The old bounty Rodian bounty hunter's rickety freighter touched down with a shudder, its battered frame creaking as it settled onto the soft soil of the secluded forest clearing laid out in the coordinates set by the young Jedi knight aboard.
Sansa peered out the viewport, her Tholothan eyes adjusting to the dense foliage and towering trees that surrounded them from their eagle-eye view of the Dantari southern jungles. At first glance, there was no outward sign of their intended destination--Zinn's remote sanctuary and hidden refuge for many years from both the Republic and the prying eyes of the Order.
Ibto shifted impatiently near a missing panel. "You sure this is the right place?" he muttered, tossing a discreet glance through the viewport. "Looks like the same place we just came from..." Sansa didn't respond immediately, her focus inward as she reached out through the Force's ever-turning grasp on all natural life, allowing its currents to flow through her and attune her senses to her goal.
At first, there was nothing, just the gentle thrum of life teeming in the forest around them--But then, like a beacon piercing the mist, she felt it. A faint sparking of energy, achingly familiar yet subtly different, sad but pure. "It's here," she said finally, her voice hushed with reverence.
"I can sense Zinn's lingering presence, like an echo in the Force." Ibto snorted, his disbelief evident, but said nothing as Sansa rose to her feet and made her way toward the exit ramp of Kei's ship. As the hydraulics hissed and the ramp lowered with a groan, the source of the lingering Force signature became clear as Ibto tried one last time to argue with the Rodian bounty hunter captain.
Nestled amidst the gnarled roots of an ancient Blba tree, was a simple yet tasteful mud-hut dwelling, its curved lines and earthy hues blending seamlessly with the surrounding flora with clear patient attention to detail that only a master Jedi could afford.
It was the picture of rustic tranquility, a true sanctuary removed from the chaos of the galaxy at large even now. Sansa's boots crunched across the soft soil, she felt a profound sense of sadness welling up inside her, as if the very walls were steeped in an aura of grief and loss of their owner so suddenly.
She reached out, her fingers tracing the intricately carved patterns that adorned the outer archway as she finally made her way up the tree's carved steps. All beautiful remnants of Zinn's unique Kel Dor-inspired artistry made tangible flourished a window into her fallen friend's rich essence. Sansa's eyes began to tear as memories came flooding back.
Zinn's warm embrace and her patient guidance after taking her in for a few short years at the end of her time as a Padawan. Her steadfast determination to see Sansa achieve her full potential as a Jedi was nearly the whole reason the Tholothan never gave up. Tears prickled at the corners of Sansa's eyes as the reality of her mentor's brutal demise settled over her like a shroud over the memories they shared.
She had been more than just a teacher; Zinn had been a true friend, a constant source of wisdom and support during the turbulent years following her previous master's death that was almost more important than all her time at the Jedi Library.
Now she was gone, cruelly struck down by the very darkness she had sworn to defend the galaxy against with no recognition for her greater achievements possibly done after her tenure at the Jedi temple of Coruscant. A ragged sob escaped Sansa's lips as she pressed her palm flat against the archway's sun-warmed stone apoplectically.
Her mind swirled with questions; How could the Order have turned its back on someone so noble, so selfless? How could they have allowed Zinn's light to be extinguished? The answers escaped her like Zinn's spirit from this place by the minute.
"Hey, uh...you alright over there?" Ibto's voice sliced through the veil of Sansa's sorrow. She turned to face the mercenary, swiping at her damp cheeks self-consciously at his reappearance behind her. Ibto stood a compliant span away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his duster, a look of concern etched across his lanky and elongated features.
"I'm...it's just..." Sansa trailed off, at a loss for words. How could she convey the depth of her loss with objectivity and grace, the gut-wrenching anguish she felt at standing in this place, so infused with Zinn's heart? Ibto seemed to understand her silently, his gaze softening ever so slightly though he had shown callousness before toward the Republic soldiers.
