupine head bowed in supplication to the white onyx. Numbered in their dozens, they offered their submission - but only he could look upon her. Only he could set foot in this most sacred of chambers. Only he was worthy. Only he.

Vega breathed in deeply, his nostrils all at once full of a familiar scent. A small smile tugged at the scar that bisected the corner of his mouth.

“My lady.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

There was only silence that met those two words; silence that held so much and yet so little. Silence and the knowledge that here, one was whole and joined.

"Dearest."

She was like a spectre, moving from the shadows with a grace bourne of nobility. With head held high, she moved easily over the stone surface, moved to stand beside his prone figure. She kept her hands folded into the cloth of the wide cream-colored sleeves of her cloak. She looked upon him with patience and kindness; with tenderness and love. It had always been just the two of them. Just the two flames of life that they had kindled and stoked. They had been so attentive, and so mindful. They had given to each other all, and their lives had become so much more than what they were by themselves.

One eye looked down upon him, gentle and caring as he knelt. The other was a blank canvas, yet full of life all its' own, and Lady Van-Derveld smiled at her husband. Her mate. Her Only.

"One so noble as my husband should never bow his knee and touch his head to stone."

Her words were of honey, warm and sweet, and her eye was soft in its' gaze.

[Father Van-Derveld]

Her voice was soft and yet it filled the darkened chamber, filled Vega with hope.

“I am not too proud to kneel before one so deserving.”

His prayers for the evening done, Father Van-Derveld got to his feet and turned to his mate. She was a light in the darkness and a mirror to him, the scars they wore proudly reflected in each others faces. Two halves of a whole, he could never be at peace without her.

“Will you stay with me for a while?”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

For him, she would deny nothing. There had not been a moment in her life that she had found any cause to deprive him of anything he asked. And looking at him now as he rose to stand, Lady Van-Derveld felt that old flutter in her chest as he squared his shoulders back, coming to his full height. Through the scars and lines of age that drew so many patterns across his face, she saw him as he had been when they were still so young, when neither had reached the first century of their long years.

A smile was sent up to meet his eye, and she half-turned, moving to one of the intricately carved marble benches that lined the walls on either side of the chamber they were in.

She slowly lowered her frame to sit, folding her hands in her lap.

"All of the Guardians on the whole of Leh'ben could not keep me from you, Love."

[Father Van-Derveld]

He joined her on the bench and lifted one hand, as if he meant to take her hand in his – but hesitated, instead curling his fingers around the edge of the bench, squeezing the cool marble. His eye searched her face for any sign that she was not well. For any hint, however small, that she was.. unhappy. It had been her wish that had brought them to the holy city of Imram'Lien. To the ruins of the great civilisation that they would rebuild together. The cradle of Lupine life. Surely, here of all places, she was content?

He studied her for a moment longer, the chamber as still and silent as a tomb.

Her expression was it always was: serene. As warm and peaceful as a cloudless sunrise.

“It's not the Guardians that trouble me.” He shook his head, though only faintly.

“Our daughter...” He said, lips pursing into a hard line moments after the words were spoken.

[Lady Van-Derveld]

"Bryna..."

The name was whispered so lovingly, and Lady Van-Derveld closed her eyes as she thought of the child that she and Vega shared. So beautiful, the perfect culmination of two so fast in loving union. Her heart swelled, and warmth seemed to spread throughout her body. Her will, and that of her mate's, had brought such a small life into the galaxy. Both had been so joyous at the news of her pregnancy, and both had been so elated at the thought of one to call their own. So many days and nights spent in each other's company, filled with the infinite wellspring of love and happiness as they waited patiently - though not with a little bit of excitement. And the baby had been beautiful, sharing so many aspects and features of both mother and father.

Just the thought of their daughter made a phantom smile pull at the corners of her mouth.

And yet, as she cracked her single remaining eye to pass a sideways look to Vega, the set of his lips gave her pause and for the briefest of moments the Lady froze. Her hands gripped one another as her attentions now came into focus upon the man who sat beside her; the man that held her heart and her everything.

"Tell me," she whispered.

