emile fischer

Veckh: Beasts of Taris

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Fate is a lesson from the future. A morality without a beginning, with a vague middle, and usually, with a very surprising climax. It is a metaphor that few people understand, or a reality that the majority interprets, even before witnessing the outcome. The river of every being, no matter what path it takes, no matter how many dams or canals the living build to prevent it, will sooner or later spill out into the sea chosen by the Force. For time is the only true infinity, and anything can happen, and so will happen.

In the mythology of the Rattataki of Dathomir, the Guardian of Fate is Olhdjäagnäel, a rather unique spirit animal, the only one of its kind. Its name comes from 'Olh', meaning 'Great', and from the union of the words 'Djäag' and 'Knäel', respectively 'Silent' and 'Knowledge'. He is described as a noble, giant, eyeless elephant whose ears are shaped like the wings of bats, and whose tusks extend into his skull to emerge as an antler at the top of his head.

With most of the beasts that share its habitat being fearsome, Olhdjäagnäel would strike a balance on his own, through his divine peaceful nature. From the height of his sixty feet at the withers, no creature, not even the fiercest of rancor, dares to attack this grandfather of the scarlet jungle. Even the crooked trees of the mystical planet bend before him so as not to trip him. When he moves, the earth does not shake, but a thick cinnabar fog accompanies him.

Yet, in all his glory, Olhdjäagnäel carries a dark burden, for he knows everything. The past, present, and future of every mortal. And as he is timeless, his own destiny is to hear the ultimate expiration of each of his proteges. To all he knows their birth, their history and their decline, but he cannot reveal anything. So he walks in the mist, cruelly aware and hopelessly neutral, silently watching for the ink to flow with pure clarity in the eternal story of fate.

"  Get up, droch bag  !  »

Faced with a weary twilight, eleven years after the disastrous fall of the republican capital under the boot of Malgus and the wrath of Angral, a small trickle of hemoglobin came to stain the ground of Taris. Next to it, sprawled on his back, was a young cathar. A dozen years old, light brown coat, amber eyes and brown hair like Naboo mahogany. Yet there he was, lying facing the stars, a dark fluid leaking from his little nose, also crushed by the fury of a cruel Empire.

"  Come on… don't make me repeat. What's going on, you're going to cry  ?  »

Surrounded by his Imperial comrades, Specialist Officer Weylex Veed leaned over the child, a vile smile on his face. That carnivorous grin a nexu would give to a Cholganna raccoon. Then he immediately erased it, staring at his prey with wide, round eyes, and leapt a step forward. The young boy also jumped up, on his own ass, and closed his eyes with such force that he could have crushed a takhal nut from his eyelids. His arms trembling above his head, his legs clattering to the rhythm of his heart, the young feline would have done everything to overcome this terrible ordeal. But there he was, facing the consequences of his actions, alone and distraught. Eaten alive by fear.

"  Next time you look me in the eye, alien carrion, I'll cut off all your toes...  threatened the human, drawing a small black karambit from his belt. At the high-pitched sound of lutetium rubbing against the scabbard, the little cathar knew that the claw blade would sever even his bones with very little effort. But when the Imperial's comrades approached slowly, smiling too, their hands outstretched, the poor victim also understood that Officer Veed had not finished his sentence.

"  …But tonight I'm going to settle for just one.  »

At those words, the band of Imperials launched themselves at the feline, their gruesome giggles drowned out by its howls of panic. Like a son struggling against his father's tickles, the young kitten was writhing around and screaming until his throat was ripped out. His arms were trying to win with strength, his legs with speed, but sooner or later, even he knew he couldn't escape it. They were going to subdue him, they were going to hurt him, and no one would object. Here on Taris, at the Tower Command Station, no one liked aliens, especially cathars. Between the many black and well waxed paws that surrounded him, he could see him. The men of the Empire laughed, or else worked without paying too much attention. Even General Farvin and Captain Pandorr, who were having a hot drink together, watched the scene as mere entertainment for their troops. Then, exhausted from his vain efforts, and disgusted with human cruelty, the child closed his eyes while the infamous Weylex took off a shoe.

"  That's enough.  »

A hand came to rest then on the shoulder of the officer, and the whole troop froze, letting the child fall back to the ground. A huge hand, just as metallic as the voice that had just spoken with authority. Veed turned around, and looked up, a defiant look on his face.