"Look, Jabarri...I know this place means a lot to you, and to your friend. But tell me you didn't come here to cry and mourn the dead...back to bounty hunters'n all." He jerked his head back towards the clearing where Kei's freighter still idled for no apparent reason, its engines spooling down with a weary whine. "That scaly bastard could decide to double-cross us any minute...We need to get inside and at least look busy for the time being."
Sansa nodded, pushing aside her grief for the moment. Ibto was right – they were exposed out there, vulnerable to anything the galaxy may throw at them more so than she felt inside at the threshold of Zinn's inner home. With a steadying breath, she turned and led the way through the archway and into Zinn's hand-built sanctuary.
The interior was as warm and inviting as the exterior implied, all rich woods and soft native hand-spun fabrics adorned with colorful tapestries that seemed to whisper of colliding worlds and interwoven cultures long lost to the sands of time. Sansa drank in every detail, committing it all to memory as if by doing so, she could somehow preserve a part of her fallen mentor forever in herself.
In the main living area, a small brown table was set with mismatched carved mugs and plates, the remains of a half-finished Stalker Lizard steak an eerie reminder of how suddenly Zinn's spirit had been cut short in the heat of it all.
Sansa traced a finger through the thin layer of dust now collected, her chest tightening as she visualized her friend's final moments only a mere 2 days ago, the horror and confusion she must have felt as Torrin's blade struck her down so quickly.
Nearby, a series of shelves overflowed with an eclectic collection of relics and mementos--delicately whittled figurines, time-worn tomes, and holographic projections of faraway worlds and civilizations not brushed by the core's bright worlds that Zinn had worked on getting aid to.
Each one was a priceless treasure, carefully curated by Zinn throughout her travels and studies among the stars. Among the shelves lay memorabilia of Zinn's teachings and time with the young force-sensitive girl Jarelle she had secretly saved from the blood feud of her father and Mandalor after sensing her latent capabilities.
Sansa felt a fresh wave of misery crest over her, superheated and dense, as she took in the reminders of all that had been lost. Not just Zinn herself, but a long lifetime's worth of discernment and wisdom, and the potential of Jarelle's which Zinn believed could challenge the order's dangerous more political antics. All of it was snuffed out in one cruel act of violence devised by Zakayo.
"I can't believe this happened," she murmured, more to herself than to Ibto. "Zinn dedicated her life to the teachings of the Jedi, to preserving what was good and just in the galaxy. And this is how the Order repaid her – with indifference and neglect as she still taught their way."
After a second of silence, heavy with the weight of Sansa's anguish, Ibto spoke up from where he lounged against the doorframe. His tone was genuinely somber as he still watched the Rodian's ship. "Way I see it, the whole lot of 'em are to blame. Jedi, Sith, Republic-- they're all the same when you get down to it."
He shrugged, affecting an air of indifference, but Sansa could see the truth flickering in his eyes. "Zealots obsessed with their little squabbles and ancient codes, so caught up in their own self-importance that they lose sight of what really matters...People."
Sansa opened her mouth, ready to defend the Order's principles from her decades of readings, the path she had devoted her life to walking after knowing no other as true. The words died on her lips as she considered Ibto's comments, so blunt yet ringing with a kernel of brutal frankness.
He was right--for too long, the Jedi had been mired in dogma and tradition, blind to the shifting tides that threatened to drown them all after the end of the new Sith wars. They had failed Zinn, just as they had failed so many others she knew.
A fresh wave of remorse washed over Sansa, mingling with her grief until she could barely breathe past the tightness in her chest. Silently, she moved to the low table and sank to the plush floor cushions, burying her face in her hands as the dam finally burst.
Ibto deviated beside her, the mercenary clearly out of his depth when it came to offering comfort. After what seemed like an eternity, Sansa felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder, a steadying anchor amidst the storm of her sorrow as almost repayment for when she had anchored him earlier with Kei.