[Father Van-Derveld]

She spoke the girls name like a prayer. A soft sigh that gave divinity to a name that was not worthy of it. Bryna. His only child and his greatest disappointment. There was a barely perceptible tick in the muscle beneath Vega's blind eye.

“I mean to send her away.”

He pulled in a long, deep breath that shivered as it passed his lips. Though he felt shame pulling his eyes downward, he refused to look away for his mate. His eyes fixed to hers.

“To find you.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

"Vega... "

It was a strange expression that descended upon her features then; an expression of concern and worry laced with so much compassion. And yet, tangled in the weave was the faintest bit of hope. How she wished to reach up, to caress his face and pull her to him, to clutch him to her in comfort and warmth.

"Oh Vega; my Vega," she could only offer her words.

What could she say to him beyond what the tone of her voice did? What could she give to him that was more than what she could do right now?

Her gaze softened, and in an act of desperate love given new life, the Lupine lifted a hand. It rose to his cheek, slender fingers steady as she cupped her palm to run along the contours of his strong jaw; over the scars that crisscrossed his own features. And yet, her skin never touched his. Never smoothed over the lines of concern that marred his face as she had once been able to do.

The adoration in her eye was all that could touch him this day.

It was such a farcical thing, to be so close yet so far away...

[Father Van-Derveld]

His lips parted to speak, but the words would not come. I am lost without you. As he inhaled, his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't remember how it felt any more, to feel her fingertips brushing against his cheek.

He wanted so much to feel her touch. It had been so long, to long. Twenty years had passed since she had been taken from him, since half of him had been torn away Twenty years of darkness and solitude. By day he carried the weight of his grief with head held high, but in these moments – these private moments – it was almost too much to bear. His scars were like a physical manifestation of the cracks in his soul.

He found solace in the Force, but it was not enough.

“It is possible. The blind maid swears it. She will find you and bring you back to me.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

"The Maid..."

He ethereal grasp seemed to tense, yet all the same it pulled away in languid hope. Hope for something more. Hope that she could touch her Only again.

"What The Maid deems possible is always attainable."

Words spoken not to dissuade.

"But Love, do not place all of your hopes upon this."

There was worry over his mind; worry that he had pushed himself beyond the point of breaking his own sanity. She pulled her ethereal hand away.

"If it is what the Force wills, then so be it. But if not... "

She stopped then, her figure a portrait of serene thought and noble bearing as she looked away from him, to the far wall. Her mind suddenly taken to the endgame of his intentions, the Lady allowed herself the indulgence of passion and desire.

"A body," she whispered, the thought of once more holding him in her arms overriding her cautioned words of before.

[Father Van-Derveld]

“A body,” he agreed, in a quiet voice.

What the maid had foreseen was unheard of. That she could reach into the netherworlds and commune with the spirits was no secret, but that with the right materials – the right vessel – she could bring back the dead? It would have been heresy, had the two of them not been creatures of divine purpose. Father Van-Derveld and his Lady, the Mother of Wolves. So it was written, so it would be. Not even death could hold them apart.

“A body to hold,” he went on. “To love. To give life to House Van-Derveld once again.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

House Van-Derveld.

Once merely a Greater House, she had pulled it to the Apex. She had shed and discarded the mantel of Losstarot for the desire and want of what would have been considered beneath her station. Even when they had first laid eyes upon each other she had instantly knew that the greatest House was not what it'd been in the past, but what it was to be in the future. She knew, and she pulled him to her in such love and acceptance. She had given to him her all, and he to her. She had taken his House and made it her own just as he had taken hers and made it his. What they had become was a House so far above the stature of those of the past. So far above the conventions and dictations that had once - ages past - would've been demanded of them.

They had created something wholly new, and while she was more than accepting to take on his name, both knew that the true meaning ran so much deeper. As well, it transcended the expectations of their ancestors.

They had gone beyond the curse of House Van-Derveld to mold and create something so pure and wonderful...

Her eyes closed, her thoughts lost in the rapture of all that the two had risen above, and her lips parted to allow a sigh to pass. An expelled breath that carried with it all of their essense, as man and woman. As mates. As two Lupines.

"How... ?"

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

“Father?”