Facing him was the one the outpost dubbed the "Mandalorian Beast." A tall, mysterious mercenary, clad in classic Mandalore blue, gray, and black armor, some of which had been lost and replaced with various Imperial or Republic soldier armor plates. And although he spoke little, everyone knew that behind beskar's helmet was hiding an alien. It was what he had impudently filled in his contract, in the "race" box. But anyone who had something to hide was spreading rumours.

"  Mind your own business, Mandalorian.  Weylex simply ordered, before turning away, releasing his hand from his shoulder.

"  I said… enough is enough.  repeated the colossus who advanced with an insistent step.

"  You have no orders to give me. Go back to your jungle to eat tachs or I don't know what...  »

The giant warrior came to squeeze the officer's shoulder again, inhaled, growling like a tiger through his helmet, then roared with phenomenal power. He took the gang back a few steps, but not Veed. This cry, even distorted by the vocoder of the helmet, had just confirmed the rumors.

"  So you're one of his...  muttered the officer.

Suddenly, the Imperial spun around, its small blade in hand, and plunged into the Beast's belly…but it was faster. The Mandalorian had seen the blow coming. He grabbed his attacker's wrist, and crushed him without much effort. When the Imperial's cry of pain ricocheted off the walls of the outpost, the officers had no choice but to intervene.

"  Enough  ! Gentlemen, go back to your obligations  !  barked General Bourom. "  You Mandalorian, I'm sure you have better things to do. Save your anger for the Republic, that's what you were hired for  ! …Damn cathars… As for you, Veed, in my office.  »

The cheeky officer answered in vain, Bourom repeated himself, more slowly and more seriously than the first time. When he saw his comrades scatter, the cruel imperial gave a last contemptuous look at the two wild beasts. First the little one, who instinctively lowered his eyes, then the colossus in beskar armour, stoic as rock.

"  You... you're a dead cat.  he promised, before following his general, his hand tight against his chest.

When they were alone, the Mandalorian leaned towards the child, and helped him up.

"  Thank you my brother…  Fate sends you.  thanked the young slave.

"  Nonsense. It's only justice.  contradicts the Beast with the metal voice.

Once standing, the child was the height of his squatting savior. He approached, and glued his forehead to his colleague's cold helmet, as the cathar do to humbly thank theirs. His little crinkled nose spread a ghost of mist, as well as a small speck of blood on the dark polarized visor. In return, the Mandalorian tenderly pinched his protege's chin.

Since the collapse of the city-planet under Darth Malak's fist, Taris had been nothing but a graveyard of blood and tears. Freshly reconquered by the Emperor's minions, many clashes still took place there. With a mission to thwart the Republic's rebuilding effort, the men in command of Darth Gravus and Moff Hurdenn fought not only trained soldiers, but also cursed wildlife, a few pirates, and of course, the Cathar natives.

No… no one liked Taris anymore. The most obscure diseases lurked there, and the hearts of men withered. But some rare gleams lingered in the darkness. The solidarity of an oppressed species, the need for fraternal justice, as well as admiration for a pure soul. Indeed, a few meters away, on a raised platform of the outpost, an elegant pale figure had left his tent and his work, scrutinizing this glow in the night, not without a certain curiosity...

The night. A macabre kingdom over which dread reigns supreme. Such a brief moment, yet half of infinity. So opposed to day, while in space, day and night are one in perpetuity. Only on one planet do such trivialities persist, and of all the planets, no one knows how to summon the night better than Taris.

The same evening, in the middle of the darkest night, destiny, once again, was going to run its ink through the white pores of the dark bluish vault. And not even the eldest of the four moons sparkled enough to keep the ink from sinking straight down those pages.

A distant yelp of ferrazide, the murmur of dead leaves, the death knell of a hundred lost, corrupted, transformed souls. It was in this night that the Mandalorian Beast calmly passed through the Sinking City, a tragically legendary place for the voracious historians of the Jedi Civil War. Not far from the remains of the Spire of Endar, consumed like every sign of Tarisian civilization by the veins of the resurgent jungle, the great warrior marched straight to the northeast.

It had been twenty minutes since he left the Tower Command Station. A little further, and he would be waiting for the Dynamet Center, a medical cemetery famous for having developed a cure for Cathington's Disease. At his belt, the ferociously placid animal kept his ad block, from which he had just received a priority mission  : "Quickly retrieve the corpse of an Imperial messenger, who died in the line of duty near a large chipped sewer. Coordinates Xesh -540, Yirt -145". He was probably carrying a highly confidential message, or perhaps a new medical treatment. At least, that's what the lonely Mandalorian had to tell himself, because the truth was far more tragic.