"Hey...I didn't mean to pile on, you know?" His voice was oddly gentle, lacking its usual bravado. "Zinn...she seemed like good people. She didn't deserve to go out like that...However, it happened." Sansa lifted her head, her cheeks stained with tear tracks, her eyes reflecting a torrent of anguish and loss as the tendrils on her head swayed with her movements.
"You're right," she said, her voice thick and ragged. "Zinn was...she was everything the Jedi aspire to be. Selfless, compassionate, a true servant of the Force." A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "And now, because of my failures, because of the Order's blindness, her light has been extinguished. I just...I don't know how to go on knowing what I do now..."
Ibto was silent for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then, he squeezed her shoulder gently, his calloused fingers surprisingly mild to her surprise. "Well, that's a little easier...you've got two choices," he said matter-of-factly. "You can let this eat you up inside, drown in your own misery until there's nothing left. Or..." He paused, waiting until Sansa met his gaze.
"Or you can honor her memory by carrying on her fight." He thumped his chest as a symbol of honor, most likely only a copy of what he saw an actual warrior do. Sansa felt reassured at the mercenary's words, so unexpectedly profound.
Here was a man who had scoffed at her Jedi ways, mocked her adherence to the ancient codes...and yet, at that moment, he spoke with a clarity and wisdom that put her own doubts and insecurities to shame.
Slowly, she nodded, feeling a newfound sense of resolve kindling within her. She could either surrender to the darkness of her sorrow, or she could choose to let Zinn's light guide her forward, blazing a trail for others to follow. "You're right," she spoke, her voice stronger now, more determined than seconds before.
"Zinn wouldn't want me to wallow in grief and regret. She'd want me to keep fighting for the galaxy's people, to never stop standing against the encroaching shadows that hide even within us all." Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.
Ibto whistled a small tone, his eyes scrunched into what resembled a human's when they smiled. "That's what I'm talking about, Jedi. Now you're getting it." He rose fluidly to his feet, offering Sansa a hand up. "Hopefully you don't go running back to the order before we can kick some serious Mando ass."
As Sansa allowed the mercenary to pull her upright, she felt a profound sense of gratitude wash over her. For all his crass irreverence and his flagrant disregard for the Jedi way, Ibto had helped guide her back from the brink of despair with his situationally grown intelligence.
In that moment, their differences – Jedi and mercenary, light and shadow-- seemed to fade away, united instead by a shared understanding of what truly mattered to everyone who struggled against the odds of fate...Hope.
Sansa held Ibto's gaze for several seconds in the lilac hues of the Dantari evening light. The moment was quickly devastated by the distant roar of engines as Kei's freighter powered up, preparing to depart their temporary sanctuary.
Ibto tensed, his hand instinctively dropping to the blaster at his hip as he moved towards the archway. "Asshole," he muttered. "I'm the one who saved HIM on Coruscant--and the old Bantha fucker leaves ME!" Sansa ignored him, already moving towards the shelves that housed Zinn's treasured mementos and artifacts.
She would need a piece of Zinn herself, a talisman to remind her of the path she had chosen to walk. Her fingers traced over the carved figurines of different master Jedi and padawan the old Kel Dor had met and trained. She skimmed time-worn tomes of different saber forms, searching for the right symbol to take with her.
At last, she settled on a simple leather-bound personal journal, its pages yellowed and soft with age as if started when Zinn was near Sansa's own age. With a pang, she recognized Zinn's elegant penmanship on the first page-- aphorisms and insights distilled from a lifetime of seeking knowledge under the Forces light in full view of controlled emotion.
Cradling the journal to her chest, resolving the wait patiently for Jarelle to return to this sacred site. She would not have her lightsaber, a symbol of her Jedi heritage stripped away by circumstance--But she would have her memories of Zinn, and the renewed strength of purpose that her once mentor had reawakened within her.
Ibto took a long pull from a canteen of water he had packed before his expulsion, letting the cool liquid make its way down his throat refreshingly. He set it down with a dull thunk, fixing Sansa with a level stare.