Bryna hesitated at the entrance to the chamber, unable to will her feet to carry her any further within. She forced herself to look to where her father sat, and thought she could see something – so faint, like smoke – at his side. Her pulse quickened. She knew who he came here to commune with, why he sequestered himself away in the darkness for hours on end, emerging with dark lines beneath his eyes and the red raw marks of fresh lashes on his back. He was punishing himself, and her. No door barred her entrance to the room, but Bryna knew that this was one place her father forbade her from entering. He had made that clear. She would not have transgressed against her his decree if she did not have urgent news.

She lifted her head and squared her shoulders, willing courage into her heart where there was none. You are a daughter of House Van-Derveld. Act like you deserve to carry that name.

“The maid sends for you,” she said firmly, her words sounding loud and violent as they broke the silence.

[Lady Van-Derveld]

Like a thunderbolt the voice that reached her ears passed through her entire body. It was like the ringing of the truest bell crafted; so crisp and clear and pure. Bryna's voice...

She rose quickly to her feet, her eye falling upon the young woman that her baby girl had become, and Loklorien Van-Derveld lifted a hand to cover her mouth. She wanted to plead, to beg, to cry out to the Bloodline. To allow her child to see her; to allow Bryna to see her mother... her Dama. It had been so many years...

Slowly her hand fell away, though her gaze remained on her daughter.

Moving downward, her palm came to rest over her heart, and she let a sad smile appear.

"Bryna... "

Vega was not entirely ignored, but the sight of their child was enough to cause her so much heartache and happiness. So much longing and contentment. Her free hand moved out in a beckoning gesture, hand open and inviting. What Bryna actually saw she could not guess, but what she might feel...

"Come to me... "

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

What she saw was a shadow. A figure in the darkness. Her fathers shadow, detached from him somehow and looking right at her. Bryna stared back into the featureless face of the figure. She felt as if it was calling to her somehow. Trying to speak to her. She wanted with every fibre of her being to answer that call. It didn't matter that she couldn't hear the words. She felt them, the near-intangible desires of the shadow. At one moment there and then the next, slipping away like smoke.

Bryna opened her mouth to speak and without realising it, she took a step forward. “I...”

[Father Van-Derveld]

“Leave us.”

His voice was like a whip crack that the girl flinched away from.

Moment's later, Father Van-Derveld head bowed. His breath came as a heavy sigh as he pushed calloused fingertips back through his hair. The anger that had flared inside his chest was quick to cool, as he reminded himself why Bryna had intruded upon their privacy.

“I... am sorry. I must go to her,” he said, already pulling himself to his feet, though much it pained him to go.

“We will be together soon, my love... soon.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

Soon...

Lady Van-Derveld watched the woman that Bryna had become, the woman that her and Vega's child had grown into. There was pride and aching all the same, as she wished for nothing more than to clutch her daughter to her chest and never let her go.

Vega's apology was enough to pull her from her reverie, and the Lady let her hand fall, turning to face him as he rose to stand. And while she dreaded those times when he left, she knew that the reasons this time were so very crucial. She bowed her head, hands moving to clasp in front of her.

"Soon," her voice was soft as she repeated his word, and her body seemed to wilt; to become intangible even to her mate.

"... my Vega," came her call one last time as the shadow of what she had once been shifted, moving forward in fluid grace to pass through his own body on its' way to oblivion.

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

As her father left the chamber in silence, Bryna fell into step beside him. Ahead was a broad paved corridor with sconces set into the walls, their torch-light difficult to adjust to after the absolute darkness of the burial chamber. The air was warmer in the corridor, but Bryna's skin still crawled with gooseflesh.

Her father said nothing, but he did not need to. He had raised her in isolation, the two of them rarely venturing beyond the boundaries of the holy city. She could read his every mood and temper with a glance.

“I'm sorry,” she started, but her father cut her off.

[Father Van-Derveld]

“Words are wind, child,” he grunted, lengthening his stride and out-pacing the girl within moments.