When the tracker finally sniffed out the corpse, which lay quite close to a slope leading straight into the ditch of the large open drain, he approached cautiously. The body was there, frail, face down in blood black grass, its entrails strewn around it. The Pale Terrors of Taris, no doubt, the Mandalorian thought. He crouched down, set his H-3ZX blaster on the ground, and inspected this mural of carnage. But when he turned the stiff on its back, he was struck with amazement.

The kid  ?…

And then, it was a completely different shock that hit him next, on the right shoulder blade. The shrill, piercing, plasma burning cry.

The warrior screamed briefly, then fell into the ditch, rolling down the slippery slope of dirt and mud, only to smash five meters below in the putrid waters of the sewer.

He may have been knocked out for a few seconds, and when he pushed on his deltoids to get up, he collapsed in pain. His whole shoulder smoked under his armor like an old podracer. So he rolled onto his side, and painfully straightened up with the help of his abs. Soon he heard those familiar, petty, silly laughs, and then saw Veed's face, up the hill, proudly slung a blaster rifle over his shoulder.

"  Come finish me off like a man, snake  !  insisted the Mandalorian with the haywire voice, getting up. His helmet must have taken a bad hit during the fall.

"  Naaah…I know honor is paramount with you mandos…but here it's worth less than a gallon of my piss.  »

The laughter of the Imperial's colleagues was enough to raise the temperature inside the beskar shell. The Beast would have paid dearly for a blaster, his having remained on top. All he had on him was a knife, and although he had learned how to use it many times, throwing was never his forte. As for the time to climb… it would be shot down twenty times.

"  Luring you into that rat hole was child's play, cathar. You know what you made me lose as a grade  ?...  asked the now Private Veed. He fired a blaster at the feet of his new victim, who leapt in place.

"  …As salary  ?  he continued, firing a second shot, which the Mandalorian dodged exaggeratedly.

"  …as respect  !?  yelled poor Weylex, who silenced the sneers of his accomplices, as the third shot went off. This time, the stoic warrior below shifted only the tip of his foot to avoid the plasma. His fist clenched as he repositioned his boot on the steaming mud, as if putting out a cigarette. He growled again, this time like a rock lion of Zaloriis ready to kill.

"  Come take revenge...  asked the Beast of Beskar one last time from the depths of its abyss.

"  I guess I'll just stay here with the homies and let Bertha do the dirty work...  the human declined, cleaning his fingernails.

As if answering her call, something in the dark shook the ground there in the sewer tunnel. The darkness stirred, the putrid water quivered, while life itself looked away. In the depths of the terror of men, something had awakened. Something big, hungry, something soulless…and eyeless. The bane of Karness Muur himself.

"  Erfh… It's really my lucky day.  » sighed the now little alien, facing the monstrous rakghoul which slowly plunged into the reborn light of the moon finally piercing the clouds.

Instantly, the creature streaked through the channel, straight at him. The agile warrior rolled onto his side, drowning his painful wound in the foul waters. The immediate sensation tore a cry from him, so that he finished his race again face immersed. Toxins and bacteria from the sewer were eating his shoulder blade from the inside like acid. When his head resurfaced, his stunned eyes narrowed under his helmet. Too late, the colossal beast successfully completed its second charge, hitting its victim like a reek. The Mandalorian flew away under the laughter of Veed and his accomplices, and only touched the ground at the bottom of the tunnel. For the Imperials, the show was over. And soon, for him too.

From his position, he could see the raging figure of death in its animal form, swelling in a circle of light as it rode towards him. All around, the darkness and the stench, the corpses and bones lay, fatally frozen for months, waiting for their next guest. Over him, the shadow of the only one, the true Beast of Taris, stood still. The thing from hell, the size of a gundark, sniffed his meal, salivating profusely. His teeth seemed to have absorbed the moonlight, his muscles the strength of his victims, the long spikes on his back and his elbows sliced through the air with each breath. And that empty gaze… without eyes, but still there, hypnotic, eager for the idea of taking one more life.

The warrior in blue armor drew his only weapon with his left hand, and pointed it at the rakghoul.  : his simple little penknife. The four-legged creature did not wait, and crunched the arm that was offered to him, whole. The mercenary tried to stifle his cry, in vain. He could feel the fangs scratching his bones, his flesh tearing, his biceps withering, feeding the hungry with his blood. And the worst… the disease – no, the curse – that infiltrated his body, damning him to the depths of oblivion, to a dishonored death. But he resisted. His tendons were still intact, his fingers alive, his strength and his determination, his will to live, had not yet left him.