"You want to know how I got tied up with that snoot-face and his little band of backstabbers?" The young Kyuzo exhaled a mirthless chuckle. "I figure if we're going to be risking our necks together, we should at least tell some war stories to pass the time." He said, trying to keep his eyes out over the Dantari night sky for any coming ships.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Sansa took time to stop meditating, her expression a mix of curiosity and trepidation. "If you insist on speaking, can you try to refrain from so much vulgarity?" Ibto's lips twisted in a wry smirk before he leaned back, the battered couch creaking beneath his wiry frame. "No promises! Okay, It all started a few years back, on a backwater desert rock called Jakku...."
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The blaring sun of Jakku burned white-hot in the brassy sky, its merciless glare baking the endless dunes into a shimmering hellscape of no end. Ibto squinted against the harsh light as he navigated the cramped streets of the ramshackle settlement he grew up in, the stifling heat sapping his energy with every light step.
He was fresh off his first solo job -– a swift and neat arrangement put out by the local minor Hutt crimelord, taking out some hapless royal brat who'd pushed the people too far with his taxes...Easy credits, or so he'd thought at the time.
Shouldering his way into the only dingy cantina in the village, Ibto scanned the rowdy crowd with a skillful eye, searching for the contact who would pay out his share of the bounty. Most were just more of the dregs he'd come to expect on these lawless pits, farmers, scum, spice smugglers, and maybe a few fringe Rebellion types out to drown their sorrows in the most rank imitation of alcohol you were allowed to taste without dying.
His gaze settled on a lone bulky figure tucked away in the back corner, swathed in shadows of the poorly lit establishment, and bent over an unidentifiable drink. Even from across the dim room's smokey insides, Ibto could make out the distinctive silhouette – all sharp angles and hulking muscle. "Rodian. Figures."
Ibto wound his way through the sparse crowd of patrons, keeping one hand hovering near the blaster at his hip as always in this place. You could never be too careful, not in a backwater spaceport like this. At last, he reached the secluded booth and dropped into the seat opposite the Rodian without a preamble. "You Kei?" he asked bluntly, leaning back with studied nonchalance as if he owned the place.
The stranger lifted his head, fixing Ibto with a withering stare that didn't mask his confusion. His green scales were mottled and pockmarked, a lifetime's worth of battles and hardship etched into every furrow and ridge like a Republic cruiser. Despite his jagged appearance, there was an undeniable aura of sadness about him. "Depends who's asking, kid,"
Kei growled, his gruff voice colored by an unmistakable Coruscanti lilt.
Ibto bristled at the jibe but kept his expression carefully neutral. "Name's Ibto. Pulled that 'extraction' on Prince Secar last week. Was told to come see you for my cut by--" Kei snorted derisively, downing the last of his drink with a single gulp.
"That little squishy human? Should've known they'd send a fresh-faced pup to handle something so beneath my skills yet needing my confirmation." He leveled Ibto with another appraising glare. "Tell me, kid, you ever been off this little dust-ball before?"
There was an undisguised challenge in the Rodian's tone, his large eyes glinting with something akin to cruel amusement. Ibto forced himself to hold that contemptuous stare, refusing to be made to look afraid like some fresh-hatched newborn. "This pup can shoot the eye out a Republic intercepter's pilot, scales," he shot back, unable to keep the cocksure bravado from creeping into his voice.
"From the Outer Rim shit-stains all the way to the Core's jeweled worlds, I know I'm the best--just waiting for a chance to leave this hell hole." A lie, but one delivered with such conviction that Kei seemed to hesitate, his perpetual sneer faltering for just a heartbeat.
Then the Rodian let out a raspy chuckle, shaking his head in something like grudging respect. "You've got a pair on you, kid, I'll give you that." Reaching into the folds of his tattered red vest, Kei produced a lump of credits and slid them across the table to Ibto. "There's your cut, as promised by the loose lip Bantha that hired you...But stick around and maybe there'll be a chance to put that swagger of yours to real use."
