The journey through hyperspace stretched longer than it should have.
Not because the distance was great—the ship had crossed far wider stretches of the galaxy in less time—but because of the weight that hung inside the cockpit. Anticipation had a way of bending time, of making seconds drag and silence feel heavier than it should. No one spoke much. Even Quinlan, who rarely held his tongue for long, had grown quieter as the minutes passed.
When the ship finally dropped out of hyperspace, the transition was abrupt. The swirling tunnel of light collapsed into darkness, and the stars snapped back into place with sharp clarity.
And yet, something about them felt wrong.
They were dimmer than they should have been, their light dulled as though filtered through something unseen. The cold of space seemed more pronounced here, pressing faintly against the ship even through its shields. It wasn't a physical sensation so much as an instinct—an awareness that this part of the galaxy was not entirely empty.
Ahead of them lay Dathomir.
The planet hung in the void like a wound that had never healed, its surface cloaked in a faint red haze that bled outward into the surrounding space. It was not a world that welcomed visitors. It did not invite exploration. It simply endured, ancient and untouched by anything that might have softened it.
Sebul exhaled slowly as he adjusted the ship's descent vector, his fingers steady on the controls despite the tension in his voice. "I don't like this place."
Behind him, Quinlan leaned closer to the viewport, his expression far less guarded. His eyes moved across the planet's surface with open curiosity, almost fascination.
"…I do," he said quietly.
As they descended through the atmosphere, the world below revealed itself in greater detail. Jagged rock formations thrust upward like broken teeth, casting long shadows across the land. Twisted forests stretched endlessly in every direction, their branches coiling unnaturally as though reaching for something that was never quite there. The red haze thickened closer to the ground, dulling what little light filtered through and leaving everything bathed in a dim, restless glow.
"It's… beautiful," Quinlan muttered after a moment.
He paused, then added more quietly, "In a terrible way."
Harry said nothing, but his eyes were fixed on the landscape below. He was not looking at it the way Quinlan was. Where the other man saw something strange and fascinating, Harry observed patterns—currents of energy, subtle distortions, the way the world itself seemed to hum with something deeper than the Force alone.
The ship descended into a clearing surrounded by towering trees that blocked most of the sky. The landing was smooth, the engines settling into silence with barely a sound.
The moment they powered down, Sebul activated the cloaking system. The ship shimmered briefly, its edges blurring as though it were slipping out of alignment with reality itself. Within seconds, it vanished entirely, leaving only empty space where it had stood.
"Just in case," Sebul said, leaning back in his seat. "We don't know who—or what—is watching."
Quinlan nodded in agreement. "Good call."
The ramp lowered with a slow hiss, the sound carrying farther than it should have in the unnatural stillness of the clearing.
Harry stepped out first.
The ground beneath his boots felt… wrong. Not unstable, not physically different, but alive in a way that had nothing to do with biology. There was a pulse beneath the surface, something faint but undeniable, as though the planet itself breathed in a way no ordinary world could.
He inhaled slowly, testing the air.
It was thick. Charged with something that pressed against his senses from all direction.
Quinlan stepped up beside him, his own awareness reaching outward as he took in the surroundings. He turned slowly, scanning the twisted forest, the strange light, the oppressive stillness.
He let out a faint, almost amused breath. "This is what Ventress talked about. I always thought she was exaggerating."
His smile faded as quickly as it came.
"Stay sharp," Harry said.
"I always am," Quinlan replied, though his tone had lost some of its earlier ease.
Behind them, Sebul's voice carried from within the ship. "I'm staying here."
Harry glanced back toward where the cockpit would be, even though the cloaking made it impossible to see. "I know."
Sebul shrugged, though they could only imagine the gesture. "I'm not built for whatever this is."
He paused, then added more seriously, "You two go deal with witches and nightmares. I'll keep the ship safe."
Quinlan gave a short chuckle. "Someone has to."
"And someone has to make sure we don't get stranded on a nightmare planet," Sebul replied. There was a brief pause before he added, "I'll keep comms open."
Harry nodded once. "Good."
The ramp closed behind them, sealing the ship away entirely. With the cloak active, it was as if it had never been there at all.