Ahead, a broad set of stairs curved further down into the forgotten depths of Imram'Lien. That he could hear the girl following him down didn't matter. Though she had vexed him, she had come to him with good reason. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he turned and in three long strides passed beneath another stone archway. The chamber beyond was well lit with lamps hung from the ceiling, their light illuminating the huge hole carved into the centre of the floor.

Father Van-Derveld slowed his step as he neared the mouth of the pit, looking down at the creature that cowered within.

The Blind Maid of Cathar.

“Speak,” he commanded.

[The Maid of Cathar]

Blind eyes turned upwards, chains rattling as the maid drew herself up from the ground and onto her hands and knees.

“He is here,” she gasped. Her head twitched by fractions to the left then the right, as if her attention were being pulled back and forth by some unheard sound. At each pause, she frowned and shook her head.

“The hound of the black hand. The traitor, steel cloaked in crimson. Alastor. The first of his name, the last of his name... the last of all names.”

Her fingernails curled against the stone floor as a breath shivered through her.

“My lords... I have found that which you seek.”

[MMU]

Across from Father Van-Derveld, on the other side of the pit, something sat. A single, glowing eye cast hazy blue light downwards to the pitiful figure below before snapping upwards to illuminate the figure of the elder Lupine in soft hues that dissipated across the distance separating them.

It rose from its' haunches then, standing for a moment as if expecting some sort of acknowledgement. And yet, it knew that there would be none. It knew that such a thing was unneeded.

Another moment more, and the thing rose up from four legs to stand upon two. With deliberate motions it began a slow, mechanical pace around the rim of the pit to where the Father stood.

It chose not to speak, as it was not the time to; rather it allowed the Maid to deliver her cryptic message.

[Father Van-Derveld]

“Bring her to me, then.”

Lips parted in a soundless wail, the blind maid squirmed under the watchful eyes of the father and the machine. “I cannot,” the maid sighed as she sank down against the stone, pressing an ear to the cold rock. “It is.. as I have pronounced. I cannot reach her. Only send you to her.”

Vega squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the image of the maid writhing against the ground. She was here in body, but her mind? Something had fractured the Jedi once known as Daria. Conversing with her was difficult at the best of times, but when a vision overtook her? It was nigh impossible.

One thing was certain to him, at least: he could not leave. Whatever the maid promised, he could not take the chance that he would be unable to return to Imram'Lien and the spirit of his mate.

“Then you will send the girl to her, as we discussed.”

[The Maid of Cathar]

“The girl is with her already. No – she was.”

At the edge of her vision, the maid could see the mouth of the pit she had been cast into. Dozens of figures looked down on her, some billowing with shadow, others wreathed in fiery light.

She saw the many multitudes of what was, what had been and what could be. House Van-Derveld, rising and falling in the same breath. Yet look as she might, Daria Nytherciria could not see herself.

“Will you go willingly, child? What is seen cannot be unseen.. and you may sooner wish to burn out your own eyes than look upon that which your lord father commends you to see.”

[MMU]

The ancient avatar slowed its' pace, the multi-fingered 'feet' that it walked on clicking in an ominous off-beat to the Maid's words. Its' arms remained still, placed at the front of its' body so that the hands grasped one another, each mechanical finger interlocked with precision that only a construct could achieve.

Moving to stand beside the Father, the Mobile Mainframe Unit was as a silent sentinel, the body so crafted to be as much of a duality as its' Masters were.

When the Maid addressed the daughter, Bryna, it tracked the single ocular lens to the girl.

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

Bryna's father and the mechanical sentinel at his side both turned a single, pale eye towards her.

In the pit below them, the maid also lifted her sightless eyes. As a young girl, Bryna had crept around the edge of the hollow where the maid was kept, peeking over the edge of the hole. For two decades the maid had been chained in this place, and for two decades Bryna had tried to engage her in conversation and though she had felt the back of her nick prickling, the sensation that she was being watched somehow by the blind woman, this was the first time that the maid had addressed Bryna directly.

Even now, her words were cryptic. Her father meant to send her somewhere – somewhere that the maid thought it wise to warn her against. Fear and uncertainty gnawed at her inside with cold, sharp teeth.

If this is what you would have me do, she thought.

“I will do as you command, father.”