Ibto eyed the credits greedily before pocketing them with a deft sweep of his hand. He leveled his gaze at Kei once more, feigning indifference though his heart had picked up a quickened cadence. "I'm listening..."
"We gotta see if you mesh with the crew first," Kei said with another swig of his mug and a chortle.
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Gratü emerged from the shadows like a crimson wraith, his towering bulk eclipsing the blistering heat from Jakku's punishing sun that barely penetrated the cantina as he entered. Ibto's breath caught in his throat as he took in the Feeorin's fearsome visage – menacing spiked chin ridges, razor-sharp teeth, his small eyes burning like twin suns into young Ibto's mind like a Jedi. "This is the runt you've been running your mouth about, Kei?"
The ancient warrior's deep rumble seemed to reverberate in Ibto's very bones as he appraised the young Kyuzo with no emotion. "Hardly seems worthy of joining our little endeavor, especially just to die..." Beside the towering Feeorin stood an angry-looking Kaleesh female, her amber eyes glittering with the same fierce intelligence as her hulking companion's.
She regarded Ibto with undisguised disdain for his presence, one hand resting on the sharp blade resting on her belt. "Indeed," the Kaleesh purred toward them, her lush tones at odds with the naked threat in her stance. "This fresh-faced child is meant to be part of our crew? Kei, for once. Use what little sense the Force granted your kind and reconsider this...flawed decision."
Kei bristled, his leathery knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists. Ibto watched the muscle jump in the Rodian's jaw, waiting with bated breath for the explosion he was certain would follow. Surprisingly, however, Kei seemed to rein in his temper with visible effort. "Can it, U'La,"
the Brute captain growled, shooting the red-skinned reptilian humanoid a look simmering with barely restrained loathing. "I know what I'm doing, and this kid's got skills we need for the job." His bottomless Rodian eyes bored into Ibto, hard as durasteel. "Isn't that right, runt? Or was blowing smoke up my kriffing exhaust port earlier just a bit of childish bravado?"
Every eye in the dimly lit cantina seemed to bore into Ibto in that endless moment. He could feel the weight of their scrutiny, taste the undisguised disdain on the air like ashes. This was his opportunity, his shot at joining the big leagues, putting those long years of arduous training to use on the grand galactic podium.
Drawing himself up to his full height, Ibto met Kei's stare with an insolent smirk. "I'm in, and if you guys wanna test my aim or reflexes... you're welcome to," he said, keeping his voice maddeningly calm despite the frantic pounding of his heart. "Fill me in on the details, boss--or do I need any more patdowns from the Republic officers over here?"
U'La's nostrils flared, her hand twitching towards her knife once more. Beside her, Gratü rumbled a menacing chuckle that could have belonged just as easily to a rancor sizing up its next meal. Absurdly, Ibto felt a swell of pride as he watched Kei's craggy features split into a vindicated grin. "Listen up, kid, because I'm only saying this once..."
As the burly Rodian launched into an intricate rundown of their target; a hugely ambitious heist set to take place on the galactic capital of Coruscant itself for the Heir of the banking clan, Ibto felt his heart kick into a double-time staccato. This was it, the break he'd been chasing his entire life.
He was no longer that eager welp fresh off Jakku's sun-blasted wastes, deluding himself into thinking a few bush league jobs constituted experience. With this crew, this near-impossible mission...Ibto would etch his name among the galaxy's elite bounty hunters in no time, and there would be no turning back.
As Kei's gruff monologue reached its conclusion, Ibto shot a cocksure grin at the assembled mercenaries, fielding their mocking sneers with the brazen self-assuredness of youth. Let them doubt his capabilities, he mused, it would only make proving himself that much sweeter. He was Ibto of Clan Ogtu, son of Jiito, and master of his own fortune. No matter what dangers lay in wait on the crowded skyways of Coruscant's endless cityscape, he would meet them head-on and emerge victorious.