In a simple but painful gesture, he cut the beast's palate with his knife. She roared, rearing up, and freed her arm. He took advantage of the moment to try to escape, without worrying too much about the state of his member, sweating red and hanging towards the ground. But the fearsome jaws closed on him again. He stumbled in the slime, moaning loudly as he felt his calf crushed by the vicious fangs. Then the rakghoul shook its head, and its victim with it. Then quickly, she tossed him in the air, and caught him, this time biting both of his legs. It was at this moment that the warrior, as formidable as he was, calculated that he could only lose. Between his powerful bellows and the monster's sadistic gesticulations, he had no intact limb left. Yet his left hand, still paralyzed, clutched his knife as he clung to life. But soon his thoughts were no longer enough. The rakghoul beat him, again and again against the ground, like a sand leopard playing with its prey, tearing its thighs a little more with each blow. The end was near, he was certain of it, and so he closed his eyes, consumed by nausea.

He woke up a few seconds later, again among the bones. At first, he no longer felt his body under his armor. But little by little the pain returned to the charge, just like the beast that had released him. He let his head lay back, exhausted. What's the point  ? Even if he won this fight, he would lose the next one. If he weren't devoured by Bertha, sooner or later he would be by her curse. A simple bite, a simple scratch, and one was sure to end the rest of one's life feasting on one's own in the form of one of Muur's whores. Unless a cure was found very soon, but rumor had it that the disease was progressing even faster than the research. Empire or Republic vaccines were only effective against one or two generations of rakghouls. The next time you had to start all over again. And then, obviously, in this lost hole, facing the mother of the night, he was far from any medical center. All hope was lost.

And it was then that the Mandalorian, who ironically did not believe in destiny, laid his eyes on a simple small object, lost among the corpses. A gift of fate itself, his deus ex machina. All it takes is a small sphere of steel and technology for the honorable warrior's omnipotence to regain it. Without thinking further, he took his chance, and pressed the button of the thermal detonator. When the faceless beast had just given the impetus for its final leap, he threw the explosive right into the creature's open maw. He swerved at the last moment to avoid the monster, and as the giant jawbone crushed the bones he had been resting on a second before, the warrior leapt astride the rakghoul's head. When she decided to rear up, he tightened his two powerful arms around the head, and anchored them under the lower jaw, planting his penknife there. The giant Bertha of Taris struggled and shook her head, but the armored toreador locked her mouth in the closed position, irrevocably sealing the detonator inside. As the blood from his arms ran like a stream down the rakghoul's nostrils, and the requiem crescendo of the detonator sounded, the Mandalorian Beast roared through his helmet. The animalistic howl, similar to that of a wampa this time, sent shivers down the spines of the Imperials outside, who leaped into the grass, hands on their heads, when the detonation sounded.

A hand of beskar, bloody, smoking, sweating with torture, gripped the grass above the slope of the canal, a few painful minutes later. At the end of his strength, the Mandalorian hoisted himself out of the canal, then let himself be dragged by the poor spectators of his atrocious fight. His armor was missing half of its plates, his fused helmet with opaque visor rendered him practically blind, most of his muscles vibrated individually, and his lungs were begging him to vomit them out of his aching body. And worst of all…he had been bitten by what should never bite. Doomed, and unable to resist any longer, he was quickly dragged to his knees before the infamous Weylex Veed.

"  Gentlemen, all our respect… to Bertha, and to the valiant cathar who silenced her forever… sadly he too died before he could give her a proper toast. What a pity…” announced the imperial, who clapped theatrically as he approached his new living toy.

The warrior heard the footsteps of his new torturer, but none of his arms, held back by the Imperials, could help him. His limp body seemed to have left him. Only the growl of the beast he had been still grumbled deep inside him. The growl of the mysterious Cathar mercenary, of the famous late… Mandalorian Beast of Taris, whose legend would end right here, now.

Veed stopped in front of him and put his fingers, still stained with the young slave's black blood, on the bottom of the cobalt helmet. His henchmen giggled with impatience, and Weylex kept the suspense going, as any sadist should. He waited for the capitulating sigh of his victim, submissive as if facing an executioner, and in one go, removed the helmet...

"  Eeeh  ?… But you're a human  !…  wondered Veed then, while long white hair fell on the downcast face of the warrior.

"  Not exactly…  smiled the Beast, whose dark eyelids, still closed, hid irises as white as the moon.