[Bron Korso]

Standing silent and tall in a doorway, the monolithic figure of a dark furred Cathar stood like an immovable statue, his body rigid and back straight. Despite his age, Bron Korso was still a formidable sight, and this he used to great effect. He'd been with House Van-Derveld for long enough that any life he might've had before had been long forgotten; all that was his world now was to ensure the safety of his masters. He had been with the Father and his Lady since their first beginnings, and had served faithfully at their side. And yet, even despite all of that he was so much more. His role had grown from something so simple into something so very complex. A boy that'd at one time been given in offering to the Beast-Gods had become their aide and council, and in a way had become a part of their own. He had been at the Father's side when his beloved mate had passed. He had helped greatly to rear the child, Bryna. He saw to the affairs that needed tending without needing to trouble the Father, and for that his life had become rich with knowledge and a sort of companionship that is fulfilled with contentment.

Even as Bryna had grown older he remained faithfully at her side, and all the while he remained wholly loyal to the Father. The two Lupines were, in some strange fashion, his family.

And now?

Now Old Bron's countenance held a deepset frown.

He had heard the Maid's words, and knew the Father's intentions.

Standing in the shadow of the arched doorway, the Cathar clasped his hands behind his back in thought, his brow knit with concern over the course of action that was desired by Vega Van-Derveld.

[The Maid of Cathar]

“You will do. You have done.”

On her knees, the maid spread her hands over the floor as if she were smoothing out a tablecloth. She stared at the stone, her already wrinkled brow wrinkling further.

“It demands a sacrifice.. the blood of the father. He must open a vein to open a door.”

[Father Van-Derveld]

Though he had suspected as much, Vega could not suppress the sneer the twisted into his lips.

There was great power in the blood of his kind. Old blood, blood that could be found in no other place. When he and Loklorien had joined as one, they had brought together two powerful bloodlines. The future of the Lupine species had been in there hands. The child of their union should have been a being of unrivaled superiority. A scion of divinity.

Vega's eyes lifted to the face of his daughter. Bryna looked between her father and the maid, uncertainty plain to see in her expression. When she realised her father was watching her, she stared pointedly at the blind woman in the pit below.

Wordlessly, he held a hand out at his side. He turned his head a fraction, enough to see the old Cathar that lingered in the arch of the doorway, though his eye was fixed on the maid.

“A blade, Bron. The witch desires blood.”

[Bron Korso]

A single step turned into more, and the Cathar brought himself into the cavern, disapproval written upon his craggy, furred features for all to see. His mouth was set in a thin line as he moved to stand just behind and to the side of his Master. He looked down at Vega Van-Derveld.

"What the Maid sees is nothing you should take lightly," he began, though he knew that his words would most likely elicit a terrible rebuke.

"Your mate... I know you wish to have her back, but think. Think of what you aim to do, Master Van-Derveld."

Ultimately he would not deny his master's wish, but at the very least he could inject a sense of caution.

He leaned forward and down, speaking into the Lupine's ear with a voice low enough that only Vega could hear.

"I know you wish her back, but the gift she gave you with her last breath - your child... is this what your mate truly wishes... ?"

[Father Van-Derveld]

“I have waited long enough. Loklorien has waited long enough.”

His words were like a thunderclap into the stillness of the chamber.

Hot anger mingled with guilt in his chest a second later. The old Cathar was a loyal friend and ally, but he did not understand. He could never understand the bond that the father and his mate had shared. The day she had been taken from him it was as if every star had been torn down from the sky.

It was an injustice that he had waited too long to correct.

“How much blood, maid?” he called out, gesturing again to Bron for a knife with which to make the fateful cut.

[The Maid of Cathar]

Daria licked her dry and cracked lips. What she planned to do – it was unlike anything she had done before. Her manacles rubbed against her wrists as she spread her hands further apart on the ground, feeling for answers. The Force squirmed away from her touch, writhed in anticipation of the paradox that she was going to bring about.

“A heart-full,” she said, nodding to herself. “We must paint the door with it.”

[Bron Korso]

At that, Bron made his full discomfort known, a hand going out to roughly fall upon the Father's shoulder.

"A heart's full?!"