After all, what could possibly go wrong? Ibto leaned back, allowing the rest of the cantina's ambient noise to wash over him. "You're kriffing insane if you think we can pull this off, Kei," U'La spat, giving voice to her doubts. "Even with my slicing abilities, circumventing the Republic's security net will be next to impossible. Especially not with that damned blockade in effect."
The Kaleesh shot Kei a withering glare, her amber eyes glittering like polished gemstones in the simmering lights of the cantina. "But I suppose unattainable odds are to be expected, given your questionable sanity of late...How is Yoshirii?"
Kei bristled, standing with fists clenched at his sides. Before he could unleash the no-doubt blistering retort building behind his clenched teeth, however, Gratü's deep rumble cut through the tension like a vibroblade.
"Enough squabbling like mated birds." The Feeorin's piercing stare swept over the assembled crew like a watchman, his serrated fangs glinting with every word he let pass his aged maw. "The job parameters have been set, and we'd do well to focus on preparation rather than courting doubts at this point."
Shifting his concentration to the tense standoff between Kei and U'La, Gratü leveled a bemused look at the feuding pair. "You both still possess skills integral to this mission's success. Put aside your past grievances and direct that intensity where it is required--cracking the bank's defenses."
Ibto observed, grudgingly impressed, as the muscled old warrior's pointed gaze seemed to deflate the simmering hostility thrumming between Kei and the Kaleesh Ibto was beginning to suspect was his ex-lover. U'La was the first to break away, her elegant features settling back into an inscrutable mask as she offered Gratü the barest hint of a nod.
Kei took a bit more prodding. "Don't need your kriffy little fragrant advice," the Rodian growled, slightly withering under Gratü's stony silence. "But fine, have it your way –- the bird and I will put our differences aside. For now." He shot one last venomous look towards U'La before turning his attention back to the rest of the crew.
"The Snake's got a point though – we need to go over roles and responsibilities before hitting that jewel-plated cesspit." Kei's bulbous eyes found Ibto again, glittering with an assessing weight. "Starting with you, kid. You'll be our eye in the sky for this gig -- got a perch all lined up in the lower levels with clear overwatch on the mark's estate...Should be no issue for a Kyuzo like you, right?"
A flush of pride warmed Ibto's chest. Overwatch was his specialty, having spent endless hours honing his aim and steely patience from the time he could first handle a rifle and pistol. He nodded curtly, unable to keep the swagger from creeping back into his voice. "You got it, boss. I'll be ready to put a plasma bolt through whatever crosses my scope."
"That eagerness better be matched by competence, runt," U'La interjected with a dismissive sniff. "One missed shot, and this entire operation unravels like a Gungan in a sandstorm."
Before Ibto could formulate a suitably caustic retort, Kei spoke up again, his brusque tones allowing for no further dissent. "And you, my sweet..." The Rodian fixed U'La with a look of naked loathing that somehow managed to convey grudging admiration.
"You'll be on point for slicing those vault codes and overriding security protocols. No system in this dog-forsaken galaxy is too complex for those magic fingers of yours." U'La's full lips twisted in a mocking smirk.
"Of course not, my diseased lump of grave filth," she said coyly, her words dripping with honeyed disdain. "You'd know better than any about the..." A muscle twitched in Kei's jaw, but he refused to rise to the Kaleesh's taunting bait.
With visible effort, the Rodian turned his attention to Gratü and the silent Arkanian female lurking in the Feeorin's sizable shadow. "Grunt work falls to you two," Kei growled, undisguised disdain coloring his gravelly tones. "Gratü, you'll be our door-kicker, leading the breach into the bank's upper vaults once U'La cracks those access codes...to either the private logs or just start setting off alarms.."