The warrior then tried to dash forward, roaring like a demon under the skin of a man. His cry, though much more humanoid than before, without his modified vocoder headset, sounded like… a bear. Veed jumped back, then stumbled, but the beast was under control, and a good smack of the butt was enough to immobilize it.

"  It's going like this… Hold on tight guys, I'm going to cut his choobies.  he ordered, getting up. He stepped forward, drew his precious karambit, then…

CRAC  !

In a small  huk  !  In amazement, the torturer froze in place, like a statue. His whole body was suddenly dripping with sweat, shaking uncontrollably under the puzzled gaze of his comrades. His eyes, round like huttballs, seemed to have seen an army of ghosts. And then, on her pale cheeks, flowed two long tears of blood. The standing corpse collapsed on itself like an old tree, giving way to a thin silhouette in the darkness, a few steps away.

The Imperials dropped their scapegoat instantly, and fell back. Their moist flesh froze as the intoxicating veil of darkness drew the resplendent curves of a woman. An elegant shadow, approaching like a mirage in the dark. She was dressed in an exquisite bedlah  : her amethyst dress and her top somehow mixing a scarf with a bra, contrasted terribly well with the complexion of her skin as white as death. His throat, chin, cheeks and eye sockets were decorated with the dark markings of a bygone era.  ; of ink, black with midnight blue reflections, from a distant world. Two pairs of small, equilateral silver arrowheads sported his ears, themselves sporting a skull as smooth as polished marble. Her supple hips would bewitch anyone who laid eyes on them, and in her right hand was an instrument of death. A tool symbolizing political, physical and spiritual power. And when the metal hilt, adorned with three bayonets on the front and a rancor tooth on the back, spat out a blade of fuchsia scarlet-coated kyber, a pair of hell-red irises set the night ablaze. .

The poor armored alien raised his head weakly to contemplate the majestic sith who had just interposed. His vision slowly blurred, and he sank back into the grass. He could hear the few chirps of blasters, and their ricochets, brutal but harmonious at the same time, followed by the fatal crash of the enraged Force. Crimson coruscations tore through the darkness, an eminent thunder shattered the frosty weather, and a soul ignited its moult like a frenzied phoenix to join its kin in the realm of the forgotten.

There were only three left. And the silhouette did not forgive. Deflecting the few hesitant shots of her lightsaber, the otherworldly woman maneuvered the Shien gracefully. Her fiery scepter twirled like a dancing fan, her light trailing in her wake like a long pink veil. Of a perfect and pure elegance, fluid, simplistic, but ample and grandiose.

The soldiers retreated, but quickly reached the edge of the slope leading to the canal. They could dive, or face, but although no one really knows his destiny, the impure men began in spite of themselves to suspect their funeral epilogue. The cadence of their futile discharges slowed, then the white woman threw her hand forward. The man in the center stiffened, then shot like an arrow, drawn like a needle by a magnet, straight for the lightsaber. His head whirled to the ground as the rest of his body faded into blackness far behind. As fearsome as it is infallible, the form of the rancor, binding the Force to the blade of its warrior, claimed one more victim.

The imperial penultimate was suddenly seized with a surplus of courage. Clinging to his vibro-bayonet blaster, he screamed as he swooped down on the woman to go into melee. Passing the Mandalorian, an unseen force knocked him backwards, pinning him to the ground. Her throat crashed in on itself, burying her bluish head in the soft earth. Finally, when the sith walked past him without even looking at him, a final jolt, dry but shattering, fried his heart instantly.

"  Pp-pity  !  stammered the last soldier, before a sordid idea came to his mind. He then dropped his weapon, lunged at the semi-conscious Mandalorian, and pointed a knife at his jugular. The figure stopped short.

"  step back  ! On the honor of the Emperor, step back  !… Where I screw up her throat  !  “, threatened the young human, while stepping back crouching as the mercenary was heavy to drag with him.

The poor boy was dripping even more than a faulty vaporizer. He had done wrong, and would have liked to redeem himself, but it was far too late for that. So you might as well survive by force than by forgiveness. Yet, in this face-to-face, he had no strength, and she granted no forgiveness. Abandoned in this impasse, he would have done everything to overcome this terrible ordeal. But there he was, facing the consequences of his actions, alone and distraught. Eaten alive by fear.