Quinlan exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the dense forest ahead. "Well," he said, rolling his shoulders slightly, "let's find your magic users."
Harry didn't move immediately.
Instead, he crouched, pressing his hand lightly against the ground. His eyes closed as he focused, not on sight or sound, but on the energy that saturated the planet.
It was different.
The energy moved freely.
It existed without restraint.
"…It's not controlled," Harry murmured.
Quinlan frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"It's not restrained," Harry clarified as he opened his eyes. "No one's forcing it into shape. It's allowed to exist as it is."
Quinlan tilted his head, considering that. "…That sounds dangerous."
Harry stood, brushing his hand lightly against his coat.
"It is," he said.
A faint smile formed at the edge of his lips.
"That's why it's interesting."
The forest swallowed them quickly.
Branches twisted overhead, blocking out what little light remained, leaving the world dim and uncertain. Strange sounds echoed from all directions—whispers carried on the wind, the faint crack of something breaking in the distance, low screeches that faded as quickly as they appeared.
Quinlan's hand hovered near his lightsaber. "I don't like how everything feels alive."
Harry didn't answer.
Because he felt it too.
They continued deeper, the path becoming less clear with every step. Time seemed to lose its meaning, the distance behind them blurring into the same endless stretch of twisted trees and shifting shadows
Time lost its edges beneath the crimson sky and the choking canopy of twisted forests. Light came and went without warmth, filtering through branches that seemed to coil and shift as though the world itself were unsettled.
Direction blurred. Landmarks repeated. The deeper they went, the less the planet felt like terrain and the more it felt like memory—old, layered, and unwilling to be disturbed.
At first, Quinlan and Harry moved together. Their pace was careful, each step measured against the weight of the place. They spoke little. Words felt unnecessary in a world where the air itself seemed to listen.
They crossed broken ground that still bore the scars of violence long past. The soil had been split and scorched in places, dark streaks running through the earth like veins that had never healed. Ruined structures appeared and vanished again as the forest swallowed them—low stone buildings collapsed inward, charred beams jutting at odd angles, doorways leading nowhere.
Quinlan slowed near one such ruin and crouched, brushing dirt away from something half-buried beneath creeping vines. It was a helmet—clone trooper armor, cracked down the center, its once-white surface dulled by ash and time.
"…Order 66," he said quietly.
Harry didn't look at him. His gaze remained on the horizon, scanning, measuring.
"Yeah," he replied. "I can feel it."
The air here carried more than just the weight of the present. It held echoes—pain, fear, the violent severing of lives cut short. The Force was thick with it, tangled and restless.
After another long stretch of silence, Quinlan rose, dusting his hands off against his coat. His expression had tightened, impatience beginning to creep through the edges of his calm.
"This isn't working."
Harry nodded once, his attention still outward.
"They're hiding."
"Or gone," Quinlan muttered.
Harry shook his head. "No."
He closed his eyes briefly, reaching outward—not with the rigid structure of Jedi training, nor with the dominance of the Sith, but with something quieter. Something that allowed the world to answer in its own way.
"They're here," he said.
Quinlan studied him for a moment, then exhaled.
"Fine," he said. "We split up."
Harry opened his eyes. "You sure?"
A faint smirk tugged at Quinlan's lips. "I've survived worse places than this."
He glanced around at the forest, then added, "…probably."
They shared one last look—an unspoken understanding passing between them—before turning in opposite directions.
Left.
And right.
Harry's path led deeper.
The forest thickened as he moved forward, the light dimming until it felt as though the sky had vanished entirely. Sounds drifted in and out of hearing—soft rustling, distant cries, things that suggested movement without revealing its source. Strange creatures lingered at the edges of his vision, never fully appearing, always just beyond clarity.
Ruins continued to surface along his path, smaller now, more fragmented. Settlements that had once held life were reduced to ash and broken stone, their purpose long erased.
Still, there was no one.
Until—
Movement.
Harry stopped instantly.
His eyes narrowed as he focused on the source.
A child.