The hulking crimson figure inclined his head a fraction, piercing eyes never wavering from Kei's weathered features. "The blade is yours to direct as you see fit, Captain," Gratü rumbled, his words a solemn vow that sent a chill skittering down Ibto's spine. "I will clear your path, this I swear."
"And you, twi'lek dancer..." The Rodian's sneer deepened as he regarded the statuesque Arkanian who had said nothing from her silent watch over the whole cantina from afar. Ibto studied her anew, surprised he had initially mistaken her delicate features and serene countenance for anything other than what seemed like a noble bearing.
"You'll be on infiltration and recon," Kei continued, dragging his words out as if forcing each syllable past clenched teeth. "Get in, scope out the clan leader's private villa, and pave the way for our exit strategy once we have the package secured."
The Arkanian arched one elegant brow but offered no verbal response, a studied insult if ever Ibto encountered one. Surprisingly, Kei did not rise to the obvious slight, merely grunting and shifting his focus back to the battered maps and holoprojections strewn across the cantina's pock-marked tables.
"Silent works for me....well, that covers the broad strokes," the Rodian growled, tracing a suction-cupped finger over a glowing schematic that Ibto recognized as the Royal Palace's upper district of the senate's most guarded Corocanti Ziggurats. It was when Kei launched into the finer details of each part to play that Ibto finally felt a tight knot of anticipation coil in his gut.
This was it – the descent into the galaxy's most wanted and yet he felt something was wrong...not with the plan but almost there was more to the scheme than the shady Rodian was letting on. He was a dead man walking if he didn't play his cards right regardless if he didn't make good on the lies he told the hulking man. Strangely, the thought didn't fill him with dread or even a hint of uncertainty.
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Ibto trailed off, his eyes glazing over as the remembrances of that fateful job took hold. Sansa watched the myriad of expressions play out across the Kyuzo's sharp green features - pride, exhilaration, the first blush of doubts quickly extinguished by youthful arrogance.
She opened her mouth, some innocuous query poised on her lips to break the pensive silence. But the words never came, choked off by a sudden resurgence of searing recollection. Images exploded behind her eyes in a kaleidoscope of fractured memory...
(...the piercing shriek of alarms, echoing through the sacred halls of the Coruscant upper districts like the harbingers of the Jedi's failure...)
(... the Padawan braid of her Tendrils whipping behind her as she sprinted through the grounds, boots pounding the sterile metal panels as her Master's voice could barely be heard over the sound of footsteps and sirens...)
(...the sickening lurch of the Ziggurat as its pathways were crudely severed in an instant, lives extinguished amidst the encroaching smoke and chaos of fires breaking out over the complex...)
(..her first true taste of loss, bitter and cloying on her tongue as her lightsaber fell useless from trembling fingers after her body had nearly been crushed in a sudden impact...)
"You..." The word was graveled by eons of grief and recrimination distilled into a single, damning utterance. Sansa's joints whitened to the point of pain as her hands knotted into white-knuckled fists at her sides. "You were there...during the sacking of Coruscant?!" Confusion flickered across Ibto's elongated features before comprehension slowly dawned.
The Kyuzo recoiled, hands raised in a placating gesture as if to ward off the full force of Sansa's fury. "Jab—Sansa, I can explain—It was supposed to be a simple run on the banks...I still don't know how--"
"Explain?" The word emerged as little more than a strangled hiss, her throat constricting with the blistering wave of emotion that threatened to consume her. "Explain how you pillaged the Jedi homeworld for some credits? How you cut down innocents in the pursuit of...of recognition and wanton destruction of life?"
Sansa rose on shaking legs, the world seeming to tilt violently as a torrent of memory crashed over her in an unrelenting torrent. Zinn's sanctuary, so painstakingly preserved, blurred into the smoke-choked wreckage of the blasted decks of the Banking Clan's leader Muugal.
She could smell the stench of blaster fire and cauterized flesh, taste the cloying bitterness of defeat on her tongue. "So Kei must have been in league with the Hutts..." she rasped, her voice slightly paced up. "What exactly were you looking for here on Dantooine?"