He twisted the elder Lupine around so that the two faced one another. The concern on Bron's feline features was plain to see, as was his underlying anger at the Maid for suggesting such a thing.

"She would have you bleed yourself dry, Master," he hissed, his gaze angled down so that the two locked eyes.

"What good do you do for your mate if you kill yourself in your efforts to bring her back? Would you leave her in the same state that you now find yourself?"

Bron was intimate in the old ways well enough, and his hesitation was laid out for all to see. He served House Van-Derveld, and found himself unable to fathom the request being made of his master now.

"The Maid will have you destroy yourself," he growled out angrily.

[The Maid of Cathar]

“The price is not ours to set.”

Daria's chains rattled as she drew herself to her feet, unsteady. Her robes – once pristine white, now filthy – hung loose on her body, too large for her emaciated frame. Where her skin was not covered by the tattered fabric, it was deathly pale. Bones bulged beneath it, the skeleton of one who had been sustained for too long on little more than the energy of the Force. Her knees bowed together, her shoulders hunched as if it was a great effort to hold herself upright on such weak, narrow limbs.

“It must be paid.. in full.”

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

Heart thudding against her chest, Bryna watched as Bron approached her father. If anyone could temper her father's anger and ambition, it was the old Cathar. He was like the towering columns that held up the palace. A rock on which both father and daughter depended. Without Bron, the House of Van-Derveld might well have fallen a dozen times over.

Without him, Bryna might not have survived infancy.

Her stomach knotted, twisted at the thought of the terrible cost the Maid demanded of them. Was there any guarantee that it would work, that the blood-letting would deliver Bryna to the fate that the Maid had warned her of? None of them truly understood the dark, esoteric art that the blind woman commanded. She wished she were young again, her face buried against Bron's chest, listening to the comfortingly steady thump of his heart.

Whatever she felt, she could not deny her father.

“Let me help.”

Bryna took a step forward, heat rising into her cheeks as her father turned one scowling eye towards her.

“Father's blood runs in my veins too.”

[The Maid of Cathar]

Like a sapling straining towards the sun, Daria turned her blind eyes towards the sound of Bryna's voice.

“Perhaps...” she murmured the word, then licked her lips as if testing what taste it had left behind.

“But not this time. The price is not yours to pay, child.”

[Bron Korso]

The denial of Bryna's words was at least welcomed, as Bron would've abandoned even his Master to forcefully take the girl away; take her from the poisonous lips of the Maid.

Instead, he kept the Father facing him, and his burning eyes went from Bryna back to Vega.

"Father Van-Derveld," he implored, his already rough voice dropping to a gritted rumble.

"... think of what you risk!"

[Father Van-Derveld]

The last word had barely left Bron's lips when the Father bit out a retort.

“I would risk everything!”

Tense silence held for a moment. The Maid stood as taut and fragile as a thread in a spiders web. Bryna averted her eyes. Vega exhaled and with that breath, some of the fury in him evaporated, leaving behind only the bitter taste of desperation.

“Everything.”

He spoke for the Cathar's benefit only.

“I.. cannot be content with dreams and visions any longer, Bron. With or without your blessing, I will do this.”

[The Maid of Cathar]

The air that was one moment full of fury and fear was, at the next, still. Only the crackle of fire and the distant whine of the wind working its way through the ruins.

In the pit below her lord and captor, the blind Jedi breathed a deep, satisfied sigh. With that breath, she deflated, sank back to her knees, no longer held up by the strength of whatever energy had crackled between the remains of House Van-Derveld.

“Come to me, then... my lord of wolves. Bring your blade and with it we will rent the universe in twain.”

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

The Maid had barely rasped the words and already her father was leaping down into the pit with blade in hand, not lingering a second longer at the precipice of his decision. By contrast, Bryna could not move, only shiver. A deep, bone-shattering cold was creeping its way from her toes upwards.

Bryna swallowed, the taste of bile bitter at the back of her throat. She managed to edge a step closer to Bron, as her Father stood over the Maid, his back to them. Her voice cracked, and then she managed a quiet: “Will I ever see you again?”