She stood partially hidden behind the twisted trunk of a tree, small and thin, her posture tense with fear. She was not human. Her skin was a pale gray, her head bald except for uneven, horn-like protrusions rising from her scalp. Her eyes were wide, fixed on him with raw, unfiltered terror.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Harry took a slow step forward, lowering his stance slightly to appear less threatening.
"It's okay," he said calmly. "I'm not—"
She ran.
Far faster than he expected.
"Wait!" Harry called, moving after her. "I just want to talk!"
But she didn't slow. She didn't look back.
Harry increased his pace—not chasing, not closing the distance aggressively, just keeping her in sight as she darted between the trees.
"I won't hurt you!"
Then the Force shifted.
Sharp.
Sudden.
An attack.
Harry reacted instantly. His lightsaber ignited with a sharp snap-hiss, red light cutting through the gloom just as another blade collided with his.
The impact rang through the forest.
Harry slid back half a step, stabilizing himself as he turned to face his attacker.
She didn't hesitate.
She pressed forward immediately, her strikes fast and precise, each movement flowing into the next with practiced efficiency.
Her twin montrals and lekku framed her face, her expression fierce and focused. There was no uncertainty in her attacks, no hesitation.
Only intent.
To kill.
Harry met her strike, then another, then a third. Their blades clashed rapidly, sparks scattering into the dim air as metal met energy again and again.
She was skilled.
But she was fighting under an assumption.
"You're mistaken—" Harry tried to say.
She didn't listen.
Her attacks grew sharper, more aggressive, her movements tightening as she pushed him back.
Harry adjusted.
Matched her pace.
Then surpassed it.
With a quick pivot, he redirected her strike, twisted his wrist, and disarmed her in one fluid motion. Her lightsaber spun from her grasp, vanishing into the undergrowth.
A heartbeat later, she was on the ground.
Harry's blade hovered inches from her chest.
The child had stopped running. She stood a short distance away now, watching, her fear momentarily replaced by something else—uncertainty, perhaps.
Then—
Footsteps.
Fast.
"Harry!"
Quinlan burst through the trees, breathing hard as he came to a sudden stop. His eyes moved from Harry to the woman on the ground—
And recognition hit instantly.
"…Ahsoka?"
Her eyes snapped toward him. "…Quinlan?"
Confusion replaced the earlier hostility, though it didn't fully erase it.
"What are you doing here?" Quinlan asked, lowering his stance slightly.
She pushed herself up, still tense, her gaze flicking immediately back to Harry.
"What are you doing here?" she shot back. "And since when do you work with Sith?"
Quinlan blinked. "…Sith?"
She pointed sharply at Harry's red blade.
Quinlan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's not a Sith."
Harry deactivated his lightsaber with a soft click. "I just use what works."
Ahsoka's eyes narrowed. "That's not how that works."
Quinlan shrugged. "Apparently, it is now."
She didn't relax. Her posture remained tight, her attention fixed firmly on Harry.
"Then explain," she demanded. "Why are you here?"
Harry stepped forward slightly, calm and measured.
"We're looking for the Nightsisters."
That made her pause.
"…Why?"
"To learn," Harry replied. "Magic. Rituals. Whatever they know."
Ahsoka studied him carefully, weighing his words, his posture, the lack of hostility in him despite everything that suggested otherwise.
Behind her, the small horned girl edged closer, still wary, but no longer fleeing.
"You're telling me," Ahsoka said slowly, "you came to Dathomir… to study magic."
"Yes."
A long silence followed.
"…You're either insane," she said, "or very serious."
Quinlan smirked. "Both."
She ignored him.
Her gaze remained on Harry.
Finally, she turned.
"Come on."
Quinlan blinked. "That's it?"
"You want to meet them, don't you?" she shot back.
Harry nodded once.
"Then follow me," Ahsoka said. "But don't do anything stupid."
Quinlan chuckled under his breath. "That might be difficult."
As they began to move, Ahsoka glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes settling briefly on Harry.
"And for the record," she said, her voice quieter now, "if you were actually Sith…"
"…you'd already be dead."
Harry's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Good to know."
And so they followed her, deeper into the shadows of Dathomir, toward whatever remained of the Nightsisters—and whatever secrets the planet had yet to reveal.
Author's Note:
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