Suddenly, something pricked him with force in the middle of his left buttock. The Mandalorian used the last shred of power he had left to free the knife from his throat. The imperial, totally panicked, let go of the man, who collapsed again. The young cadet with the livid look then groped his posterior, and withdrew the cursed sting. Now he too was truly lost, for in his trembling hand was a rakghoul tooth. Probably torn from Bertha's corpse. But how did she...  ? Witch…

"  Skinny as you are… it should only be two or three minutes before your body starts to change. He will be hot, he will burn you, he will sweat red. Ravaged by migraine and terror, your spirit will shatter, as will your flesh, repelled by the bones of an inner beast, a blood beast, a black beast, born within you like a parasite. Yet a tiny part of you will still be aware, when its jaws close on those you cherish more than anything in the world...  she finally whispered, in a very faint, strange accent.

The Imperial dropped the fang to the ground. Her mouth was hanging open, her eyes were already crying her last tears. His whole universe was crumbling under his nose, and all that still rang in his head was the final, light breath of the young cathar he had helped put to death on that infamous night.

"  However…  the figure continued. The younger's moist eyes went up to his own, burning like quasar twins.

"  …The outpost is only a good kilometer away. If you hurry, they'll have some vaccines in stock at the medical center. Assuming that old Bertha's illness has not progressed. So a word of advice, my friend...  the somber, deep-voiced rattataki offered. "  …Course.  »

The human froze for a moment, hesitating, then began to run towards the Tower's Command Center. However, lame as he was, the young Sith suspected he wouldn't get far. His fate was sealed by the indifference of fate, eternal impartial on the mortal world.

Once alone, the young woman leaned close to the warrior in blue armor, lying on his stomach. She turned it over, and pulled out a small object fitted with a long, thin point. Inserting the needle into the hip of the injured man, who was already beginning to evacuate his hemoglobin through the pores of his face, she placed the soft back of her fingers on the red forehead, stroking his long white hair. Losing more and more the effectiveness of his ivory eyes, the colossus in armor closed his eyelids, crushed by fatigue. The last words that came to him were the soft reliefs of his pale savior, echoing in the echo of dizziness.

"  Rest... You'll be fine...  »

Four hours later, the great warrior slowly opened his eyes under an astral light. A thousand suns cried their clarity above his retina, a titanic ectoplasm kissed his cornea, and the world, little by little, reappeared to him in slow motion...

A neon… a tent… a medical center… a woman… the woman.

She was sitting on the end of the bed. Patient as time, gentle as the breeze, pale as the snow of Eshan. She was waiting for him to wake up like flora waiting for spring, and when he stirred, she turned to him, breaking into a smile as full of pride as it was worry.

"  Do not move too much. Keep calm… You were lucky, my poor friend.  »

Suddenly seized with growing panic, nausea churned his stomach. Fear reveled in his mind like a cancer. His heart raced, his mind clouded, his muscles tensed. The man tried to get up, but he was stopped by the sith, who forced him to lie still.

"  I... I should be a freak by now... I'm cursed, Excellency...  »

The rattataki pressed a warm, reassuring hand to the warrior's chest. After a few short seconds, he felt his powerful pump slowly slow down to a normal rhythm. Had she just… used her magic to appease him? Or was it something else  ?

She put her other hand on her forehead. His voice, although naturally serious, remained soft, soothing, even exotic, in his way of semi-rolling a few sounds.  :

"  Calm down… Everything is fine, and everything will be fine… I gave you a vaccine in time. Your immune system is quite…remarkable, I must say. He fought the infection with unique bravery, now he must reform.  Rest. »

"  Vaccine… what… what…  ? That…  ?...  »

The man took some time to analyze what she had just told him. Frozen, his head raised, he sighed then, and rested his skull against the pillow. He then glanced at his surroundings.

They were alone in the tent except for a medical droid and an assistant probe. His armor, or what was left of it, was leaning near the bed. Beskar's helmet was missing. He was shirtless, bandages covered his chewed arms and legs, and a light silk sheet was strangely enough to keep his body temperature.

The curious pale woman came to press her fingers to the sides of her throat, massaged her skin for a few moments, and pouted oddly. She then withdrew them, and took notes on a small paper journal. The wounded man continued to scrutinize the surroundings, then he felt that something tightened his skin, at the level of the face. When he ran his fingers over the left side of his face, he realized that someone had applied mechno-suture to his large gash. The one he had already been wearing for a month, and which extended from his cheek to his forehead, passing over his eye. Outraged to the bottom of his soul, he removed the repair with his fingernails.