Grief and rage simmered within her, Sansa would not allow this perceived enemy to see her with her guard down any longer. At that moment, she understood with gut-wrenching clarity what Zinn had faced when confronting her killer she thought was her son, Filo. To have one's entire world, their very belief in justice and goodness, so utterly shattered over and over till they have reached a point of contention with the very shackles of fate.
Ibto began to rise at her sudden change in demeanor, rising as well, murmuring placations that fell on deaf ears. The Kyuzo's words washed over her in an incomprehensible babble, until finally, mercifully, his deep timbre cut through the maelstrom raging within her.
"NO NO, you got it backwards. Kei 'n me have been trying to get data logs to prove our innocence...De'busk's father somehow was nowhere near the summit when the whole thing went down, Kei was pretty tight-lipped but..." Ibto's expression twisted in a flash of what seemed like authentic remorse. "From what little he rambled over the years through drunken rants where was a second team...and let's just say they did not stick to the plan."
The now former mercenary scrubbed a hand over his masked features, his shoulders slumping beneath the weight of years and anguished guilt-given voice. "I was young, stupid even, but there's no way I would have signed on if I knew what was gonna happen."
His orange eyes found Sansa's, open and pleading for understanding that she could scarcely fathom from someone of his occupation. "That kid who went with Kei's crew? He died that night along with all those people whose blood is now on my hands. But the man standing before you now?"
Ibto shrugged then, the gesture imbued with a weary acceptance of the path his choices had led him down. "Just a washed-up drunk trying to make what little amends I can before it's too late. Believe me, Sansa: if I could take it all back, rewrite the past...I would, in a heartbeat."
Sansa held his gaze for an endless heartbeat, searching haunted orange depths for any hint of the deceit he had once peddled as easily as breathing. But there was none - only the hollowed remnants of a broken man stripped of his youthful arrogance and forced at last to confront the weight of his sins.
A part of her wanted to rage, to unleash the full torrent of her anguish and hatred upon this living embodiment of all she had lost those decades ago and even now. But she could not, for Zinn's light still flickered within her, banishing the shadows before they could fully take root--Even her old master Zathar's cracked face passed through her mind for a moment.
Sansa forced herself to unclench her trembling fists into calmed open palms. She drew in a long, shuddering breath, allowing the Force to flow through her like a balm soothing her fractured soul.
When at last she spoke, her voice was hoarse but admirably level. "I...understand your regret, Ibto. What's done is in the past, and no amount of recrimination can undo those tragedies--The reason the force brought us here together may be uncertain but it means you can still repay the galaxy for your debts."
Sansa offered the Kyuzo a single, curt nod of acknowledgment of his growth. "It's not up to me though...If you are sincere in your desire to make amends..." She trailed off meaningfully, allowing the weight of her next words to hang between them like a benediction awaiting supplication.
"Then tell me the rest of what happened that fateful night. Hold nothing back, no matter how much it pains you." Her features hardened, a durasteele plate sculpted by grim determination. "It's the only way to begin walking the path of redemption – by shedding all that haunts us, even those we have carried for a lifetime."
Ibto regarded her wordlessly for a long moment before inclining his head in solemn acceptance of her challenge. Only once the ghosts of damning past were exorcised, their lingering anguish exhumed and dissected, could either of them hope to truly heal from the grievous wounds inflicted by the swirling arms of the Dark Side's flail for dominance.
As the Kyuzo began to recount the harrowing tale of that night's descent into madness and mayhem, Sansa steeled herself against the coming torrent of bitter remembrance. She would endure patiently until her moment to strike against Zakayo.
It was the only way to honor her fallen friend's legacy and finally achieve the closure both their fractured souls so desperately craved. No matter how white-hot the flames of anguish raged or how deeply they seared, Sansa would not be consumed again so quickly.
"Okay well...It gets rough, and I don't know everything everything,"