[Bron Korso]

The path was set, and there was nothing else he could say to the Father. Nothing that would dissuade him from this task. Bron gave a frown of disapproval as his gaze went from the lonely depths of the pit to the girl. To Bryna.

A hand came out then, fingers falling over her shoulder as he steadied her. She looked - in this moment - so frail and delicate. There were no words of comfort that he could give to her in this moment, and for that he was sorrowful. Her father's iron will would be his own undoing if he was not careful, and the old Cathar had at times nearly talked himself hoarse in trying to pull Vega Van-Derveld from his singularly bent desires. They were noble... they were honest and heartfelt. But they were also, in Bron's mind, futile.

But there was nothing to be done now. What Father Van-Derveld wished would come to pass.

Bron's eyes followed Bryna's, to her father, as he too waited for the answer to the girl's question.

[Father Van-Derveld]

His pale eye was fixed on the Maid as Bryna's question hung in the air, but the crone was as mute as she was blind. The beast inside of the Father stirred, as he wondered whether it would have been better to leave the woman's lips sewn shut for all the sense she spoke – and yet...

She had seen it. She had drawn aside the veil and given Vega glimpses of it. The future - their future. The thought of it made his fingertips tightened around the hilt of the blade in his hand. A world where Vega, Loklorien and Bryna could be together again.

“House Van-Derveld will stand together once more.”

[The Maid of Cathar]

“The blade... my lord.”

A thin hand upon a thinner wrist protruded from beneath the Maid's tattered robes, pallid skin almost translucent. With the Father so close to her, the slack of the chains that shackled her to the ground hung heavy and loose, the bracelets resting in the crook of her elbow.

Vega laid the blade in her hands and for a long moment she did not move, her blind eyes still gazing up at him, almost in reverence.

“United, the House of Van-Derveld will stand...”

Quick as the snapping jaws of a vornskr, she was on him. The blade punched through his ribcage, impossibly precise. Vega gasped. Her veil fell away and her frailty with it, corded muscle bulging along the lengths of the Maid's bare arms as she pulled Father into a tight embrace, squeezing his body harder against the blade.

Her lips were at his ear. “But you may not live to see it.”

With a hiss of breath, Daria shoved Vega backwards and in the same motion ripped the red blade free of its sheath. She cried out and thrust the dagger high in triumph, then fell upon the earth and buried the bloody point in the hallowed soil.

The thump of her fist striking the ground was matched by a unholy high-pitched shriek, metal tearing through metal.

From the point of impact a hundred frantic cracks burst outward, as if the blade had struck thin ice.

Clutching as his chest, fingers sticky with dark blood, Vega tried to scramble backwards – but the Daria looped the slack of one of her chains around his ankle and pulled tight. He grunted, blood beginning to pool at his sides and slither through the cracks in the earth like red serpents.

“Not yet, my lord!” the Jedi hissed, her eyes wide and wild as the air around them bubbled and twisted. She jerked at the chain and swung her mad gaze up to the mouth of the pit.

“Come, child! Hurry!”

[Father Van-Derveld]

Vega's vision swam, smeared as if viewing the world through a glass pane sluiced with rainwater.

“I will... see it,” he managed, looking at the Maid, though his eyes were drawn to the air around her – the air that split and puckered as surely as his flesh had under the force of the blind crone's assault. A tear was opening behind her, breathing, oscillating, a kaleidoscope of lives inside it -

Coruscant. He stood aboard the command deck of a colossal warship (http://thegungancouncil.yuku.com/topic/3488/Tonight-in-Flames-TSC#.Vqh2fvmLSM8), a raven-haired, milk-skinned bride at his side, smiling a ice-brittle smile at the sight of a flaming world rising to meet them. "We are not the enemies of the Sith. They are... they are pretenders to the faith, false heirs."

Yavin. He charged down the slope of a snowy hill (http://sw-rpg.net/forums/showthread.php?t=37640), blood-red cape snapping in the wind behind him like a pennant. He held a blue blade over his head like a torch, the burning light that would guide the Jedi to victory. "...the Sith are not our allies! You know their words: peace is a lie, there is only passion."