"  But finally what are you doing  ?...  »

"  I am overwhelmed.  he says. "  I proudly keep track of my battles.  »

"  Oh yes. I had forgotten this detail of your culture, indeed.  confessed the sith. "  And, how did you receive such a mark  ? It's clearly not of rakghoul origin.  »

The warrior then seemed intrigued… flattered… Who was this lovely young woman?  ? She seemed so cultured. Why was she so interested in him  ? Was it just to make conversation  ? Was she trying to get him to escape for her own good  ? Lost in thought for a moment, he reemerged when he saw the arch of the rattataki rise. She really wanted to know her story  ?

"  Well…  he began as a grandfather would by the fireplace, his grandson on his lap. "  A month ago, I was looking for someone on Hoth. Someone who had hurt someone dear to me… I found him, I did what had to be done… but on my way out of the cave where he had taken refuge, I came across a wampa. There was no other way out, and I had no weapons. I got the win with my fists, and a nice scar with his. A nice story.  the warrior said wistfully. He himself had no idea that bare-handed combat against ferocious beasts was in the family.

"  I don't believe a word of it.  laughed the young rattataki.

L'échani analyzed his laughter, his face, his smallest folds, his smallest details. She was sincere. Had he been away from any company for so long that he had lost the habit? Had he forgotten the virtues  with just a passionate gaze  ? The warm presence of a kind woman had perhaps missed him too much since his exodus...

"  …He was small, for an adult.  he corrected, amused.

"  Charming…  recognized the rattataki, looking outside the tent as a light mist was forming. "  …I ran a rancor on Dathomir when I was eleven.  »

The round-eyed warrior let out a small "  Oh…  “, followed by a short silence of the most comical.

The sumptuous woman again allowed herself to be betrayed by her playful mood. His charming smile was not that of a Sith, those nightmarish creatures without humanity or decency. Did he misjudge them  ? Or was she… special  ? …A resentment  ?... Really  ?

Anyway, he was better. The conversation had calmed his heart, his pulse was serene, his mind too. Much more than in years, it seemed. If there was a spell, it wasn't black magic. A bond, unexpected but powerful, had just been created between these two beings. The échani was conscious of his duty. He was aware that this woman, this sith, noble person of the Empire's high society, had just saved his life, against all odds, asking for no ransom or pardon. Very few people in his eyes remained thus in the galaxy. Rare were the united souls who deigned to bend down to pick up lost souls like him. Beings broken by time and its remorse. But he wasn't afraid anymore. There was no longer any reason, because his savior, who stayed by his side, knew how to mount a rancor.

The two friends spent long hours slicing through the night with their alacrity. A mood not very present on the pebble of death that was this planet. When at last the kolto-soaked echani was able to get up, they left the tent slowly, and walked a bit around the outpost to get some fresh air, and allow his muscles to reinvigorate.

The mist was slowly beginning to dissipate, the first beats of wings punctuated the drowsy silence of the stars, and a few varactyls gave their last melodies in the distance. The great Taris would soon rise. The echani and the rattataki were taking their time, roaming the imperial green grass. She helped him walk, he kept her company  : it was the thing he missed the most on this planet. A twenty-two-year-old Sith student of rakghoul infections in search of a new cure. A life far too lonely for an adventurer like her. Also dreamy, passionate…good. The great warrior only saw her that way. Deep down, he was convinced. So loud that he even forgot his conversation.

"  …And that's why I have to ask you a little favor.  she made him come to his senses. "  Your trill and nern krill lymphocytes are strangely…naturally misshapen. Their receptors are hyperactive, and phagocytose viruses on their own without the help of dendritic cells. This is a remarkable anomaly...  »

The silence of the bewildered-looking man was enough to make the young scientist understand that he hadn't understood a thing. She rolled her eyes and tried to explain again.

"  Sorry… your body fights diseases and viruses incredibly well.  »

"  Hmm. It's normal, I'm a swinger, my friend.  imagined the man born for combat.

The rattataki hid a chuckle, so cute a baby chadra-fan couldn't compete.

"  No… I assure you, it's not that… So there you go  : I would like to take some of your blood for my studies, and send some to the capital for detailed analysis. If it is, you are the key to the next rakghoul vaccine  ! Maybe even Colu syndrome for that matter…  »

The warrior thought for a few moments. Giving blood… to help the Empire  ? He didn't really like the idea. But if it was to help her, to find a vaccine. He could only accept. Nope  ? He smirked, and looked down. Then his face took on a serious look when he remembered the murder of the little cathar, and those imperial scum. Without the help of the sith, he would be dead. But Bourom or other generals could still blame him for the massacre. Easy for an alien to fall into this trap. He still needed the support of his rescuer.