Chandrila. Peace again, and he lounged in a comfortable chair, looking idly down the length of a train. (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?46337-A-Call-to-Order-Unnatural-Causes&)

Irentios. He clutched his head and felt as if his skull would split as a creature writhed inside it, a ceaseless voice chattering. Close at hand, the Vicet's dearest daughter laughed.

Vjun. He was made from pure lightning and he cracked like thunder against a bright dawn (http://sw-rpg.net/forums/showthread.php?t=19001). "Don't you want me dead?" No - he was cloistered in the darkness of Bast castle, a conspirator of chaos, sloping and sneering.

He patted uselessly at his chest, where blood convulsed and soaked his robes. “Where... is she,” he grunted, on Cathar once more, bleeding into the dirt as his eye searched the multitude for even a hint of his lady.

Dagobah. He knelt before her (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?55317), a broken creature. A thing that he could not bear to look at, but could not pull his eyes away from. Tears rolled down his cheeks as she turned to face him, nostrils flared and lips twisted in disdain. It was as if the blade twisted in his heart once again, carving fresh agony into him.

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

She felt Bron's hand at her shoulder, heard his growl – but Bryna was falling into the pit before he could do anything more to stop her. A choking sob. She dropped to her knees beside Father, scrabbling quickly to put her body between his and the outstretched hand of the Blind Maid, still white-knuckled as she grasped the bloody knife.

“Get away from him!” she barked - but Vega shoved her with a wet snarl. She swung her pale eyes at him, face frozen in shock. He might as well have struck her across the cheek with the back of his hand for all the blow stung.

“Go,” he managed, blood bubble over his lips and staining his teeth. “Go.. to your mother.”

Aghast, she stared at him a moment longer. Was it pride that bound him to this course of action? Fierce, hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Was he so blinded by his grief that he could not see what he had done?! He pushed her away once more, leaving blood fingerprints on her side.

“Find... your mother.”

She looked to the threads of light and colour, universes winking in and out of view. In them, cities burned (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?56495-The-Light-Beyond-the-Veil). In them, galaxies burned. (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?21664-Traitors-and-Transients&p=367667&viewfull=1#post367667)

The Maid cowered away as Bryna approached, a supplicant with hands upturned and gaze shrouded by her veil, lips quivering with a sickly smile.

Heat radiated from within the tear in space and time. Bryna walked to the threshold of the unknown and turned to look to Vega.

“Nri...esodek,” he spat in the High Speech. Would this be the last she ever saw of her father? She did not want to go, did not want to leave him lying bleeding in this dark pit, but he wanted nothing more from her. He had made the door, now she had to walk through it.

“Good hunting,” she agreed, then stepped backward into oblivion.

[Lady Van-Derveld]

~ ~

The spectre formed from the shadows, stepping into the trickling light of the pit, drawn from her home within the great crypt. Pulled by a force that could not be denied. Dragged from the quiet of the dead by a screeching, torturous din of hope and agony. The two wound together to create a scream that reverberated through the entirety of her. It was a sound that called and begged and pleaded. It cried. It raged against injustice. It demanded that every wrong be set right. It pushed against the events of the past with resolution and sheer determination of will.

The call that she answered...

The Lady Van-Derveld knelt in the pit before her husband.

She reached out to him, watching as he choked upon his own blood, his hand at his chest in the attempt to stem the free flowing life that was now leaving him. There was sorrow in her eye as she looked at him, and as her hand moved over his...

... Her palm pressed firmly against his own hand, helping to slow the bleeding. Her other rose to wipe the blood from his lips, and the Lady leaned in close to brush her lips against his.

"Be strong, Love... "

[Father Van-Derveld]

He did not see her at first, his gaze rapt with the sight of what was beyond the door. Vega and Loklorien: monsters, ready to tear out one another's throats. How could that be?

Behind the Lady Van-Derveld, the tear in the fabric of the universe shrank into nothing, drawing a curtain on the horror-show beyond. He clung to the image of her hand with as much strength as he could muster, as if he could tether himself to her and her to him, a ward against the reality he feared Bryna might have passed into.

“We will.. be together.. soon,” he murmured, tears mixing with the blood on his lips and chin.

“All of us.”