As if to answer his concerns, the rattataki gave him a wink.  :

"  Really tragic this accident… We really did everything to help them… We just arrived too late.  Guess it was their destiny…”

The white-haired giant smiled, reassured. He hadn't forgotten the young cathar's words either. Fate… Skeptical, he made a mocking face.

"  At home, destiny is forged like a weapon. We handle it like our fists, always with more fluidity, assurance and strength. I can't believe that one is a slave to a written history, without having a hand on the pen.  »

The warrior paused, thoughtful, and looked the sith in the eyes. Mute, she stared at him attentively, but even he, a swinger, couldn't read on her face what she was thinking at that precise moment. What a mysterious creature. Then came a strange shiver. For some reason unknown to him, the atmosphere became imbued with frightening doubt. The forbidden secrets of the universe did not like to be disturbed. A short, light ghostly breeze ruffled the sith's robes.

"  …Is not it  ?  he insisted like a worried child.

"  According to the legends of my culture… Destiny is guarded by a gigantic animal, an ancient spiritual entity, named Olhdjäagnäel. He knows all of the past, all of the present, and all of the future. But he prevents it from being revealed to maintain a balance on the world. No one should know their destiny... but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I believed in it for a long time during my childhood… today, I am less sure… But it is up to everyone to choose their convictions. Do not you think so  ?  »

The scarred warrior narrowed his eyes, even more pensive. He tried to dig the idea a little more.

"  But then… What happens if a destiny is unveiled  ? If she escapes the guardian  ?...  »

The beautiful rattataki smiled again, blinking her dark eyelids slowly.

"  It's called a prophecy, my dear friend...  she pointed out. Her rather nostalgic look, her eyes riveted on a past filled with tales and legends, she finally sketched a tiny smirk perfumed with darkness, and looked away again. "  …and oh what tragedies the prophecies constantly imply.  »

As dawn pushed the last sighs of night into an amber sky, the echani knelt down. The Sith turned, surprised.

"  Your Excellency... You saved my life, and I am eternally indebted to you. My destiny, if it exists, is linked to yours forever. It would be an honor for me to offer you my veins and my blood. My sweat and my support. My courage and my protection. Today, for the next hundred years, and on the honor of my ancestors, I am yours. Lady…   …uh…  he suddenly hesitated, stupidly cut off in his statement.

The rattataki's eyes widened like never before, and hid her small, half-open mouth with both hands.

"  Oh  ! A thousand apologies, we didn't even exchange names  ?  she wondered. "  My name is Veckh… and you  ?  »

The echani remained on one knee until his echani ritual was completed. His pose, solid despite his injuries, was akin to a marriage proposal, and the resulting offer wasn't much less, actually. Yet it was his choice, in a way, and he never had the opportunity to regret it. Not even at the last moment.

"  Herkaana, excellence…  said the warrior giant. "  Herkaana…Vadohw Imi.  »

On this day, a friendship had just been forged under the secret cogs of their own fortune. A relationship based on trust and deep kindness in both eyes. Eyes yet so blind to the rivers of time. Because no one is absolute, good or bad.

However, not knowing friendship is the worst of misfortunes. Because it's in the heart of the worst storms that best friends shine in their role like never before, because they persist in navigating them alongside us, and often, against all odds, they are the ones who end them. And oh what tragedies awaited these two beings…

Destiny. Endless vein where time flows, the only true infinity. For space itself is limited by time. It was fate alone that drove the young rattataki's research on Tatooine a few months later, during the rakghoul eruption following the Stardream crash. This same fate that pushed her into the arms of the pirate of her life, shortly after. It is thanks to the gift of the young échani that a few years later a cyborg will be saved by his biological improvements.

It is by the action of the Force that fate places its simple playthings, the deus ex machina, in the hands of those who must live. A detonator in a sewer, a lightsaber in a bag, a ysalamir on a shoulder, a stone under a tree, a bone in a cage, a pebble under a slab, a lizard in a jungle...

Some believe in controlling its course with a simple cube or a set of numbers, but one thing is certain, the Force leaves nothing to chance. The Force is just, and fate is inescapable. Everything fits perfectly, and never leaves traces. Karma does not exist, but fate does. I know it…because I am its guardian. The advent of the new Abeloth is near. At his side I will make sure of it, because it is the will of fate. I may be Olhdjäagnäel…  ?